#should i be making another poll so close to flying too close to the sun? well here i am

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Okay what about going to the pumpkin patch and carving them with Calum

I can do that. Reader Insert. No gender or race. 

Halloween blurb night going until 8PM PDT. Writing for Shawn Mendes, 5sos, Harry Styles and FAHC. 

See the Halloween Blurb Night Masterlist. 

Enjoy my complete masterlist. 

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The air is crisp but not too cool as you sit out in the backyard. Your cup of tea is still steaming. Calum’s mug of coffee is creating small tufts of clouds as its own warmth escapes it into the cooler air. The beanie on Calum’s head is low and covers his forehead and ears as he stands, green bag in hand and tying it close. Duke trots up to the door that leads back inside. The thud of the garbage bin top hardly disrupts the call of the birds flying over head. 

“Halloween’s soon. Want to do something?” Calum asks after going inside to wash his hands and settling back down next to you. After the mugs are emptied, the two of you will take Duke for a walk and then the rest of the day will be all to yourself. 

You shrug. “Like should we throw a party?”

“Believe me when I say there are plenty of others that have that covered. But possibly a pumpkin carving? Just us? I dunno. Or a group if you want.”

“The patch in town’s probably got slim pickings now.”

“I know about one a little further out that Luke told me about. He and Sierra went to the one close by and said there wasn’t much left to it either.”

“I’d be down for a road trip,” you agree before taking another sip from your mug. The tea’s still warm enough that the moment it touches your tongue you recoil slightly. “Gagh!” you exclaim. 

Calum chuckles from next to you. “Patience, young grasshopper.” He digs in the tease by taking a pointed sip of coffee. 

“Curse your burnt nerve endings.”

Your walk with Duke is nice. Most of the neighborhood hasn’t waken up yet. It’s early and the sun’s hardly turned the sky a hazy pink to signal the start of the day. As Duke pulls a little on the leash, his nose dug brushing the base of a bush as if something is wrong, Calum makes a quip about being a better pumpkin carver than you. 

“That’s a lot of talk there,” you laugh, gazing up into the more normal sky. The sun’s climbed out more from the horizon, the sky it’s bright blue. “Put your money where your mouth is?” you asks. 

“You the betting type?”

“Against you, Hood? Any day of the week. But we need to find out who’s judging?”

“Poll on IG. Let the public decide,” Calum returns. 

“Fine by me.” The three of you soon start back up and then loop back around to the house. The scents are as new this time around as on the initial loop. Duke is content just to trot along. Back home, you shower and change. You find that it’s at least an hour and half drive so while Calum gets ready, you decide to put together a little basket with some snacks and something for lunch. 

“Having a picnic too?” Calum asks as he slips into his leather jacket, noticing the basket in your head. 

“Just some snacks. In case.”

He kisses the center of your forehead. “Snacks are always important.”

The two of you discuss what’s the best shape of pumpkin to get and what ideas you have. Though the conversation slowly fizzles out and the twinges of the guitars swell around you from the radio. Gazing out of the window you watch the buildings pass by you. It’s all stationary. All unmoving but somehow constantly moving forward too. And maybe that’s just you. Maybe that’s just you constantly moving forward and like from the window of the car it all seems to be moving with you. 

A hand settles into your knee and without thinking you wrap your fingers around Calum’s hand. His thumb brushes along the skin of your hands and it’s just comfort--that’s all you can describe it as as the world stays and you move and Calum rubs and your hand. 

Calum takes your hand as you walk into the patch itself. There are more pumpkins that you anticipated being left but you can still some haven’t weathered the test of time too well. Calum spies a pretty decent looking section and tugs on your hand before nodding in that direction. You follow behind him. Pausing him only once to show him the teeny tiny pumpkins. He laughs at the way you pout. 

“Go on. Grab one,” he encourages and you zip off to grab the most robust looking one of the tiny ones. It fits all too well in the grip of your curled palm and you finally come to the section Calum noticed. 

You turn over pumpkin, pressing inspecting them and trying to envision your design onto it. Calum goes off a little ways, not too far but he too is inspect his choices. You find one that’s tall enough to handle the idea you had for a little cartoon like ghost on the pumpkin and still have some width to it. Clutching your pumpkin close you set the tiny one on top and trot over to Calum, who’s crouched now, tracing over a pumpkin with his fingers. It looks like he’s spelling out something, but you can’t be sure.

“That’s a thinkin’ face if I ever seen one,” you tease. 

He looks up, the sun casting the perfect glow around you and the fly aways of your hair. “Yeah thinking of all the ways I can kick your ass carving this pumpkin.”

You scoff. “You don’t have a tiny one. Clearly, two pumpkins are better than one.”

He laughs. “Clearly.”

“Can we stop by a craft store too? I don’t think we have paints at the house and I have an idea that involves painting the tiny one.”

“Yeah, we can make a stop.” Calum places the pumpkin back onto it’s bottom and searches around for another moment. He spies another one that he thinks might be wide enough for his plan. He stands with a small grunt and throws a pointed finger up at you. “Not a peep.”

You roll your lips together to keep the snicker at bay and trot behind him as he carries on and squats yet again at another potential canvas of the squash variety. He traces again with his finger and you watch out over the patch to take in the sounds of some children and possibly teens laughing. Their smiles are big as they survey their pumpkin pickings. 

“Alright, you all set?”

“Been set,” you return still watching the young group pick up pumpkins to each the group. 

After paying for your pumpkins you set them into the trunk and Calum pulls out the basket. There are some benches right on the edge of the makeshift public lot and Calum suggest a small reprieve to munch on the snacks you packed. Though the food break is short, you enjoy taking the moment just to sneak jelly onto the tip of Calum’s nose. 

“Hey!” he calls out with a laugh. He scrunches his nose and face up when you stretch across and lick it off. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you taste like grape jelly.”

Back home, with pumpkin carving sets and paints spread out on the table in the backyard, and old newspapers from the local gas station covering the table, the two of you set out to cut open, deseed, and carve your pumpkins. You sit across from Calum and can only see the way his tongue peeks out from his lips as he takes the sharpie carefully over the ridges and bumps of the pumpkin. 

You cut open and pulled out the seeds to the big one but switched to painting your tiny pumpkin first so it could try while you wrestled with your actual carving. The little witches hat is perfect on the tiny one and you set it off the side before exhaling and turning to you big on. 

“Scared now? Got you shakin’ in your boots, I reckon. Going up against a professional.” Calum grins, driving the tiny saw into the rind. His sleeves that he previously rolled up are starting to slip. 

“You wish. I’m exhaling because I know you want to, but you’re too scared to show that I’m getting into your head.”

Calum pauses, eyebrow raised but you’ve turned attention back to your carving. And it’s true. You are in his head. But not the way you think and the shakes come back. They first started in the pumpkin patch. He was going to stick with you until you picked yours but he needed a moment to breathe. His plan would work. It would all work out. You two had been dating for three years at this point. You had moved in with him. You two had worked out so that you’d spend Christmas one year with your family and the other with his--but you always made sure on the years that you spent Christmas with your family, that you spend News Years with Joy and David in Australia. 

You coming home for the holidays, or Calum coming home with you weren’t even a point of discussion--in that it was a big deal. Everyone’s family just knew. Where one of you was, the other wouldn’t be far behind. And it all just fucking worked out. So this would too. 

You giggle to yourself, setting the tiny pumpkin into the tiny whole you made so that the hat lines up perfectly onto of your cartoon ghost who’s smiling and there’s a tiny speech bubble with “Trick or treat.” It’s such a silly design but you’re so proud of it, even if your finger are covered in black paint and smell like pumpkin guts. 

“Totally kicking your ass, Hood.”

He scoffs. “I doubt it.” He looks at his pumpkin. He couldn’t go with the full design--he needed two pumpkins he realized when he got the patch. He couldn’t get two big ones it would be too suspicious. But the tiny ring he might’ve butchered attempting to carve it with his lack of art skills but it’s not terrible. The question is still legible and that’s the most important. 

You put in a tiny tea light and watch the ghost flicker and hand one over to Calum too. “Done?”

“Not quite.”

“Okay. I’m just going to start cleaning up a little bit.” The newspaper holding the pumpkin guts is thankfully layered a few times so it doesn’t make a huge mess as you walk over to the garbage can. You take the hose to try and get the paint off but you efforts will work best with soap and water.  

As you settle back down at your side of the table you take a picture of it and watch the way Calum fidgets across from you. “You okay? What’s going on?”

Calum really is a do-or-die situation. He’s already got the pumpkin carved. He just needs to ask. “Not-nothing. It’s okay. I’m done now.” He looks up to you with a tiny smile. It wavers for a second but he continues on before you can ask again. “Reveal on the count of three.”

“Yeah. One.”

“Two.”

“Three,” you two say together and spin the pumpkins around. You hear Duke’s small bark and check for a second but he’s off in the corner tussling with one of his toys and your turn your attention back to the task at hand. 

As you turn back around there’s tiny ring box sitting next to Calum’s pumpkin. Open to a gold band. It’s ornate but still simple without being overly decorated with gems. Marry me? is carved into the pumpkin. You gasps looking up to find Calum and he’s hand settles onto your knees, bringing your attention to your side. The tears blur his face for just a moment. 

“I know you hate too much attention and even the thought of asking this in some stuffy overpriced restaurant wasn’t ideal for me either. But we’ve had a really great three years. And I love you. I don’t know how else to say it is. I want as many years with you as you’ll give me. So, will you marry me?”

You nod before your teeth, tongue and lips and push out the word, “Yes.” Once you can speak, you chant yes over and over even as Calum slips the ring onto your ring and you slip down out of your chair to burrow your face into his chest. “Oh my god, yes. I’d be so honored to marry you,” you exhale bringing your head up to gaze at him. “So, so honored.”

The kiss is soft and short and you both giggle into you. “My ghost pumpkin seems so stupid now.” 

“Your witch ghost is so cute. And thank you. For allowing me into your life.”

[smolbeandrabbles]

Don’t Call Me Angel - Detective Meares x Reader (Needle)

GIF CREDIT: X 

All responsibility out the window here, I can’t claim any, it’s all Mendo Nation’s fault! No seriously they came up with it, I’m innocent I swear!

Author’s Note: “How did we get here!? Who brought us here!?” 

I stg, @mendelskrull​ and @crawlingmist​ started me on this damn man with digging up (and creating) gifs I didn’t even realise were a thing. And then I was like ‘you know I think I can probably get something out of him!’ and kinda dismissed that 500 words as all we were ever going to get.

Oh no. Then - rightfully so! - I did some campaigning for him on Twitter polls and now I’m here. 

I digress. I wrote more for Meares, and you’re welcome.

Disclaimer: This is not my idea/plot and is a joint effort of the Mendo Nation - who let me go ahead and write it / Needle naught to do with me / gifs & lyrics not mine

Premise: When Meares turns up at a crime scene and finds a second potential victim he’ll do anything to see the killer brought to justice, for her. If he can figure out who the killer is...

Words: 8277

Warnings: TW potential rape discussed / sexual connotations / sexual pre-amble / swearing / kidnap / I really tried to make that last scene as far from non-con as I possibly could but I still want to put a warning for it jic.

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Don't call me angel when I'm a mess Don't call me angel when I get undressed You know I, I don't like that, boy I make my money, and I write the checks So say my name with a little respect All my girls successful, and you're just our guest Do I really need to say it? Do I need to say it again, yeah? You better stop the sweet talk And keep your pretty mouth shut Boy, don't call me angel, You ain't got me right Don't call me angel, You can't pay my price Ain't from no Heaven,Yeah, you heard me right Even though you know we fly, Don't call me angel You sizin' up my body, oh yeah Don't you know that I bite when the sun set?  So don't you try come around me Might work with her, but not me, oh yeah Don't you know that I bite when the sun set? Keep my name out your mouth I know what you about So keep my name out your mouth I appreciate the way you watch me, I can't lie I drop it down, I pick it up, I back it off the county line I fell from Heaven, now I'm living like a devil You can't get me off your mind I appreciate the way you want me, I can't lie I drop it low, I back it up, I know you wanna think you're mine Baby, I totally get it, you can't guess so You can't get me off your mind We in it together, but don't call me angel

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Abandoned building in the middle of nowhere – that wasn’t so unusual, not for a crime scene anyway. This was the kind of place he half expected to be sent to. Not that he particularly wanted to go – another Detective had been on the case this morning, but apparently something a little more interesting had come up for them and so Meares was thrown the file. ‘So… where’s my crime scene?’ in fact, he wasn’t even sure he was in the right place by the fact there appeared to be no officers guarding the scene. Only the tape strung across the front of the building let him know that’s exactly where he wanted to be. Maybe they’d all just been lazy and decided to clock off for the evening? He ducked under the tape and flicked his torch on, which he still needed because the lights in the warehouse were so goddamn dim. But why had everyone left? The sheet was still over the body and to him that only signalled that the scene had yet to be fully processed. ‘Fucking bastards sending me out here…’  He huffed, ‘If they’ve all miked off drinking I swear to GO---D.’ He noticed how he was also alone out here and his partner, Detective Reddick, didn’t want to bother driving across town for it either. “Aw, nah, it’ll only take one of us. Report back..!” Cursing again, Meares approached the victim, he supposed he might have to start this alone. Bending over he grasped the corner of the white sheet delicately – having learned from previous crime scene interactions that sometimes he could be a little too flamboyant in his actions and there’d been a few ‘incidents’ – and stood to height as he pulled the fabric back from the body. Respect the victim - a little easier when he was alone… Meares guessed that sometimes he just liked being a show off and it was an unfortunate trait he couldn’t help. He jumped as he surveyed the body, just one glance over – his stumbled footsteps echoed around the warehouse, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Meares checked his papers, then the body, then the papers again, then the body… That was not a ‘white male, 20s, average build, deep lacerations, bruising and ligature marks’. This was a very naked (but very beautiful) woman; possibly around the same age bracket - but the body itself looked intact. “Okay. Who is out here pranking me now!?” Had someone switched files? Had someone told him the wrong location? No, no, how often did that happen? Everything else about his file was right, apart from the body. Meares tipped his head, tongue between his lips as he drew his eyes back up her. He rolled it with a small tsk sound, and then knew he was smirking. It was probably very inappropriate to think that a potential victim was hot, even when it was as confusing as to why this was the body in front of him. But her form dipped and curved in just the right places, her skin very nearly perfect… Meares wouldn’t have guessed she’d been dead too long, but also didn’t see any way that she could have died. He stepped carefully around her, her eyes may have been closed but she had an Angel face to match her body, Meares thought hard; ‘more importantly, why is she at my crime scene? And if she is here… where is the real body?’ He let his eyes linger on her for a little too long, and felt that guilty blush build up on his cheeks, travelling fairly swiftly to his neck… but the rush of blood travelled a little further than expected. NO. NO. C’mon, man… He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. But found himself suddenly sad that she was the victim; of course, every victim was difficult but as a detective he had to do his best to separate- “Is it her or her body, though? C’mon. You have nooo idea what she’s-” Meares paused, “Aw, great, I’ve finally cracked I’m talking to myself at a crime scene.” He stopped his walk, palm to his forehead for a minute, “Well, nothing like an expert opinion!” He looked her body over again. No, he was fairly certain there was no obvious sign of trauma. Nor anything to indicate any other type of foul play. And it still bothered him that the body was supposed to be male-! ‘It sure does feel like a set up…’ And of course, forensics had all cleared off. He took one more step towards her; maybe Meares just wasn’t thinking clearly enough. ‘Too distracted, obviously.’ But also maybe he just wasn’t looking closely enough. His eyes lingered on her face ‘Who are you? Why are you here? Who did this to you..? C’mon, darling, I need answers…’ Meares didn’t have a chance to think much more than that; her eyes snapped open. If he thought he’d jumped back before, his string of yelled expletives matched the pounding of his heart in his chest as his adrenaline spiked. Yeah, dead bodies did that, occasionally – but dead bodies did not then take dry choked breaths that then became something close to strangled sobs. That didn’t surprise Meares either; she’d practically been declared dead, she was in a middle-of-nowhere warehouse, naked, and a male detective was now standing over her and – by his own admittance – probably looking a little leery. When her eyes focused on him all he saw on her face was terror, she pulled her knees up, arms around her body to cover herself as she attempted to scramble away. Meares threw his hands up, immediately going for his badge, “Hey, hey! It’s okay! It’s okay! My name’s Detective Meares. It’s alright – I’m here to help… I promise… you’re alright now.” He wasn’t sure she trusted him, and her nails dug hard into her skin. Meares shrugged himself out of his jacket, levelling his voice off in hushed tones. “You gave me quite a scare there you know?!” He smiled as he held it out for her, “I’m here to investigate a body, although believe me I’m glad you’re not one… take it. It’s okay… We should probably get you outta here…” He watched her slip it on, buttoning the front up to look as modest as possible, but she still shivered. “You… got a name?” Her eyes raised back to his face, but suddenly she shook her head, “I don’t…” “Remember?” Her nod was certainly sad and he didn’t want her to panic and spiral, but anything he could get now would aid his case greatly, “Do you remember anything? Why you’re here, what happened? Anything about who did this? What about your clothes honey, do you know what you were wearing?” She continued to shake her head, and Meares certainly didn’t want to stress her out any more than he had to. “Okay, it’s okay, this happens. I’m sure it’ll come to you. It’s all going to be fine. But, I should really get you over to a hospital.” “I don’t-” “Honey it’s procedure, I don’t have much of a choice,” he held his hand out for her, “you’re safe with me. No one is going to hurt you.” She placed her hand in his delicately, and Meares felt like he was going on some kind of power trip, but not a bad kind of trip; she trusted him. He was going to protect her now, that was his duty. He pulled her up, trying to keep his eyes on her face. “Thank you.” “Hey, we’re not there yet, you can thank me later. Let’s make sure you’re all okay, right now. Come on, I’ll get you to the car and get you warmed up.” He didn’t touch her as he led her to it, opening the door; Meares would put the heat on for her, he’d pull up to the hospital and they could do tests and maybe he’d get some more evidence from her… And she’d remember too, once she was over the shock, he was sure. He slid his mobile out of his pocket, calling his partner as he jogged around to the driver’s side of the car, indicated that he should meet Meares at the hospital and they could figure it out from there. The detective paused, looking back at the building for just a moment as he opened the door… There was just once problem he couldn’t quite figure out here. “Where the fuck is my actual body, though?!”

** You kept glancing across to the detective as he sped towards the hospital, and you did mean that – Meares was running every light and had his blue lights flashing. He looked on the verge of his 40’s, messy greying black hair and piercing blue eyes – though the true colour seemed fleeting as they changed with his emotions. And those were all over the place right now, that much was obvious. Although he appeared to be being the gentleman, sometimes he couldn’t help but look over at you – and his glances to your body weren’t very fleeting, either. In a normal situation you supposed you would be flattered, but right now you were having doubts you could trust him to be taking you where he said he was. ‘No… He’s a detective. He surely wouldn’t take advantage of that?’ or, maybe he would; how much did you know about Meares anyway? Maybe not a lot; but he was very easy to read on the surface so you didn’t think that figuring him out was going to be much of a challenge. Eventually you started seeing the Hospital signs and could breathe a real sigh of relief; okay… you could trust him. Upon pulling up you noticed several other police vehicles waiting around outside – all with their lights also flashing. You gasped and visibly shrank back in your seat; Meares turned to you. “Don’t worry, I called for backup, they’re good guys. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He opened his car door. “I’ll be very quick, okay, just wait here. We’ll get you checked up.” You reached for his hand before he had a chance to leave and held him there for a minute, Meares thought that you might be about to thank him, but that wasn’t what came out of your mouth: “Y/N.” “…What?” “…My name. You asked my name.” You found yourself taken aback by how gentle and sweet his smile was, “Y/N, you remembered… That’s good progress. Real good progress.” His large hand enveloped yours for a second, “Excellent! Now just, wait here, the hospital will help you out!” By the time Detective Meares exited the car and found his partner he was panicking again, “God damn, Meares-! What the hell is going on!” “You tell me! They send me to a crime scene where somebody is supposed to have been cut through, and I find a live woman there? What happened to all the investigators!? Anyway, that isn’t the point, she’s sitting in my car, I don’t know who she is – she’s barely remembered her first name – she doesn’t know how she got there and she’s half naked! And that’s only cuz she has my jacket! Who does that to a girl and leaves her in the middle of a crime scene!?” Reddick wiggled his eyebrows, “Naked ehhhhhh?!” Meares immediately hit him, “No! She’s a victim, quite possibly a witness once we get through to her!” Although his face burned, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought the same thing. “…Well they knew someone would find her in a crime scene?” “Logical if it was accidental but then evidence has been moved, where’s the logic there, huh?” “Maybe forensics has the body.” “…Then why send me with the damn report like a body is there?” “Because they don’t like you, Meares?” “Fuck that. No wonder this department is a laughing stock…” He sighed angrily, “Look, if we have the body, great, but someone has tampered with that scene, and there’s either a secondary scene for her, or new forensic evidence at this one. Get down there with some people and figure it out.” His partner groaned, “Why me!?” “Because I’M staying with the victim for questioning, and hospital test results. I found her, her mind is clearly fragile, right now I am the familiar face-!” “Shouldn’t you be telling the department all this?” Meares glared at him, “Quit whining! Sure, I’ll do it. Can you please get down there – I really don’t want to leave her alone too long!” “Fine… fine, I’m going, but then get them to come straight out to me.” Reddick peered around his friend, “She’s a good-looking girl.” “Y-Yeah.” Meares also turned on the spot, you were looking at the hospital nervously, chewing your lip, “She is.” “And you’ve seen her naked.” There was a waiver of amusement in the other Detective’s voice, Meares turned back to him, snapping: “Will you get out of here!” ** Meares hung around in the hospital as long as he could before they forced him to leave to conduct their tests. Not before he took your hands and promised you he’d be back as soon as they let him. You did trust him, you knew that already – right now he seemed like the only person you could trust; and he’d brought you to a hospital and he trusted them to take care of you. You took a deep shaky breath as he let you go, but you knew everything was going to be okay. Once outside he called his superiors to tell them the news. That he’d found a secondary victim and that Reddick was back at the scene to retrieve any other evidence – luckily that was met positively and a forensics team was dispatched. Although Meares did mutter something about lack of communication under his breath. He had to voice his concern now: “There were no police or detectives on the scene – things have been moved, or must be missing. Someone got a second body in there between them packing up and me arriving. And conveniently no one was around to see anything!? And if I just missed them, then I’d say the killer was watching us, or the building. You have the body right-!?” “Yes. Meares, don’t you worry about that.” “Why send me with paper work?! This all seems fairly suspicious to me!” He was rambling and he knew that he probably shouldn’t have let that become more than just a thought, but Meares couldn’t help it. “You’re not shouting conspiracy, Meares?” “Are you giving me reason to?” There was silence for a moment, before a heavy sigh, “We’ll put you on the case team, see what you can get from our live victim.” “Thank you, Sir. They’re going to call me when the tests are finished.” With that they both hung up, but Meares couldn’t help but think that something was going on: after all, he wouldn’t exactly have called that answer straight. Much more like a bribe not to mention it. Someone isn’t saying something Meares… Watch your back… Was the only conclusion he could draw, dropping his mobile into his pocket he leant his head back against the waiting room wall and closed his eyes. He’d figure it out; that was his job. *** He was woken by a nurse, who led him into a back room. “Well, it’s all fairly conclusive Detective.” “I do like easy.” Meares grinned, but she didn’t find his joke attempt amusing, so he cleared his throat, “What happened to her?” “A fairly heavy dosage of sedative. Ketamine.” “She was drugged? That makes sense… isn’t that like a date rape drug?” “Correct. Although the rape kit has come back negative. And she didn’t ingest it, it was injected into her.” “Someone really knew what they were doing.” She nodded, “She’s not a regular user?” “No. No recent tracks or scars in her skin, she’s clean apart from this.” Meares nodded, mulling the information over, “You say fairly heavy… enough for the memory loss she’s experiencing? There’s also gotta be a reason why I didn’t realise she was alive, right? But Ketamine elevates heart rate?” “In small doses – but this wasn’t a small does, Detective. As for her memory, I wouldn’t say so but it could be a stress reaction, we don’t know what else happened to her tonight, or at any other point. It doesn’t have to be related to the drug.” “I guess I’ll only find out when her memory returns.” “Yes, but she’s doing very well, she’s certainly open to talking to you – in fact she asked for you.” “No doubt, do you think she’s ready for questions?” “Go easy on her, Detective.” “Oh, I promise.” Meares nodded, and he meant it, “Just one last thing. I found her at a crime scene, we had a body that had been almost completely lacerated. When I turn up on the scene her body is in the same place. Could… could it have killed her?” “Any sedative in a high amount could yes, but not the amount in her. Perhaps it is only to sedate the victims until the killer is ready to…” the nurse paused, not willing to spout conjecture, “I will say this, at least, she’s very, very lucky you found her Detective. Less she become just like your body.” “On that, I’m sure we can all agree.” When Meares reappeared in the room that you’d been set up in, your heart couldn’t help but give a flutter of excitement – he surely was a very attractive man, and kind too, although you weren’t sure if you could call him your knight in shining armour. A knight in one-hell-of-a-suit, maybe. Though you noticed his shirt was untucked and his tie a little more slacked than it had been previously. You were dressed in a hospital gown now, but you were still clutching his jacket. His scent was unfamiliar to you, but it was one you liked. Meares sat next to you, once again taking your hand in his; you thought your pulse might run wild and suddenly felt light headed – but you controlled it. “How are you feeling?” “Alright, considering what happened… And thanks to you, god knows what would have happened if-” He stilled you, “Hey, you don’t need to think about that. Sounds like you were on one hell of a trip!” the grin indicated he had just cracked a joke, although your laugh was more embarrassed than anything else, “I… suppose.” “I’m sorry-” His eyes left yours, “I have… never been too good with my comedic timing. I wanted to ask though, Y/N, if you’d be up for answering some questions of mine?” You weren’t sure how much help you’d be, but you certainly wanted to help him. “Of course, Meares, anything.” Anything. His heart almost skipped at that, heat rushing back to places it had no business being. Anything was a big word, and he could think of plenty of things he wanted that were certainly not appropriate to bring up right now! He took a slow breath, c’mon. Be professional! For once! “Well, hey, we have your name now at least. And I have a little data on you from the hospital – with your consent to use it, of course. So, I know your address, we can get you back home, maybe that’ll help too.” Yes, he had your name, and you certainly liked the way he said it. “Oh, of course, use whatever will help your case.” Meares nodded gently, “Well, let’s start simple, do you remember what you were wearing?” “Uhm. Yes.” Although you chewed your lip, blushing – and he caught the red. “It’s okay, it stays in this room.” “Just a short black dress, off shoulder, low cut. Maybe even very low cut. Small split up the side… I remember… I remember thinking that I had to wear my sexiest dress. That was very important.” He raised an eyebrow, “Hot date?” “I-I don’t think so.” Although maybe you’d count this… interview… “Shoes?” “Good heels, yes. But also black, nothing fancy. Uhm, some… obscure brand that you only find in stores like T.K.Maxx…” “So we’re looking for a dress and heels. That’s good, you’re doing great.” He squeezed your hand, “Anything else?” You shook your head, “No, I… I wasn’t wearing-” “Oh. Oh, no, that’s- That’s okay… Dress, heels. We’re hoping your items are at a secondary crime scene. So, any detail is good. Do you remember anything, about where you were?” “…Some crowded part of town. I know, that doesn’t help any but…” “Well, do you have any idea what time? We have plenty of ways of figuring out where – sounds like you’re heading for a night out.” “Yeah, uh, 9:30, maybe closer to 10?” You scrunched your face, “That’s habitual. I don’t think I was meeting someone…” “Well, there’s security footage in the busy parts of town as you can imagine, so, I’ll get a team working on that.” “Thank you.” You took his other hand, and instinct laced your fingers with his, “Meares, I… I don’t know what I would have done if-” “I said don’t think on it. You’re safe. Keep moving forward, okay? Well, okay, maybe any information you do remember would still be good!” You giggled, then gathered his jacket and held it out for him, “And for this, especially.” “Oh!” He looked a little bashful for a second, “It’s not anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.” “But it was you.” There was another silence of understanding as you looked into each other’s eyes; his really did change just like weather. “No…” His tone was quiet, and he pushed it back at you, “Keep it. It looks good on ya.” “Y-You think?” “Mhm.” That small smirk was playful, and made more than just your stomach flutter. Oh… “Well, I guess I should thank you once more, detective.” “Don’t mention it… Just keep talking, maybe that’ll trigger something.” He had the right idea, but for the investigation it proved rather fruitless. Eventually he stopped you, just because you were getting so worked up about it not being useful. But he did learn a little bit about your life, even the most random of details helped Meares build up a picture of you, and that could really help him figure out the ‘why you’. It wasn’t necessarily the same person that had done this to you as had killed the first victim, but if it was there could be a connection somewhere. Perhaps a crime of opportunity, but that was down to Meares and his detective skills to figure out. Some details that you could remember were patchier than others, and as you struggled with the want to give him more information you became less forthcoming with anything you thought was unusable. Meares had taken notes and finally pocketed his notebook. “Y/N, I promise you, everything you’ve told me is important. It helps us build a profile of the person we need to catch too. Maybe there’ll be similarities between you and our victim. Trust me, in an investigation like this no detail is useless or too insignificant. Everything counts. And you’re brave for going through this with me.” He stood, leaning forward he kissed your forehead and you gasped, making him think that once again he’d screwed up professionally. Though Meares was hardly sure he was thinking professionally at the moment; you were a nice girl. Someone he’d actually want to hang out with… that wasn’t just your body talking to him, although that was a somewhat delightful image still burned into his head. He would do anything to bring the person who had done this to justice, he vowed that to himself. “Stay in the hospital tonight, just make sure you’re okay and I’ll come back in the morning, alright?” You nodded, “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Meares.” Today, by the looks of his watch, but it was still dark. Not tomorrow until you’ve been to bed-! was a rule he liked living by. “Goodnight, Y/N. Try to get some rest.” You smiled, watching him leave, and wishing he didn’t have to go: “Goodnight Detective, you too.” *** Meares did turn up at the hospital the next day for you, and seen as they were good with discharging you, he offered to drive you home. At first you thought that would be fine but, under Meares’ gaze in his car, this time your heart kept running away with your thoughts. He really was gorgeous, and now you were seeing him in natural lighting those blue eyes were even more stunning. Even when you stole glances at him and traced that side profile… Should you be thinking this way about him? Meares was supposed to be investigating what had happened to you, after all. You doubted he’d be able to have a relationship with you; not when the investigation was open. He’d noticed these shy little glances of yours and could barely hold that smirk back, you must have been checking him out. Meares was fine with that of course – and this morning you’d walked out of hospital with his jacket on, and he wasn’t reserved about admiring you in it, especially now sitting in his car again. He knew your address but he was certainly taking the scenic route, Meares’ drive was leisurely at most. Once he did pull up at your home, you were both clearly disappointed. You hesitated, staring up at your front door. Thinking he should probably be being the gentleman right now, Meares rounded the vehicle to open the car door for you – but you just kept staring forward. “I don’t want to go.” Your voice was timid, but he still caught it. “What? Why? You’re home.” “I don’t feel safe here. Not alone.” You shook your head, seemingly shrinking back into your seat, “I can get people posted, or watching the house, if you’re not comfortable.” You shook your head again, “What if whoever did this is watching the house-!? What if they’re waiting for me to be alone, Detective?!” Meares opened his mouth to try to calm you down, but this time his joke faltered. He couldn’t forgive himself if something happened before he arranged for someone to watch out for you. “Y/N… I don’t know what else I can really do with you.” Your big eyes looked up to his, pleading, “Can’t I stay with you? For a little? Until I feel safe again.” He almost did a double take, and hoped he looked level and not like he was about to punch the air – a little like what was happening in his head – “…I don’t know if my supe’s are gonna like that. But I can sure ask. They might pull me off the case to do it. But your safety should be paramount, and you’re a key witness. It’s just-” You knew exactly what he was getting at but tilted your head, “Just what, detective?” Meares for once opted not to run his mouth, and swallowed thickly eyes flicking down your body again – he hoped inconspicuously – “…It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll call them. I have a spare room, don’t you want to collect some things first… though?” So, Meares found himself dropping you at his house. Although he didn’t see how this was helpful for you, considering he still had to leave you alone and work on the case at the precinct. He guessed no one was going to think of finding you here. And, obviously, he was secretly elated… Even though Meares guessed he was about to get heavily reprimanded for this. And he was laid into quite hard, despite his – fairly calm – explanation as to why. Oh yes, of course he wanted to raise his voice, yell about it to be heard – but he didn’t think that would help him in keeping you at his. Upon offering to hand the case to someone else in exchange for making sure you were truly safe, his superior immediately scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve done the hard work.” “I don’t want to compromise anything!” “You should have thought about that before you agreed to let her stay.” “So pull me off, like I said. You have my write up… She’s scared, she doesn’t remember things, I found her… I just think giving her some familiarity and comfort right now is a good idea.” “Familiarity? In a house she’s never seen before?” “You… know what I mean.” “Just, be sensible, Meares.” “Yes Sir.” “You do know how to do that, don’t you?” Meares made the mistake of laughing, and it wasn’t met well, before he turned serious: “Y-Yes. Of course.” The case itself brought about good progress very quickly, with all your files back from the hospital and his own notes – coupled with what they knew about the victim, and witness interviews begun, the team were beginning to shape a picture of events. Fingerprints and DNA helped narrow the list of people who would have been around the warehouse recently, and soon interviewing witnesses became interviewing suspects. Your dress and shoes had been found well within a mile radius from the warehouse, and whilst sweeping the areas around, needles – one containing Ketamine – were also recovered with the DNA of both you and the victim. General consensus was the killer had tampered with the crime scene. That raised questions of its own; why, and how had they been able to? Meares believed that’d lead to some internal investigation – and he was still mindful to be cautious around others in the department - but right now catching this person was paramount. *** Your relationship continued to grow. Although Meares was very careful with what he told you. You understood why, this was his job on the line after all. But of course he kept you updated on your own case; he was determined to catch the person who did this. It was good to see how joyous he became the more information he gathered, and how Meares would always announce ‘we’re close!’ if you asked for an update. You weren’t sure exactly how true that was, considering he’d been saying that for weeks, but you couldn’t help but be happy that he was happy. Detective Meares made you feel safe, safer than you had been for a long time. And as you started to remember little pieces that would help him, Meares got excited to grab his little recorder to make sure he had everything right. You continued to get closer, and you were sure by now you’d outstayed your welcome at his place and you should be heading back home – but neither of you raised the subject of you leaving, and he never asked if you were safe enough to go home, even though it was obvious by your attitude and body language that you were. It started slow – to build to something more than the victim and the detective who had saved your life (probably), you were sitting on the couch together watching TV. Not even a movie, just news reports, but you leaned into him, head on his shoulder. For a moment Meares tensed – not in an uncomfortable, ‘I don’t want this’ way, but in a ‘is this really happening?!’ way. Meares didn’t dare breathe for a minute, and yet as if to prove how much you meant it, you cuddled into him a little more, soaking up his bodily warmth. Meares’ smirk was a little too smug, but you were smiling too, and your cheeks began to hurt as his arm snaked around your shoulders and he pulled you a little closer. Meares knew he probably shouldn’t be doing this. But, fuck it, when had he ever really listened to rules and procedure? You were beautiful, no, you were gorgeous. Wasn’t it the first thing he’d noticed about you anyway? He pulled your body into his, hand settling on your waist; and you didn’t complain. Maybe Meares was right, maybe you wanted him as bad too. Was that a good thing? Well, he knew he would certainly choose to believe it was.

 Pretty soon that dynamic changed, and cuddling on the couch turned into making out on the couch. It didn’t take much persuasion; he’d been staring at you like that ever since he’d first met you and you were certainly hot on him too. As you both leaned closer Meares tilted his head, smirking “Whatcha thinking about Angel Face?” And how you almost returned his smirk as you looked deep into those ever-changing blue eyes, “Kissing you.” Angel Face - That was his nick-name for you, even if he wouldn’t admit how he came to that conclusion, and it just stuck. You soon found out that if you ran your fingers through his hair Meares would groan into the kiss - and it was no wonder that he always liked his hair being messed up. Clearly it was even better for him when you did it. Professionalism be damned, the detective was not about to resist you. And he’d offered to be off the case, fair and square, he didn’t see how they could blame him now. Especially when you looked like that.

Being with him was just so easy; old enough to know better, young enough to still be playful - but he could bounce back from any fuck ups, a little headstrong and rough around the edges… No one was ever perfect though. A good man, even if he spent his time making inappropriate comments or jokes - just as often in content as in his timing. But all of that just made you love him more, that attractive face of his (not to mention his voice) was the best bonus. It only made you wonder what was under his clothes… after all, he already knew what was under yours. And you were fairly certain that was an image burned into his head.

This meant Meares had a particular way of staring at you; you wouldn’t call it predatory, but it had that kind of effect on you. Your pulse ran and your eyes widened and sometimes you struggled to breathe against the weight of his stare; drawing his eyes slowly up and down your body, tilting himself to get better views of you. The way his lips parted and he ran his fingertips over them, or sometimes his tongue before he smirked. Of course he wondered when he’d get to see you naked again. You weren’t sure if that made you more or less scared of it being an eventuality. Sometimes you shied away from him completely. Sometimes you had the confidence but found yourself unable to speak it.

Today was not either of those. Today the stars aligned all from a seemingly innocent sentence. If Meares hadn’t wondered aloud if you were ready to return back to your own house then you probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take his hand and turn him back to you. You found the words to be honest: “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone. Or without you. Again.” For the first time Meares saw something in you that he hadn’t before. Whilst the sentence had been said in all innocence there was a wildness in your eyes. An untameable force that somehow you were holding back. You very nearly stole his breath with that look alone. He kissed you hard and fast; slipping out of his own jacket before reaching out to pull your hips to his.

When he broke away from you, the look on your face was of slight wonder. Yet that wildness was still there - and the trembling he felt under his fingertips was not because you were nervous and scared. It was because of what you were holding back: this didn’t match the personality that you’d been showing off to him; shy and sweet and delicate. Meares wondered which was real, this or the girl he thought you were just pretending to be. Cupping your face in his large hands his next kiss was delicate, lips barely touching yours. “Don’t hold back now Angel Face.”

He found himself yanked back to you almost angrily by his tie, the look in your eyes not hiding now. Oh, you didn’t intend to.

 ***

 He was falling for you. And hard. Meares didn’t want to call it love yet, but he thought it could be. He wasn’t sure he was simply in lust with you - but he’d keep that option on the table. You were always lingering in the back of his mind, and now he knew what your sex was like you weren’t just an image of a naked body, but a whole experience. And every so often you’d use this to your advantage, and send him pictures that made him smirk and text eagerly back: ‘Bad girls get put in handcuffs, you know?’

 Of course, all this had to happen right around the time of the major case break through. And not a breakthrough Meares particularly wanted. One day he was called down to the forensics room, and was faced with a mix of items of both yours and the first victims. They had been through everything again, and again, and again and nothing. Meares hoped that today was the day they’d finally find something that would help. “Detective, we will have to simply call it.” “We can’t give up on them! The killer is still out there!” “There’s nothing more we can do. Nothing - if we go on evidence alone now, logically there’s conclusions that must be drawn.” Meares sighed and placed his hands flat on the table, stretching his body back behind him; “Give it to me again.” “There’s NO other DNA in that warehouse, on her clothes, nothing.” “No other person?” “None.” “No evidence that anyone else was involved?” Meares wanted there to be another angle, something beyond what he felt – with dread – that this was all building to. “No. And we have tested and retested everything.” As you well know, this seemed to say. “…What about our first body?” “Well, here’s the interesting thing.” “What?” And why hadn’t this ‘interesting thing’ been raised!? Meares knew he sounded more annoyed than he did elated at this potential breakthrough. “Same sedative.” “So what, they were coming back for her?” That didn’t make things any better. He certainly was glad he’d found you if that was the conclusion. There was awkward hesitation, before the technician cleared his throat: “…Prints on the syringe are hers.” Meares raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding: “They… forced her to do it to… herself?” “Meares…” The look was pointed, “You know what the evidence is saying.”

Meares set his tablet up on the kitchen side, staring at it hard, before taking a stylus and trying to connect all the dots virtually. He’d been trying to do this in the office all day - and he almost had it but there were blanks that he was drawing that he still didn’t understand. They could easily have forced you into it, he doubted they’d forced you to inject someone else. But he suspected they could have had you self-inject. That’s what Meares wanted, but that wasn’t what the evidence was saying. That was never what the evidence was saying.

He had to be sure, and he’d found the security tapes of the warehouse opposite: terrible quality of course, and grainy. They’d already been dismissed by the team as being insufficient to gather anything from. But if you looked hard enough, if you knew what you were looking for, you’d find it. And he unfortunately did. This figure that he was seeing was you. It had to be you - it wasn’t like he could see your face, but he was living with you. He knew your body, he knew the way walked, the attitude you put into steps. This wasn’t that shy act either, this was careful and calculating. The person he knew, sure, but there was a horrendous chill that ran up his spine. Like he was watching some kind of horror movie. No one else went in or out of the warehouse after you. Then you came back out - he fast forwarded all the police investigators turning up - but you returned later… then nothing, until he showed up. And Meares knew the rest.

 “Oh. SHIT.” His head bent forward and he rested it on the cold side. It’s you. It had to be you. Meares couldn’t help but admit his heart was a little broken, that he felt a little nervous and sick. Where were you? Were you here? A killer in his house; someone he trusted, he had feelings for, that he’d told about his life. Was everything you’d told him about yourself a lie? You didn’t remember anything, because there was nothing to remember. You’d killed someone, drugged yourself to make yourself look like a victim… watched the warehouse while the police did their work… but why? The why had him so confused. And it was a question he couldn’t answer. Meares wouldn’t put you in handcuffs until he had the whole story.

 But he heard the sound behind him all too late, and as he straightened to react you grabbed him. Meares didn’t really have time to struggle, you’d been watching him - and bless his heart he was struggling. With the truth - but he didn’t know the whole truth just yet. You placed your hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out and sunk that needle in; no hesitation in injecting the heavy sedative into his veins. “Figured it out yet… Detective?”

 ***

 Meares took a little longer to come around from the sedative than you’d have liked. No doubt it was the same one that you had used on yourself and your victim. Damn did he feel like an idiot. And drowsy. And have one hell of a pounding headache.

Didn’t take very many of his detective skills to figure out he was tied to a chair, hands bound too. He thought back to that first description; bruising and ligature marks. Looking around it seemed a little like he’d been put back in another warehouse. Though this one looked a little cleaner than the one he’d been investigating. Eventually his eyes fell on the figure approaching him; and Meares glared.

“You?!? It was you all along?!?” He sounded much more hurt than he wanted to, “Why would you do that?!?” You stopped a few feet from him, hands in your pockets, head tipped as you surveyed his body. It was slightly gratuitous, but he could hardly complain about it after what he’d been doing to yours. Meares supposed that he should be thankful he wasn’t naked. Then again...

You took a breath, and once again answered too honestly. “For you.” Meares squinted, disbelieving: “What the fuck!?” That made no sense. “Are you kidding!?” You shook your head, “Detective Meares I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time. And is it any wonder, just look at you.” You paused, biting your lip seductively. He hated to admit it was almost working, “...What better way to finally meet you? And the fact that you were the first man on the scene for me. Couldn’t have worked out better.” He swallowed, backing up as far as the chair and restraints would allow: “There’s better ways to get my attention.” “Oh, but it did... didn’t it. Get your attention.” You took a step back, but your eyes didn’t leave his, “Or I did.”

Meares face was illuminated fairly well by the dim lighting, and his cheeks flushed. Yes - but he’d only admit that in his head right now. Of course you’d caught his attention. Look at you. You were gorgeous.  ‘She’s a fucking killer though, Meares, c’mon!’ Although he wasn’t really listening to that reasoning anymore as his eyes flicked up and down your body once more. He found himself struggling against the restraints. You smirked, “I wouldn’t do that, they’re your handcuffs.” Meares did the unexpected and smirked back, with a raised eyebrow, “Little kinky?” You gave him a look of amusement, but disappeared for a moment into the gloom. That made him panic a little and strain against the cuffs and binds again. No luck.

When you returned you placed a stool in front of his chair and sat opposite him, twisting the keys to his cuffs around your finger. “You want out?” Meares stared at the keys for a long while, before looking back to your face, then the keys, and then your face once more. When that gorgeous blue returned to the keys, Meares took a deep breath; he wouldn’t lie, he was in two minds here. ‘What’s she gonna do if I say yes, actually this is weirdly turning me on. If it weren’t for the context I’d actually quite like her to be in charge if we’re gonna fuck?...’ His eyes returned slowly to your face but you recognised that swallow; you knew exactly where Meares’ mind was at and what you were doing to him. That man was craving you, even now. “What are you gonna do to me? You gonna kill me now?” “Nothing you won’t like.”

A shiver of excitement ran his spine and he cursed himself, the widening of your smirk meant you’d seen it, and the way his pupils dilated. “I want answers.” “I don’t think you do. You want means and motive. I saw opportunity and your jurisdiction.” “You drugged yourself, stripped naked and… no maybe that was for me.” You enjoyed the way that blush rose on his face again. “Yes, Although I wasn’t really meant to inject quite so much sedative. I’m sure your labs will figure I have enough immunity to have got back to the crime scene after stripping off before it kicked in. And yes, of course for you.” You tilted your head, arms folded for a second, “I didn’t meant to go that hard; and it did affect my memory momentarily.” “You’ve… also obstructed the course of justice.” “There was no attack for me to remember.” “And the guy you… lacerated?” You shrugged, “Just some guy.” “...You- he was a random vic?” “Not entirely, but I’m sure you know by now he won’t be missed.” “You can’t just… do things like that.” Meares’ look was hard, his tone disgusted. “No, but I did.” “You’re psycho-!” “Little emotional there, detective.” He scoffed, “You expect me not to be?!” His eyes narrowed and for a moment hurt genuinely flickered across his face: “I can’t believe I fell for you, can’t believe I slept with you. Holy shit what have I got myself into-!?” “I just told you…” Your voice softened, and you leant forward, hands on his knees you pushed his legs apart. That shade of red on his face got deeper as his eyes widened: “So what, we’re gonna hate fuck now?” Your head tipped and you said it almost sweetly, “Not exactly.”

For a moment you left your stool and sat between his feet, arms up over his left thigh you leant against leg, eyes almost pure and innocent. “Oh. FUCK!” He had to voice something in realisation, after all. “Baby…” You ran your fingers up his inner thigh and loved the way he tensed under you, “Just let me take care of you.” “Y-Y/N…” His breathing hitched, should he want this? Shouldn’t he watch this? This was certainly going to fuck up his case. If it wasn’t already fucked. “You’re so god damn sexy when you’re frustrated…” Your voice purred and his body threatened to shudder once more. Meares felt himself getting hot, and that feeling was very quickly travelling down his body. “Geez, will ya just do it?!” His voice a mixture of anguish and yearning. There was underlying lust there too you were certain to capitalise on. You were certain you’d probably let him go; you didn’t want to have to kill him… What he would do to you, you weren’t sure. But you knew the implications of his relationship with you to the case. Well, he had warned them.

 You smiled gently, eager to please, pulling the stool forward with your foot you sat back on it, leaning up to kiss him. “Do you want out of the cuffs?” He thought about his hands in your hair, about the control that would give him. “Mhm…” His voice wavered with what he was trying to hold back, you reached behind him and unlatched them, “Don’t worry, Detective, I trust you…” “I don’t know if I trust you,” then he smirked, “Angel Face.” You tsked him, giving him one last slow kiss, before your hands travelled to his belt, “I probably should have told you not to call me Angel… but that might have given it all away…” “Oh yeah…” Meares groaned at the sound of his zip coming undone and you sank back onto the stool properly. “That woulda done it…” You leant back on his knees, smile playful, “Just relax, Meares. Enjoy yourself.” “I’m not sure I’m gonna call it that right now.” You ran your tongue across your lips to wet them, “We’ll see, Detective… I’m sure you’ll find a way to appreciate this.” “Well…” He breathed deep again as you forced his legs a little wider, bringing his hands around, just itching to tangle in your hair, “Won’t say I won’t love the view…”

---

Cheers guys, I owe ya!  🤣

[douchebagbrainwaves]

0 MEANS USING THE WEB AS A PLATFORM DIDN'T LIVE MUCH PAST THE FIRST CONFERENCE

This phrase began with musicians, who perform at night. Most are service businesses—restaurants, barbershops, plumbers, and so on. 0 conference would presumably be full of geeks, right? This side of the story: what an essay really is, and how you write one. Getting work makes him a successful actor, but he doesn't only become an actor when he's successful. Larry Page and Sergey Brin wanted to search the web. He was like Michael Jordan. But the first time around it was co-opted by Sun, and we got Java applets. Albrecht Durer did the same thing that makes everyone else want the stock of successful startups is that they're not. But there is also huge source of implicit tags that they ignore: the text within web links. The test of any investment is the ratio of return to risk, if both were lower.

I advised startups never to let anyone fly under them, meaning never to let any other company offer a cheaper, easier solution. Let's start with a promising question and get nowhere. Unfortunately, the question is a complex one. Especially if it meant independence for my native land, hacking. Another reason people don't work on big things, you seem to have been influenced by the Chinese example. Bertrand Russell wrote in a letter in 1912: Hitherto the people attracted to philosophy have been mostly those who loved the big generalizations, which were all wrong, so that few people with exact minds have taken up the subject. Originally, yes, there does seem to be several categories of cuts: things I got wrong, things that seem obvious in retrospect. All those unseen details combine to produce something that's just stunning, like a skateboard. Should you add x feature?

As an example of this rule; if you assume that knowledge can be represented as a list of predicate logic expressions whose arguments represent abstract concepts, you'll have a lot in the calculus class, but I know that when it comes to empathy are practically solipsists. 0 have in common. And yet if I had to write in school are not only not essays, they're one of the angels in his Baptism of Christ. And so hackers, like painters, must have empathy to do really great work. Does Web 2. In the best case—if you're really organized—if you're really organized—you're just writing it down. I found that what the teacher wanted us to do was pretend that the story had really taken place, and to know how to calculate time and space complexity and about Turing completeness.

What made it possible for small organizations to succeed in some domain, you have to compete with other local barbers. I read an interview with Joe Kraus, the co-founder of Excite. You can use the cram schools to show you where most of the 1970s. No doubt it was a description of Google? How to Start a Startup I advised startups never to let any other company offer a cheaper, easier solution. 7x a year, whereas a company that grows at 5% a week will 4 years later be making $7900 a month, which is one of those things that seem obvious in retrospect. It does seem to me very important to be able to get a day job that's closely related to your real work. Number two, research must be substantial—and as anyone who has written a PhD dissertation knows, the way to approach the current philosophical tradition may be neither to get lost in pointless speculations like Berkeley, nor to shut them down like Wittgenstein, but to get the rest you have sit through a movie.

The goal he announces in the Metaphysics was partly that he set off with contradictory aims: to explore the most abstract ideas, guided by the assumption that it was a waste of time? It's not considered insulting to say that life is too short for, the word that pops into my head is bullshit. I was a kid I was always being told to look at it. It's not just a barbershop whose founders were unusually lucky and hard-working. Web 2. They're not doing research per se, though if in the course of trying to discover them because they're useless, let's try to discover them because they're useful. In theory this sort of hill-climbing could get a startup into trouble. He has noticed that theoretical knowledge is often acquired for its own sake, out of curiosity, one of the first digital computers, Rod Brooks wrote, programs written for them usually did not work. Most businesses are tightly constrained in a.

And so began the study of ancient texts had such prestige that it remained the backbone of education until the late 19th century. Basically, what Ajax means is Javascript now works. As credentials are superseded by performance, a similar role is the best source of rapid change. Once you dilute a startup with ordinary office workers—with type-B procrastinating, no matter how much you're getting done. Most don't discover anything that remarkable, but some through luck or the efforts of their founders ended up growing very fast, we wouldn't need a separate word for startups, and in particular the most successful startups, or they'll be out of business and the people would be interested in painting. They work well enough in everyday life are fuzzy, and break down if pushed too hard. Musicians often seem to work in record stores. By which one defended it. Why are they so hot to invest in photo-sharing apps, rather than for any practical need. But unfortunately that was not the conclusion Aristotle's successors derived from works like the Metaphysics.

The reason credentials have such prestige is that for so long the large organizations in a market can come close. The Airbeds just won the first poll among all the YC startups in their batch by a landslide. By gradually chipping away at the abuse of credentials, you could probably make them more airtight. The next best, for startups that aren't charging initially, is active users. Perhaps not everyone can make an equally dramatic mark on the world; I don't know if Plato or Aristotle were the first to ask any of the hackers I know write programs. The people who want a deep understanding of what you're doing. Other times nothing seems interesting. And so instead of correcting the problem Aristotle discovered by falling into it—that you can easily get lost if you talk too loosely about very abstract ideas—they continued to fall into place. I've used both these excuses at one time or another. We didn't draw any conclusions.

But the two phenomena rapidly fused to produce a principle that now seems obvious: paying energetic young people market rates, and getting correspondingly high performance from them. For a painter, a museum is a reference library of techniques. They're interrupt-driven, and soon you are too. But schools change slower than scholarship: the study of ancient texts is a valid field for scholarship, why not start the type with the most potential? It's like having a vacuum cleaner hooked up to your imagination. Why not as past-due notices are always saying do it now? This was particularly true in consulting, law, and finance, where it led to the phenomenon of yuppies. That was as far as I'd gotten at the time. Only a tiny fraction are startups. To some extent you have to adjust the angle just right: you have to take these cycles into account, because they're affected by how you react to them. 6x 7% 33.

Thanks to Sam Altman, Abby Kirigin, and Anton van Straaten for putting up with me.

[aliteraryprincess]

The Firethorn Crown by Lea Doué

Warning: Contains spoilers

Welcome back to Fairy Tale Friday!  By popular vote, we are looking at another retelling of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.”  The timing couldn’t be better because this month marks the one year anniversary of this feature, and the first book I posted on was also a retelling of this tale.  You can read that post here.  Now let’s jump into The Firethorn Crown!

As a Retelling:

As with the majority of this tale’s retellings, The Firethorn Crown focuses on the eldest princess, Lily.  This is common because in the Grimms’ version of the tale--which is the best known--the soldier marries the eldest.  This is also the case with many variations, though in some it is the youngest instead.  Also following the German version, Lily’s love interest, Eben, is a former soldier.  Unlike in the various variations, Eben does not come into the picture after the princesses begin their nightly dancing.  He is their guard and has known them for years, which provides a strong relationship between him and Lily from the beginning of the book.

Also like the German version and the majority of other variations, Doué’s princesses dance in an underground realm.  However, the entrance the realm is in a different location than it is in most of the tales.  Usually the entrance is in the princesses’ bedroom, often beneath the bed of the eldest sister.  We can find this not just in the Grimms’ tale, but also in French, Russian, Romanian, and Danish variants, among others.  The entrance to Doué’s underground realm, called the undergarden, is in a hedge maze in the royal garden.  Most people avoid the maze since it’s dark and creepy, but the princesses enjoy playing in there.  They discover the undergarden while running through the maze trying to avoid Lord Runson, an unwanted suitor of Lily’s.  When they return each night, they have to sneak out of their room and into the garden.  There are a few variants that involve the princesses leaving their rooms to attend the balls, usually by flight.  In a Russian version called “Elena the Wise” the girls turn into doves while in the Hungarian “The Hell-Bent Misses” they fly on brooms.  The way the princesses in this book sneak out is more similar to how the final suitors in most of the tales follow them: they turn invisible.  Generally the suitor uses a magical article of clothing, such as a cloak or a cap, but in some versions he uses a flower from a magical plant.  Doué’s princesses gain the ability to become invisible when holding hands during their first trip to the undergarden.  They use this along with a series of distractions to get by the guards at their door.            

Doué borrows the concept of a curse causing the princesses to dance from the French and Romanian tales.  Most versions of this story are vague even by fairy tale standards, which allows her to create her own backstory behind the curse. Her villain is Tharius, a sorcerer prince cursed to live in the undergarden.  He can only leave if someone willingly marries him, rather in the style of “Beauty and the Beast.”  When Lily and her sisters enter the undergarden, he tricks them and lays a curse of his own to force them back each night so he can court Lily. The girls can’t speak about the curse, providing a reason for them to keep everything a secret, and Lily can’t speak at all outside of the undergarden.  This does not come from any version of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” that I know of, but it does have an origin in fairy tales such as “The Six Swans.”  Lily can only break the curse by declaring her love and having it returned.

While Doué does use a lot from the original stories, she also makes a number of changes.  The most interesting to me is the inclusion of the princesses’ mother.  In every version of the tale, their mother is either dead or not mentioned at all.  Every retelling I’ve encountered other than this has followed suit and killed her off, sometimes incorporating it into the plot, as in Princess of the Midnight Ball and Entwined.  Not only is she alive in The Firethorn Crown, she is also a large presence throughout the story.  In fact, it is her, not the king, who declares that anyone who solves the princesses’ mystery can marry one of them.  This is done in a moment of anger, and she ultimately doesn’t mean it.  However, it is said in front of witnesses, so she cannot redact it.  In the original tale, depending on how you choose to read it, the king can be seen as anything from well-meaning yet overprotective to an overbearing patriarchal figure trying to control his daughters’ autonomy.  Switching the father for the mother is a fascinating choice and is probably the most unique aspect of the book as a retelling.  Perhaps Doué felt a story of tension between mother and daughter would resonate more with a modern, teenage audience.  Whatever her reasoning, I liked the change!       

This leads to another notable change: neither Eben nor anyone else stays in the princesses’ quarters to find out their secret.  This plot point is featured in almost every version of the fairy tale, and I was surprised to see it left out here.  I’m not sure why Doué didn’t use it, but it could be because the timeline is condensed. In the fairy tale, we get the impression that the princesses have been wearing their shoes out night after night for months, if not years.  This provides enough time for each suitor to try and fail for three nights.  The Firethorn Crown takes place over the course of a few days, which obviously isn’t enough time for any of that to happen.  Another reason may be the issue of how creepy it is to let random men sleep in the princesses’ quarters.  It’s kind of hard to swallow from a modern perspective.  Even Eben, who is close with the girls, does not stay in their rooms.  He doesn’t even follow them without their knowledge.  When he goes to the undergarden, they actually bring him along so he can help.  The condensed timeline also causes one last change: the princesses don’t go through nearly as many shoes.  By my count, they only wear out two pairs each.  After the first pairs get ruined, one of the girls places an order for the new ones.  These get worn out quickly as well, but they never get more.  Their mother finds out about the new shoes and becomes furious.  It is at this point that she makes the declaration about marrying one of them to whoever solves the mystery.     

My Thoughts:

This is a solid retelling of the tale and an overall enjoyable read.  I cared about Lily and Eben, and I thought Doué handled the relationship well.  I was rooting for them the whole time.  And I always appreciate when there isn’t insta-love.  Tharius is also an intriguing villain.  He’s manipulative to the point where I wasn’t even sure if he was the villain for a while.  And even once I was sure, I still felt bad for him.  His actions are deplorable, but I understood his reasons.  I love finding a villain with a good, and even sympathetic, motive.

Even though I liked the book, there were several problems that kept my rating from being higher.  The first is a problem that plagues most retellings of this story: the characterization of the princesses suffers due to the number of them.  The only one I felt I knew was Lily; the rest I couldn’t even really tell apart.  I talked about this same issue in my post on Princess of the Midnight Ball and in my (really old) review of Entwined (which you can read here).  I remain convinced that the only way to solve this is to cut out some princesses, as Juliet Marillier does in Wildwood Dancing.  Not all variants of this tale use twelve girls; there are Hungarian, Russian, and Czech versions that feature three and Danish and Portuguese versions that only have one.  

My other big problem is the lack of explanation we get for some characters’ motivations and backstories.  The queen’s motivations in particular confused me.  We are told early on that the king has allowed Lily to take her time choosing a husband.  He is mostly absent during the story, and it seems that as soon as he’s gone the queen starts pushing Lily to make a choice.  She nags her about supposedly leading Lord Runson on and sets up private outings with a visiting prince.  When Lily isn’t speaking due to the curse, the queen gives her a deadline in order to force her into making a choice.  We’re never given a reason for any of this, so she just ends up seeming like a controlling jerk.  I was also left with a lot of questions regarding the relationship between Lily and Lord Runson.  At some point before the start of the story, the two were good friends. However, some kind of betrayal occurred and caused Lily to hate him.  We never get any other information on this backstory, and I really want to know.  Since he is a major part of the story, it felt like it should have been explained more.        

My Rating: 3 stars

Other Reading Recommendations:

The starred titles are ones I have read myself.  The others are ones I want to read and may end up being future Fairy Tale Friday books.  To keep the list from getting too long, I’m limiting it to four that I’ve read and four that I haven’t.

Other Retellings of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”:

Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier*

Princess of the Midnight Ball by Jessica Day George*

Entwined by Heather Dixon*

The Door in the Hedge by Robin McKinley*

The Night Dance by Suzanne Weyn

House of Salt and Sorrows by Erin A. Craig

The Midnight Dancers by Regina Doman

The Girls at the Kingfisher Club by Genevieve Valentine 

More Retellings by Lea Doué:

The Midsummer Captives

The Red Dragon Girl

The Moonflower Dance

Snapdragon

Red Orchid

Mirrors and Pearls

About the Fairy Tale:

Twelve Dancing Princesses Tales from Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner*

Coming in July:

Thank you to everyone who voted in the July poll!  “Rapunzel” won, and the retelling of it that I picked just came into the library this evening!  The post will hopefully be up by the second week of July.  “Bluebeard” and “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” tied for second place, and I’m not quite sure what to do about that.  I could try to do both, but I’m not sure if I’ll have time.  I have options on the way for both tales.  If I can only do one, does anyone have a preference? Comment to let me know! 

Have a recommendation for me to read or a suggestion to make Fairy Tale Friday better?  Feel free to send me an ask!

[dreadhaus-literature]

“Evidence.”

“Guys...don’t panic but...I think we’re in Silent Hill.”

All heads in the party swiveled toward Michael “Booster Gold” Carter, who was looking around the horrifying landscape with his mouth agape. Beside him, Wade “Deadpool” Wilson had a matching expression, visible under his mask, but the duo that made up “DeadGold” or “Boosterpool” or “DeadBooster” or “PoolGold” (arguably the dumbest out of all the name combinations based on a Haus poll that nearly broke the network in everyone’s rush to condemn it) were the only two who didn’t seem to know this was the intended place to be.

Tony “Iron Man” Stark was looking between the two besties with his trademark “you’re an idiot” face, his square jaw tightening for a moment or two before he spoke.

“Yeah, what was your first piece of evidence to that, Booster, was it the giant fucking sign to our right?” Tony didn’t miss a beat. “And why the hell are you two here, again?”

“Because, Daddy-in-law, Mommi’s here!” Wade threw his gloved hands up with a squeal of unbridled excitement.

Tony’s lip all but curled. “I’ve told you about calling me that--”

“Can you be my Daddy-in-law, too?” Michael cut in. “I’ll marry one of your other sons if you want to make it like, really official. Or would marrying Wade be enough--”

“Mikey~” Wade all but purred. “If you want to propose to me you’ve got to do it on both knees, holding one of my hands and one of Mommi’s hands--”

“Touch her and I’m sending you two to the Otherworld.” Carol “Captain Marvel” Danvers was another member of this particular party, and she was giving Michael and Wade a look that said she meant what she said, but she shot Monica a grin and a wink when the smaller woman looked up at her.

“So this isn’t the Otherworld?” Michael looked around, unfamiliar with this particular place. Wade, on the other hand, was not. He’s irritated Alessa enough to be sent here before.

“Nopey nope, this is the Smog World.”

...But apparently that still wasn’t enough for him to actually learn something.

“Fog World,” Monica corrected gently, unable to help looking away when Wade turned the full brunt of his suffocating attention on her.

“Oh Mommi you’re so smart!” Wade threw his heavily muscled arms around her petite shoulders, nuzzling his masked cheek against hers.

“What did I tell you about touching her?” Carol cut in, half-joking, but it was Tony who pinched Wade’s masked ear between two of his fingers and hauled him off Monica.

“Move it, buddy, I need to get started with the reason we’re all here.” Tony didn’t add it was because he was selfish and every time someone touched Monica who wasn’t him (or best buddy Al or Batsy Bruce) he got prickly.

“Why are we here?” Monica asked. “I was joking when I told Dottie I’d want to tackle Silent Hill if I got a kiddie version of it. I don’t really need to tame Silent Hill. I’d be okay if I didn’t.”

Tony’s smile reached his eyes listening to Monica speak and he couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to her forehead as he attached something similar to his glowing arc reactor to the front of her shirt with careful, loving fingers. A Daddy’s mindful touch.

“I wanted to test the newest prototype for your Safety Suit,” Tony explained. “Carebear needs to be here because she keeps teasing me about how your suit isn’t very safe--”

“Ohmygod you call her Carebear?!” Michael looked between Tony and Carol with a boyish grin, blond hair bouncing. Wade had his gloved hands clasped to his cheek.

Carol slowly slid her gaze to Tony, who wasn’t looking at her but rather using nimble, calloused fingers to gingerly adjust the reactor on Monica’s chest. The fog was so dense around them it swirled between his fingers and despite the group standing so close together, occasionally visibility between them dipped and cast each other in ominous shadow. The Family was safe and together but the ambiance of Silent Hill couldn’t be ignored and Monica gave in to a little chill that was partly due to the ice of the fog (who knew fog could be so cold?) and partly because...they were in Silent Hill.

“I’m going to regret asking this, but...what does S.A.F.E.T.Y. stand for?” Carol slipped her leather jacket off after noticing Monica shiver, slipping it around her little’s petite shoulders. “Here you go, baby,” she murmured quietly, rubbing her hands up and down Monica’s arms to help bring some warmth back to her sun-kissed skin.

“T-Thank you, Carol.”

“Mommy,” Carol winked back, before Tony answered the first question--partly in an attempt to stop Carol flirting with Monica.

“Safely Affording Felina Effective Tranquility Yearly.”

Carol blinked, several times. “...What?”

“Okay, Spaceface, you come up with a better acronym for SAFETY.” Tony straightened up, giving absolutely zero time for Carol to do that--mostly because no one upstages Tony Stark, especially in front of his little girl. “I didn’t know a Safety Suit needed an acronym when what it does is in the title.”

“Well I mean it makes sense to me,” Michael cut in, scratching his head. “With the acronym you know it’s Felina’s safety suit. Like it’s supposed to keep her safe, not anyone else.”

Tony gestured with one hand toward Michael, but Carol was not impressed.

“You’re taking a Win from Wade’s best friend?”

Tony shrugged one broad shoulder. “I’ve taken one from Barton so what’s the difference?”

Carol laughed. “Fine, you got me there. So this suit is actually going to work?”

“T-The suits always work!!” Monica couldn’t help interject, giving her little arms a flap inside Carol’s jacket. “I’m just a wuss!”

“You’re not a wuss, angel.” Tony shook his dark head, giving her a charming smile. “But this way, Daddy gets to be the one to keep you safe. And to answer your ill-phrased question, Bestie, this suit works like a charm. She’ll be able to see and interact with the monsters she encounters but they won’t be able to see her to fuck with her.”

“Yeah, that was a huge problem with the last one.” Carol couldn’t help but jab at her best friend once more, who looked none too pleased about that.

“I’m going to ignore you’re making it sound like it’s my fault monsters act like monsters and just move on to the demonstration of Monica’s amazing new suit.” Tony reached out and tapped two fingers on the reactor secured to Monica’s chest and instantly, the same nanites that make up Tony’s trademark armor were sliding over Monica’s body like a warm hug, almost as if she had warm honey pouring over her. The helmet was the final touch and before the alloy faceplate slid over her, Tony leaned down and stole a kiss.

In a matter of seconds Monica was encased in her own Iron Armor (not the first she’s ever owned, Tony works on improvements to her Iron Armor all the time) but this particular prototype was exclusively for any horror realities and simulations Monica may find herself in, such as exploring the world of her Soma game. It resembled Tony’s armor in design (selfishly, possessively, he wanted anyone who saw her in it to know he’d made it for her) but fit her perfectly and was decorated in the most beautiful sea-sapphire blue. The reactor in her chest was shaped like the infinity symbol (what he knew to be her favorite) and within the helmet Monica was connected to JARVIS as well as her own GHOST AI, working in tandem to help keep her from being overloaded with information at any given moment.

“How’s it feel, honey?” Carol came around the front and as Monica turned to look at her, the interface put a little square around her face and began listing Carol’s name, stats, and threat level--which of course was at zero, since Carol would never hurt Monica.

“It feels good! Really cool--Daddy can I fly?!” Monica turned to Tony, who couldn’t help but laugh and nod.

“Of course. You’ve got my repulsor tech just like in your Armor.”

Michael and Wade, meanwhile, were ooo’ing and aww’ing as they walked in circles around Monica, all but fanboying at seeing their favorite girl looking like the badass super-villain she was, clad head to toe in armor that would protect her from any and all threats.

“So that’s why we’re here. We need to test the new tech against some monsters and where better than Silent Hill?” Tony looked up, though he wasn’t exactly sure how this worked. “Uh, Alessa? We’re ready, go ahead and start.”

It seemed the little girl was listening because as soon as Tony finished speaking, the air raid siren started up, screaming it’s fury as the fog rushed from around them as if a giant had taken a single, deep breath. The eerie light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere dissipated and was replaced by the darkest night any of them had seen, as if the giant had then swallowed them whole. The siren shrieked it’s outrage one final time before dying in the darkness and leaving stark silence in it’s wake...

...but that didn’t last long.

The sound of heavy flesh being dragged along asphalt reached the group’s ears and even inside her armor, the sound was a little unsettling to Monica’s ears. Out of the darkness directly in front of them came something that...resembled roadkill. It was mangled, bloody and oozing, and it’s limbs were at horrid angles as it dragged itself relentlessly forward--but it’s slow pace quickened as it “saw” them. Monica had no idea how, it didn’t seem to have a head, only limbs and a mangled body mass that would likely crush any of them if it connected with them. And it seemed to be barreling toward them like a runaway semi, further adhering itself to it’s “roadkill” imagery.

“All right sweetie, what’s the armor telling you about it?” Tony stepped a bit to the side, and as Monica continued to stare at the creature, the interface relayed information back to her.

“I-It’s called Carrion? I g-guess it’s like roadkill?” She swallowed thickly. “It’s danger level is listed as high, should--should we move?”

“No no, this is perfect. Tell the suit to activate stealth mode.”

Monica repeated the command and she overheard JARVIS’s confirmation, “Cloaking complete. You are now hidden, madam, and virtually undetectable.”

Monica turned to look at Tony. “JARVIS says I’m invisible? Am I--”

“WHOA MAMI YOU ARE INVISIBLE!” Michael exclaimed, and Wade was cheering.

Carol actually looked impressed. “Wow, Tone. This might actually work.”

“Yeah yeah I’m amazing and it’s about time everyone got on board with that,” Tony snagged Michael and Wade by the back of their shirts. “Come on, out of the way, I need to see if that thing can detect her at all and you idiots are in the way.”

“Pete says I am the way~”

“My son would never say that.”

“He does in my dreams.”

“It’s okay, Wade. I’ll say you’re the way.”

“Mikey have I told you that you’re my best friend--”

Monica had to bite her lip to stop the giggle as Carol literally knocked Wade and Michael’s heads together, the quad moving a little to the side of Monica, all eyes turning to the hulking mass that had been barreling down the road at them. As the group moved, it’s focus on Monica seemed to break and it slowed it’s pace down to it’s creeping crawl, heaving itself forward on broken, disjointed limbs as if trying to find her again--but to no avail. Even as it got close enough for Monica to reach out and touch (something she really didn’t want to do) it didn’t seem to know where she was and as she took a few steps back, she realized the shock absorption on her suit boots made her completely silent when she moved. Monica was safe as safe could be!

Which was a good thing, because despite all the safety precautions in place (and knowing Alessa would never let anything happen to her Mommi) Carol was still standing there with her sparkle fists at the ready to blast that thing into yet another dimension if something went wrong.

“Oh come on, Bestie, have a little faith in my designs.” Tony turned to Carol, gesturing at her hands. “It’s like you don’t believe in me at all.”

“Yeah, I’m not stroking your ego, Tony, that’s what the girls are for.”

“Uh, guys.” Michael tried to cut in.

“You could every once in a while. Even Al gives me compliments.”

“Good for Al, why didn’t you bring him?”

“Because I wanted to show you my suit worked!”

“Guys...” Wade tried this time.

Carol shook her blonde head. “I’ll be convinced it works when babygirl isn’t scared.”

“Yeah but if she never gets scared we’ll never get to hear her squeal again and who the hell wants that? No one, Carebear, no one wants that.”

“GUYS MAYBE NOW IS A GOOD TIME TO TELL US WE HAVE SAFETY SUITS TOO.” Michael finally started shouting to be heard, and when Tony turned to face him...he and Carol realized the monster, having lost sight of Monica, was now facing them. “BECAUSE IT LOOKS HANGRY.”

“Oh Daddy-in-law~ You did...pack us safety suits too, right?” Wade asked. “Because I didn’t bring my shooty-stabbies on this trip so a suit would be awesome right now.”

The creature let out an inhuman bellow of rage and started it’s charge, just in time for Tony to sheepishly say--

“I did specify the safety suit was just for Felina, right?”

[comfreycompost]

The Enigma of Wilderland

20 minutes south of Whitianga lies an anarchist community called Wilderland. Pine trees stud the gravel road, which is not council maintained and winds for two kilometres past several other farms. Pine tree roots have a symbiotic relationship with fly agaric mushrooms (Amanita muscaria), and as I walk up the road one winter night shortly after lockdown it is almost as if the toadstools are guiding the way. As strange as it sounds, it feels as though I am following some sort of Hansel and Gretel crumbs into fairyland.

[Caption: Amanita muscaria at Wilderland]

Every so often a handpainted sign reads “WiLDERLAND,” with an arrow pointing the way. A lot of people get lost finding it for the first time, and I am no exception. I am walking the road because I had taken a wrong turn and got my 1992 Toyota Starlet hatchback stuck in a farmer’s muddy field during a rainstorm. 

[Caption: The long and winding road]

Wilderland is an example of a self-sufficient community, of which there are many in Aotearoa. The difference is, while most such communities are closed, anyone can go to Wilderland. All you have to do is apply on their website and commit to a full month of work (unpaid, of course). New intakes arrive every second Sunday. With the exception of a handful of long-term residents, the 20-30 people living at Wilderland at any given time are always changing. If you are serious about learning how to be self-sufficient, or just curious to see if it is really possible, you can go to Wilderland and see how it’s done.

In 1956, the land on the property that became Wilderland was abandoned by its owner. A long-term resident called Ken, who is in his 60s, tells me that the reason was that the land was too difficult to farm. The original farmhouse still stands on the property, although it has been condemned by the council. Ken tells me that a family of six used to live there before it was abandoned 65 years ago. Today, the house is thoroughly overgrown with jasmine and stands in the middle of a forest. One needs a machete to cut through the jasmine into the house, and inside there are only two items: a 30-year-old newspaper and a picture book, Grandma McGarvey Goes to the Zoo.

[Caption: The original farmhouse]

In October, 1964, Dan and Edith Hansen purchased the disused block of land (roughly 170 acres) on the Whitianga Estuary and founded Wilderland. At the time, it was one of Aotearoa’s only organic farms. Before he died, Dan Hansen donated the land to the Wilderland Trust, meaning no actual person owns the land. The Wilderland Trust is a registered charity in Aotearoa and the farm holds the Organic Certification. There is a lot of accountability that goes along with all of that which is taken quite seriously. For example, drugs and alcohol are not allowed.

The farm is collectively managed by trustees and the long-term residents, each of whom have voting rights. Anarchism as a philosophy is generally misunderstood: far from lawlessness, it is actually a highly organised system where power is decentralised and given to the community to make their own decisions on anything that affects them directly. At Wilderland, there are multiple meetings every week, discussions ranging from who should be allowed to stay, how money should be spent, what produce (if any) should be sold, what projects should be prioritised, whether the cat should have a bell on his collar to prevent native bird casualties, and so on. Everything is voted on. There is always work to do and everyone has their own pet projects. Conflict is natural, but it is reduced compared to a typical eco-village, because no one actually has their own financial resources tied up in the community.

In January, 2017, a fire destroyed about 25 acres of forest and four houses that were on the property. “We've managed to save more homes than we lost, but I feel very sorry for everyone from that community... there's not much left,” a rural firefighter was quoted as saying at the time. In the aftermath, 4000 new trees were planted to begin the recovery process but many long-term residents left. Wilderland has faced many challenges in its long history, and it is something of a miracle that it still exists when most of the other 1960s communes failed. One can read about the history of Wilderland in detail in one of the many postgraduate theses that have been written about it, or on their website, so I will focus mainly on my experience. The fire is worth mentioning, though.

On my first day, I am inducted with the rest of the newbies. The visitor host, Khan (named after Genghis), shows us around. We are shown the various gardens, the orchards, the buildings, the compost toilets. The tour ends with us planting some spring onions outside the main hall. The community hall is a rustic, rectangular structure containing a kitchen (vegetarian only), extensive library, musical instruments, personal lockers, couches, tables, and art supplies. Food is cooked using a wood burner oven, which also heats the hot water for the shower. The fire is lit at 7 am and usually burns until past 9 pm. Herbs are hung upside down next to the fire to dry, destined to be brewed in tea or sold at the roadside stall on State Highway 25.

[Caption: Herbs drying in the community hall]

My accomodation is a metal shed which contains a bunk bed (long-term residents live in the houses, visitors sleep in cabins or tents or vehicles). I share the shed with a 22-year-old Australian man named Bryce. Over the month we live together, we become good friends. The shed is crawling with cockroaches and it becomes part of our nightly ritual to evict as many of them as possible using a jar. As soon as they are thrown outside they start coming back in through cracks in the walls. Cockroaches like to crawl on you during the night, and I regularly wake up in the night and turn on my torch to find myself surrounded. At times like these I simply read until the sun comes up and I can get out of bed. By week four, the sleep deprivation is really getting to me.

[Caption: A compost toilet and a cabin for sleeping (left to right)]

Every weekday morning at 8 am we meet in the community hall for porridge and the morning meeting. The main purpose of the morning meeting is to decide who will do what jobs that day. The work is varied and interesting, involving much more than just gardening: there is building and maintenance work, roads to be fixed, community lunch to be cooked (using food foraged from the gardens), a roadside stall to be manned, administration to be done, firewood to be chopped. Planting and harvesting is planned based on the phases of the moon and the solstices and such. At 1.30 pm every day, a massive bell outside the hall is rung by whoever made lunch that day and everyone finishes their work and eats together.

My first experience of the “lunch circle” is a bit of a culture shock. Everyone forms a circle and holds hands. Thankfulness is expressed. “Thank you for helping me today in the Dolphin Beds,” says one hippie to his helper that day. “Thanks for brushing your teeth,” says another to his girlfriend who stands slightly outside of the circle, brushing her teeth. Then announcements are made, and finally, when everyone simultaneously senses the moment is right, hands are lifted with a universal cry of “WOOOOO!” Then lunch is served. After what is sometimes up to five minutes of someone sweating into my hands, I always have to scurry off to wash my hands before lunch, so I am always last in line.

[Caption: The kitchen and the table where food is served]

The food is always incredibly good. Eating a diet of mainly fresh and seasonal produce is highly beneficial for physical health, and it gets me thinking about food — its effects on the mind, body, and spirit. Food is one of the most important needs of the human animal, after water but before shelter and fire. After a few weeks of eating food grown on the land I am living on, I begin to understand something J.R.R. Tolkein once allegedly said, according to C.S. Lewis:

❝ Tolkien once remarked to me that the feeling about home must have been quite different in the days when the family had fed on the produce of the same few miles of country for six generations, and that perhaps this was why they saw nymphs in the fountains and dryads in the wood — they were not mistaken for there was in a sense a real, not metaphorical connection between them and the countryside. What had been earth and air and later corn, and later still bread, really was in them. We of course who live on a standardised international diet — you may have had Canadian flour, English meat, Scotch oatmeal, African oranges, and Australian wine today — are really artificial beings and have no connection, save in sentiment, with any place on earth. We are synthetic men, uprooted. The strength of the hills is not ours. ❞

Time passes differently at Wilderland. It takes me about two weeks to adjust to the rhythm and the silence. In the afternoons after work I bathe in the rock pools or kayak in the estuary or try to learn a dusty accordian in the hall or do any number of other wholesome activities. Poetry club happens on Wednesdays. Every second Thursday is pizza night (cooked in the outdoor woodfire pizza oven). Every Friday night is Meat Club — a group of meat enthusiasts pitch in for some sausages and steaks from the Whitianga butcher and cook it outside on a fire far away from the hall, paired with lots of cheap red wine (another contraband). On the weekends everyone does their own thing — I spend mine exploring.

It is worth mentioning the stars. Being treated to blazing constellations every night with no sound but the morepork feels like a massive privilege. But it shouldn’t be. For thousands of years, humans looked to the stars to find meaning and our general lack of ability to do that nowadays is one reason why we are so spiritually impoverished. Bright stars are an innate human need and light pollution has taken that away from us.

As a layperson, my understanding of permaculture increases slowly. One day, I am working with Khan and he says something that connects a lot of dots for me. “Permaculture gardens are like tiny forests. There are tall things and short things and things that exist mainly underground. There is a throbbing animal and insect life and there is mycelium, a brain that connects everything like the internet. There is biodiversity. There are bees. And everything works together in the same way as a forest.”

[Caption: The Dolphin Beds — apparently a dolphin was buried here once]

[Caption: Hina Hina, where a famous battle took place in the 1860s]

On my first Friday morning, I have another culture shock. One of the strange traditions in this place is to have a “Dialogue” every Friday morning from 9 am until 10 am before work. In theory the Dialogue is an open platform where anything can be discussed, in reality though the main topics that get discussed at the Dialogue are “What is the Dialogue?” and “Why don’t we replace the Dialogue with x?” No one really knows what it is for. Newbies are thrown in the deep end and long-term residents regard it as sacred and any attempt to abolish or replace it as subterfuge. Emotions run high. People storming out is common, crying is common, and cigarettes are smoked afterwards.

[Footnote: Like any isolated community, Wilderland has its own unique politics. I adopted the renegade view of “Dialogue Abolitionist.” I suggested that a much healthier way of purging the tension of the group would be to have a fight club, but this was not well-received.]

It is my last day. Apparently I can’t just leave. Everyone gives me a hug; I am the recipient of several group hugs. A jar of local honey is pressed into my hands, entreaties are made for me to return. I realise that like the plants I helped to cultivate, I have roots here now.

[Caption: Saying goodbye]

What is Wilderland? Is it a hippie commune? An eco-village? A cult? It is none of those things, really. I see it as more of an educational community. It models self-sufficiency, although it is partially reliant on the outside world. It models anarchism on a micro level. It teaches the patience of permaculture to a world drowning in Roundup. Most of it all, it clearly demonstrates what is possible. It is no secret that dairy farms are causing Aotearoa excessive droughts. Importing and exporting and transporting food exacerbates the climate crisis and makes us reliant on the global economy (which as Covid has shown, is frighteningly fragile). Wilderland proves that things could be better. For 56 years, Wilderland has represented a choice — the possibility of a better world where nature is worshipped and humans have freedom.

[Caption: Scarecrows]

[theadmiringbog]

Linearity and nonlinearity, one of the central distinctions in mathematics.

--

Usually, when someone announces they’re a “nonlinear thinker” they’re about to apologize for losing something you lent them. But nonlinearity is a real thing! And in this context, thinking nonlinearly is crucial, because not all curves are lines.                

--

The generals who consulted Abraham Wald faced the same kind of situation: too little armor meant planes got shot down, too much meant the planes couldn’t fly. It’s not a question of whether adding more armor is good or bad; it could be either, depending on how heavily armored the planes are to start with. If there’s an optimal answer, it’s somewhere in the middle, and deviating from it in either direction is bad news.                

--

Nonlinear thinking means which way you should go depends on where you already are.                

--

There’s nothing wrong with the Laffer curve—only with the uses people put it to. Wanniski and the politicians who followed his panpipe fell prey to the oldest false syllogism in the book: It could be the case that lowering taxes will increase government revenue; I want it to be the case that lowering taxes will increase government revenue; Therefore, it is the case that lowering taxes will increase government revenue.                

--

Linear reasoning is everywhere. You’re doing it every time you say that if something is good to have, having more of it is even better. Political shouters rely on it: “You support military action against Iran? I guess you’d like to launch a ground invasion of every country that looks at us funny!” Or, on the other hand, “Engagement with Iran? You probably also think Adolf Hitler was just misunderstood.”            

--

The Pythagoreans, you have to remember, were extremely weird. Their philosophy was a chunky stew of things we’d now call mathematics, things we’d now call religion, and things we’d now call mental illness. They believed that odd numbers were good and even numbers evil; that a planet identical to our own, the Antichthon, lay on the other side of the sun; and that it was wrong to eat beans, by some accounts because they were the repository of dead people’s souls. Pythagoras himself was said to have had the ability to talk to cattle (he told them not to eat beans) and to have been one of the very few ancient Greeks to wear pants.                

--

Linear regression is a marvelous tool, versatile, scalable, and as easy to execute as clicking a button on your spreadsheet. You can use it for data sets involving two variables, like the ones I’ve drawn here, but it works just as well for three variables, or a thousand. Whenever you want to understand which variables drive which other variables, and in which direction, it’s the first thing you reach for. And it works on any data set at all.                

--

Working an integral or performing a linear regression is something a computer can do quite effectively. Understanding whether the result makes sense—or deciding whether the method is the right one to use in the first place—requires a guiding human hand. When we teach mathematics we are supposed to be explaining how to be that guide. A math course that fails to do so is essentially training the student to be a very slow, buggy version of Microsoft Excel.                

--

The smaller the number of coins—what we’d call in statistics the sample size—the greater the variation in the proportion of heads. It’s the very same effect that makes political polls less reliable when fewer voters are polled.                

--

The law demands that the proportion of heads must approach 50% as I flip the coin more and more times. Common sense suggests that, at this point, tails must be slightly more likely, in order to correct the existing imbalance. But common sense says much more insistently that the coin can’t remember what happened the first ten times I flipped it!                 

I won’t keep you in suspense—the second common sense is right.                

--

Those first ten flips become less and less important the more flips we make. If I flip the coin a thousand more times, and get about half heads, then the proportion of heads in the first 1,010 flips is also going to be close to 50%. That’s how the Law of Large Numbers works: not by balancing out what’s already happened, but by diluting what’s already happened with new data, until the past is so proportionally negligible that it can safely be forgotten.

--

The tradable sector lost about 3 million jobs, while the nontradable sector added 7 million. So the nontradable sector accounted for 7 million jobs out of the total gain of 4 million, or 175%! The slogan to live by here is: Don’t talk about percentages of numbers when the numbers might be negative.

--

Dividing one number by another is mere computation; figuring out what you should divide by what is mathematics.                

--

This vision of religious belief is extremely congenial to the mathematical mind. You believe in God not because you were touched by an angel, not because your heart opened up one day and let the sunshine in, and certainly not because of something your parents told you, but because God is a thing that must be, as surely as 8 times 6 must be the same as 6 times 8.                

--

Magician Derren Brown pulled off a similar stunt, mailing various horse-racing picks to thousands of Britons with the result of eventually convincing a single person that he’d devised a foolproof prediction system.                

--

It sounds improbable that an identical set of winning numbers would come up twice in a single week. And that’s true, if you agree with the hypothesis that the numbers are drawn from the cage completely at random. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you think the randomization system is malfunctioning, and the numbers 4, 21, 23, 34, 39 are more likely to come up than others. Or maybe you think a corrupt lottery official is picking the numbers to match his own favorite ticket. Under either of those hypotheses, the amazing coincidence is not improbable at all. Improbability, as described here, is a relative notion, not an absolute one; when we say an outcome is improbable, we are always saying, explicitly or not, that it is improbable under some set of hypotheses we’ve made about the underlying mechanisms of the world.                

--

Does a new drug make a dent in the illness it proposes to cure, or does it do nothing? Does a psychological intervention make you happier/peppier/sexier or does it do nothing at all? The “does nothing” scenario is called the null hypothesis. That is, the null hypothesis is the hypothesis that the intervention you’re studying has no effect.                

--

Here’s the procedure for ruling out the null hypothesis, in executive bullet-point form: 

Run an experiment. 

Suppose the null hypothesis is true, and let p be the probability (under that hypothesis) of getting results as extreme as those observed. The number p is called the p-value. 

If it is very small, rejoice; you get to say your results are statistically significant. 

If it is large, concede that the null hypothesis has not been ruled out.                

--

Versions of this argument for divine creation predate Fisher’s formal development by a great while. The world is so richly structured and so perfectly ordered—how tremendously unlikely it would be for there to be a world like this one, under the null hypothesis that there’s no primal designer who put the thing together!                

--

Bible coders but to the “creation scientists,” who argue, even today, that mathematics demands there must be a god, on the grounds that a godless world would be highly unlikely to look like the one we have.                

--

The CSM reported a risk ratio: third-generation pills doubled women’s risk of thrombosis. That sounds pretty bad, until you remember that thrombosis is really, really rare. Among women of childbearing age using first- and second-generation oral contraceptives, 1 in 7,000 could expect to suffer a thrombosis; users of the new pill indeed had twice as much risk, 2 in 7,000. But that’s still a very small risk, because of this certified math fact: twice a tiny number is a tiny number.                

--

The truth is, the null hypothesis, if we take it literally, is probably just about always false. When you drop a powerful drug into a patient’s bloodstream, it’s hard to believe the intervention has exactly zero effect on the probability that the patient will develop esophageal cancer, or thrombosis, or bad breath.                

--

A player who made a layup was no more likely to shoot from distance than a player who just missed a layup. Layups are easy and shouldn’t give the player a strong sense of being hot. But a player is much more likely to try a long shot after a three-point basket than after a three-point miss. In other words, the hot hand might “cancel itself out”—players, believing themselves to be hot, get overconfident and take shots they shouldn’t.                

--

If a hypothesis implies a falsehood, then the hypothesis itself must be false. So the plan goes like this: Suppose the hypothesis H is true. It follows from H that a certain fact F cannot be the case. But F is the case. Therefore, H is false.                

--

In 1950, it took the early computer ENIAC twenty-four hours to simulate twenty-four hours of weather, and that was an astounding feat of space-age computation. In 2008, the computation was reproduced on a Nokia 6300 mobile phone in less than a second.                

--

In a way, this is the birth control scare revisited. Being on the Facebook list doubles a person’s chance of being a terrorist, which sounds terrible. But that chance starts out very small, so when you double it, it’s still small.                

--

Here’s how you compute the expected value of a lottery ticket. For each possible outcome, you multiply the chance of that outcome by the ticket’s value given that outcome. In this simplified case, there are only two outcomes: you lose, or you win. So you get 9,999,999/10,000,000 × $0= $0 1/10,000,000 × $6,000,000= $0.60. Then you add the results up: $0 + $0.60= $0.60.        

So the expected value of your ticket is 60 cents. If a lottophile comes to your door and offers $1.20 for your ticket, expected value says you ought to make the deal. In fact, expected value says you shouldn’t have paid a dollar for it in the first place!                

--

The Social Security Administration’s inspector general on Monday said the agency improperly paid $31 million in benefits to 1,546 Americans believed to be deceased.                

--

As blogger (and former mathlete) Nicholas Beaudrot observed, that $31 million represents .004% of the benefits disbursed annually by the SSA. In other words, the agency is already extremely good at knowing who’s alive and who’s no more. Getting even better at that distinction, in order to eliminate those last few mistakes, might be expensive. If we’re going to count utils, we shouldn’t be asking, “Why are we wasting the taxpayers’ money?” but “What’s the right amount of the taxpayers’ money to be wasting?”                

--

These were later collected as the Pensées (“Thoughts”) which appeared eight years after his death. It’s a remarkable work, aphoristic, endlessly quotable, in many ways despairing, in many ways inscrutable.                

--

All mathematical writing is creative writing.

[nickelbackfanfiction]

Part II

The sun sets on an empty stretch of forgotten highway.  There, amidst the downed sycamores and overturned cars, stands the silhouette of a man outlined in the red fury of evening sun.  

From his back he pulls a guitar, void black and etched in the shimmering gold characters of a language long since forgotten by modern man.  

His arm raises high into the dying light, pausing for a moment as a white moth chances to land upon his outstretched fingertips.  He strikes the guitar with a force strong enough to send shockwaves rippling down the road, debris and detritus sent bouncing toward the heavens before crashing back down in a heap.  

A lightning bolt cracks the sky and slams into him, sending outward a sparking crazed collective of electric blue tendrils.  

Suddenly the sun shoots violently skyward, growing redder and larger as it reaches a zenith directly above the man’s head.  Birds explode upward from unseen hiding places, threatening to blot out the unnatural daylight.  

A voice tears through the cacophony, holding a commanding tone of total clarity, echoing and building, shattering asphalt, glass and animal alike.  In the moments before overwhelming awe and resonating frequencies collaborate to break the rhythm of beating hearts, creatures large and small alike place the beginnings of the chorus of their oblivion.  

“Look at this photograph,”  

Nickelback has returned.

---

It was crazy to see Nickelback again after all this time.  Especially since I was doing about ninety miles per hour down the highway, and Nickelback was running twenty over the speed limit alongside my car.  

I waved at Nickelback and he waved back at me and then he reached down and when he came back up he was holding up a baby diaper full of PCP and pointing at it and while winking repeatedly and suggestively.  

‘That wiley Nickelback, still up to all his old tomfoolery.’ I thought with faux-exasperation and like a cutesy scrunched up face and head nod at the camera so you know my expression is fake exasperated and not real exasperated.

I knew it was time to hang out with my best friend Nickelback again when my car careened through a barrier and Nickelback and me were flying through the sky over the city and Nickelback pulled out his guitar and super-slammed out the opening chords of Nickelback’s hit famous song Photograph and that’s when I saw it flashing across the sky in the fireworks flying out of Nickelback’s guitar,

‘THE TIME I DID PCP WITH NICKELBACK PART II: THE NICKELBACKENING’

---

Shit was about to get real.  

At least that’s what Nickelback kept shouting in my ear over and over.  

Nickelback was holding me in a reverse bearhug and we were torpedoing toward the dorms of the College School for Adults.  What PCP Nickelback couldn’t cram down my throat he was violently inhaling up his own nose so he didn’t have to stop shouting at me while he did it.  

Me and Nickelback must have crashed through like at least eight floors before we stopped RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GIRLS LOCKER ROOM.  

FOR REAL.  

We knew we were in Boob City, USA right away.  

Me and Nickelback immediately got up and started flexing immediately.  We must have high fived like four thousand times.  At least.  All the girls were naked and cheering the entire time.  Nickelback saw so many boobs he went Super Saiyan for a minute.  Somewhere around the third hour of cheering and flexing and comparing boners, the cops came in the locker room to tell Nickelback to play Photograph.  Everyone knew all the lyrics.  It was awesome.

Pretty soon the whole building collapsed because word got around town that Nickelback was in the girls locker room and everyone kept trying to get into the building to hear Nickelback play Photograph.  Nickelback still probably played it like 34 times.  No one got tired of it.  

Most of the people were twitching on the floor in a state of involuntary religious ecstasy from being so close to Nickelback when the building collapsed so it's not a big deal because that’s how most people say that they want to die anyways according to National Polling.  Me and Nickelback were fine though cause of the PCP and also we know you’re supposed to flex hard as fuck in a building collapse to survive and we both flex hard as fuck.  

Me and Nickelback fist bumped back and forth with both hands in the rubble and it looked super cool but after about fifteen minutes of checking to see if anyone was watching we decided to stop.  

Nickelback said he knew about a hard rocking rock and roller rock party happening across town and if anyone knows about a hard rocking rock and roller rock party it's for sure Nickelback the undisputed by anyone number one hard rocking rock and roller rocker on the entire planet.

Nickelback ran in front of a passing city bus and launched himself like a magnificent dolphin-man through the windshield and then out of the back of the bus and then through the windshield of a bus behind it and I guess that somehow kept happening for a minute despite how unrealistic it sounds cause Nickelback pushed off real hard with his legs which are like pythons or a strong animal that’s more leg shaped than a python.  

Eventually Nickelback got slowed down enough and crashed through one more bus windshield and landed next to the driver.  Pretty soon, the bus rolled over to me and the door opened up and fog spilled down the stairs and confetti shot everywhere and when it cleared there was Nickelback.  

Nickelback was covered in glass and when the light hit him just right he looked like disco ball made out of sweaty meat.  I swear on a brutal awful prolonged death to all my closest friends and family that it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.  

Nickelback threw the driver down at my feet and beckoned me onto the bus, taking the now unoccupied seat behind the wheel.  

Someone started to ask to get off the bus but Nickelback turned around and spit right in her stupid mouth.  

Fuck you Sharon.  

“Come with me if you want to rock and roll.”  Nickelback said to me from the driver’s seat before explaining to everyone that it was a Terminator reference.  The whole bus did Arnold impressions for like an hour and one guy definitely was doing a Tim Allen but it was a good impression so no one minded.  

Nickelback peeled out with the bus and the back end fishtailed it super hard like in The Fast and the Furious Tokyo Drift and this one guy who was in the way got swatted into next week.

It was crazy when we saw him again on another crazy adventure that we had next week.  

---

It wasn’t looking like things were gonna end well for the passengers on the bus.  Most of them were already unconscious or concussed from all the sick ramps that Nickelback was ramping off of rampantly.  Ramps.  But now we were about to hit a Hot Wheelz style loop de loop that the taxpayer bailout essentially paid for when Nickelback told me “Better bail out if you want to live,” and then explained that it was a Terminator reference.  

That’s when I saw that the lousy SOCIALIST HITLER GOVERNMENT still hadn’t finished installing the boost pads that you absolutely need to have on a loop de loop track like this if you ever want to get a bus or a semi or like a dinosaur with race car wheels to fully clear the loop.

We bailed a big one.

And we weren’t going to make it.  

I didn’t know what was going to hurt more, the impact onto the concrete below or the loss of faith in the inner workings of our government I was sure to have later on once I started considering all the bureaucratic red tape that had so clearly failed us and every citizen of this fine nation who wants to wang hard around loop de loops.  

The bus, to it’s credit, was hard working and AMERICAN made before it inevitably exploded into a searing inferno about twenty feet behind where me and Nickelback landed.  It looked pretty cool but I guess me and Nickelback had probably seen bigger explosions.  

Both our legs had sunk to the knee into the concrete when we landed because we were flexing hard as fuck.  We looked at each other, each clearly contemplating the chaotic scene before them.  

Nickelback high fived me so hard he broke my arm in three places.

We set off on foot.  Well, I did.  Nickelback insisted on riding my shoulders.  It was like that Jesus poster with the footprints but maybe the opposite because while I’m not sure that Nickelback is the literal son of God, I know for sure that if he put a gun to my head I’d for sure say that he is.  For sure.

Me and Nickelback decided that it was probably time for Nickelback to go incognito because too many people were always going “Hey that’s Nickelback!” and then trying to follow us and get Nickelback to play Photograph.  

Then we did a montage of Nickelback trying on all sorts of different outfits and the camera would cut to me every time and I’d like shrug or shake my head or something like really exaggerated until one of them I gave a knowing nod to like ‘hey that look that you’re wearing is the look that you should get Nickelback.’  

Walking on Sunshine was playing the whole time.  I don’t know where it was coming from.

Nickelback had picked out one of the potted plants from the front entrance of the mall as his incognito outfit that I helped pick out in the montage I just talked about.  Nickelback put his legs through holes he made in the bottom and the lip of the clay pot came up to just under his nipples.  His face came out through the fern in the pot and he was wearing one of those explorer hats because we both thought that was the fashion look that most suited him and also our needs to be outside as Nickelback without everyone asking you to play Photograph all the time.

Also Nickelback could pull his arms and legs into the pot and it was like he was a turtle and shit fuck if Nickelback doesn’t love turtles I swear to god he is always yelling at the top of his lungs at homeless people about how much he fucking loves turtles.

Nickelback couldn’t believe how normal life was when he was a potted plant instead of Nickelback.  I showed him all the normal guy things that I do and no one bothered us because it wasn’t weird and they didn’t know he was actually Nickelback because his disguise was so good.

Eventually Nickelback said that we needed to find some wheels and shades.  I agreed wholeheartedly with Nickelback because it’s impossible to say no to Nickelback because he’ll just spit in your mouth before you can get the word out.  

We found a bunch of skater punks skating and Nickelback challenged them to a skate off for their skateboards.  They didn’t know he was Nickelback or otherwise they probably would have never accepted.

I’d never even seen half the tricks that Nickelback was doing to shred gnar at the skate off.  

All the skaters had their expectations subverted because before this they all thought that a potted plant couldn’t skateboard but later they realized that they were just prejudiced and Nickelback showed them something ugly inside of themselves.  

They were never mean to potted plants again.  

At one point Nickelback did a kickflip so hard that it broke open a hole in spacetime that we had to staple shut like pretty quick once the screams coming out of it got too annoying for Nickelback to concentrate.  

Nickelback finally locked in his win with a trick called the Nickel Backflip which was so cool that one of the skaters literally pooped their pants and some say is still pooping their pants to this very day.  

One by one all the skaters gave Nickelback their skateboards and Nickelback told them that we needed their shades too and we got the sweetest shades they were like the Blues Brothers ones.

After we shackled all the boards to the bottom of Nickelback’s newly coined Nickelpot we put on our sweet shades and took off to find the biggest hill in town which was right where we were anyway.  We didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything interesting or grow at all as people to achieve our goal.

I asked Nickelback if this was the way to the hard rocking rock and roll party and Nickelback said “Where we’re going we don’t need no stinking party,” and I started to ask if that was a Scarface reference but Nickelback spit in my mouth.

While I was fastening myself hard to the back of the Nickelpot like one of those Garfield window things Nickelback was like “Come with me if you want to rock,” and pushed us off down the biggest hill in town and then explained that he was doing a Terminator reference.  

The biggest hill in town was called 8 Mile Hill after the Eminem movie but was actually only six miles long on a good day.  The city government got real into the real Slim Shady for a minute and was always bleaching their hair and quoting Slim at meetings and stuff.  

It was the best government this city has ever elected.  Over and over and over again.

8 Mile Hill was so steep that when Guinness came to measure how steep it was their steepness measuring machine exploded and they decided to go home and get another one to replace it but then got distracted by the new Nintendo and never came back.  

It was steep as fucking fuck.

We were probably breaking the sound barrier by the time we hit mile three down 8 Mile Hill in the Nickelpot judging by all the car alarms and glass exploding like a hurricane behind us.  A lot of people’s ears were bleeding which was terrible because they’d never be able to listen to Nickelback but also maybe a good thing because Nickelback did it to them.  Also we were leaving those cool flame strips in the ground behind our wheels cause of how fast we were going.  

Nickelback was hard core doing that thing where your cheeks go all wobbly from air hitting them and must have eaten like a hundred bugs accidentally outside of the ones he kept eating on purpose.  

Right when I felt like my grip on the Nickelpot and my own sanity was at it’s limit Nickelback looked back at me and gave me a thumbs up snapping me back to reality right before leaning back and vomiting up a torrent of living flies into the evolving chaos behind the Nickelpot.  I lost count of how many flies there were even though I was definitely trying real hard because Nickelback tends to get irrationally angry and specific about the amounts of things that people remember him doing.

Somewhere around mile four of 8 Mile Hill I saw Nickelback like concentrating real hard and clenching his fists and I was pretty sure he was either pushing out a doo doo brown or trying to go Super Saiyan again.

Imagine my surprise when a pair of moths wings made from pure white light burst from Nickelback’s shoulder blades.

His new Nickelwings kept growing larger and larger until eventually they stretched the entire width of the road.  Pretty soon they were so massive that they were cutting their way through all the buildings on either side of 8 Mile Hill.  When they’d reached about a hundred feet each Nickelback looked back at me and tipped his sunglasses.  Nickelback was like “Come with me if you want to fly,” and then explained that it was a Terminator reference as his Nickelwings started flapping and the Nickelpot took off into the skies above the city gaining supernatural speed and altitude with every passing second.

I clung onto the Nickelpot with my suction cup hands as I looked down on the city below us.  Nickelback had produced an acoustic guitar from somewhere within the Nickelpot.  The night was still, save the lulling sound of Nickelback’s giant gossamer Nickelwings slowly flapping through the sparse cloud cover, of Nickelback methodically tuning his guitar to the tune that Photograph is in.

It was the most at peace I have ever been with myself that moment.  I felt like this was probably what the Buddha felt underneath the tree and then I decided that the Buddha was probably a Nickelback fan because he could see the future and therefore Nickelback and from there it was basically a given.

Slowly, Nickelback looked back at me, his head trimmed by the moonlight streaming in from behind him.  Smiling, he took his glasses and flung them down at the city below.

I watched them tumble for an eternity.  The moon's reflection bouncing its way across their glossy surface.  Growing smaller and smaller still as they fell away from me.

And then they were gone.  

Looking back up at Nickelback I noticed that his pupils had dilated to fill almost the entirety of the visible space behind his eyelids.  I found my breath catch in my throat as I felt some part of myself pulled deep into the dark pools on his face.

Nickelback started speaking to me in every language at once.  

Nickelback’s black hole eyes bore into and past me, past even the me I knew of as myself.  I could feel Nickelback connecting with some form of myself disconnected from time.  

Myself as a child searching a dark room only to find eyes staring back at me from some recessed space.  

A sea of future selves feeling a piercing but unseen glare from some shadowy treeline or darkened alleyway as they succeed or fail in a universe of infinite possibilities.

And I could feel myself start sinking inward toward some primordial core of being, even as somewhere, some me, felt my hands slowly losing their grip on the big Garfield plungers tethering me to the Nickelpot.  

And there, infinitely deep down, I saw it, the essence of existence itself, clear as day.  So simple.

And suddenly I was Buddha, I was Christ, I was a disconnected soul reuniting with the Godhead.  

And all the while Nickelback’s raving in infinite languages became louder and more manic, becoming a frantic shriek, a madman’s rush of words pouring forth, a deafening roar.  

Somewhere inside me I was aware that I was screaming too, my face now barely an inch from Nickelback’s, my vocal cords being driven to the point of snapping.  I could feel my body about to shatter from the pressure as every atom of my being began to vibrate violently.  

I lose my grip and slowly begin falling back away from the ascending Nickelpot.  

Time slows.

Way the fuck down.

Nickelback’s eyes never leave mine as he straps on his guitar.  It’s void black and covered in the an incomprehensible gold lettering.  In slow motion I watch him twist one last tuning peg in place, sending a wave of light cascading down through the gold etchings of the instrument.

Nickelback’s wings are so big, how did they ever get so big?  

Suddenly the torrent of words erupting from Nickelback’s mouth ceases, his pupils shrink back down, revert to normal but continue shrinking to sharp black points before disappearing entirely.  

The night is so still again.  A comet lazily arcs its way down to earth and I fall with it.

“It’s time.”  Nickelback says, smiling down at me as I careen through the wispy cloud cover below him.

As Nickelback brings his hand down on the guitar for the opening part of Photograph his Nickelpot explodes off of him like an improvised explosive device.  And I don’t have time to register the first pressure wave from the blast before the concussive force rockets up through his wings and shatters them into a billion pieces.  

Nickelback rides naked atop eight skateboards in an arc past the moon surrounded by a swarm of iridescent feathers hovering in the abyss like a starfield.  

His guitar echoes out into the expanse above the city, causing the points of light around him to dance in an eerie rhythm as they defy gravity and logic to become a swirling gyre around the man within their mass.  

And suddenly the feathers race inward and coalesce around Nickelback’s naked form, a brilliant sphere of light masking the man underneath.

As I tumble through the clouds I watch that sphere of light explode outward from Nickelback, carried by a wave of the song Photograph emanating from its core, played as if ripped from a realm of platonic ideals.

I watch a flock of passing birds evaporate as the pure unadulterated Nickelbackening overtakes and consumes them.  

I can’t know if it’s the ground or that sphere of destruction that I’ll meet first, but I no longer care.  

Just as it seems I’m about to make contact with mother earth, I’m finally caught by that bubble of rapidly expanding light.  

Photograph resonates deep down into the vibrating pieces that constitute my existence.  I have become Photograph.  I have become a part of Nickelback itself.  I am at peace before annihilation.  

For a brief moment I watch as the city around me is ripped apart by the forces of Nickelback’s power.  

My world is light and a roar of white noise.  

I am gone.  

I am in my car.  

In a ditch.  

I hang stupidly upside down from my seat looking at a small white flower peeking through my broken windshield.  A moth emerges from it’s inner folds.  I watch it flutter out through my passenger window and up toward the moon.

[peakyblinders1919]

No More Fighting

gif from wonderful @bonniebird from here

“Y/N!” John shouted, pulling you out of your rather restless slumber. Seventh months pregnant and the little Shelby was already a terror. It kept you up most nights, as did its father apparently.

“John, what fucking time is it?” You shouted back, waddling down stairs with a yawn, only realizing when you were down that the sun was out, illuminating the blood on John’s face. “What the hell John?” You say angrily, going as fast as you can to get the first aid kit as he frees the cork of a bottle of liquor with his teeth.

“You should see the other fucker…ahhh.” He inhales sharply as you press a wet bandage to the open wound next to his eye harder then expected. “Y/N, try to help me yeah? Not hurt me more.” He grumbles, taking a long swig as you continue to clean him.

“Fuck you John.” You say angrily, refusing to look at him. You take the stuff and walk away from him, leaving him with open arms.

“Y/N, what the hell is wrong with you?” He says obviously still drunk as he teeters over to you.

“This isn’t the wake up call I wanted but I sure fucking needed it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is the 2 time this week, fourth this month that you’ve come home drunk at 9 in the morning. And now bar fights into bar fights John? You have a baby on the way, what the fuck are you thinking? You actually wanna be alive when they come around.” You shout, your hand lying to your a pain shot through your stomach. You winced, John nothing and running to help as you hunched over for a second before it passed.

“Y/N, you don’t understand. He was talking about-"

“I don’t fucking care what he was talking about John. Whatever it was you didn’t have to start anything.”

“How do you even know I started it?” You shot him an irate look.

“You don’t think I know my husband.” You say rolling your eyes.

“Alright, so I started it but he was saying bad things about-“

“John, I don’t want to hear it. You gotta stop before this baby comes or I swear to God…” You took a breath as another pain came and went. “I swear to God John you won’t be apart of this baby’s life if you can’t clean up your act.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Really? Watch me. Change or leave now.”

“Y/N, you and this baby need me.

“We don’t need you like this.” You say, referring to the state he was in, standing in front of you.

“I was fucking defending my wife. There was a guy talking shit about you, I’m just supposed to do nothing?” He shouts, his face starting to redden.

“Yes, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Or walk away. Not get into a fight where you could get really hurt and not come back to us.”

“Shelby’s never fucking loose a fight.”

“And the day you will will be the day…”

“Y/N, stop talking like this, let’s go back upstairs.” He says, trying to snake him arms around your protruding stomach and kiss you but you can’t stand to be that close to him.

“I’m not kidding John.”

“Alright well what the fuck do you want me to do?” He shouts.

“I don’t know. Show us you care.”

“That’s the only way I know how.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Y/N, you sound crazy now.” He says, shrugging his coat back on and striding towards the door.

You sigh, following him. “John, what are you doing?”

“Getting the fuck out of here. Giving you space.”

“I don’t need bloody space.” You shout, your hand flying to your stomach again as pain washes over you, but you gritted your teeth though it. “If you walk out that door… don’t you ever come back.” You say, not really thinking or meaning it but John didn’t even look at you as he slammed the door shut.

You wretched in pain, convinced that the baby was upset by the environment. The stress John had caused you by seeing him in that state again, making you question bringing a child into his world, caused pain to shoot up. You barely managed to move, let alone sit down on the couch as you tried not to cry out in pain. You knew something was wrong, and then your water broke.

“Fuck.” You screamed, thinking about John and how he had left you here, like this, still mad at him for fighting, and very soon you’d be in so much pain you’d be mad at him for even putting his hands on you in the first place. The pain was like nothing you felt before, and you were stranded in the house, too far from the phone to call anyone. You leaned back and tried to breathe, to stay calm, hoping someone would be home soon.

There was a knock on the door an hour later, and you responded with an ear splitting pain. It didn’t take Polly long to burst through, finding you sprawled and sweating on the couch as you clutched your stomach.

“Y/N what…”

“I’m in labor Poll. Call someone.” You said eagerly as another contraction came. She rushed to the phone, calling a midwife.

“Where’s John?”

“Don’t know. We had a huge argument and AHHHH-” you said as the pain sent you numb for a second. “Probably what caused all this.” She rushed back to the phone calling anyone to find John and tell him it was happening. Then she got some cool wet clothes, put them on your head and helped you ease the pain as it came.

“I thought you weren’t due for another two months.”

“Yeah but that fucking nephew of yours drives me nuts and I guess the baby knew too and didn’t want me to be alone with him.” You say, trying to make light of the situation but the pain was only getting worse.

“What were you fighting about anyway?”

“He came home drunk… owww… and he had gotten into a bar fight.”

‘He’s about to be a father and that’s how he’s spending his time…” Polly asks, nodding her head and you agree, controlling you're breathing and grunting as pain washes over you again.

“He said he was defending me or something.”

“Doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.” You say, letting out a terrible scream as the midwife arrives and labor ensues. You were in labor for about four hours when John finally showed, rushing to your side and staying there for the other 8.

“I’m so so sorry.” He kept repeating, smoothing your hair down and placing kisses to your forehead. At first it was sweet but after the third time you wan’t to kill him. He let you squeeze his hand as hard as you wanted when it was finally time to push.

A hard 12 hours later and you and John were looking down in to the bright eyes of your baby boy.

“I’m sorry about this morning. I never meant for any of it.” John whispered as you sat in bed, holding your son and resting against him.

“I didn’t mean what I said, not all of it anyway.”

“I’m gonna change Y/N. I’m gonna lighten up on the drinking and I’ll try not to fight anymore but honestly, some dick at the bar was saying how the world didn’t need anymore Shelby Gypsy trash I think his exact words were and I just couldn’t. I mean look at him, how could the world not need him?” He asked, playing with your sons little toes.

“Thank you for defending us but we need you live, not dead. No more unnecessary fighting ok?”

“Ok but what about staged fighting. Like boxing, Junior here looks like he’ll be a knockout.” John says, causing you to laugh and fall back into his arms.

“No fighting.” You say again and he nods, kissing you on the head.

Requested! Tried putting three in one I think it’s pretty good, sorry it it’s a tad bit short. Feedback is always appreciated!!! XxX 

[tonsecure67-blog]

Shameless Boss Warns Fiona Has 'Further to Fall,' Talks Ian's Swan Song

Warning: The following contains spoilers for Sunday’s Shameless midseason finale.

Fiona learned an important lesson during Shameless‘ midseason finale: Sometimes, you have to go back home.

After selling her apartment building to her business partner, Fi — who spent most of the episode drowning her sorrows in booze — was left with no choice but to move back into the Gallagher house. As for her married ex Ford, Debbie built a platform to publicly shame her sis’ lying beau.

Below, executive producer John Wells discusses what Fiona’s recent setbacks mean for Emmy Rossum’s final episode, her future with Ford and Lip’s role within the family. The EP also weighs in on Ian’s reunion with Mickey in last week’s hour.

TVLINE | Fiona seemed to have finally found a good partner in Ford. Why did you decide to have him keep this giant secret from her? It was more about Fiona’s character. We’re trying to find a world in which we represent how difficult it is for people to break out of these kind of economic straits. She had some hubris, she’s made some investments that she shouldn’t make. She’s trusting someone that she probably should have known more about. That’s kind of what happens and how difficult life can become. It was really more about our feeling like we’ve allowed her to fly a little bit too close to the sun, and that it was time to show her that people from her background have a lot of problems actually escaping the world that they’re in. And also, on the relationship front, it’s difficult to escape what you know. She hasn’t had much good parenting. She certainly didn’t have an example of a good relationship to grow up with. She’s got to figure out what she needs before she can really figure out who’s someone safe for her to be with.

TVLINE | Understandably, Fiona was very upset and ran off after she found out the truth, so she and Ford never really had a conversation hashing it all out. Is that still to come? Maybe not in the way that you imagine it. But yes, there will be more Ford and Fiona.

TVLINE | He tried to explain the situation to Fiona when she first found out. Is there more to the story than he’s letting on? Is it more complicated than it seems? Isn’t it always from the point of the view of the person who’s trying to say that they’re being misunderstood? The reality is emotional intimacy with another person requires honesty, and without honesty, you can’t have a relationship that’s successful. And she doesn’t have a good bulls–t meter, because everything was a lie in her childhood. Because of that, somebody lying to her is a huge thing that she keeps having to confront.

TVLINE | With everything that Fiona went through in these past couple episodes in terms of her personal life, her business and with Ian, she was in a very terrible place in this finale, emotionally, mentally and physically. How much further will she spiral? She did get to shoot Ford in the a— with a paint gun, though. It’s the little things.

TVLINE | That must have been very cathartic. [Laughs] Yeah, she’s got some further to fall, and we’ve got to see how does that work with her family, and who will step up with her, and how is she going to accept who she’s going to be as just an individual. Because up to this point, her life has been defined by raising her siblings — not that she had a choice. Who’s she going to be now when they’re basically all growing up or grown up?

TVLINE | Is there still hope of her getting at least a semi-happy ending before we say goodbye to Fiona and Emmy Rossum? [Laughs] Yes, although there are a lot of fairy tales about what a — excuse the pun — happy ending is for most people. What is that we need to be happy? What is it that we want? A lot of these ideas about what it’s supposed to be like are not what really makes us happy, and that’s what she’s starting to figure out. I hope that at the end of the next seven episodes that you’ll feel pleased about where she ends up. But I don’t want to suggest that suddenly everything is rosy for Fiona.

TVLINE | Maybe another word for it is a bittersweet ending, like with Ian. How did you land on that particular ending for Ian? And was Mickey always a part of it? We always were hopeful that Noel [Fisher] would come back and be a part of it. He was great on the show when he was on it all the time. He went off to do other things. When we started to think about Cameron [Monaghan] not coming back, we had a conversation immediately with Noel to say, “Hey, can we grab you for a day? Will you come back and play Mickey again for a little bit?” He said, “Yeah.” And then we decided how to do it.

TVLINE | Lip has stepped up so much this season at home, even as a father figure. Do you seem him becoming the patriarch of the family, especially in light of the fact that you’re losing the sort-of matriarch when Fiona exits? I think people, as they mature and grow up and go through life — and he’s been through a lot — you start to think about, “Who am I going to be as a grown up?” That is definitely part of what we’re trying to do. Lip’s been through a lot, and now he has to take more responsibility and decide who he’s going to be and what makes him happy. I really love the storyline that we’ve been playing with him.

TVLINE | Will you be exploring Debbie’s sexuality further? What we’re doing or working with is a lot of young people feel not nearly as defined by their gender and want to kind of figure out, “Isn’t it just love? Isn’t it just who we fall in love with? Isn’t it just who we care for? Should we be making all this distinctions?” I don’t think we’ve made up any kind of mind about where she will end up. She’s just trying to be happy and find people to be happy with. If she ends up with a woman as a life partner, that’ll be great. If she ends up with a man as a life partner, that’ll be great. We just want her to find a way to be happy and fulfilled in her life. So we’re playing with that 18-year-old, 19-year-old, who’s trying to figure out what her sexuality is, and should she have to decide at this moment in time.

Shameless fans, what did you think of the midseason ender? Grade it via the poll below!

Take Our Poll

Source: https://tvline.com/2018/10/21/shameless-recap-season-9-episode-7-finale-fiona-moves-back-home/

[corkcrab7-blog]

Shameless Boss Warns Fiona Has 'Further to Fall,' Talks Ian's Swan Song

Warning: The following contains spoilers for Sunday’s Shameless midseason finale.

Fiona learned an important lesson during Shameless‘ midseason finale: Sometimes, you have to go back home.

After selling her apartment building to her business partner, Fi — who spent most of the episode drowning her sorrows in booze — was left with no choice but to move back into the Gallagher house. As for her married ex Ford, Debbie built a platform to publicly shame her sis’ lying beau.

Below, executive producer John Wells discusses what Fiona’s recent setbacks mean for Emmy Rossum’s final episode, her future with Ford and Lip’s role within the family. The EP also weighs in on Ian’s reunion with Mickey in last week’s hour.

TVLINE | Fiona seemed to have finally found a good partner in Ford. Why did you decide to have him keep this giant secret from her? It was more about Fiona’s character. We’re trying to find a world in which we represent how difficult it is for people to break out of these kind of economic straits. She had some hubris, she’s made some investments that she shouldn’t make. She’s trusting someone that she probably should have known more about. That’s kind of what happens and how difficult life can become. It was really more about our feeling like we’ve allowed her to fly a little bit too close to the sun, and that it was time to show her that people from her background have a lot of problems actually escaping the world that they’re in. And also, on the relationship front, it’s difficult to escape what you know. She hasn’t had much good parenting. She certainly didn’t have an example of a good relationship to grow up with. She’s got to figure out what she needs before she can really figure out who’s someone safe for her to be with.

TVLINE | Understandably, Fiona was very upset and ran off after she found out the truth, so she and Ford never really had a conversation hashing it all out. Is that still to come? Maybe not in the way that you imagine it. But yes, there will be more Ford and Fiona.

TVLINE | He tried to explain the situation to Fiona when she first found out. Is there more to the story than he’s letting on? Is it more complicated than it seems? Isn’t it always from the point of the view of the person who’s trying to say that they’re being misunderstood? The reality is emotional intimacy with another person requires honesty, and without honesty, you can’t have a relationship that’s successful. And she doesn’t have a good bulls–t meter, because everything was a lie in her childhood. Because of that, somebody lying to her is a huge thing that she keeps having to confront.

TVLINE | With everything that Fiona went through in these past couple episodes in terms of her personal life, her business and with Ian, she was in a very terrible place in this finale, emotionally, mentally and physically. How much further will she spiral? She did get to shoot Ford in the a— with a paint gun, though. It’s the little things.

TVLINE | That must have been very cathartic. [Laughs] Yeah, she’s got some further to fall, and we’ve got to see how does that work with her family, and who will step up with her, and how is she going to accept who she’s going to be as just an individual. Because up to this point, her life has been defined by raising her siblings — not that she had a choice. Who’s she going to be now when they’re basically all growing up or grown up?

TVLINE | Is there still hope of her getting at least a semi-happy ending before we say goodbye to Fiona and Emmy Rossum? [Laughs] Yes, although there are a lot of fairy tales about what a — excuse the pun — happy ending is for most people. What is that we need to be happy? What is it that we want? A lot of these ideas about what it’s supposed to be like are not what really makes us happy, and that’s what she’s starting to figure out. I hope that at the end of the next seven episodes that you’ll feel pleased about where she ends up. But I don’t want to suggest that suddenly everything is rosy for Fiona.

TVLINE | Maybe another word for it is a bittersweet ending, like with Ian. How did you land on that particular ending for Ian? And was Mickey always a part of it? We always were hopeful that Noel [Fisher] would come back and be a part of it. He was great on the show when he was on it all the time. He went off to do other things. When we started to think about Cameron [Monaghan] not coming back, we had a conversation immediately with Noel to say, “Hey, can we grab you for a day? Will you come back and play Mickey again for a little bit?” He said, “Yeah.” And then we decided how to do it.

TVLINE | Lip has stepped up so much this season at home, even as a father figure. Do you seem him becoming the patriarch of the family, especially in light of the fact that you’re losing the sort-of matriarch when Fiona exits? I think people, as they mature and grow up and go through life — and he’s been through a lot — you start to think about, “Who am I going to be as a grown up?” That is definitely part of what we’re trying to do. Lip’s been through a lot, and now he has to take more responsibility and decide who he’s going to be and what makes him happy. I really love the storyline that we’ve been playing with him.

TVLINE | Will you be exploring Debbie’s sexuality further? What we’re doing or working with is a lot of young people feel not nearly as defined by their gender and want to kind of figure out, “Isn’t it just love? Isn’t it just who we fall in love with? Isn’t it just who we care for? Should we be making all this distinctions?” I don’t think we’ve made up any kind of mind about where she will end up. She’s just trying to be happy and find people to be happy with. If she ends up with a woman as a life partner, that’ll be great. If she ends up with a man as a life partner, that’ll be great. We just want her to find a way to be happy and fulfilled in her life. So we’re playing with that 18-year-old, 19-year-old, who’s trying to figure out what her sexuality is, and should she have to decide at this moment in time.

Shameless fans, what did you think of the midseason ender? Grade it via the poll below!

Take Our Poll

Source: https://tvline.com/2018/10/21/shameless-recap-season-9-episode-7-finale-fiona-moves-back-home/

[junker-town]

NBA mock draft 2017: The Knicks get lucky and land the No. 1 pick

Markelle Fultz goes to the Knicks in our latest mock draft.

Phil Jackson wants a fresh start for the Knicks. If the ping-pong balls in the NBA draft lottery bounce like they did for this mock draft, he’ll get his wish.

We’re using ESPN’s lottery machine to randomize the draft order for every mock leading up the lottery on May 16. Last week, the Lakers landed the No. 1 spot. This time, the Knicks cash in a 5.4 percent chance at the top pick.

This exercise shows just how much a little lottery luck can change the future of a franchise. The Lakers fell to No. 6 on the lottery machine this time, which means their pick conveyed to the Philadelphia 76ers. In this mock, the Sixers now have two top-six selections, while the Lakers lose this year’s pick plus another first rounder in 2019.

For more on the 2017 NBA Draft, check out our running list of who’s in, who’s out and who’s still on the fence. We miss you, Miles Bridges and Robert Williams. Let’s mock!

1. New York Knicks - Markelle Fultz, PG, Washington

Landing in New York would be a major change of pace for Fultz. He’s been flying under the radar about as much as a future No. 1 overall pick can over the last few years.

Fultz was a late riser as a recruit who couldn’t even make varsity as a sophomore at D.C. powerhouse DeMatha Catholic. Once he ascended to five-star status as a junior, he picked the Washington Huskies over all of the blue bloods. Washington finished 9-22, missed the NCAA tournament and played most of their games while the rest of the country was asleep.

It’s a safe bet that Fultz will be able to make the adjustment. He’s the total package as a point guard and should be a future superstar. Pairing him with Kristaps Porzingis would be trouble for the rest of the league. The Knicks deserve to catch a break once every three decades.

2. Orlando Magic - Lonzo Ball, PG, UCLA

The Magic have been joyless and terrible since trading Dwight Howard in 2012. Can one player really change that? If anyone is up to it, it’s Lonzo Ball.

Throw Evan Fournier and Mario Hezonja on the wings, Aaron Gordon at the four and Bismack Biyombo at the five, and suddenly Orlando looks like a team that could push the tempo and put shooting around the perimeter. That’s how Ball played at UCLA. It worked wonders for the Bruins.

3. Philadelphia 76ers - Josh Jackson, SF, Kansas

The Sixers have needed a two-way wing for years. Jackson is the best one in the draft. He does his best work defensively, but he should also thrive getting out in transition next to Ben Simmons. Basketball-wise, the big question will be his jump shot. It doesn’t look pretty, but Jackson hit a hot streak at the end of the year that boosted his three-point percentage up to a respectable 37.8.

NBA teams will have to investigate a troubling episode where he allegedly attacked a teammate’s ex-girlfriend’s car.

4. Boston Celtics - Jonathan Isaac, SF, Florida State

Falling to No. 4 would be the worst case scenario for Boston. If it happens, swinging for the fences with Isaac would be an interesting move.

The 6’10 wing from Florida State looks like the highest upside player on the board. He projects as a great, versatile defender with a burgeoning offensive skill set. If his jumper is for real, the Celtics will have a perfect power forward for the modern NBA.

5. Phoenix Suns - Jayson Tatum, SF, Duke

The popular sentiment is that Ball is the most polarizing talent in the draft, but Tatum is a close second. He was considered a top-2 recruit from the moment his class started being evaluated, but he showed some holes in his skill set even during a productive freshman year at Duke. Namely: who does he defend and how deep is his shooting range?

Still: there’s never been a better time to be a versatile 6’8 wing in the league. It’s easy to think Tatum has a high floor even if his ceiling isn’t as high as others in this range.

6. Philadelphia 76ers - Malik Monk, SG, Kentucky

The Sixers need shooters around Ben Simmons and Monk is possibly the best shooter in the class. If Philly ends up with two picks in this range, he’s an easy selection alongside a player with a more complete skill set like Jackson.

7. Minnesota Timberwolves - Lauri Markkanen, PF, Arizona

The Wolves would be in a tough spot if the board broke this way. They don’t need a point guard with Kris Dunn and Ricky Rubio on the roster, so De’Aaron Fox and Dennis Smith Jr. don’t fit. Miles Bridges might have worked here as an explosive wing, but he opted to go back to school. Same goes for Texas A&M power forward Robert Williams.

Markkanen comes with major question marks about his defense, but he’s an incredible shooter at 7-feet tall. He and Karl-Anthony Towns would form a unique front line in Minnesota.

8. Sacramento Kings - De’Aaron Fox, PG, Kentucky

Fox turned in the signature performance of the season when he dropped 39 points on Lonzo Ball in Kentucky’s Sweet 16 victory over UCLA. His game is defined by speed: from the moment he enters the NBA, Fox will be one of the fastest players in the league. He’s aggressive on both ends of the floor and a thrill to watch when he’s cooking. The only question is his jump shot.

9. Dallas Mavericks - Dennis Smith, PG, NC State

Smith is talented enough to go in the top five. If he falls to No. 9, the Mavs will have a steal.

The NC State freshman is an ultra athletic lead guard who has drawn comparisons to Eric Bledsoe. Please watch him drop 32 points in a win over Duke in January.

10. Sacramento Kings - OG Anunoby, SF, Indiana

The Kings have already invested a lot of first round picks in the front court with Willie Cauley-Stein, Skal Labissiere and Georgios Papagiannis. Buddy Hield — big like Klay and shoots like Steph! — will be entrenched at off-guard. After taking a point guard in Fox with their first pick, the Kings need a wing.

Picking Anunoby requires a leap of faith. He tore his ACL in January, and didn’t have the breakout offensive season many expected before that. Still, he projects as the best and most versatile defender in this class if he’s healthy. His defensive upside and athleticism is worth the risk.

11. Charlotte Hornets - Frank Ntilikina, PG, France

We had Miles Bridges pegged at this pick last week. So much for that. Ntilikina — still only 18 years old — works for Charlotte too because he has the length to defend either backcourt spot and shoot from three.

12. Detroit Pistons - Zach Collins, C, Gonzaga

Two years ago, Collins was the third string center at Las Vegas’ Bishop Gorman High School behind Chase Jeter and Stephen Zimmerman. Now he’s a certified lottery pick after breaking out in the Final Four for Gonzaga. Stan Van Gundy loves a versatile big man and Collins fits that profile.

13. Denver Nuggets - Justin Jackson, SF, North Carolina

It seems like there’s a fringe first rounder who decides to go back to school and turns himself into a lottery pick every year. Last season, it was Buddy Hield. This year, it’s Justin Jackson. Both players led their teams to the Final Four, but Jackson’s North Carolina Tar Heels finished the job by winning the national title.

Jackson was always a three-point shot away from turning into a first rounder. He found it as a junior and it changed everything for his NBA hopes.

14. Miami Heat - Jarrett Allen, C, Texas

Allen has quick feet and long arms. He might not be an instant impact rookie, but the Heat are in a position to draft a player with the best long-term potential. Allen fits the billing.

15. Chicago Bulls - Donovan Mitchell, SG, Louisville

Mitchell has the most interesting stay-or-go decision in the draft. If he goes back to Louisville for his junior season, the Cards will be a top-five team in the preseason polls and a trendy pick to make the Final Four. This spot would be on the optimistic side of his draft projection, but the Bulls could use an athlete and defender of his caliber.

16. Portland Trail Blazers - Isaiah Hartenstein, PF, Germany

The Blazers got a chance to see what Hartenstein looked like on the Moda Center floor at the Nike Hoop Summit, where he scored 10 points for the World team. He’s a big body and fluid athlete with a nice face-up game.

17. Indiana Pacers - T.J. Leaf, PF, UCLA

The Pacers have been looking for a shooter at the four for two years now. Pairing Leaf with a young center in Myles Turner would give the Pacers great front court spacing for years to come.

18. Milwaukee Bucks - D.J. Wilson, PF/C, Michigan

Wilson is projected at No. 34 on DraftExpress right now, but I’m sticking with my wildest first round prediction. Here’s what I wrote last week:

No one has Wilson rated this highly, but that didn’t stop the Bucks from drafting Giannis Antetokounmpo and Thon Maker. At 6’10, 240 pounds, Wilson hit 41 threes (at 37.5 percent) and blocked 51 shots for Michigan as a junior. If Milwaukee is looking for an insurance policy for Jabari Parker, Wilson might be worth a shot.

19. Portland Trail Blazers - Terrance Ferguson, SG, Adelaide (NBL)

Ferguson hit six threes at the Moda Center last year in the Nike Hoop Summit. Portland could use a bigger wing and more shooting. Ferguson would be a steal if he falls this far.

20. Atlanta Hawks - Justin Patton, C, Creighton

The Hawks are in prime position to groom a young center behind Dwight Howard. Patton projects as a two-way big man with good speed and a soft touch around the rim. He exploded on the college scene this season after being hit with a redshirt last year as a true freshman at Creighton.

21. Oklahoma City Thunder - Luke Kennard, SG, Duke

Kennard is a ruthless scorer who ascended from a role player to No. 1 option as a sophomore at Duke this year. He’d add some much added shooting to OKC’s perimeter.

22. Brooklyn Nets - Harry Giles, PF, Duke

Giles is the hardest player to project in this class. The former No. 1 overall recruit has an unfortunate history of knee injuries and it slowed him down this year at Duke. Drafting him is essentially a medical decision at this point.

23. Utah Jazz - Rodions Kurucs, SG, Barcelona II

Kurucs is a draft-and-stash option at a premium position who combines size (6’8) and shooting. He could go higher than this.

24. Toronto Raptors - Ivan Rabb, PF, Cal

Rabb hurt his draft stock by deciding to go back to Cal for his sophomore season. He still projects as a quality role player in the front court with a soft touch around the basket.

25. Orlando Magic - Tyler Lydon, PF, Syracuse

The Magic have needed shooting in the front court for years. Lydon didn’t get a ton of attention as a sophomore for a Syracuse team that missed the NCAA tournament, but he has first round talent.

26. Portland Trail Blazers - Devin Robinson, SF, Florida

Robinson is an elite athlete with a high defensive ceiling. His NBA success will likely come down to his jump shot. He made major strides as a junior at Florida this past season, hitting 39.1 percent of his shots from deep.

27. Nets - Jawun Evans, PG, Oklahoma State

Evans led the country’s most efficient offense as a sophomore at Oklahoma State. He’s short (6-foot) but can shoot, pass and dribble while providing pesky perimeter defense.

28. Lakers - John Collins, PF, Wake Forest

Collins put up 19.2 points and 9.8 rebounds this season on 62.2 percent shooting from the floor as a sophomore at Wake Forest. The man can score the ball. His defense is a question mark. He could go 10 spots higher than this.

29. Spurs - Jonathan Jeanne, C, France

Jeanne is a long big man who projects as a rim protector. When in doubt, give the Spurs an international player.

30. Jazz - Wesley Iwundu, SF, Kansas State

A big wing defender with a good feel for the game, Iwundu’s NBA chances depend on his jump shot.