#the lack of summer photos was killing me

[sunny-sainz]

the man is finally keeping us fed 😭😭😭

[pookietv]

small pause | arthurtv

requested!! an arthurtv x reader social media break up, but with a happy ending :)

hope u guys enjoyed and i loved doing this so if you have anymore requests please send them in!!

liked by arthurtv, freyanightingale and 5,278 more tagged bambinobecky

yourusername: forcing becky to take me on museum dates that she doesn't care about

bambinobecky: you stared at the paintings and i stared at your arse

↳ yourusername: sounds like a good trade tbh x

gkbarry: your haiiiiir i would kill for mine to be that thick

↳ yourusername: love you endlessly girl

sabinablair: looking gorgeous

↳ yourusername: need to see you soon! missed u like crazy x

liked by georgeclarkeey, chrismd10 and 6,839 others

arthurtv: went back to jersey for a while, sorry for the lack in uploads! wanted some time at home and with family for a bit, will be back and uploading next week :)

georgeclarkeey: come back i miss our cuddles

↳ arthurtv: you weren't supposed to tell anyone about that

arthurnfhill: looking good!

↳ arthurtv: are you flirting with me??

user1: omg him going home to feel better after the breakup, arthurxy/n heart is breaking

liked by yourusername, arthurtv and 7,208 more. tagged arthurtv

theuselesshotlinepod: had the lovely @/arthurtv on with us this week to talk UK youtube, dating, and growing up with chris md!

arthurtv: is george allowed to touch everyone like that in the workplace??

↳ maxbalegde: well we tell him not to due to HR but he just couldn't keep his hands off you x

liked by faithlouisak, taliamar and 6,302 more

yourusername: dragging the girls to come out for cocktails has become a too often occurrence (not that i'm complaining)

taliamar: ugh was so good to see you

↳ yourusername: ditto, literally have been rotting in bed so the girls was exactly what i needed

faithlouisak: ur so hot

↳ yourusername: coming from my favourite milf x

bambinobecky: what is there on this earth that cocktails can't fix?

↳ yourusername: i'll not go too deep on the main insta x

yourusername has posted on their story!

liked by yourusername, georgeclarkeey and 6,893 more

arthurtv: a silly little last min trip to greece :)

georgeclarkeey: any excuse for you to take your top off

↳ arthurtv: your mum wasn't complaining last night

arthurnfhill: literally didn't even realise you had left the flat, you're in greece?

↳ arthurtv: glad to know i'm appreciated

liked by arthurtv, bambinobecky and 6,390 others

yourusername: i went away for the weekend and thought i'd share some of the cute photos (ps: there were so many cats i loved it so much)

taliamar: literally the prettiest!! i didn't even know you were going on holiday

↳ yourusername: was a last min long weekend thing, i didn't even know i was going away until the day before lmao

username3: anyone think it looks really similar to where arthur is rn???

gkbarry: you're so hot oml

↳ yourusername: no u

bambinobecky: could have at least taken me with u

↳ yourusername: next time next time x

username1: y/n's single hot girl summer era is gonna go so hard

↳ yourusername: about that ...

↳ username2: what the fuck does she mean 'about that'????

↳ yourusername: hehe

liked by arthurtv, bambinobecky and 6,389 others tagged arthurtv

yourusername: okay so i may not have been on holiday alone

user1: oh my FUCKING god i called it

user2: mrs television is back i been waiting for thissss

georgeclarkeey: we all called it, knew it wouldn't be off for long

↳ yourusername: get lost loser

↳ georgeclarkeey: you mock but living with him in his mopey missing y/n era was no fun

arthurtv: you did me dirty with that second photo of my entire plate of beans

↳ yourusername: i mean what are you gonna do, break up with me again?

↳ arthurtv: way to kick a guy when feels guilty

↳ yourusername: being guilty is a small price to pay if it means you'll take me on holidays again :)

↳ arthurtv: i think i owe you a million holidays

↳ yourusername: i can live with that x

maxbalegde: possibly the shortest breakup i've ever seen (but i knew it wouldn't last long, arthur literally looks lost when ur not in a room let alone not in his life)

↳ yourusername: just means i'm stuck with him for good

liked by yourusername, arthurnfhill and 7,839 others

arthurtv: she only got back with me to make me take nice photos of her

yourusername: absolutely not!!! (it's also for the banging cuppas you make)

↳ arthurtv: ah, makes sense

user1: favourite couple are officially back together

[answer2jeff]

i was just thinking about dad!carmy missing his wifey when she's on a girls trip for the first time since their daughters birth and anxiously waiting for her to call him...

valeria has just been put to sleep after a seemingly endless hour and a half of rocking, soothing, and shushing.

"relax baby, mommy's gonna be home before you know it," carmy says, kissing the top of valeria's head and wincing a bit when her little fist tightens around his thick index finger. "yes i know," he sighs as she lets out one last wail of 'mama' followed by incoherent babbles before her body begins to relax at the sound of her daddy's soothing hums. no one is exactly sure where the song came from. maybe it's a pre-existing song further expanded on with different notes. maybe it's a whole new song with a lack of words he made just for his little girl.

carmen's back is sore and his hands mourn the weight of his precious girl in his arms, even if he's more than happy that she's finally at peace in her crib. the reality of his temporary loneliness really sets in the moment he closes the door to his daughters nursery.

he tries to distract himself from the sight of your nearly empty home. he's been wiping down the perfectly spotless kitchen counter with a microfiber towel for the last 3 and a half minutes while he scrolls aimlessly through your Instagram with his free hand, smiling to himself with every photo of you glistening in the summer heat. a margarita in one hand, a friends shoulder in the other. he's always thought you're the most beautiful when you're happy. with the sand in between your toes, salt water frizzing up your hair, the sun caressing the spots of your skin he wished he was the one to hold and kiss—seeing you free warms something in him.

meanwhile, you're falling onto your back and feeling the silky cold fabric of your hotel room bed against your skin. the bikini you've had on for hours is still a little damp from the ocean. it makes you shiver. you giggle at your 2 friends who pile into your shared bathroom, ready to puke and laugh and cry at their sickness from alcohol. you decide that you should kill some time before it's your turn to shower and boil yourself in delicious hot water. the balcony calls your name, and you quickly grab your phone from your beach bag, getting up to slide the glass door open to your left. the air feels warm and sweet against your sunkissed skin. your bare feet patter against the concrete foundation before you lean against the railing. you don't even bother to check anyone else's attempts at communication with you today. carmen is the only thing on your mind.

carmen nearly jumps at the sound of his cellphone vibrating against the bathroom sink. he quickly spits the minty toothpaste out of his mouth and accepts your call, raising it to his ear and wiping the corner of his lip.

"hey, baby," he breaths into the line, smiling almost uncontrollably as he drops his toothbrush back in the mug. the absence of yours with that pink little clip that covers the bristles is so disheartening. it's kinda silly, the way he frowns at the missing pieces of you all around your house.

"hi!" you chew on your bottom lip. it's like you're hearing his voice for the first time again. the petname sends butterflies swarming through your stomach. hell, even with a ring on your finger, it feels like you'd just met yesterday. the sound, smell, and feeling of him could never get old.

carmen yawns, leaning back on the bed and feeling his stomach drop when the little dip in the memory foam mattress has completely raised up to its original form. god, he misses the weight of your presence. but he tries to keep it cool.

"i was just thinkin' about you. well, i've been thinking about you this whole weekend," he laughs, running his hands through his sweatlogged curls. "glad you called."

"i know," you whine, "me too. missing you both, actually." your head feels fuzzy when carmen's little huff of agreement hits your ears. for a moment, his calm attitude surprises you. but maybe it shouldn't. he insisted you should go on this 2 day trip, swearing up and down he could handle being with valeria for a little over 48 hours.

"missing you so much more."

you didn't doubt his ability to keep his temper down and his self-discipline up when taking care of her, but you almost felt a little guilty.

"how are things?" you anxiously ask. carmen goes to answer dishonestly, but you quickly clarify. "and before you tell me, i know things have probably been kinda crazy. but oh my god, carmy, thank you for letting me do this. really, i mean—"

"what?" he cuts you off with a chuckle. "letting you? baby, you—you needed it. fuck, you earned it." carmen sits up in disbelief. it pains him knowing he can't fill in the much needed space of valeria's mother, but the guilt of ever daring to ask you to fly back home would kill him even faster. all he wanted was for you to be happy. even if that required sacrifice. especially since he knew deep down you did that for him every single day, even if you didn't notice it.

"mhm."

"i'm so glad you're having fun. things have been hectic, but i'm managing, okay? valeria has just been..." carmen pauses, gnawing at the inside of his cheek and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to find the right words.

you relax a bit, letting out a deep sigh of relief. but the anxiety still eats at you. the feeling of your bikini strings digging into your skin and the sand on your inner thighs forming what would soon become a rash if you didn't shower soon certainly wasn't helping with your situation.

"...tough recently. that's all. nothing for you to worry about."

"i know, i know. i just—i don't know. i feel bad. like, my mom instincts are screaming 'go home and take care of your daughter like a proper mother you sick, sick woman! you're not a teenager anymore! god, your poor husband is taking time off of his career too! not just you,' y'know?"

the attempt of trying to make some light out of your guilt just comes out awfully sad. carmen sighs, wishing he could just envelop you in his arms right then and there and drag you back into bed, kissing and squeezing and softly biting your neck and shoulders. but his needs can be dealt with when you get back. this, your sanity and your happiness, is far more important.

"try not to even think about it like that, sweet girl. just enjoy yourself. promise me you'll do that? not just for me, but for you?"

you nod, humming in agreement and sitting down on the cheap plastic chair on the balcony. you knew he was right. carmen spends next few minutes whispering over and over again how wonderful of a person, wife, and mother you are. he assures you that this is right and that it's good for you. oh, how he wishes he could take every worry that ails you and toss it away. or even carry it on his own shoulders if he absolutely had to.

"call me when you get to the airport on monday, okay?"

"okay, i will. i'll text you as soon as i take off and as soon as i land. promise."

"alright, thank you. g'night, baby. get some sleep so you can have even more fun tomorrow."

"yeah, yeah. okay. gotcha."

"i love you."

"i love you, carmy."

"so much," he breaths.

"so much," you reply.

taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

[lizbethborden]

Started listening to American Predator while doing my chores etc. Something I didn't realize or even think of, and I guess it's just unfamiliarity with this style of business, is that Samantha Koenig worked at one of those bikini kiosks.

If you're not familiar with him, the book is about Israel Keyes, a very recent American serial killer who committed suicide in prison in 2012. He has a mythology about being the most meticulous serial killer of all time, because he buried multiple caches of supplies, or "kill kits," all across the country, and traveled hundreds of miles out of his way to retrieve these kits and commit his murders, exploiting jurisdictional boundaries and the isolation and lack of resources in rural and underprivileged areas to make people disappear.

He was caught after he kidnapped and murdered Samantha Koenig, a teenager working a night shift at a coffee kiosk in Anchorage, Alaska. He held her hostage, raped her, killed her, froze her corpse in his shed, later returned and thawed her body, sewed open her eyelids, and staged a "proof of life" photo so that he could collect ransom for her. Later, he dismembered her and submerged the pieces of her body in an Alaskan lake. It's been implied in what I've read and listened to that he committed necrophilia with her corpse and the corpses of other victims.

Samantha Koenig worked at a coffee kiosk. In the American Northwest this seems to be a pretty common business, and to be stereotypically staffed by young, attractive women, especially because in the summer, the female staff wears bikinis to serve coffee. The first 48 hours of the investigation into her disappearance were squandered by investigators assuming she had just run away. Even when surveillance footage was discovered showing Keyes holding her at gunpoint, forcing her to empty the register, tying her up, and kidnapping her, it was considered "unclear" whether this is what was actually happening, because they'd appeared to be having a friendly conversation beforehand. The police did not publicize her disappearance until after her father's activities--standing outside the kiosk for hours, handing out flyers with her face on them--forced them to act.

When I realized she worked at one of those bikini shops, I thought about the video publicized a few months ago of a young woman at a similar shop on the West Coast, who, after a male customer berated and threatened her and threw coffee at her and the kiosk window, took out a hammer and smashed his windshield. She was interviewed afterward through a lens of how she should be regretting or questioning her own actions. Luckily, this woman was totally unrepentant, as she should be.

Something it makes me think about is the extent to which these women and girls are considered disposable. If Samantha Koenig's father had not advocated on her behalf and widely publicized her disappearance, what actions would the police have taken? What did it matter if it initially appeared that she was friendly with her attacker in the video--how does that possibly confuse the issue of her being held at gunpoint and tied up with zip ties? She didn't have her own bank account, not even her own debit card. She didn't have her own car. How was she going to run away?

I don't have a full conclusion here. But this is what's circling in my head right now:

Objectification/dehumanization of these women and girls, especially because of working in a sexualized environment

The role of women and girls, especially in customer-facing service roles, as absorbers of cultural (male) aggression and unhappiness

The indifference of authorities to these "disposable" women (something which Keyes not only exploited here, but to the nth degree when he victimized Native communities, people of color, and prostituted, drug-addicted women--Gary Ridgway was similar)

[aperfectangelgirl]

tw: mentions of genocide, SA, graphic descriptions of murders, general nihilism and doom & gloom

i’ve always made it my business to be aware of what’s going on in the world.

so i know. i know that the genocide in gaza is one of the most horrific things humanity has ever witnessed. i’ve seen the photos; a little girl’s body dangling from a window, legs blown off. a man who was run over with a tank from the legs up, so he was alive while he was crushed, his insides splattered across the road. i know they are training dogs to rape palestinians. i know that they are raping women and children in front of their families before they kill them. i know that there are concentration camps. i know that the US is arming and funding this campaign. i know that they are getting away with this because most people choose not to see. not to care.

i know that climate scientists believe we will have no fish in the oceans by 2055. i know that this is the hottest summer we’ve ever felt and it will only get worse. i know that one billion people are projected to die, quickly, in the next decade; due to heat, infrastructure failures, lack of food from heat killing crops. i know that AI is consuming so much power that it is an environmental crisis. i know that the bombs going off in palestine are speeding up the process. i know that as the ice melts, ancient diseases we are not prepared for will be released. i know that there are already other pandemics waiting to occur, and we (at least in the US) have proven that we don’t care enough about anyone, even ourselves, to take the proper precautions against these sicknesses. i know that the population has already been weakened from the current pandemic and another one will be catastrophic.

i know that the US is speeding towards fascism; we’re already there. i know that women have lost the right to abortion, and even can be criminally prosecuted for having one, in 15 states. i know that gay marriage and gender affirming healthcare are on the chopping block. i know that tuition rose exponentially over my lifetime because universities invest in weapons manufacturers. i know that rising prices are not just greed, but by design; we are all meant to lose our means of survival, be turned into the streets, and get arrested, because homelessness is illegal. i know that the US’s end goal is slavery for us all. there is no labor cheaper than prison labor.

i know all of these things. i know most people are too apathetic to care. i feel absolutely fucking insane trying to talk to anyone about these things. no one cares. when i mentioned palestine on father’s day, my mom said, “lets talk about something that isn’t doom and gloom.” as if the death of thousands is simply an unpleasant topic, and not something we should care about. something we should be fucking angry about. something we should do something about.

so what am i to do with all of this knowledge, anyway? i can’t do shit. no one wants to care with me. and what good does caring do? it tears me apart. it keeps me up at night.

apathy is what they want so they can continue to kill us all, one way or another; but apathy seems to be the only way to survive without falling apart under the weight of it all.

seriously, what the FUCK am i supposed to do with all of this knowledge. someone tell me.

i wrote this BEFORE chevron was overturned and by god…….

[solosol]

you know what i want to be doing. I want to be growing my own food, not in my garden but in my wild food forest, rejoicing when its time to harvest the fruits of my labour, contemplating the next harvest, and what I might change, but I also want to put in the work, I want to plant the seeds and do whatever it is I'm meant to with the soil. I want to be painting with handmade pigments, however you do that, or locally sourced I don't know. I want to find all the records I really care about and then play them in my room, on a warm summers evening or a cold winter morning.

I want to still make music with the people around me, but just for creation sake, to express and not to become the next viral musician. i still want to take photos of everything and everyone around me. I want to work in a local bookshop where I can advise people about what book to buy next if they are unsure, then make them coffee and ask about their day. maybe start a book club for fun. i want to actually be integrated into a community where I know the people and they know me. they come to my place after a long day for dinner, or maybe to borrow some milk or sugar. i kind of want to build my home and help build the homes of those around me. i want to be able to help in a meaningful way.

i want to be walking barefoot on the ground and letting my toes spread how they should naturally. i want to climb up a tree and smoke a spliff while I watch the sun set or rise. i want to forage some mushrooms and give my leftovers to my neighbours. i want to be feeding the local animals, provide them shelter when they need.

i want to be making communal art, communal love, communal happiness.

although i am eternally grateful for the roof over my head, the warm bed that I sleep in, the food in my stomach, the people around me who inspire me, love me. in this place I am no longer thriving, I don't even want to thrive here because my spirit does not align. all these things I want to do should not be luxury, should not be only afforded to those who can choose not to work. i can't accept that I am expected to work a potentially mind-numbing job, trying to climb higher and higher on an invisible ladder, one that wasn't even made for me. trying to win at a game that I have lost before I even started. the world is falling apart, she has been for a while and I simply refuse to keep doing this. i am not sure how I will remove myself from this matrix* but somehow I will. otherwise, I am sure my mind body and soul will rot here.

this is not a comment on those who choose to follow said path, some have the power, the drive, the will to win, and they will. me...i just simply can not. I thought it was a lack of ambition but i realised i just don't want to kill myself for an idea of happiness. in the end, being a famed photographer or poet or musician or even a revolutionary will not make me happy. as amazing as that would be, and i want to stress some parts of me would love that and do crave that. i know that in the end my soul, my spirit is not intertwined with those paths, i know that i would follow those paths for the image and not for the true purpose. i can find true purpose* in a different way.

again i say all of this but I have no idea how i am going to make this my reality, but somehow i will. i believe i am not going to be here for very long ( i really don't want to be) so sooner rather than later pls

*i hate using this word bacuse honestly its been bastardised

*i dont know what my true purpose is, or what true purpose actually means...its for lack or a better term.

[xocasper]

took a walk in the woods last night. stood on a bridge for a while. went home and made some hot chocolate. had therapy today. she told me to stay away from bridges.

enjoy a 2.6k gerard fic under the cut. only warning is that he wants to kill himself. it’s not graphic, he just wants to die. maybe i’ll actually format this someday. not today though. enjoy xo

“I think I’m dying.”

Gerard spoke the words with blissful ignorance, as if his fate didn’t suddenly reside in your hands. He didn’t bother to glance towards you, or still the vinyl that spun in monotonous circles. He simply lay on the carpet of the basement floor, tracing over cracks in the ceiling while he waited. For an answer, maybe, or perhaps to speak again. You hesitated at first, searching for a proper response to the bomb he had just dropped. Comprehension was out of reach, so you asked your most curious question.

“Are you scared?”

He grew thoughtful, but his answer was crystal clear. “No.”

So simple, naive and broken. Only seventeen and already prepared to die, he finally spared you a glance. The room was too dark to spot the anguish painted on your features, and yet he knew of the worry flooding your head.

“What about you? Are you scared to die?”

Similarly, you laid and thought it over for a moment. Your answer took longer to form, as your mind spent time wandering. Slowly, your eyes trailed over his bedroom–comic books, chicken-scratch sketches, a record collection, and a photo of you. One from Coney Island, when he had picked you up in the early morning, the summer sun hardly splitting the sky. And you stood before him in the sand, gazing up at the vermilion Wonder Wheel, as if the world could never hurt you.

“I’m scared to leave you,” you whispered, swallowing hard.

An indescribable feeling filled him to the brim–a sick mix of guilt and fear, twisting in his gut until he grew nauseous. He almost regretted his lack of common sense, remorse settling over him like a storm cloud. Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken at all.

Rather than apologizing, he spoke earnestly. “I’ll miss you when I’m gone.”

You wanted to be mad at his pessimism. God, you wanted to tell him to look on the bright side and stop scaring you so fucking much. Was Gerard really going to die? It was a question you were afraid to ask him, and terror monopolized any anger brewing inside of you. Fear is the root of anger, though, isn't it?

Every plea in the world couldn’t make him stay. It wouldn’t convince him that he belonged, on a sick planet with twisted people. They had done nothing but cast him out, showing him brutality and vitriol, tearing any form of escapism from his clutches. And Gerard, an emblem of vulnerability, rolled with the punches. Enough was enough though, and it only took a late night and The Smiths for him to confess.

After a moment of silence, Gerard felt the need to speak up. Unsure of what to say, he jumped to his own defense, hoping to clear the air. “They don’t want me here,” he said quietly, back to staring at the plaster. “...And I don’t think I want me here, either.”

“I want you here,” you told him like it would ease his pain.

You knew better though, and you didn’t bother to argue when he murmured back, “I know.”

Instead, your hand slipped into his. The action was soft and spiked with trepidation, but he didn’t resist, rather lacing his fingers between yours. You and Gerard had always been like this–an escape for the other. The one thing they couldn’t take away. Except now things had changed, and you were losing your best friend.

Words were heavy and sentences were suffocating, so the two of you remained in silence as Asleep echoed around the room. Gerard’s voice was haunting as the lyrics rolled off his tongue, spewing irony as he squeezed your hand. You wanted to roll your eyes at the cliche, but it was a siren song; it closed the album as Gerard closed his eyes, hoping to lose himself in the night.

Carefully, you pulled your hand away, dizzily standing up to tuck away the record. He didn’t make a sound, but a strange loneliness settled over him while you busied yourself. Perhaps it was a longing, tugging at his heartstrings, only soothed as you returned to your prior position. This time though, Gerard wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Sometimes, I think I’m in love with you,” he mumbled, letting you curl into his side. “Maybe it’s because I’ve never loved anyone else.”

It was true. Gerard cared about people–his parents, Mikey. But no matter how hard he tried, love was an impossible word. He couldn’t tell people he loved them, not if he was just going to disappear. When the word met his ears, he offered little smiles of acknowledgment, but never parroted it back. You were different though. Gerard loved you.

“Well, I love you,” you said softly, as if anything louder could’ve shattered the room.

For the first time in months, he didn’t get a lump in his throat. He didn’t find a building pressure in his chest, suffocating him as he searched for the strength to speak with the same devotion. The sentence was subconscious, although foreign as it rang in his ears.

“I love you too.”

You wanted to tell him not to say that. It wasn’t fair–if he were really a goner, he couldn’t be telling you these things. He couldn’t make you pretty promises, only to tear them away at a moment’s notice. The words were meant to be everlasting, not for a broken adolescent, struggling to make it to their eighteenth birthday.

Despite your turmoil, he continued. “And I think I’ve loved you for a long time. It’s different with you, you know?”

Of course you knew. Gerard was different. He was special, and beautiful, and yours. He’d been your best friend for years now, but there was always something more. An adoration, a longing, an ache and utter incompletion when you looked at him. So in honest understanding, you murmured a response under your breath.

“Yeah.”

God, you understood more than he’d ever know. Enamorment seemed casual, as he had stated so simply himself. He had spoken the truth with such valor, as if he truly had nothing to lose. In a way, he didn’t–not when you felt the same. And yet, you didn’t get butterflies when you thought about him. Your heart didn’t pound, and you weren’t weak in the knees. It was a simple, undeniable truth–you were in love with him.

Maybe you didn’t quite understand it. Maybe he didn’t either. But in both of your books, it was a word meant for the other–when you were together, everything felt like it would be okay. Without any inhibitions, you echoed his earlier sentiment.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

He didn’t respond, only tilting his head to glance down at you. Still curled up next to him, you gazed back, admiring his moonlit features. Gerard was the prettiest person you’d ever seen—it was as if he were hand-painted, effortlessly blessed with divine beauty. Yet here he was, watching you with sheer admiration as he held you in his arms.

It was natural, the way he leaned in. His hand barely ghosted your cheek, lifting your chin until your nose brushed against his. You moved fluidly, following his lead until your lips were pressed to his, kissing him delicately. Honestly, you weren’t sure if Gerard had even touched a girl since freshman year, but he moved with remarkable grace. His hand still rested on your waist, pulling you closer, while the other caressed your cheek tenderly. Even as he pulled away, he was careful, letting his lips brush yours while his lashes fluttered open.

Neither of you spoke at first, his eyes widening in surprise before softening. You must’ve shared a similar expression, though your insecurity faded much quicker. Instead, it was replaced by curiosity, and you asked a question that has been killing you for the last minute.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” you whispered.

Even in the night, you could see him go scarlet. “Was it that bad?”

You shook your head, “I didn’t mean it like that. It was really nice, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly, for the first time all night. “I had a girlfriend in tenth, remember?”

Vaguely, you recalled a girl from his English class. It only sparked more curiosity, so you put the topic and your prying questions to rest.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, his voice small and full of worry.

Nodding, you leaned back in again, giving a small hum in confirmation as he kissed you. Gerard was beyond gentle, careful and slow, embodying the term bittersweet. He gave you fated kisses, ones that should’ve happened long before, his lips moving leisurely as if he weren’t living on borrowed time. They were easy and natural, like you belonged in his arms, trying desperately to take away his pain. Nothing you could do would stop the storm brewing in his head though, and dread tore you apart.

It was as if he knew, pulling you closer until your palms rested against his chest. His arms were still draped around your waist, holding you securely in case you slipped away. Periodically, his fingers would ghost your hips, rubbing slow, intelligible shapes into your skin. It was tender and abstract, a mindless distraction from a lethal kiss.

In turn, your fingers weaved through his hair, brushing the hair from his forehead as your apprehension whittled away. For a moment, you pulled away, just to catch the dazed look in his eyes before kissing him again. It was different his time, your hands trailing down to cup his cheeks, anxiety substituted with sweet passion. You held the broken boy like he was made of glass, and you kissed him as if he were worth it. Worth wasting time on, worth loving. Soon enough he’d be gone, but you still let yourself fall, waltzing through unknown territory as you caught his lips again.

Even when he pulled away to breathe, he couldn’t seem to let go of you. He fucking clung to you for stability, begging you to anchor him, to fix his head and take his pain away. There was nothing you could do though, not when Gerard was so certain of his fate. Instead, you held his face in your hands, barely breathing as you gazed into his eyes. Guilt-ridden hazel stared back at you, drunk and starry-eyed at your touch.

“Please don’t leave,” you whispered, voice close to breaking.

All Gerard could do was shake his head, a faint action as he gave you a look of regret. Not for something he had done, but something he would do. An inevitable choice that no one, not even Mikey, could prevent. The expression on your face was almost enough to change his mind–lost and pleading, your lip nearly quivering as you searched him for remorse. Lost himself, Gerard did the one thing he could think of, pressing his lips to yours.

You kissed him hopelessly, as if you could breathe the life back into him, holding him tight like he’d crumble beneath your fingertips. It was futile though, Gerard’s hands flush against your skin as he clung to your waist like you could save him. Maybe if there was still time, or if you weren’t making out on his tattered carpet, but both of those were applicable. He was sure that he’d run his course, and there was little left for you to do.

Gerard was a patient, spending his remaining days on some sort of metaphorical life support as he waited for something to tip him over the edge. You had no choice but to watch from afar, his gradual decomposition as people broke him down every fucking day. There were only so many times that you could put him back together, or nights that you could spend on his bedroom floor. Each time, you hoped that it would stick. That he’d have some grand epiphany and decide that things could turn around, but they never really did. So here you were, letting another night waste away through confessions and kisses.

After pulling away, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. The pattern didn’t beat to the tune of an untimely death. Gerard was healthy, beautiful and strong, and yet he bled out like a cadaver. You couldn’t picture him in a casket, finally at peace in a suit too stiff, oblivious to how you’d hold his baby brother and try to save him too. It could’ve been the thought of Gerard’s seemingly inevitable death, or the image of holding a shaking Mikey, but something had tears rolling down your cheeks, and Gerard had noticed.

“Hey, no,” he whispered, lifting his head for a moment as you buried deeper into his chest. “Please don’t cry. Not for me.”

Gerard never wanted to hurt you. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. That was the downside of dying–he had to watch everyone shatter on his way to the ground. He had always figured that if he went quickly, he wouldn’t have to see his family crumble. It was selfish, but Gerard was an honest boy. Now, he could see the flipside–through you, he could see his brother. Fuck, he could see Mikey getting shoved around at school with no one to come home to. He wouldn’t be able to hover over Gerard’s shoulder, reading new comics with him. He wouldn’t be able to sneak into the basement anymore, begging Gerard to take him to a punk show across town. Mikey would be all alone.

Not to mention his parents, who had done their best to raise him with hardly more than a hug and a handmade craft in return. The least he could do was grow into someone of substance, successful, and somebody. Not a depressed seventeen-year-old who took his own life out of surrender and cowardice. He must’ve been brave to make it this far though, right?

He watched you for a moment, laying still against his chest, a few tears staining your cheeks. You were so still, silent in his arms as if you were trying to stay strong for him. You didn’t want him to know how his confessions had broken you, and how you were already in a premature state of mourning. He wanted to tell you that it would be okay, and how he’d stay here with you forever, but they were promises he couldn’t keep. God, he couldn’t even convince himself to stay, so he hardly believed that you could. Rendered speechless, he let his head fall back against the floor, wrapping his arms around you while he focused on anything but the fragility of the room.

“Send me a postcard when you get there,” you joked softly, acting as though a small smile could disguise the hurt in your tone.

Gerard just shook his head, murmuring a quiet, “Promise.”

Maybe he didn’t need to die. Maybe he just needed to leave. Not tonight, or tomorrow. Not too far, nor too close. Just somewhere safe–somewhere they couldn’t hurt him anymore. And maybe he’d take you with him, because maybe that’s what he needed–you. And perhaps you needed him too. Not in the form of a postcard with messy poetry scrawled on the back, or sticky notes with ballpoint Batmans scribbled on them. The real deal.

But that wasn’t a thought for tonight, because right now he had you. Tucked under his arm, eyes fluttered shut as Gerard mumbled lingering thoughts, simply to get them out of his head. And right now, things were okay. Not perfect, not awful, but enough.

[saintsenara]

Hi! First of all, Happy Saint Patrick’s day! Second of all, I have been binge reading ‘One Year in Every Ten’ this past week and I have been absolutely captivated by it. In particular, I’m interested in your characterisation of Delphini, I liked the parallels between the portrait of Bellatrix as a young girl and the photo of Delphini on her birthday. I’m curious as to what your characterisation of Delphini would be if she was to appear as a more prominent character in a work of yours, things like her temperament, feelings towards her parents (particularly in One Year on Every Ten with a dead-but-not-actually Tom), interests etc. She’s a character I typically don’t have great interest in, since I’ve never been particularly interested in The Cursed Child, but you’ve piqued my interest!

I’d also be curious as to how you think interactions between Tom and Delphini would go down, and what you feel Tom’s feelings would be towards her? I think you’ve mentioned before that he wouldn’t be a particularly hands on father, but his behaviour at the end of Chapter 28 makes me wonder about that apparent lack of paternal nature.

anon, thank you so much! i am absolutely delighted that you’ve enjoyed one year in every ten, and i’m particularly thrilled that you’ve managed to do so while being a member of delphini nation. it will come as a shock to nobody that there are plenty of readers who are having to grit their teeth and suffer through the concept of a bellamort baby - and even more, i’m sure, who have dipped altogether at the first mention - and so it’s very refreshing to meet someone with taste…

the hill i will die on is that delphini’s existence makes sense not only in contexts such as this - which you will never find me claiming feature one-hundred-percent-canon-accurate representations of its stars - but within the canonical voldemort and bellatrix’s character arcs. the big theme of the series for voldemort is that his attempt to outrun his humanity is ultimately futile, and so him fucking around [literally] and finding out that even his body - cobbled together from snake blood and dark magic - is capable of getting his mistress pregnant fits that in a really interesting way. the canonical voldemort also has a really quite profound sense of honour - the most striking example of which is that he detests wormtail for having betrayed james and lily, even though that betrayal was literally what he wanted to happen - and i think this provides an explanation for why he wouldn’t just kill bellatrix [or give her an abortifacient against her will] when she refused to end the pregnancy.

[and i do think he’d be under no illusion that delphini was his - not least because the most canon-plausible time for her to be born is at some point in spring 1997. bellatrix appears in half-blood prince once, in a scene set in early july 1996, and then doesn’t turn up in the text again until the opening scene of deathly hallows, which takes place in early july 1997. if we say she’s born in march or april, this would have her conceived in summer 1996 after all the evidence of canon suggests that rodolphus is back in azkaban. voldemort’s not wheedling his way out of that one!]

this does not - obviously - mean that i think he’d give a solitary fuck about the progression of bellatrix’s pregnancy or his daughter’s early life. as he tells us in one year in every ten, he has never actually seen delphini in person - rodolphus forcing that photograph on him in c.21 is the first time he’s ever laid eyes on her, and i think he was genuinely quite surprised to discover that she had turned into something he could think of as recognisably human rather than just a potato that screamed.

because i don’t think he’ll ever stop hating babies - the trauma of his childhood runs too deep, and a spoiler i’ll give away for free is that there’s no way on god’s green earth that harry is getting a riddle child of his own - but i think he won’t find it particularly difficult or traumatic to interact with a delphini who’s eleven and can, therefore, speak at a reasonable volume and sit still when required. i’ve written in a meta about the canon voldemort’s capacity for fatherhood that i think his relationship with delphini is best thought of as akin to the relationship a child might have with their parents’ family friend, and i think that applies to the tom of one year in every ten too.

[not least because this is exactly how i imagine his relationship with rodolphus and rabastan…]

which is to say that i think they will absolutely get along - i am committed to the idea that they are very similar personality wise, that delphini shares lots of his little quirks [marzipan and crosswords coming in clutch], and that the parts of her which remind him of bellatrix are something he refuses to let bother him because he’s never going to be able to properly acknowledge that he misses her - but that their relationship will always be cordial and superficial rather than resembling anything actually familial.

and i think that’s fine! it’s obviously a damning indictment of tom that he’s been beaten to a pulp in the paternal role-model stakes by… rodolphus lestrange, but it’s also better for everyone if he isn’t expected to assume sole responsibility for delphini’s welfare and if she isn’t expected to have to rely on him for any sort of emotional guidance. she can accept that he’s not dead any more [which i think she probably won’t find too hard - she’s inherited her father’s canonical predisposition towards mysticism], he can have his fortnightly trips to see her - not not something he’s keen on because he can lie on the terrace of roddy’s safehouse like a snake on a big, flat rock - and they can make fun of harry in parseltongue and that can be that.

and yet…

tom is of the opinion that he is very much lacking in paternal instinct and that he and delphini will never have a normal father-daughter relationship. he is also a hypocrite, a pathological liar, and a human being incapable - no matter how much he hates that he can’t - of going through the world as an automaton. the tom of one year in every ten has also obviously had some… experiences which have given him a slightly more stable sense of self than he had when harry blasted him in the head with his own killing curse [which means, i think, that he is able to not resent the fact that delphini wasn’t dragged up in an orphanage, as well as to find it faintly amusing, rather than rage-inducing, that she looks exactly like him]. and so he has found himself - while, of course, he would say that this doesn’t indicate anything at all - invested in the idea that his daughter is safe and happy, and vaguely aware that this is something it’s his responsibility to contribute to.

and maybe - although i think it might take quite a while - he might one day actually be able to interrogate that feeling…

stranger things have happened.

when it comes to delphini herself, something i really like that you can do with her as a character is show how both bellatrix and voldemort’s traits can be read much less negatively than they are in canon in someone who doesn’t doom herself in the narrative’s eyes by continually trying to murder its hero. i like her being just as single-minded and sly and brittle and prone to monologuing as her father and as haughty and loyal and hot-tempered as her mother - and i also like her being as clever and [and this is something i feel gets left out of a lot of fanon versions of bellamort] funny as both of her parents - and this being something which just makes her a fully-rounded and interesting character rather than an irredeemable villain.

but something i’m really wedded to in her characterisation is the idea that the person she’d remind harry of… is tonks.

it seems to be really common for andromeda to be written in fanfic as quite cold - and, sure, the only time we see her in canon she’s not exactly rolling out the red carpet for harry and hagrid - and for all of tonks’ personality to come via ted. i’ve never really vibed with that - and so i’ve always preferred to imagine andromeda [and bellatrix] as being, in their youths, very much like the tonks we see in canon: bolshy and rebellious and messy and cheeky and possessed of a very eclectic fashion sense. i think it’s a really important counter to the black-and-white divide between good people, who are nice, and bad people, who are horrible, in the series for harry [and ron and hermione and ginny etc.] to have to realise that someone who unleashed as much destruction on the world as bellatrix could have been so similar to a woman they all adored; and for tom to have to confront the fact that delphini’s only living cousin is draco - who we know he takes quite a dim view of - and it’s entirely his and bella’s own fault.

[and - some shameless self-promo - i’ve actually written a fic on this topic - everlasting ink.]

of course, the other interesting one year in every ten question is what's going to happen when tom meets harry's children. and the answer... is coming sooner than you think...

[moon-ness]

freeflow thoughts.

September 6, 2023

Sick in bed. Watching a wildlife documentary. Eating soup. Going through photos and videos in my phone to clear up space. A lot I have is just pointless but I feel like I don’t want to erase it. It was proof of myself and proof of a life and my face that was here living small moments of existence. Everything in images. Pictures say a thousand words. Looking brings memories and feelings and perspective. The feeling of looking outside of a moment while simultaneously being somewhere inside of it. Somewhere part of you still inside, and now out of it. Memories fade over time, it’s true - but not when you look back at the evidence. Significant and insignificant. It all feels significant. Both dreamy and lived. I thought maybe I would write some of the moments and my feelings down as I go through them, clearing up space.

The first I came across was in a folder I opened entitled Nike running. Random ones from when I first started running regularly. So much is in my face. I can’t tell if there’s a filter - probably not just looking at them. It was June of 2019. The sun is shining and my face is rounder and maybe younger. You can see happiness, struggle and insecurity in my expression, in my eyes. Self doubt and insecurity. You also see some excitement and small determination. I spent a period of time feeling miserable and decided to take action that month, to create hope, to dare to let life burn. Toward something different and good and so damn hard. It was at least one thing I wanted for sure to do again, since forever. I can never forget how miserable it made me feel. Felt pointless and impossible for so many months. I cried thinking of the future and the future if I could never successfully run with such painful, injured feet but after months of working on it, the pain left and my feet got strong. I didn’t know it would go away and that I could overcome that one hurdle. I was heavier too, I think. My legs look chunkier. I got new shoes in May and my first run was that month, June of 2019 and it was a whopping 1.39 miles. I have pictures of me sunburnt and sweating through July and August, working my way up to an impossible 4 miles. Impossible because I couldn’t very well see it happening, not with my feet in their state or anything else, not with the incessant lack of belief in myself. The constant inability in the heart of me to believe in the possibility of growth over time, to see anything other than what I knew. The audacity to replace that with something else. To tell myself something else, even if I didn’t believe it. But I worked so hard to believe in even the smallest of things. I'm sad to delete the happy faces, the hurt and insecure and scared faces and moments. The sun shining and the pavement and the pictures peering down on my running shoes with the tiniest of stats above them. “One day 1.39 won’t feel like it kills me.” “One day my smile will show confidence.” “One day you might see it on my face” “One day I won’t glue moleskin to my feet just to run 2 miles.” “Maybe one day I won’t cry about it. About the fear and stupidity of the want to grow.” The reminders. The fresh, blemished skin and sun damage. I worked up to 8 miles by November. Impossible. Impossible. But something really inspired me that summer and something got under my skin so badly it burned not to do it. An itch needed to be scratched and I wanted to step into the arena of tries and give it a go, see what I could do, and not just in that area of my life but it’s what I see in this folder now and means something to me. Maybe I felt the clock ticking on my life and decided it wasn’t over and I wanted to test my worth to myself and experience new things. For whatever reasons deep inside, I got running.

So many emotions behind that. Personal. Memories. It was so personal to me. Something about it makes me take it to heart. Take running to heart. Something physical and measurable. It doesn’t seem like a lot to many, but to me it felt scary (like failure) and looking back I felt like I was chasing after something like a bat out of hell, like my pants were on fire and I thoughtfully sat down and wrote myself a smart, steady, doable plan to work through it. I wouldn’t trade that for the world. I really wouldn’t. What I would trade, though, is the shame and lack of belief in myself. My thoughts and worries and confidence bleed through my face. At least, I see it. But the only way to get something, to learn something, is probably somewhere in that contrast, the vacant space. Replacing thoughts, beliefs about ourself, things that weren’t there, with what you found. What you found on the other side. Filling that in with newer, fresh knowledge and perspective, what you were chasing after and thirsting for. I still struggle with it. The confidence and belief thing. Constantly. It takes years to build and even then it needs to come with a leather skin because just one tear can ruin it and make you start over. Whew. This is hard. I mean, writing about it myself is hard. I keep getting dashed down so why do I want to keep trying myself and starting over? I guess, to discover it all over again and again. I’m thinking about that now while I’m sick in bed and I can’t seem to stop sneezing and my nose is red. I have been such a failure to these parts of myself. Yeah it hurts to say that. Sticking the knife in your own self but its not wrong, the knife isn’t exactly a lie. I know why memories, why looking back, makes you both happy and sad. Why the attempt to describe what you see in it, the soup of tearing emotions swirling at once inside you, feels futile. It was my life. I lived it, or at least, attempted to. Self doubt, that’s the word. If I could say something to myself it would be “terrible things exist. terrible things exist inside you. but, please, don’t say those negative things to yourself.” don’t repeat them. you look sad and they show through your face. save yourself, please, for me. and keep saving yourself.

[thebowerypresents]

The Sinclair Turns 10

The Sinclair celebrates 10 years on Monday 12/12, and we wanted to share some of our favorite moments over the years at The Bowery Presents in Boston:

[photo: Johnny Anguish]

As cliché as it sounds: Out of the thousands of shows we have had, it’s truly impossible to pick just one. There have been shows with artists who rocketed off to stardom, like Sam Smith, who played their first Boston-area show at The Sinclair, to legends like the Replacements, Dinosaur Jr. or Trey Anastasio joining his bandmate Mike Gordon for an epic set. But above all, as unbelievably stressful as our (late) opening was, there was a certain magic to it. The stress was the wondering if it would all come together in the end and whether or not people would even like the room, topped off with a complete lack of sleep. But behind all that, the teamwork, camaraderie and everyone helping out in every way possible just added to all the excitement. We were down to the wire and when 12/12/12 finally came, and we opened our doors, there was so much excitement and relief. I’m unbelievably appreciative of all my coworkers who have made The Sinclair what it is and of the hundreds and thousands of fans who have come out and enjoyed a concert (or two or 50). Long live The Sinclair!

—Josh Bhatti, Vice President of The Bowery Presents

So many shows at The Sinclair to choose from, it’s really hard to narrow down what my favorite one was. In terms of just being a major fan in general, I’d say my favorite show to see was Refused in the glorious summer of 2015. Plus, Josh Smith going into the pit really helped push this show to the top.

Honorable mentions in no particular order:

Fucked Up with Twin Peaks & PAWS: because Damian singing on our bartender Josh Millman’s bar and sliding down the banister was epic

Charles Bradley: I’ll never forget him kissing my hand and thanking me for having him at The Sinclair in our hallway

Two nights of Caspian

Courtney Barnett + Benjamin Booker

Big Freedia on Halloween 2013

Two nights of Angel Olsen

The Dead Milkmen

The Walkmen (Boston Calling aftershow)

Frank Turner (Boston Calling aftershow)

Questlove DJ Set (first Boston Calling aftershow)

FUZZ

Piebald (Boston Calling aftershow)

Diarrhea Planet NYE … but more importantly DJ Graham Crack vs. Leather aftershow in the restaurant 

Frightened Rabbit

The Bronx

White Denim with the Districts

The Black Angels and Roky Erickson

PUP

Workwise:

Another top highlight: Joe Sansone checking an actual dog at coat check

We can’t forget the epic Converse week. Some highlights:

Changing all of the light bulbs in Slayer’s dressing room to red

Watching one of our heads of security at the time go on a cute Harvard Square date with Action Bronson, including sneaker shopping and getting ice cream across the street at Lizzy’s

The fact that Dinosaur Jr. opened for the Replacements in our little 525-cap room

Ending the week with Descendents, who absolutely killed their set and were the nicest humans 

—Allison Finney, General Manager of Roadrunner (former GM of The Sinclair)

[photo: Matthew Shelter for Bowery Boston]

There have been so many amazing shows over the years. It’s tough to nail down just one. I have way more favorite shows than this, but in honor of The Sinclair’s 12/12/12 opening date, here are 12 highlights:

12/12/12 Concrete Blonde Opening night was special for many reasons. We had spent the previous month and a half moving shows to other venues because of construction delays, and when we finally got the green light to open, it was all hands on deck. It was great to finally welcome fans into the room, and it was a hell of a team effort to pull it off.

7/29/13 Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit  Southeastern had only been out a month at this point and had quickly become one of my favorite albums of all time. My girlfriend at the time (now my wife) went to this show with me, and ever since then, we've been hooked. Many years later, we’ve seen Jason quite a bit: in theaters and amphitheaters and at festivals, all over the place. It’s fun to think back to this show as our first with such an intimate setting.

10/31/13 Big Freedia  Big Freedia playing Halloween was one of the wildest shows I can remember at the Sinclair. It was a crazy high-energy performance, and everyone in the room was in some sort of a costume. 

3/25/14 Sam Smith  I will never forget the chills I got hearing Sam Smith’s voice live in person the first time. I remember asking our production manager if they were using any vocal effects, and the response was something along the lines of “Nope, that is 100% their voice.” I couldn’t believe it. 

5/18/15 Courtney Barnett   Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit is a hell of a good album. It was great to see it live shortly after its release. One of our house photographers got a great picture of Courtney on the ground really getting into it — that photo still cycles on my desktop today. 

3/30/16 Rüfüs Du Sol  Rüfüs was one of the first few artists I had ever booked at Great Scott in 2014. This show was great, and the production was amazing ... it’s been fun to see these guys go on to play massive venues and festivals all over the world.

4/10/17 Maggie Rogers  This was Maggie’s first Boston-area show. I remember the set being very short as she didn’t have a ton of music released at the time, but I also remember leaving the venue knowing we had just seen a superstar in the making. 

2/21/18 and 2/22/18 Frightened Rabbit Two nights playing The Midnight Organ Fight, with one of the shows being the night of my 30th birthday. Seeing one of my favorite bands play one of my favorite albums in one of my favorite venues with some of my best friends was something quite special. 

11/13/19 and 11/14/19 Billy Strings  BMFS blew us all away with his incredible talent and every musician in his band is a hell of a musician. Production was killer and he has a great photographer who captured some of the best photos I’ve ever seen of the room.

2/28/20 Glass Animals  After selling out Agganis Arena, Glass Animals decided to play an intimate venue and we got to host it. I didn’t know it then, but this would be my last show I would see at The Sinclair for a long, long time.

7/11/21 Ripe  Our second show back after the shutdown but the first one I was able to attend. It had been almost a year and a half since I had seen a show that wasn’t a live stream or at a drive-in. I hugged a lot of people this night and pretty sure I cried out of pure happiness to be back open again.

4/1/22 Viagra Boys  One of my Top 5 shows at The Sinclair this year. 

Honorable Mention: 

12/18/12 Jared Dobson   We had a small staff holiday party in the venue a few short days after opening. I am proud to say I was one of the first handful of performers to ever grace the stage at The Sinclair. It was a pivotal moment in my karaoke career as it was (at the time) the largest venue I had ever performed in.

—Jared Dobson, Talent Buyer

I’m totally biased, but my favorite show at The Sinclair was the Sidewalk Driver CD-release party for their album My Face with openers the Organ Beats, Worshipper and LeoLeo on 12/17/15. I love when a venue that books national acts supports the local scene, and I love it even more when those local bands can sell out the place.

—Andie Egan, Marketing Director

My favorite show in the little time I’ve been here was the Ripe after-party. I am not too familiar with some of the names that come through The Sinclair, and I wasn’t too familiar with Ripe before that weekend either. Being one of my first Memorial Day weekends in Boston and one of my first actual shows at The Sinclair, it was a truly memorable experience. It made me realize once again why I love working where I do. The vibes, the people and the music. ❤️

—Fran Alicea, Sales Manager

[photo: Liz McCarthy for Bowery Boston]

Even though I only moved to Boston in 2020, The Sinclair has become one of my favorite venues to see live music. The space reminds me of my other favorite venues in NYC but in its own unique way. The combination of the intimate space, incredible live sound and knowledgeable staff (yes, I’m biased) makes The Sinclair a destination for any showgoer. I wish I got to see more shows in the first 10 years of the venue being open, but I was lucky enough to catch Foxing this past summer. Aside from them being one of my favorite bands to see live, The Sinclair was the perfect venue to host the show. I look forward to seeing many more shows at The Sinclair for years to come.

—Justine Souchack, Guest Services at The Sinclair

Back in December 2019, Lucero did a three-night run at The Sinclair. I worked coat check for night one, attended night two and stayed home for some necessary sleep night three. Coat check was absolutely freezing during the show, but that was to be expected during the winter. Regardless, I was shocked when a woman I had helped on night one came back for night two with gloves and hot hands for me and found me in the crowd after being told I was attending. Would a Lucero show really be complete without befriending strangers? Would going to a show at The Sinclair be?

—Nikki Senecal, Ticketing Assistant

[photo: Greg Gaffney for Bowery Boston]

Converse Week as a whole was pretty great (aside from my feet killing me from zero arch support for five days). Never in my life would I have I thought I’d go to a Slayer show, let alone work one. I loved the diversity of the week and that all the openers were local. Here are some other highlights:

T-Pain. I had no idea he could actually sing. He was pretty funny too

Diarrhea Planet NYE 2017 — it was a toilet year so seemed appropriate

I also saw Thee Oh Sees aka the Oh Sees aka Oh Sees aka the Ohsees aka Osees live for the first time at The Sinclair. It was a sweaty good time.

—Emily Green, Ticketing Manager

It’s been an honor to work alongside this incredible team for the last 10 years. It never gets old hearing from artists that this was the best day of tour, the best crew, the best venue, etc. I love hearing patrons talk about their experience as well, especially for the first time. We’ve put on thousands of shows here. What’s my favorite? That’s a tough question: There are too many incredible nights to choose from. But it’s still my favorite place to see an artist, and I’m proud of what our team has accomplished in these years and will continue to make this one of the best venues in the country. Here’s to the next 10 years and beyond.

—Josh Smith, Talent Buyer/Non-Answer Giver

[photo: Bryan Lasky for Bowery Boston]

I’ve seen so many incredible shows at The Sinclair over the years, and it’s truly difficult to pick just one: From the first show I went to there, the Thermals, to many others, including some of my favorite acts like Descendents, the Breeders, Courtney Barnett, Liz Phair, Phoebe Bridgers, Leikeli47, Stephen Malkmus and Built to Spill. My favorite shows at The Sinclair are always ones where an artist is on the precipice of greatness: Clairo, Mitski, Kim Petras and King Princess are four artists I saw at The Sinclair just moments before their careers took off in a huge way. I also love seeing local artists both perform at The Sinclair and sell it out. It makes me proud to be from Boston and see our community grow. If I had to pick just one show out of the thousands we’ve hosted in the last 10 years, it would have to be the Speedy Ortiz, Mitski and Krill show on 4/25/15 celebrating the release of Speedy Ortiz’s album Foil Deer. It was a stacked bill of growing indie-rock bands coming together for a magical moment that couldn’t be duplicated. If we booked the same show now, we’d need a venue at least six times the size 😂

I also adopted a dog the day of my first shift in the box office, and when I arrived to work without her, Allison said, “Where’s your dog?” Granger then joined me many a Friday night in the box office, and her favorite show we worked was PUP.

—Christine Varriale, Marketing Manager

[x----tine]

But what’s a girl to do?: On Cristine Brache’s Goodnight Sweet Thing By Jacqueline Lucente | Expat Press

October 21, 2024

But who are these gods

that replay my life and question it?

All along I thought I was safe.

I thought god knew I was a very good girl;

idly begging for an overdose,

a final movement of peace—

god, let’s settle it, let’s make a truce:

There’s no rapture like the body,

no war like the mind.

—Cristine Brache, “Gone Girl Summer”

Goodnight Sweet Thing, writer and multimedia artist Cristine Brache’s second collection of poetry, works through the dichotomies of womanhood—how it feels to slip along the spectrum of object and subject, navigate the bliss of fantasy against the texture of reality, strive for perfection and fall short of it. The collection gathers over two decades of work—the eponymous group, written over the last five years, and Poems, Brache’s out-of-print debut, written between 2008-2018. The poems are dramas that maneuver between the fickle and often volatile power dynamics that determine societal roles and dictate the rules of the game. Brache often identifies as the speaker of her poems—like her visual art, she treats her writing like a diary, a record of desires, memories, fantasies. She writes from the illusory and devastating space between longing and disappointment—the first poem, “Happy New Year,” is a wish, a prayer, or a joke: “Please don’t hurt me. / Please don’t hurt me. / Please don’t hurt me.”

        Brache began writing the Goodnight Sweet Thing poems during the pandemic, when mortality was front of mind. A poem of Dorothy Stratten’s—a Playmate who was killed in 1980—serves as the collection’s epigraph, situating the work in a surreal “Disneyland” with a glimmer that shields its secrets. The collection has a found footage feel—like developing a forgotten roll of film or clicking through an old handycam’s library, memory flooding through each frame. Some of the things you’ll run into in Brache’s universe: animatronic dolls, UFOs, tabloid headlines, high school foreplay, spins on Girls Gone Wild, near death experiences. The poems are clever, with titles like “Always Such a Doll, Always Ready to Be Played With” and “Some People Use You??” The humor (what else can you do but laugh at yourself?) is balanced by a meditation on life and death that cuts away the noise to the prime denominator of love.

        What Brache does brilliantly is show the duality of the performance of femininity—the story you’ve been fed will fail you, and you know better, but you try anyway. You try anyway, because there isn’t a clear way out (contradictions abound!). You try anyway, because maybe you will win, and don’t you want to know what the prize tastes like? There’s the mask with the lipstick mouth, and then there’s the face underneath. There’s the action, and then there’s the time between the acts, which lacks stage directions. These  liminal moments are the most revealing—take “Self-Reflection Figure,” where she writes: “I organize my delusions / and wonder if I’m haunting myself” and “I move through life like symbols in a painting / But what do I signify?”

        I read the collection in a couple of sittings. My copy is dog-eared and annotated, because so much of the work felt familiar. I remember the big yellow letters on tabloid weeklies, announcing scandals and overdoses over grainy paparazzi photos, ways to lose weight fast, tips for better sex (guaranteed!) at checkout lines as a child, a teenager. Turning myself into an object was once the go-to coping mechanism, consoling any rejection or disappointment until, tired enough, the facade crumbled: I would walk home alone, wipe away the mascara smudged beneath my eyes, and ask: What am I even doing? The poems reminded me of film scenes where the performance begins to crack, betraying the truth: the final sequence of Cronenberg’s Crash, when James finds Catherine by her wrecked convertible moments after he runs her off the highway—I think I’m alright, she says, bruised and bloodied, looking in the opposite direction as James, disappointed, kisses her neck and feels up her shirt; Laura Palmer swaying in the hazy light of the Pink Room, playing the bad girl with wet eyes, days before Pete discovers her blue body in plastic.

        If the world, as Brache writes, is a “thief,” maybe it’s because meaning is slick and elusive. Fewer things are guaranteed. Were they ever certain? Nothing—not beauty (“the Eighth Deadly Sin”), not a person, not a story—will save you. Thinking again of Stratten, she reflects: “The thousands and thousands of lives you could have lived. / Time is knowing you can never go back to a place / That can make you feel whole again.” Maybe the point is for all of this matter a little less—“the only thing / I can say I’ll truly / miss is my skin.” Maybe what matters are the things you can promise “Even when existence is a dark / and godless hole,” as Brache suggests in “God is the Space Between You and Me”:

        An owl’s flight is silent sometimes like

        I love you

        in broad daylight and 

        I love you behind your back.

        Have trust;

        have faith—

        not in god, but in love

        (with me).

[tirednerd]

instant gratification? or something more

a point on motivation for things that sit on the fringe of things I like.

I have a big family, and a set of cousins nearby that we often go on holiday with. One of the best ones was to Romania.

We did a trek across the country from Cluj Napoca to Bucharest, we had planned stops on our route down. I would go into it more right now- but I will just edit this later with the information. I don't need another excuse of a long-winded piece of shit I start to keep myself away from studying even longer than I already have.

Either way, it was my second time planning a trip like this from flights to accommodation etc. I had my own interests in the trip but had such little understanding of why I enjoyed it so much - it wasn't without its issues but even looking out on it now I still think of it favourably. which I don't for the last one we did in Prague- the less said about the better.

Only looking back onto it now do I see that I had picked Dracula up as a special interest, but like not in the vampire way. like in the guy who it was based off XD Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia.

Not only did solidify himself randomly into a number of my favourite harry potter fanfictions, but please see an aunts love, by emma lipardi and make a wish by rorschans blot. It's a normal thing to have on your mind - ok? Either way landing in Transylvania and going to Bran Castle scratched that itch so well.

I also like any normal 21-year-old I had picked up some summer reading for my holiday, mine just happened to be Dante's Inferno, of course. The voivode also had a couple of books on Dante as well - those being Papini's Dante Vivo, which was amazing at the time. I felt connected XD (delusional gworl!!)

(image 1, photo taken by me. Shows the glass-covered bookcase found in Bran castle in Romania. The castle that housed Vlad III, prince of Wallachia, known as Vlad the Impaler and used as inspiration for Dracula. The picture shows a number of cloth-bound books including the one mentioned previously, Papino's Dante Vivo, a biography of Dante)

Anyway, I had an amazing time on holiday, and Vlad the impaler, in all his political moves and the dramatisations the modern world has done with him and his name kept my interest and I had a fabulous time. Would 100% go again and I would recommend a visit to Bran castle if you are ever in the area.

My parents have only ever brought me like merch twice for me in my life. Once was a t-shirt for bran castle bought as we lined up to enter. the other was a zip-up hoodie for CERN which was another trip I planned and hustled our group of 13 to the border so I could see CERN... All the way from Zurich mind you, the opposite side of the country.

Looking back on my life and being able to rename the often wide-ranging and insane lengths I went through for special interests has been wild. But also enlightening - I mean for fucks sake - I literally made an entire blog about self-appointed homework as I was genuinely honestly researching alpha particle treatments in Europe for an essay. In the middle of the fucking summer. Because see I was in so far deep with my particle physics special interest.

So yeah! I hope you enjoyed this! its utterly useless in regards to information, usefulness or anything really but the reality of recognising and reevaluating growing up knowing NOW that I have ADHD/Autism is insane. Like why didn't anyone fucking help me? BWHAHAHA

what the hell is life man

PS> This entire post coming out as a form of critical commentary on my lack of motivation to study is wild. I am indeed struggling to feel anything regarding my upcoming exams, and it is insane. It's not that I am not worried, I VERY MUCH AM. but I am not freaking out or doing anything and it is killing me.

[steveskafte]

LEAVING PARADISE Some people see poverty as a lack of possessions, but I've learned a certain truth – it's more reflected in the things we leave behind. If there's one pet peeve I've got that's acutely developed, it's when someone sees my stories of abandoned buildings, and asks: "How could they leave it all behind?" There are two types most likely to make that comment. One has never been poor, and the other has always been poor, but never moved. The latter is forgiven for thinking this, because their limited experience makes them less aware of the costs of relocation. What they've accumulated or hoarded ties them to their home as surely as roots. But it's been a truth for all of human history, that what weighs you down impedes your freedom for starting over. You can easily find photos of Dust Bowl houses left full of furniture, or everything dumped along the Oregon Trail west. Perhaps the folks who see abandoned objects as tragedy believe that life isn't worth living after losing all you own. They'd be the ones who didn't make it to Oregon alive. What use is a piano when it sinks you on the river crossing? What good is stuff when you're starving? If you can't feed your kids, all that plastic and particle board won't kill the hunger. When my wife's family escaped Cuba in the mid-90s, they were only permitted one suitcase each on the plane. Punishment for leaving paradise behind. Recently, I wrote about the quiet loneliness and scattered poverty of two separate communities I love in western Nova Scotia. One was the fishing town of Digby, and the other was Black River in the rolling hills of Kings County. I heard from many folks who'd lived in both who appreciated my perspective, that often-ignored underbelly pushed out of sight and mind. But a couple chimed in asking why I didn't share success stories, progress proving a vibrancy at play. Why? Because it's not for me. I'm not the tourist bureau, feel no responsibility to draw in folks to visit or move here. Plenty of people aim at that already. Even so, I've had people say they came to Nova Scotia after following my journal. I love my homeland with all my heart, but that love is tempered with perspective. I reflect a world less noticed – a harder existence I share. I'm dirt poor myself, and that sometimes feels like a sin unspoken. Balancing my yearly income against the national average, I statistically make less than 95% of my audience. No one to blame, that's just the consequence of my career. People say that they don't want to hide loneliness, isolation, or poverty away, but then they often reject its expression. I show a beat-up apartment in Digby, and they immediately reference new construction. I show the lonely hills of a dull winter day in Black River, and they talk of summer traffic. Some folks face an irresistible urge for positivity, and turn the conversation to an upside at the slightest hint of darkness. As someone who grew up in smalltown Nova Scotia, I remember many of my peers leaving for the city feeling ignored. They couldn't say much about the lack of work or opportunities without getting shut down, and moved away silenced. So if I stumble through your village, understand that I see it the same as my own. I did a book about Bridgetown a couple years back – The Invisible Town – and it contained much of the same rundown and sleepy stories. Is that a complete reflection of my hometown? No. But it's honest for what it sees, the hard hurt of living with moths in your wallet. I can't create a full perception of anywhere in particular, I only see the unseen. Read what I write, and realize that I've loved everywhere I go. Sadness isn't unhappy, darkness isn't oppressive, and loneliness can be a comfort every time. If you don't share my perspective, just remember that many of your neighbours feel different. My tales connect with some of them every time. No place means the same to every person. January 18, 2023 Annapolis County, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5547 of my daily journal.

[ettawritesnstudies]

“The right belief is like a good cloak, I think. If it fits you well, it keeps you warm and safe. The wrong fit however, can suffocate.” ― Brandon Sanderson, The Final Empire

“But you can't kill me, Lord Tyrant. I represent that one thing you've never been able to kill, no matter how hard you try. I am hope.” ― Brandon Sanderson, The Final Empire

“Our belief is often strongest when it should be weakest. That is the nature of hope.” ― Brandon Sanderson, The Final Empire

I owe a lot to Brandon Sanderson. In the summer of 2020, I was three years deep into the worst reading-slump of my life, struggling with anxiety and depression thanks to a combination of university stress, the pandemic, a full time laboratory job, and living away from home in a strange dead city. My writing was struggling due to lack of time and input to fill up my creative well. I don't remember a lot of that spring, except that it felt like my head was constantly full of mist.

I had no idea how much my life would change when I picked up an audiobook of The Way of Kings to help pass the hours doing tedious sample prep. (Eternal thanks to @siarven for the recommendation and moral support for the past several years <3) Kaladin's ideals got me through that year, and the next, and the next, as I fell deeper into the cosmere.

I picked up the audiobook of The Final Empire this past summer, at another lab job, doing boring sample prep again, and immediately grew attached to Vin's character. I wish I had picked up this book in high school, because I relate to this awkward, intense teen altogether too much. Reading about her struggles was like reading about my slightly younger self, and I want to scoop her up in a hug. It also shocked me just how many of my OCs are incredibly similar to Vin, carrying paranoia, too much truama, great skill, and grander callings on their young shoulders.

Beyond that, The Final Empire is also just so much fun?? as much as post-apocalyptic hell-scapes can be fun, but Kelsier brings such an entertaining energy to the page, and his beacon of hope resonated with those deeper themes that have always been the source of my love for these series. The "learning to fly" scenes are always my favorite, since I've been a little kid I've always dreamed of taking off into the wild blue yonder and leaving my problems behind, and there's no small part of wish fulfillment in this costume bringing me a little closer to launching myself into the sky.

I hope this cosplay did justice to the love I have for these books and for Vin's character. I tried my best to catch most of the details - her single earring, the vials, glass knife, coin pouch, and I even got my hair cut after four years for the occasion. This project started over the summer by hand-sewing the shirt, which I completed as I finished the trilogy. I did not end up cutting the cloak into ribbons to create the iconic mistcloak silhouette, as I plan to reuse this cloak for other projects, but I've added strips to the outside to give some of that look whenever I'm moving or there's wind. These are just-finished pictures in my dorm, but I'll be going outside on the next misty day for a proper photo shoot.

Thank you to everyone who's followed this project and encouraged me along the way! It was a lot of work, and in the end, I'm glad to have a good cloak that fits rather well.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv! How is life treating you? Well, I hope.

I was mindlessly scrolling through fics and reccs but nothing seemed to hit the spot when I realised, right now I’m probably craving stories where Harry and Draco are so in love with each other that rather than an admission of it, you can see it in their actions.

Like every little thing they do just has such well intentions behind it, and it can have any kind of vibe to it, ranging from nobody else except this person matters to just simple I love you and would do anything for you.

I absolutely love the buildup from hate to love but as of now, it’s the more of being in love/ liking the other person and that sort of intensifying kinda vibe I’m looking for.

Please please help me, if you have any such reccs. Thank you so much.

Hi anon! I’m okay, just a bit tired after two very busy weeks at work 😩 what about you? I think I know what you mean, something like friends to lovers with domesticity and gentle pining where all their friends already think they’re together? :) I hope these work!

Blue Sky Is Living Here Today by ignatiustrout (2018, G, 5k)

Draco's a father, Harry's in love with him, and it's really hard to take things slow.

Closer by MA (2022, M, 5k)

All who know them are convinced that Harry and Draco are a couple. But that's just ridiculous.

Still Warm, Still Warm by @tsauergrass (2021, G, 5k)

Harry is up to something. Why else would he keep giving Draco presents?

Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 9k)

Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots.

A Song, Incomplete by RurouniHime (2013, E, 11k)

Draco’s photograph took up the entire top half of the Prophet’s front page. Below the photo: DRACO MALFOY DEFENDS SON OF FORMER LOVER. As if that were breaking news.

the way you make me glow by @softlystarstruck (2022, M, 11k)

In a cottage next to the sea, love blossoms. Or perhaps it’s been there all along.

Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (2021, M, 12k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

Countdown by dysonrules (2013, M, 14k)

When the Wizarding world is plagued by random outbreaks of Dark Magic, the Ministry assigns Curse-Breakers to assist Auror teams on their missions. Harry shouldn't be surprised when Draco Malfoy is assigned to his team, but is Malfoy a Curse-Breaker, or a curse-bringer?

Take the Moon by MA (2022, M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. Living with Draco (biscuit-lover, no work/life balance, good hair) and his son Scorpius (also biscuit-lover, colour-codes his bricks, proud bearer of plastic swan-shaped garden ornament) gives Harry the routine and companionship he’s always craved. There’s also the matter of the really great sex (because what’s a marriage of convenience without a little fun, after all?)

Another Heart Whispers Back by @slytherco (2020, E, 53k)

At twenty-five, Harry Potter is still a virgin and sorely lacking in options to change that state anytime soon. To help him find a plus one for Ron and Hermione’s wedding, and maybe kill two birds with one stone, Harry’s friends set him up on a series of blind dates. The only problem is, there’s something not quite right with each of their candidates.

[fific7]

Evil Twins - Part 1

Billy Russo & Aleksander Morozova x Reader

Summary: When two worlds which have already collided then collide with yours - that’s an explosive situation.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly a mix of fluff and angst with quite a lot of lemon zest 🍋 My Fantasy Punisher/Shadow and Bone crossover AU.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

New York City

Billy Russo awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed and grabbing for his Glock. What the hell? Thunder was rumbling loudly overhead and he sighed, putting the gun back under his pillow and laying his head back down. It was probably the bright flash of the lightning followed by the beginning of the thunderclap that had awakened him.

He was just closing his eyes again when he spotted something, only vaguely visible in the dim light from outside, in the corner of his room. It was…. swirling?

Grabbing his gun again, he sat up and pointed the Glock at the corner. It was getting bigger. “You’ve got two seconds to show yourself before I blow your fucking head off,” he announced, calmly.

He squinted a bit to get a better look but it didn’t make much difference. What the fuck was it?! Smoke? He decided he had no choice and leant over, switching on the wall-mounted bedside light.

The… smoke cloud?… was still increasing, becoming bigger and blacker with every second. Then he saw the vaguest silhouette of a tall figure within it, moving towards him. He leapt out of bed, on the far side of it so it was between him and whatever the fuck this was.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Aleksander Morozova - or General Kirigan, the Darkling, the Black Heretic, the Starless Saint, whichever of his many names he decided to call himself at any given point in time - could see a tall figure brandishing some kind of strange gun at him as he began to emerge from the swirling shadows.

Following certain unfortunate incidents - including a huge and furious argument with his darling mother - he’d decided it would be politic to get out of Ravka for a while, much as he didn’t really want to. But this wasn’t where he should’ve ended up. What was this place?

He emerged completely from the shadows and immediately felt something bounce off his kefta. He heard a ‘ding’ and looked down at the wooden floor at his feet. A bullet.

Looking quickly back up, he saw that the man opposite him was glaring at him, eyes wide and unbelieving, gun still pointing at him. He also realised that looking at this man was like looking in a mirror.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was dumbfounded. He’d just shot the fucker! And the bullet had bounced off him. Fuck. He threw the gun down onto the bed and slid his hand under his other pillow, pulling out his Ka-Bar. No way he’d get past that.

He took a moment to have a good look at the dude opposite him.

Dressed in riding boots and some kinda long black tunic thing, with a black fur-collared full-length cape over it. What a freak! Was he a goth or something? But then he realised something even freakier…. this guy looked exactly like him.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The two of them were still contemplating each other, when finally Billy spoke. “Who are you? And what are you?”

Aleksander laughed. “Usually it’s me asking those questions.” Billy huffed, “You’re in my fuckin’ apartment, so just answer them!” He saw the guy draw himself up, and he said, “I am Aleksander Morozova, also known as General Kirigan, commander of the Second Army of the Grisha.”

“Means fuck all to me,” grunted Billy. “One name not enough for you? And why do you look like me? Are you some kinda shapeshifter or somethin’?”

“I have many names because I am centuries old. And I don’t know what a… shapeshifter?…is,” said the other, “…but I am the Shadow Summoner. And who are you? Where is this?” he waved a hand round at the apartment.

Billy scoffed, “Centuries old?!! Oh fuck off. You’re the same age as me by the looks of ya! I’m Billy Russo, ex-US Marine Lieutenant and now CEO of Anvil. That’s a security company, mainly staffed by ex-military vets. And this….” he also waved his hand around, “…is my penthouse apartment in New York City.”

Aleksander shook his head, “I have never heard of that place.”

Billy eye-rolled, “How can you not have heard of New York?!” he asked, incredulously. “And what the fuck is a Shadow Summoner?”

“It’s becoming obvious we are from two different worlds. I seem to have been diverted from my intended course, I don’t know why,” shrugged Aleksander. “Well maybe it’s time you took off to wherever it is you were headed for in the first place,” said Billy.

“It seems that I have been brought here for some specific reason,” replied Aleksander, “and it also seems I cannot leave for the moment, I have already tried.” He waved both hands around, firstly extending and then curling up his fingers, watching them closely as he did but it was clear that nothing at all was happening. “You see? Nothing. It is worrying to me. My shadows are no longer obeying my commands at present.”

Billy sighed and perched on the edge of his bed, “Great! Just fuckin’ great! This is just…! So when can you leave?” The other man spread out his arms, “I have no idea.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Devon, UK

Way across the Atlantic, you were already hard at work in your little bookstore in Appledore, Devon. You had a snug apartment above the store and had filled it with lots of your favourite things. It was a cute little coastal town and you loved living there. The community was small and friendly especially in the winter months, only increasing in summer with all the tourists who came to stay. As long as you made a decent living during the holiday season - which you normally did - then winter was a much calmer, chilled time of year.

You added a final book to the new display in the centre of your store and stepped back to take in how it was looking. Yeah, not bad if you did say so yourself. It was comprised of a fantasy trilogy for young adults about some ancient guy who could summon up shadows, and was a bit of a villain from what you could tell from the story synopsis on the book covers.

Not your cup of tea, to be honest. Generally speaking, all types of action stories were more your thing - something with a bit of ‘va-va-voom’. In fact, you were looking forward to tonight when you’d decided you were going to sit down with a nice tub of ice cream and rewatch one of your favourite series. The one with a relentless avenging ex-Marine whose family had been killed and his psycho ex-Marines buddy. Who happened to be rather hot to your mind.

You sighed a little, heading back behind the counter. That was the only thing about Appledore. It was a lovely place, but there was a distinct lack of hot guys.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

New York City

Billy and Aleksander were sitting on separate sofas in Billy’s living area, eyeing each other warily. Aleksander had been trying to explain to Billy all about his world, the Grisha, the Fold, volcras, Ravka, the Sun Summoner, sand skiffs - as much as he could.

It had blown Billy’s mind, to be honest. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. In turn, he’d explained all about his military career and the shitshow which had eventually developed once he’d come back to New York. Aleksander looked as equally confused as Billy.

Billy sighed, “I mean, what the hell are you gonna do? You don’t belong here. I need to go to work in a couple of hours. I’m not leaving you here so I’d need to take you to Anvil with me, and you sure as hell can’t go out looking like that.”

Aleksander looked down at his kefta which he’d unbuttoned. His cape was draped over the back of the sofa. “What is wrong with the way I look?” he huffed. “S’pose I could always say you were going to a Comic Con,” muttered Billy. “A what?” “A Comic Con. it’s where fans of fantasy comics go to have fun. They dress up as their favourite characters sometimes. I could always say it was cosplay.”

Aleksander shook his head, “I still don’t understand what you’re talking about. Are you saying I’d look out of place in my uniform? All the Grisha wear these,” he pointed at his kefta. “Not what we wear here,” said Billy, “…and I still don’t get why you look so much like me.”

“I have no idea!” said Aleksander, through gritted teeth, “I told you that already!” “Alright, alright! Calm down.” “I AM CALM!!!” roared the other man.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

New York City

Slightly later that morning, Billy was showered, suited and booted and ready for work. He’d persuaded his uninvited visitor to put on a borrowed leather jacket of Billy’s over his kefta as Aleksander refused to take it off. He’d also made him put on a pair of black trainers, which he’d done very reluctantly. These two items had instantly transformed the freaky-looking guy into someone at least a little more acceptable to your average New Yorker.

Aleksander was wriggling around in the jacket, “It’s not very comfortable.” Billy heaved yet another large sigh - he felt like this was all he’d been doing this morning - “Look, just wear it! You’ll get used to it.” He noticed the other guy sniffing at the collar of the jacket, then his eyes lifted to Billy’s, “You wear perfume?!” “Men’s cologne,” snapped Billy, “or aftershave, as it’s also known because - guess what! - you use it after you’ve shaved!”

His fingers stroking his chin, Aleksander nodded, “Okay, that I understand. We do not use this perfume in Ravka.” “Cologne!” yelled Billy. “Fine, cologne then. Why don’t you like it when I call it perfume? That’s what it is, after all.” “Women wear perfume. Men wear cologne. Okay? Now c’mon, I’m gonna be late.”

Billy strode over to his front door and tried to open it. The handle wouldn’t budge. He shook it, rattled it, pulled the door handle back and forward, exerting more and more strength but nothing worked. He stood back from the door. “It won’t open,” he said, rather unnecessarily. He looked at Aleksander, “Is this you? Or something to do with you?” “No!” he protested, “I have nothing to do with this.”

A somewhat raspy female voice spoke from behind them, “No, but I do.”

The two men swung round, both gaping as they saw that there were what could only be described as rippling waves distorting the whole interior of Billy’s flat. The light had also diminished quite drastically and then they both saw a woman’s head and shoulders start to become defined and then fully visible in amongst the ripples. She seemed to float there at head height but she obviously wasn’t physically present.

“Mother!” exclaimed Aleksander.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Devon, UK

You snuggled down amongst the soft cushions on your sofa, tub of ice cream and spoon in hand and scrolled to the series you were looking for. It was quite gory in places but you loved it - except for the bit right at the end where the hot dude got killed. That made you sad although you couldn’t deny he definitely had psychopathic tendencies.

As you were looking for the one you wanted to watch, another series caught your eye in the ‘Suggested for You’ section. Hey, it must be based on that trilogy of books you had in the store right now. Maybe you’d give it a try after you’d finished your current one.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

New York City

“Mother?” echoed Billy, “….what’s going on here?!”

The woman’s head swivelled towards him then back to Aleksander. “My two boys, together again. How sweet.”

“What!?” said the two men in tandem. She gave a bitter laugh, “How I managed to produce two such problematic children, I’ll never know.” “What are you talking about, Baghra?” ground out Aleksander. Billy was just standing there, dumbfounded and looking between the two of them when suddenly her glare focussed in on him.

“Maxim.” Billy returned her stare, “I’m Billy!” he corrected her. She shook her head, “You will forever be Maxim to me. And as I’m your mother, do not argue with me. Now…. no doubt Aleksander has been making a great fuss about how he’s many centuries old, has he?” “He did mention it,” said Billy, begrudgingly. She nodded, “I thought he might have. Listen to me, both of you. You are twins, so obviously you were born within minutes of each other. To me.” The two men exchanged glances, before looking back at her. “It became obvious to me that Aleksander - from a relatively early age - was going to cause himself and everyone around him nothing but trouble and strife, so I took a radical step.” “What did you do, Baghra?” questioned Aleksander.

“If you’d have patience, I’m trying to tell you!” she snapped, before continuing, “I got one of the few Heartrenders in existence at that time to take Maxim out of Ravka to a secret location. There, he placed him in long-term suspended animation. When you…” she pointed an accusatory finger at Aleksander, “….started all that nonsense with the Sun Summoner and hunting for the stag, I travelled with another Heartrender to where Maxim was, and brought him out of his enforced hibernation. I had to protect him as there was no guarantee you’d survive, Aleksander.” She stared at his scowling face and carried on speaking.

“He had no memories remaining of his past life and so I took him into the forest, there is a portal there which only I know of. There used to be more knew about it but I am the only one left now. Other universes can be reached through it. And I decided to send Maxim to another one. This one. It was only three months ago in Ravkan time, but in this universe more than thirty years have passed.”

“Wait… what?!” Billy was pissed. “You… you just threw me into some portal and walked away? Not knowing where I would end up?” “I had to save one of my sons!” she spat out, “…the other one had lost his mind and was on a collision course with disaster!” Billy put his head in his hands, before looking up again and raging at her, “I was abandoned for a second time by the woman I thought was my mother in this universe! She was a drug user, a total mess! I was placed in an orphanage… it was terrible!” He saw a remorseful look pass over her face for a split second, “I am sorry, Maxim! But I had no choice. Then I had to step in again when he…” pointing again at Aleksander, “….was nearly killed by volcras. I managed to get him to the portal before he fully regained consciousness. He thinks it was his idea to leave Ravka after we had an argument, but I managed to plant that idea in his mind before I pushed him into the portal.”

Billy and Aleksander both snorted in unison, then glanced at each other again. Billy looked back at her, “You’re sorry? That doesn’t quite cover it. I went to war! And now I’m in a very bad situation due to things which went down in Afghanistan during that war.” Aleksander chipped in, “And how dare you make a decision like sending me to another universe without consulting me first?”

The sigh Baghra gave echoed round the apartment. “You are a pair of ungrateful whelps! And now it sounds like I have to get you of trouble too!” She pointed at Billy this time. “I firstly had to find some very old documents about it, but I managed to find out how to enter the limbo section of the portal, which this is, because I wished to speak to both of you before I sent you on your next journey.” She lifted her hands and swirled them around in a kind of ritualistic fashion, “Be on your way to the next universe!” she chanted, and suddenly the rippling got even more pronounced.

Billy and Aleksander began feeling overwhelmingly dizzy, feeling as if they were falling but in fact realised they seemed to be rushing through time and space.

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Devon, UK

It was Saturday tomorrow so because you could sleep in a bit as you opened later, you finished the first series (but not the second one - it always upset you) of the one you’d originally been watching, and had then moved on to the one based on the trilogy.

You peered more closely at your TV screen - yeah! you were right, the hot bad guy looked so similar to the hot bad dude in the other series they could be twins! Was it the same actor? You’d need to check on the credits but it must be, surely.

No reflection on the series you were watching, but having finished your ice cream you dozed off during episode 6.

You woke up - you had no idea how much later - and as you sat up slightly, realised that you were feeling very strange. Standing up from the sofa, you were so dizzy that you collapsed back down onto it. You tried not to panic, but you’d no clue as to why you felt so unwell all of a sudden.

Then you noticed that your apartment appeared to be rippling. Rippling??!! What the…. The rippling waves began to die down a little and you were suddenly aware of two looming figures standing over you. Their outlines and features slowly became more defined, more solid, and eventually you realised you were looking up at both the hot bad dudes from the TV.

Of course you were.

Okay, your reeling mind said to you, maybe the celestial Powers That Be had been listening when you were complaining about the lack of hot guys in your town.

They were both looking down at you, clear interest in their eyes. Maybe because you were wearing silky shorts with matching tank T. Your sleepwear didn’t leave too much to the imagination.

So you stared at them, and they stared right back at you, although again you were acutely aware of two sets of very dark eyes roaming all over your body.

You wondered if someone had spiked your ice cream.

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