#this is a place where all the fevered conspiracy dreams come true

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Thurs 10 June ‘21

DREAMS DO COME TRUE and fanfics do come to life, how lucky are we? Seriously though, cooking show Louis AND footie Louis in one day, have we finally crossed out of the dark timeline and into some kind of blessed AU?! Louis is doing a COOKING SHOW (well, a little cooking video), and even better- it’s one of those things where he tries to recreate a recipe on his own for the camera! Full Time Meals is part of Marcus Rashford’s campaign to end child food insecurity in the UK. Celebrity chef Tom Kerridge makes easy meals from cheap ingredients for folks to follow along with, so Louis shouldn’t have too much trouble- good for him, though maybe not quite as entertaining for us, but this is one step closer to Celebrity Bake Off, keep dreaming big and crossing those fingers! Kerridge will post his recipe video on Sunday, and then Monday they’ll post Louis making the same thing. The preview pic is just long ass hair everywhere OMG. Put on a hairnet, hippie! NOT ONLY THAT I guess he is still at the studio, but hey that just means more video for us and not only that, today’s fan videos are of Louis kicking a football around- look at him GO!- with CHILDREN, goddddd. TOOO much, truly excellent.

My Policeman filming officially wrapped, and Harry took a fan pic in London (with a fan called… Harry!) Harry (Styles) is wearing his “louie” shirt (hey I didn’t name the thing okay it’s literally called that) and carrying his blue bandana in his back pocket (on the left, relevant if hanky code, probably not relevant if he was just carrying it for hay fever symptoms or whatever.)

Liam assured us that the Vegas entrepreneur dinner will be very fun and (in his underwear, hello) said that he loves his discord and he did a live chat about Lonely Bug and NFTs. He said, “lonely bug is my inner child,” there will be LB merch- “very limited toy drop might add clothes don’t know,” that the new song has “very very bright lyrics,” and said both that his knee is sore and that his knee is much better thanks, how very Liam.

And in a (these days rare for me) dip into fandom discourse, I see writer Kaitlyn Tiffany is back making the rounds of blogs for her book about the 1D fandom and how craaaazzzy larries are; BLOCK HER. Her tumblr url is kaittiffany (EDIT SJDKJFKS she has deleted since this morning OK THEN but she will be back again; I’m leaving this in for next time as we definitely haven’t seen the last of her, plus you know I went to all the trouble of writing it.) A book actually reporting on this complex and somewhat unique fandom objectively from a place of interest and curiosity would be fascinating and totally worthwhile… but sadly this REALLY ain’t it. She has made it clear she has no intention of actually writing about the intricacies of this fandom, only in finding material to bolster her already decided upon thesis about the ‘clinical paranoia’ and conspiracy theorizing of young women online. Her entire premise is based on her own preconceived bias, and she came here to find things to support her premise rather than coming up with it based on what she saw (not to mention it’s totally dated at this point, she really missed the cultural moment on that) and she has no interest in hearing what we have to say, only in pathologizing to support the sensationalist brief she probably got a publishing advance for and finding things to pull out of context to make her already decided on points. Anyway she wrote the intern- who had not blocked her to that account, oops- offering the ‘choice’ between one of our posts being quoted in her book with or without a name attached GEE THANKS SUCH GREAT OPTIONS; once she sees anything she wants to pull out of context, you can’t do anything about it (this is a public platform), so just block her so she doesn’t see it in the first place.

Hey but since we’re not getting an actual balanced book about the fandom maybe someone should write a companion book to hers analyzing the psychological phenomena of antis! Hey publishers, I can throw around buzz words too plus unlike her I know what I’m talking about as an actual member of this community, check it out: I propose an analysis in the aftermath of the Trump era of ‘othering’ in online spaces and how certain fandom groups operate as a socially acceptable entry level location of practice in demonizing a peer population which can act as a gateway to normalizing the othering of other cultures, races, etc. In this essay book I will address how fans experience peer validation and support to egg each other on in bullying other people because those people have been coded as Other and Wrong and because their community reinforces the idea that attacking other humans is Good Behavior and that normal constraints and ethics are suspended when people need to be Made to Understand the Righteous Truth and that any means justify that end, and how that carries over into non-fandom life and is dangerous as hell. Now THAT’S timely, DM for deets about where to send my advance!

[what-the-witch-stuff]

Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 2: Unfulfilled Expectations

Masterpost: here Go to:  Ch.1   |   Ch.2  |

_________________________

"I have news for you. One good, one bad" Shane said hours after the dance, when everyone was busy cleaning the place up. "Wait! Help me with that table first...Allright. Shoot". Shane grabbed the other side of the table and together they heaved it off the ground to carry it back to Marnie's farm. The path that led to the narrow bridge which divided the forest clearing from the rest of the village, was not large enough for them to carry the table side by side. So Shane volunteered to walk backwards while Riley gave directions. For a few moments Shane didn't say anything but occasionally looked at something over her shoulder. Then he lowered his voice:

"Ok, so...Mr. Darcy" – that was code for Elliott – "has been mingling with my aunt for almost the entire festival and now they both keep looking over at you".

"What?"

"Don't look! I didn't want to say it earlier, because I wasn't sure. But given how Marnie has been really chatty today, I bet she's playing matchmaker again"

"Oh for fuck's sake! What about Elliott?"

"Don't know, maybe he finally figured out that you don't understand his poems, or something"

"Shane!"

„I'm kidding. Don't act so horrified. Also, it's true!"

„No! It's not."

„Okay. Remember the poem he 'gifted' you at the Feast of the Winter Star? What was that about?"

Riley was preparing to answer him in a know-it-all manner but soon realised that she had actually no idea what to say. She hoped her death glare would shut him up for good. Alas, it didn't.

„You can give me the evil eye all you want. I already cringed to death when he started performing it in front of the goddam tree."

„Maybe a few metaphors and references go over my head sometimes, but that's because I never read much poetry before.

„Or maybe his writing is as inflated as his ego"

„Stop! For Yoba's sake, just tell me what's up with him!

„How should I know?"

„Then why tell me?"

"I thought you would want to know these things"

"Well, what does he look like? Does he look upset or anything?"

"Ehm",– at that Shane peeked back over her shoulder, looking rather pained as he tried to awaken his interpersonal skills: "Well he looks like a schmock, so nothing new there. Maybe that's just his –oh shit!"

"What?!"

"He's coming"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Stop! Jesus, Riley have you never been to highschool? You don't look at people you're talking shit about."

"Ok! ok, act natural !"

"You're the only one acting like a headless chicken", he hissed under his breath.

"Well, maybe I would be calmer if you –"

Shane dropped his side of the table. It came to the ground with a soft thud and Riley almost lost her footing from the sudden yank it caused on her side, forcing them to an immediate stop shortly before the bridge. This interrupted Riley's tirade and in hindsight saved her some embarrassment, as Elliott appeared by her side soon after, brushing a strain of hair behind his ear : "Good day, you two. I am so very sorry I didn't get to chat with you sooner. Can I help you with that?", he asked, having seen them struggle but obviously mistaking the situation at hand. Before Riley could even say anything, Shane intervened again : "Glad that you ask!" he said in an overly friendly manner while stretching theatrically and making a face: "My back is killing me! If you don't mind, I'd rather go see if I can help with something else" and with the blink of an eye, Shane and Elliott had switched places.

"You're welcome!", Shane murmured while brushing past her and he was gone. Meanwhile Elliott was getting into position and testing the table's weight while Riley could do nothing but watch him dumbfounded. When he noticed her staring, Elliot winked: "Shall we then?"

"YES! I mean, sure. Thanks for the help", If Riley's face looked as flushed as it felt right then and there, Elliott was gentleman enough to pretend not to notice. "Please, don't thank me! I should have been more involved with the preparations to begin with. I was just so caught up with my newest draft, that I had forgotten all about the dance until a few days ago. Oh, also, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything between you and Shane?", he added, leaning slightly towards her in mock-conspiracy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it did look like you've been arguing, before I came over. I hope it was nothing serious"

"Ehm... I was just worried. His, eh... his 'back pain' is quite bad, but he didn't want to bother Harvey during a holiday", Riley lied between her teeth, as they made their way over the narrow bridge.

"Poor fellow, no wonder he seemed rather miffed today. But he danced like a champ!", Elliott stated sympathetically.

"Yes, he knows how much it means to Emily and didn't want to let her down"

"See, I was wondering about that a little. I did expect the two of you to be dancing today"

At that, Riley tripped over nothing, looking at Elliott with such astonishment that she almost forgot to warn him about the slight slope the path would be taking, shortly after the bridge.

"Sorry, who?"

"Well, you and Shane….?"

"Huh?"

Elliott then must have come to some sort of realisation, for it was now his turn to look flushed and embarrassed.

"Oh, Let the greater part of the news thou hearest be the least part of what thou believest." he exclaimed ruefully and smiled at her apologetically: " I should have known better than to make assumptions. I am sorry, Riley. It was something I overheard, please pay no mind to it!"

Riley suppressed the urge to ask him if he had been quoting Shakespeare again, as in 5 times out of 7 she had already been wrong. And by now, she had the nagging suspicion that Elliott chose anything but Shakespeare, just to mess with her. Instead, she stammered: "N-No, it's fine! Shane and I are close, but we are just friends...'', and almost Riley would have given into the temptation of adding something like: '...just as you and Leah, if I am not mistaken?'. But she discarded that idea as soon as it came to her. Too obvious. Though Riley was dying to get her hands on any piece of information about what kind of relationship he and the artist were cultivating, she had to be careful. The last thing she needed was the awkwardness of unrequited feelings or the loss of a friendship because of it. However, remembering Shane's assumption regarding Marnie, she continued : "...Though I do believe Marnie wouldn't mind me as her niece-in-law. But neither Shane or I see that ever happening,". She then laughed. But, following her gut instinct, she kept an eye out for Elliott's reaction, who, still dealing with his own embarrassment, couldn't help but wince slightly.

Bingo.

Shane's words were practically echoing in the back of her mind: I bet she's playing matchmaker again.

– ‘Yes she is and you won't like to find out with whom exactly', Riley thought grimly.

To say this was news to her would be a lie, sadly. Last year it had been just a few questions, if Riley was seeing someone, or if she fancied someone from the village already. Before long, Marnie had gotten more obvious about her actual motivation: "Have you met my nephew, yet? Shane. He is from Zuzu-City too. Oh, I need to introduce you to each other, next time you visit."

But said introduction flopped big-time. It had been difficult. Well, Shane had been. But Riley now knew that this wasn't anything personal. She had involuntarily witnessed his downward spiral until the fateful day at the cliffs, where Shane had finally hit rock bottom. Since then he was getting the help he needed and they could manage having a conversation that wasn't ending in a disaster. Nevertheless, as she and Shane clearly never hit it off, Riley thought that Marnie had moved on and was satisfied with talking her up to some other bachelor instead. Apparently, she had been wrong. "Please, do not believe that I usually engage in petty gossip." Elliott exclaimed and Riley knew, if his hands were free, he would probably underline his words with some dramatic gesture: " This is not why I wanted to talk to you. I would never bother you with such shallow conversation!". They finally reached Marnie's farmhouse and were greeted by Gunther and Clint, who were busy sorting Marnie's belongings back to where they belonged. Soon Elliott and Riley were relieved of their task and hurriedly shooed away. "Riley, you did enough! You've been here all day and surely your farm does not run itself", Gunther called over his shoulder as he and Clint disappeared into the house, leaving Elliott and Riley to themselves. „Well, I don't want to keep you from your duties..." Elliott eventually said rather deflated, after some seconds of them just standing there.

„It's fine! Really. I have time to chat."

„Are you sure? I would hate to inconvenience you", though Riley could easily tell that Elliott was just saying that to stay polite.

„You aren't, believe me. What did you want to talk about originally?"

Elliott immediately straightened his posture, his demeanour getting more relaxed as Riley's question offered him the chance to return their conversation back towards familiar territory.

He suspensefully cleared his throat.

"I wanted to thank you, for you have played a significant role regarding my latest draft. Well, draft is a bit much. It's more of an outline, actually."

"Really?!", Riley could not believe her ears. This was like the beginning of some obscure fever dream, where Elliott would finally announce her as his muse and declare his undying love for her…. Totally hypothetically of course, because Riley would never fantasize about such a corny situation! Ever.

"Yes! For as much as I frequent the library, I just recently noticed the marvellous collection of exhibits you have been providing to the museum. I would've never thought for our tiny valley to be such a place of wonder and history! I must be honest, my latest works were getting nowhere and I dreaded starting a new manuscript. I had gotten quite far with my latest piece. But all these treasures have ignited a new spark within me. Now I can hardly put my pen to rest. But I need more inspiration!". Elliott got more excited the more he talked. It was no longer just polite enthusiasm but an almost childlike delight that made his eyes sparkle in a way she rarely got to see on him.

"Oh that's wonderful! But how can I help you with that?" Riley was getting somewhat confused. If Elliott needed more information on the artifacts, he would be better off talking to Guntehr instead. And following that line of thought, Riley couldn't really fathom what Elliott needed of her, to fuel his newfound inspiration.

"It's about this Adventurer's Guild..."

The answer was: absolutely nothing.

"Oh", Riley tried not to sound or even look unhappy about this revelation and Elliott seemed too fixated on his own issues to notice anything, for he continued talking: "I have seen you standing next to that older gentleman, today. What was his name again?"

"Marlon?"

"Yes! He is the guild's leader, I suppose ?"

"Eh, yes, you could call him that."

"I would like to ask him a few questions. I would love to hear some of his adventures. He looks like a man who has many stories to tell. However, I struggle to get a hold of him!

Surely, I tried asking around. But before today, I didn't even know whose company he keeps. I have never seen him in town either, other than during holidays, which is why I had hoped to talk to him today. But shortly after the dance I lost sight of him and he was gone! I could tear my hair out, Riley! That man is like a ghost. How am I supposed to write about fantastic tales of danger, when I have no authentic experience to write from?!" Elliott had talked himself into such a frenzy, that he ended up being short of breath. While he needed a moment to collect himself, Riley used this pause to talk some sense into him.

"Well, you will be happy to hear that the guild building is actually very easy to find. It's right next to the entrance to the mines.", she informed him, trying to push away the feeling of disappointment. "Office hours are between 2 pm to 10 pm. Normally, entrance is only allowed for adventurers only, but technically you would be considered a potential client. And If you really cannot get in, then Clint, Willy and I see Marlon often enough that we can relay a message to him." "Is that so? Thank you so much, I knew I could count on you! I will seek him out first thing tomorrow!". With that he made his goodbyes and hurried back towards the meadow, presumably to find Leah and share his progress with her. She looked after him until his silhouette disappeared from her sight and with a groan Riley decided that it was indeed time to head back to her farm. The gleeful excitement she had felt at the prospect of being alone with Elliott, had vanished to sober disillusion. She wasn't even in the mood to get worked up over the whole Marnie-situation. Therefore, she decided to no longer think about whatever had transpired today. That would be future-her's issue to deal with. When Riley entered the premises to her own farm, the sight of the seemingly endless plot of land filled her with awe, like it did everytime. Proudly, she watched her cows, chicken and ducks peacefully napping in the sun and listened to the faint rustling of leaves above her head, as she finally made her way towards home.

[monkey-network]

Crash Bandicoot the Series Episodes

52 Episodes; To stop N Tropy and Cortex’s Plan Z that puts reality in jeopardy, Crash and Coco must travel between dimensions to gather crystals necessary. Along the way, the duo meets familiar faces and it’s a guess of whether they’re friend or foe. Then again for Crash, an enemy’s just a friend you haven’t made yet.

Method of the Marsupials: Spelunking down an ancient temple, Coco slowly feels inferior compared to Crash’s spontaneity always lucking out. Then again, Crash has never been one without his sister.

The Titanfields and Mucoltants: A chase after a baby mutant leads to a universe where two different clans have been feuding for generations and it’s up to the Bandicoots to finally put an end to it, or make the fighting feel different.

Crash Cultivation: Our siblings split up momentarily and Crash’s adventure involves helping a farmer confront a curse that prevents anything from growing on his land.

In My Element: Coco’s adventure is a puzzle room, literally a room full of puzzles she has to solve to get out. She’s having a blast, but comes to realize that the joy could be endless.

Breakfasticoot: Taking a break from gathering the crystals, Crash decides to go into the morning wilderness to get his sister breakfast in bed. Needless to say, it isn’t easy for our unbreakable hero.

Tense Theory: In order to get the next crystal, Coco needs to show that she can relax like her brother.

Tales as Old as Tiny: The Bandicoots encounter Tiny Tiger, depressed and very lacking in muscle. Crash wants to help, leading to the two entering the wildcat’s mind.

Minuscule Madness (Part 1): The Bandicoots reach a dimension that has everyone in it out to kill them. The problem is that the “everyone” are too small to be noticeable by the duo.

Minuscule Madness (Part 2): Crash’s body has been invaded by the small people and Coco must figure out how to save her bro before he dies or the small people die first due to Crash’s surprisingly volatile insides.

Jake and the Crashman: Crash is split from Coco and is thrust into a noir story involving wumpa fruit, cars, and a hidden conspiracy.

War the Game: Crash and Coco face off against a supercomputer possessing a crystal where losing will mean the end of that world, the heart and mind of our Bandicoot siblings truly at unity this episode.

Coco Kaijuu: The next dimension our siblings enter have them transformed into giant monsters and while Coco wants to be peaceful towards the civilians, Crash is having fun with his new form which unleashes a force trying to stop them.

Rip Roo Ca-Choo: Ripper Roo is alone after his original defeat from Crash, rejected by Cortex and with no direction. He then sees Crash again and becomes determined to exact his revenge.

Crash the Bachelor: A hopeless romantic Skunk finds love when Crash is the one being that isn’t driven away by his putrid stench. And while Crash enjoys being friends, our bandicoot doesn’t care about getting closer.

Tawna Comes to Tango: Dimension hopping Pirate Tawna shows up to help our Bandicoots win the crystal at a casino but her love of risk soon gets in the way.

Bookbrain: Our new trio visit the library where a crystal’s hidden and the former two decide to get Crash into more advanced reading. Crash loves it at first, but when the three discover the comic book section, it’s a challenge to keep that and Crash separate.

Animal House: Crash, Coco, and Tawna have to strengthen their teamwork to face a chicken, a monkey, and a shiny jellyfish in order to get the crystal.

Ghostdusters: Tawna doesn’t believe in ghosts, but a trek through a haunted house suddenly has her scared sneezing. The three try to make their way in and out, but finding the crystal will mean cleaning things up.

Crashket Ball: A game so complicated for Tawna and Coco leads to Crash helping them understand things his way.

Why Love Him: Tawna is separated from her friends into another dimension and stumbles across a dejected Crash that’s been through what she went through long ago in her dimension. She tries to cheer him up, and comes to realize what she saw in him originally.

The Messiness of Music: Our trio have to confront N Gin in a music contest in three days but instruments aren’t their forte, Crash and Tawna can’t and won’t sing, and Coco is overwhelmed in making the best song. However, music doesn’t have to be flawless to feel good.

Crashcading Fury: Crash wakes up angry and on destructive rampage for the next crystal. A scared Coco and Tawna do what they can, desperately trying to get their more cool, easy-going buddy back. 

Lunchtime: Crash, Coco, and Tawna have the chance to relax and get sandwiches and the Komodo brothers are sent out to kill them.

Ahoy Baby: A young group of aliens claim Tawna as their mom and she joyously comes to teach them how to live her way.

The House of N (Part 1): Knowing the trio’s progress, Cortex comes up with the idea of bringing multiple versions of himself to come up with ideas in stopping them.

The House of N (Part 2): A battle of the one true Neo Cortex ensues, leading to our main scientist at odds with himself of where everything went wrong.

Aku Uka Alone: Uka Uka and Aku Aku mentally link and argue over the faith they have in their hero/villains.

Dream Reaper: In this silent but musical episode, N Tropy sends a villain capable of killing people while they’re dreaming to the trio, only for our villain to underestimate all three’s imaginative capabilities.

Pace and Test: Crash is challenged to a simultaneous physical and academic exam for a crystal which is where his sister and bestie put their all into making him the best of both worlds.

Ferally Feud: Crash and Tawna get into an argument, leading Coco to try moderating and sees why she loves them both.

It Takes a Bandicoot to Save a Village: Former chief Papu Papu asks Crash to help rebuild his village after Cortex’s meddling might force them to leave the island.

Crate Minds Think Alike: Cortex manages to weaken the trio to the point where they can’t bash crates anymore, leading to them pushing each other to get stronger in the real way.

Dial D for Dingo: Meeting up with an old chum at his “established” restaurant, the Bandicoots take a stand when health inspectors have come to shut down the place by ANY means.

Two Times Tropy: While Cortex is out, N Tropy and his female alternate are working on repairs but are ignorantly making things worse with their constant ego stroking.

Crash The Banditoon: The trio reach a blank dimension where things feel different, more animated and that’s saying something. Crash isn’t complaining though.

Juicy Juiced: A special wumpa Crash finds gives the trio enhanced ability but at the cost of sleeping for days. So they keep eating it in order to come up with an antidote to null the effects at the risk of an eternal sleep.

Lab Rat Revolution: The trio arrive at a place populated by a majority of Brio’s rejects and helps them get revenge.

Wayback Brio: An encounter with N. Brio has him and Coco stuck in a cavern. While Crash and Tawna figure out a way to their freedom, the two inside are forced to rewalk their former relationship.

The Skinner (Halloween Special): Crash is possessed by an evil spirit that’s known for desiring the skin of its victim, unbeknownst to Tawna and Coco though, an unstable spirit can’t control an unstable body.

You’re a Bad Man, Dr. Cortex: Cortex arrives in a dimension where he’s the leader of the world, only this version is a good guy. Naturally he replaces the other Cortex and tries to spin the world into his image, but is conflicted that he’ll destroy a utopia he technically made himself.

Nurse Bandicoot: Coco catches a high fever after a trip through the arctic dimension, and the others do what they can for her. Crash surprisingly takes things slow while Tawna is frantic in making things better.

Do Mursupials Dream of Magic Sheep?: Crash suddenly gets nightmares and it affects him while awake. One night, a figure appears in his dream and the two adventure to found out how to resolves these bitter feelings.

Cocomotion: A trip to the future has Coco visit a successful version of herself. As such, it’s the age old case between future versus family. 

Crunched Kindness (1/2 Hour Christmas Special): Infiltrating Cortex’s castle, the trio frees a disheveled Crunch Bandicoot and helps him see the beauty of the world.

High School Bandicoot: The Trio are stuck in a video game dating sim where Crash has to win in one go or get deleted forever.

Fishing for Crystals: A fish eats a crystal, a bigger fish eats the little and so on, forcing our heroes to fish differently in the effort to get it back.

Continue?: Crash finds himself alone in a dreary world where it turns out he's dead. He meets a little possum girl and her big bodyguard as they help him uncover a way back to life.

The Trials of Crash Bandicoot: Crash is framed for multiple interdimensional crimes in space court, all of which are Cortex’s doings, and while Coco and Tawna play defense, everyone he’s encounter over the series comes to either his aid or prosecution, and Cortex has something up his sleeve, Crash himself is seemingly out cold during everything.

The Dimmer of Hope: After the events of the previous episode, Cortex has all the crystals and the trio’s banished to the end of the universe. All feels lost, so all that’s left to do is reminisce of the adventures the three got to have.

The Dimensional Dance (Part 1): Cortex and the N Tropys have everything set for multiversal domination but argue over how they want to do things. Meanwhile the trio get back to reality and figure out a way to destroy the crystals. 

The Dimensional Dance (Part 2): Crash has absorbed all of the power of the reality machine to make a universe in his own image. Tawna, Coco, the N Tropys, and Cortex are aware and find out that this won’t be stable for much longer and have to save Crash to reverse the effects.

The Never Ending Story (Series Finale): Crash is alone again, not dead, this time in a plane outside all existence and, given the chance to speak for the first time, reflects on his life and everything he got to have to a being he’s familiar with.

[musicallisto]

G'morning :) Would a sweet, familial fic with our camp bby Jack Marston and prompt: "Look a shooting star! Make a wish!" be okay to write? Been feelin' low, nowadays. Need some fluff, if it's alright with you

I told my friend a few days ago that I really wanted to write some New Year's party with a Happy Gang(tm), and then your request came in. You must have read my mind! I would love to explore more parties in my writing because Happy Gang(tm) is all I long for. Anyway, hope you like this, even if the rest of the gang is not exactly central, and sending lots of love your way ❤

(F!Reader + would recommend listening to New Year's Day by Pentatonix because it's how I got the idea in the first place, and it made me emo)

"Thirty seconds left!"

"Everyone ready!"

"Ah-- crap! My-- where's my watch?"

"Shut up, Uncle, I can't hear Dutch counting down."

"Fifteen seconds!"

"Well I can't know how much time we got left if I don't find my--"

"Just listen to him, you goddamn fool!"

"Ten seconds!"

"Arthur, John, Uncle, will you please be quiet?"

"I'm quiet. They're bickering."

"Five!"

"Cheers!"

"Not yet, you dumbass!"

"Happy new year, everyone!" Dutch's powerful voice roars out to the night sky, discretion long forgotten, sorrows fed to the flames. A cheer erupts in response. Some grab their loved ones for a good luck charm - you think you see John try to nimbly evade Abigail's kiss, before sheepishly giving in when she pouts -, some down the remainings of their bottles in one big gulp - Karen is even faster than Bill, and her loud, careless laughter explodes like your own show of fireworks -, some embrace, a glint in the eyes that could be tears hidden in their sleeves.

"To another year," Dutch breathes out, almost disbelieving that he's still alive to utter the words.

"To another century," Hosea replies, repressing a grin as he pats his oldest friend on the back.

And some, like you, observe, chest filled with warmth and stars, as the minute right after midnight, the first minute of the twentieth century overflows with joy and wishes and fraternity and love. Your family, an odd one at that, but the closest thing to a safe place you've ever known, raises a glass and a cheer for the new dawn... and first, for the new night, clean of its old grime, ready to be made into whatever the Van der Linde gang imagines.

And you imagine it grand.

Even little Jack has stayed awake for the occasion, battling his drowsy eyes and the temptation of his mother's arms to witness the commencement of his world. Abigail, although reluctant to the idea of keeping the boy up way past his bedtime, with the rest of 'em hooligans, what's more, finally gave in after John convinced her that neither of them belongs in this era that starts when the sun rises, but Jack does. Still, you've been a reliable scarecrow, all evening, keeping Uncle away from the boy - Uncle and his so-called miraculous cures for sleepiness, Uncle and his brandy, Uncle and his "it's just a little sip!". In the fireflies that shine in Jack's little eyes, awestruck at the radiant energy that runs through his aunts and uncles, his mother and father, you have no doubt that it was all worth it. If this is the world Jack is meant to see, you'd rather it start with laughter, with hugs, with joyful tales of the old times, with Javier's guitar, with Charles's subtle singing, and with Mary-Beth and Tilly's sloppy waltzes.

"Y/N! Happy New Year!" an uncharacteriscally enthusiastic Arthur exclaims, going in for a hug before you can even register if his breath smells of alcohol. You laugh against his chest, though you recognize the happy fever of a man who has scraped death way too many times to be picky about what brings him joy.

"Are you drunk already, Morgan?" you playfully retort, but you can't contain your laughter at his falsely outraged expression. It's like on the moment that marks another year, he's lost fifteen in age.

"Course not. Who d'you think I am? I'm just... happy."

"Happy suits you, Arthur," you respond, an affectionate smile making its way on your face. Everything you've been through with Arthur and the others flashes before your eyes, and you decrete right then and there that you're owed some respite, and that joy is the color that compliments best the gang's eyes.

A few moments later, when the rest of the gang has lost itself in a frenzied and clumsy dance, the most dauntless attempting to balance their bottles as they move, you come to rest by Jack's side, sitting in the grass. The air is fresher in this part of camp, devoid of fear.

"Happy New Year, Jack."

"Happy New Year, Aunt Y/N!" he sings, nodding his head to the rhythm of the dancers' feet. "Look at my Pa and my Ma!"

Following his excited finger, your eyes find two silhouettes standing out in front of the campfire. Their feet are heavier than most of the others', but you can hear their tipsy giggling and softened hearts echo every time they twirl, even from where you're sitting.

"Your Pa can dance now?"

"No," Jack hastens to answer, prouder than he should probably be, "he's improvising. He told me earlier. He hates dancing, you know? But he said he wanted to make Mama happy. And they're happy! Everyone is so happy."

You can swear, now that you heard the little boy, that John and Abigail's movements grow in elegance, this touching and life-changing elegance that things bear when they are done with love. And a wind of this same grace weaves its way into your chest, hastily pushing the laughter out of your mouth. Jack doesn't ask why you suddenly laugh; instead, he mimics it, and soon you're two hunched figures in the dark, watching a party unfurl in a clearing somewhere in New Hanover, watching the people you love most meddle together, reminisce about the old times and trip over their own feet, and the only logical, sensible reaction you can muster is to laugh.

The air has settled again between the two of you, and Jack's eyelids flutter more and more frequently, when you suddenly point at the sky, way above the illuminated canopy.

"Look! It's a shooting star, Jack! Make a wish!"

His tiny frame sits up straight again, scanning the sky for the white tear in the navy blanket above your heads. His brow furrows in concentration, and after a moment he tightly closes his eyes, as if that could, somehow, catch the attention of the burning star so very far from you, make it listen to the dreams of a child among a bunch of criminals. You've passed the age of wishing upon stars, and yet the fact that you're all living and together to mark and celebrate this oh so special night is the very symbol of the impossible. Without averting your gaze from the star's resolute course across the sky, you murmur to yourself your utmost desire. Maybe you're wishing on yourself, more than the lightning bug.

You wish that as long as you breathe, you never stop fighting for nights like these.

"What did you wish for?" you ask Jack when he's back to his senses.

The wake of the star is now long gone in the night, swallowed by the ink, but something tells you that Jack will never forget its brilliance. He still sees it, anyway. Not above his raised head, but in the campfire where his family is assembled.

"I'm not telling you! Or else it won't come true."

Leaning in with an air of conspiracy, you murmur in his ear, a secret not even the night can hear:

"I'm friend with a few stars. I'll tell them to make your wish come true. You can tell me."

After a moment of hesitation for the safety of the most crucial and closely-guarded secret in the little boy's life, he finally gives in, his face mirroring the mischievous smile you offer.

"I said I want to be just like you when I grow up."

"Just like me?"

But his little arms encircle a space that is wider than just you, that engulfs the merry chaos above your shoulder, the quiet, observant birds in the trees, his aunt Sadie whirling her knife around her fingers, and his parents now huddled together in a remote yet familiar embrace.

"Like all of you!"

You don't let the twinge of remorse get the best of your heart. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, the ghosts of what Jack's life could have been, had he been born in a regular family, gone to a regular school, and scraped his knees on regular grounds, would haunt you in your sleep. But for now, all you do is ruffle his hair, and bring him close to your heart for a hug.

"Oh, Jack. You'll be a hundred times better, I'm sure of it."

When your breaths synchronize, you can't help thinking that you have no desire to die, but leaving for this little boy - dying for life itself would surely be the most honorable way a lowlife like you could ever go.

"Now, mister Marston," you break the silence with a grin, standing up and offering him your hand. "May I have this dance?"

[izumisays]

dear yuletide author

Thank you so much for reading this and taking part in this wonderful annual conspiracy!


First of all, I hope you have a lovely time! If any of the fandoms below pique your interest, I’m delighted already, and ready to hear all the stories you want to tell.

Fandoms:  Chihayafuru, Nirvana in Fire, Thunderbolt Fantasy

As for reading preferences, I’m happy with a wide variety of tones and genres, of any rating, ranging anywhere from lighthearted antics to dramatic casefics. But the core of all the stories I love has always been character interaction and interplay of their competences.

How the characters play off each other and bring out their best/worst, how they’d react to a divergence of events, how true they’d stay to themselves in a different setting – I love fanfiction for allowing us to reconnect with our favourite stories time and again by asking these questions. And there are so many ways to do it! To name a few favourites, I’m always game for POV hijinks, a missing scene, a casefic, canon expansion, backstories and what-ifs.

You may notice that quite a few of my requests lean towards shipfic – those, too, are welcome in a variety of tones – but I also tried to include openings for gen ideas if that’s your jam. Additionally, while it is not usually my top interest, I don’t have anything against AUs if there is something that you are itching to explore: I tend to enjoy them for a new aesthetic that fleshes out the favoured character dynamics in a new light, or a fusion that redefines the playing ground to allow the characters to exhibit their core competences in new and exciting ways.

I would be very grateful if you could avoid a/b/o and similar kinktropes, played-straight soulmate fic, and character interpretation that runs contrary to their core values. If in doubt, please reach out to me on anon - the askbox is open!

CHIHAYAFURU: Mashima Taichi, Wataya Arata, Suou Hisashi

You don’t have to include all three characters, but I’d love to see a fic that explores the connections between them better. I’m up to date with all manga scanlations.

Wataya Arata/ Mashima Taichi

In the immortal words of Henjin Meijin, Arata is that person for Taichi whose opinion makes or breaks him. (His wording may have been different, but if I go rummaging into the chapter archive to find the exact quote, I’ll end up binge-rereading year three into the night again, and then where would my Yule sign-up be?) (On that note, what kind of a MASSIVE LOSER waxes poetics about Taichi’s boyfriend problems to Taichi’s MOTHER, whom he JUST met? Suou Hisashi, that’s who.) Needless to say, that paramount opinion was not always great, and neither was Taichi’s general wellbeing.

Good news is, Arata is confident in his manliness, and he has no problem acknowledging Taichi’s ridiculously pretty and not too bad at karuta these days, and he’s also moving to Tokyo. Taichi’s definitely pretty and has an apartment in Tokyo, where a country bumpkin of paramount importance may possibly stay over until things are sorted out… eventually. Hint hint.

Jokes aside, I pine for the dynamics between the two of them. I nearly lost it, reading the Meijin semifinals — and if you can show me a person who saw them bawl as they crawled into each other’s laps on Japanese national television and didn’t bawl in response, well, that person is sure not me.

I’d like to see a story that lets them build and explore that connect. I do not object to eventual OT3, but I think Chihaya is on a quest to find her own footing and pursue other goals at the moment, and I’d really like it if she was allowed to do this (join forces with Shinobu to drag karuta into a professional league, girl!). I’d like to think that in that space, different bonds and relationships can develop and strengthen, starting with Arata and Taichi.

Taichi the overanalyzer, the hardworker and the looker, the golden boy who at some point surely hit that red button, meme-style: you will be perfect at everything, you will have everything, except the one thing that you want above all. Arata appears to be his perfect foil: steady and serene where Taichi’s scrambling and flawed, adorably awkward and disarmingly sincere where Taichi’s groomed, smooth and miserable about his own deceptions. But they don’t see it like that! And they keep tripping each other up so beautifully!

I’d love to read your take on them growing closer and hopefully smooshing their faces together. Roommates in Tokyo? Long-distance friends? Figuring out how to tell your flatmate you’ve been in love with him since you were 12? Established relationship while hijinks happen? AWKWARD THIRDWHEELING WITH SUOU?!

On that note:

Suou Hisashi & (or / - wejustdon’tknow.gif) Mashima Taichi

I cannot believe that ridiculous man. Did you see a grown ass adult swoon because his unrequited disciple I mean not-friend I mean Taichi just up and went to meet his relatives??? To  help reconnect them?? One can do things like this?? What next, being able to make phonecalls like an adult??

Does not compute.

I was there, Gandalf. I was there when the story first indicated that we might be getting an unlikely team-up of the world’s weirdest Meijin and Tokyo’s most miserable overachiever. But even in my wildest dreams I did not dare hope to see them sprawled on the carpet on a humid summer afternoon, Taichi comfortable in his own skin and Suou, erm, probably not very comfortable with his fascination :D He did not sign up for this. He, a grown ass man in what must be his early twenties, is too old for this youthful seishun sakura bullshit. And yet it is he who mournfully accosts Taichi’s mom to talk about how this other boy is paramount in Taichi’s universe. He who gets offended because Taichi knowing how to adult and work the social ropes is too sexy and competent. He who finds something compelling in the painful struggle of genius and skill.

Arata - Taichi - Suou

For maximum indulgence of yours truly, bring those into one place. Arata coming to Tokyo and finding Suou a fixture in Taichi’s life how?! Suou being infinitely pissy at the Fukuyi upstart and yet dragging himself to socialize with the boys regardless like a totally-not-pathetic adult with a social life of his own? Arata being mildly puzzled about the antagonism, but in there for the sweet snacks?

You tell me! I delight in my anticipation.

NIRVANA IN FIRE: Mei Changsu, Xiao Jingyan

Is this a complex, narratively inevitable historic tapestry strangling people with its treads, full of delicious politicking and identity porn? Yes, it is.

Is my burning – nay, primal – desire so simple as to smoosh two faces together and watch them kiss? Yes, it is :’)

I mean, I will obviously not say no if the kissing is giftwrapped in the said tapestry of beautiful, politicky plot, but the fever I can’t get out of my system is this: LET THEM KISS, GODDAMMIT. LET THEM BE HAPPY. I welcome canon divergences, alternative endings, fix-its, insert eps and codas where it looks like they would have kissed (erm, or at least confronted each other in a way that would inevitably end with them making out) if only Mei Changsu wasn’t so caught up in self-loathing and fluffy foxfur coats, and Jingyan didn’t talk too loudly about his so dead, so very dead beautiful ex to hear Mei Changsu weep stoically into his beautiful white furs.

I adore Prince Jing. He is 90% cheekbones and 20% heartbroken pouting over his so very dead friends, and all of it noble and awkward and stubborn and deserving of happiness. Mei Changsu is ridiculous, and capable, and twisted into pretzels of his own creation: not above gloating over his enemies while daintily dipping cookies into his tea, he gets too caught up in weaving the tapestry to notice he is a part of it.  Pull him off his high horse, Jing! Render him helpless by being yourself! Do something about being hopelessly charmed with each other, through resentment, loss, bitter pining, and narrative inevitability! JUSTKISSALREADY.gif!!

THUNDERBOLT FANTASY: Rin Setsua; Sho Fukan

I LOVE THIS SELF INDULGENT WUXIA NONSENSE AND I CANNOT LIE!

Sanfan is a mixture UTTER GLEE and deep fondness for the genre staples, self-aware and masterful playthrough of all the wuxia tropes in the book, and one goddamn well-constructed story. It plays the tropes straight, calls them out with a knowing wink, walks the tightrope between the two with panache, and just as you are relaxed and enjoying this trapeze show, it grins cheekily at you, sets the discoball on fire and pulls a bunny out of a hat.  It’s DELIGHTFUL and fun and lovingly crafted, just like a good passion project should be.

I want anything that capitalizes on the absolutely hilarious dynamics between Rin Setsua and Sho Fukan (and while personally I end up using the Japanese versions of their names more often, please feel free to go with the Chinese names if you prefer). Sho Fukan does not want any of those heroic quests, he’s the human equivalent of been there, done that mood, and he just wants to REST and hopefully dump a bunch of magical murderswords someplace safe. Rin Setsua is a Totally Respectable and Non-Villainous Member of Society, of which he will inform you firsthand in the most high spoken and verbose way possible, and maybe even produce paperwork that has definitely not been tampered with. He harbours no ulterior motives, ever, and does not trail behind Sho Fukan for any reason beyond the pleasure of his company, and his mission to personally victimize and cockblock every morally derelict villain in two countries, by no-one’s request.

Whether you go shipfic (yiss!) or canon levels teamup circus (also yiss!), don’t hold back your horses. Everything about this is Extra, and should continue to be so <3

I am okay with both expanding the canon and playing with AUs/crossovers/fusions for this one, provided they retain the character dynamics. I love the extended cast as well: any characters including the Seiyou gang (and on that note, if you want to write the Seiyou backstory for Shou’s gang that has no Rin in it, you’re welcome as well), reappearance of the familiar faces from Touri (read: Rin’s victim list, past, future and present), original characters lined up and waiting to be screwed over (guaranteed) and rescued (the administration does not bear any responsibility etc etc).

Thank you for taking the time to read the letter, and I’m greatly looking forward to reading your story — and hopefully, getting to chat about these ridiculous and wonderful characters post-reveals :)

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 9

Hey Guys! I’m back at it with another chapter! Will I ever write anything shorter than 7,000 words? Probably not lol. As always, thank you for your continued support. I love hearing what you guys think of the story -- parts you like, parts that make you wonder, parts you find amusing, everything <3

Read more on Ao3 or find more chapters on the Masterpost!

The place was empty, a shell of a thing made to feel like someone lived in it. It was a temporary office, after all. Venable wasn't foolish enough to leave Langdon a single scrap of information. Em was hitting dead ends everywhere she looked… then again, she was a diversion.

She’d never had a good look at the office before. Venable never called anyone to it and Langdon was a viper you didn’t want to take your eyes off of. It certainly had a unique design. Em imagined they had the numerous candles to thank for that, casting strange shadows around the room. It made it feel like there was always something moving out of the corner of your eye.

There was a partition that led to god knows where across from the main door made of a darker wood to serve as an accent wall of sorts. It probably led to a lounging area given the pattern of the other rooms in the outpost. In front of it was Langdon’s desk, seen right as you entered the room. Two side tables had been rearranged to hold candles, wax hardening as it dripped over the sides.

To the right of the desk was a spiral staircase… again leading to some destination she couldn’t even begin to guess. Beyond that was a wine cabinet. It was empty, more for decoration than storage. A good spot to place a pitcher of water and expensive Waterford crystal glasses.

The fireplace roared to the far left, surrounded by the two armchairs they had sat in before. Another sofa was on the wall near the door and she had a feeling Langdon arranged them however he needed.

Her mother used to watch those shows on interior design. The arrangement of furniture psychologically did something or other. Em had always been more interested in abnormal psychology than environmental. She imagined it was like a painting, the flow of it directing the viewer to what the artist wanted them to see.

That certainly sounded like something Langdon would do.

Em’s focus, therefore, was on the desk. It was situated out of the flow, the farthest thing away from the fire save for the wine cabinet. She stood on the other side, looking for anything she could.

On the back of his chair was a red scarf that reminded her of one she had before the bombs. It was always her favorite and she always paired it with her favorite dress. God, she’d give anything to wear that dress instead of the constricting skirts that—

Focus — she reminded herself. Her anxiety was making her thoughts go haywire. Langdon was getting into her head. Memories weren’t going to save her. Holding onto the past wasn’t going to save her. Her rage wouldn’t save her.

Manila folders were scattered on the desk. Her hands hovered over the one with her name on it, but she forced herself to look past them. As curious as she was, knowing if Langdon thought she was a good candidate or not wasn’t going to get her any closer to the truth. Desk drawers were where he’d hide the things he didn’t want to be seen.

Tying her hair up with a ribbon, Em crouched down. The doors weren’t locked… the desk older and expensive. That only meant she didn’t have to leave behind another hairpin.

There wasn’t much. She wasn’t expecting anything. If Langdon had secrets, they’d be in his room. She wondered if Timothy and Emily had found anything yet. They had told her to be a distraction, but they never told her how long she needed to be one.

“Are you sure you don’t want backup?” Emily asked.

Em shook her head, voice coming out dull and tired, “Like I told you: I’ve already crossed myself off the list of survivors.”

The night before she had hardly been able to sleep. Fever dreams plagued her every time she closed her eyes. She only remembered flashes. It gave her the feeling of being somewhere between a revelation and an acid trip. All she recalled was choking, gasping for air. Her stomach burned with something more than starvation and the world spun around her.

“It’s probably one of his games,” Emily noted, not bothering to hide the venom from her voice.

Her words pulled Em out of her reverie.

“Cat and mouse,” the brunette noted with a sigh.

“He can still make your life worse,” Timothy reminded. Sending a worried glance to Emily.

Em scoffed, “Only if I let him.”

The top drawer was small, enough to fit the vial of pills Langdon had shown them. Glancing back at the door, Em plucked one out and put it in her pocket. Insurance — she told herself like she was a spy out of noir mystery.

Second drawer down was filled with random books from the library. Nothing more than an original Hawthorne and other similar authors. She flipped through them, looking for a note-card or even something written in the margins. A few coffee stains were the most she was able to find.

Reaching in for the last book, she was surprised when she pulled out a journal. It wasn’t old and certainly wasn’t Victorian, something you would have found in a Target or Staples. A quick flip through revealed handwriting. Langdon's? No. There was a message written inside the cover which read: ‘Michael — May this be a symbol of—’

Em’s head flicked to the door as she heard approaching footsteps. Quickly, she threw the books back in the order she had found them. Then closed the drawer as quietly as she could before she threw herself into the chair across from the desk.

The door opened a few moments later and she evened her breathing. Footsteps paused, the person behind her halting before continuing to move.

“I must say you never fail to surprise me,” Langdon noted as he approached, footsteps slow and even behind her, “I don’t recall calling you for an interview.”

He paused at her shoulder, eyes glimmering with amusement. Langdon was eager to hear what excuses she would create. Em had imagination. It made everything she said all the more interesting.

“I came to see you,” was all she gave him, looking over her shoulder as he smirked and broke from her gaze and rounded the desk.

“Come now,” he said, voice light and amused. Blue eyes scanned over the files that weren’t even a hair out of place and gesturing towards her as he sat. “I know you too well to believe that.”

Em didn’t respond, a slight raise of her brow and twitch of her lip the only reaction he could gauge.

He chuckled and shook his head, hands placed on the desk on either side of him.

“Venable would call this an offense worthy of execution,” Langdon noted, attempting to sound intimidating. She showed no fear. He didn’t expect her to.

“And you?” she prompted, her mouth moving before she could think. The adrenaline made her feel detached from her body like someone else was pulling the strings.

The blond leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk and resting his head on top of his fists.

“I find it amusing,” He noted, “what did you find?”

Em smirked, “nothing interesting.”

She watched his brows raise, “Oh?”

“You knew someone was going to come in here,” she noted, “or you were hoping someone might.”

The man showed no emotion. Sometimes it felt like he knew exactly what she was going to say. Either he was reading her mind or entertaining her like the cops did when conspiracy theorists came around talking about aliens. She felt like the latter more than the former on most days.

“Did I?”

“A man so intent on secrecy wouldn’t leave confidential files on his desk and his door unlocked.”

“You’re a fascinating candidate, for sure,” Langdon noted, face brightening with a grin as he fell back into his seat.

Em shrugged, “I’d say the same, but I don’t really know you.”

The man cocked his head, “don’t you?”

“You’ve made sure of it.”

Whatever glee he had found in their exchange was quickly smothered. The tone of her voice made it clear that past incidents would not be forgotten. He knew she’d be a better friend than foe.

Lips pressing into a thin line, Langdon sighed. He rose and gestured to the fire. Em watched him as he round the desk and sauntered towards the armchairs before making a move to follow. His movements were slow and methodical, taking his time as he searched for the right words to say. His knuckles rested on his lips as he sat, reminding her of the statue The Thinker.

“I feel as though we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” He finally said as she sat. She turned her chair to face him and he did the same. “I can appreciate someone who searches for truth above all else.”

Em only laughed, “You’re going to tell me the truth? We’ve danced this dance already.”

A rueful look crossed his face as he chuckled only to mirror her own laughter. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting him. If he was in her seat, he wouldn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. If he were to gain her trust his actions would have to speak louder than his words.

“Then I promise no more deception,” he proposed, “As long as you do so in turn.”

Her eyes burned him, searching his eyes for something. He met her gaze which showed no sign of turning away. This moment would change everything.

“A momentary truce?” she asked, fishing for specifics. When you made a deal with the devil you had to eliminate loopholes. A buzz filled her body… probably from anxiety and giving her a feeling that made the world feel like a dream.

“A promise.” The blond assured, voice as earnest as he knew how to be. Their conversation had become hushed and intense as if the world would cave in on itself if they spoke too loudly.

“Promises are a dangerous thing,” she noted, “I find many do not put as much weight into them as I do.”

The man made no rebuttal. Any word would be hollow and without true meaning. He just stared at her and waited, hoping she would find the evidence of truth she was searching for in his eyes.

He had played her before, making her think she was important. This time she could predict his moves. It would require double and triple-checking over each piece of information he gave her. She'd have to work under the assumption he was always lying, but—

“Alright,” She relented, “What are your terms?”

Langdon’s shoulders fell, the tension in them finally dissipating.

“Simple,” He assured, “Nothing I tell you leaves these walls; nothing is to be said to the others about our bargain, and nothing will be done to compromise my mission.”

Em took in the information and nodded. She expected as much. She looked at her feet and considered her options for a moment before raising her head, a hand held out.

“Deal.”

He took her hand and shook it, squeezing it to convince himself it was there. When he looked into her eyes, however, he found that nothing had changed. The pupils dilated and held the same amount of scrutiny as before. If he wanted her on his side, he’d have to work for it.

Em’s heart leapt in her chest the second she took his hand. She was making a deal with a devil and she knew the weight in that. Only time would tell if she had sold her soul for nothing. Either way, better the devil you knew than the devil you didn’t. Besides… she was good at working with loopholes.

***

Dinner was tense. Then again, it was always tense. More so with Langdon’s presence. He never joined them, but it felt like he was lingering in every shadow. He was the bogeyman of Outpost Three.

Em had been quiet during dinner. Emily assumed her silence was from nerves. They had completed their investigation earlier in the day. The brunette was no doubt itching for answers and Emily was itching to provide them. The computer was their pot of gold, the ultimate weapon against Venable’s rule.

After dinner, they retired to the salon for mandatory cocktails. Coco’s complaining had once again turned to boasting about almost everything. She acted like she was already one of the survivors, Gallant joining in for good measure. Emily’s mother always said the best thing to bring what you wanted into your life was to act like you already had it. It was probably some kind of psychological method Em no doubt had a definition for. Coco's behavior was something else entirely. It was pattern of behavior even Emily knew the definition for — overcompensation.

In the light of the fire, Em’s eyes looked different. They looked colder…more calculated. It was as if staring into the fireplace would make it explode and put an end to the nonsense that surrounded them.

Em was reflecting on her deal and the darkness that had consumed her soon after. The whole thing felt like a dream, like she wasn’t in full control of her body. Perhaps it was just her anxiety… that, mixed with starvation, would make her light-headed and give her a dream-like feeling across her body.

She didn’t remember leaving his office, coming to in the middle of dinner. Another blackout. The feeling was like being put under during a medical operation, a blink of an eye and you were awake once again. It didn’t help that her whole body felt like it was buzzing, her bones feeling like they were shaking in her skin. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

Emily spared another glance at her friend who was now closing her eyes and pinching her nose. Another migraine, most likely. Coco’s monologuing probably wasn’t helping the fact.

She leaned back on Timothy with a sigh. Raising her glass to her lips, she waited for the required socialization to be over. Brown eyes flickered over her companions. Dinah and Andre were whispering amongst each other, no doubt mocking the blonde given the flickering smiles that came to their lips. Gallant seemed to be the only one actually giving Coco his full attention and even he had a distant look in his eye.

Her eyes raised to the balcony above them, Greys running here and there. They didn’t even turn their heads at Coco’s theatrics. There was one carrying laundry, another polishing the railing. Emily scanned over each one until her eyes rested upon an outlier.

There Langdon stood, golden hair catching the light and staring down at them. Following his gaze, she found his eyes rested upon her friend who was staring into the fire. When she looked back up at the man, she found his eyes on her and she quickly averted her gaze.

“Langdon’s watching,” she whispered to Timothy.

“What?” He asked, stiffening a bit and moving to turn until Emily whacked him on the arm.

“Don’t!’ she hissed.

“I’m just saying,” Coco went on, patting at her hair like a model about to walk on a catwalk. She was loud enough to pull everyone out of their thoughts… probably intentional. “if anyone should be chosen it should be someone who knows how to empathize with others.”

Andre scoffed, eying the girl up and down with disdain, “You have the empathy of a snake.”

Em sighed as the buzzing became more intense. Why couldn’t they have one quiet evening? Her vision swam for a moment before images flashed in front of her eyes — dead bodies on the floor, foam gathering at their mouths.

Then she was back in the salon, pain striking through her head like someone had stabbed her with an icepick. Pressing her head into her hands, she willed it to go away, but the abrasive voices of her companions ensured it didn’t and her pain surged with every word.

“Look,” Coco snapped, smirking at the man as her head bobbed, “people want to be me. They follow me because they see something they like — that’s useful.”

Evie laughed, light and mocking, “Exploitation is hardly a marketable trait.”

“No one asked you!” Coco snipped, turning on the woman like a shark smelling blood in the water, “Maybe that’s why your acting career tanked. People find someone younger more relatable.”

“People follow you for the same reason they watch reality TV,” Em finally spoke. Her voice was bored and distant. “to look at your life and thank god it's not theirs… to laugh at your ignorance and missteps.”

Coco gaped before huffing, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. She sputtered out responses she couldn’t hear.

A large smirk had crawled across Gallant’s face, eyes crinkling with amusement. He lowered his glasses to stare at the pair with his own eyes. It was distasteful.

“Oh, shut up, Gallant,” Em snapped as he let out a barking laugh, “you’re hardly any better.”

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” Coco finally snapped, glaring at the girl.

Em’s voice was frighteningly calm, “You. For a year or so you’ve sounded like a Snapchat ad on loop. Your hypocrisy was annoying at first but—”

“I don’t have to deal with this!”

Coco rose from her seat like a fire was on her ass. Her face red from either rage or embarrassment… or both.

“Up! Yours!” she shouted, stalking away and pausing at Gallant’s shoulder. When he didn’t move, she gave him a look and kicked at his foot. The man sighed and slowly followed after her. Turning on his heel, he raised a glass at the room before downing it and placing it in the hands of a nearby Grey. They could hear Coco’s raving as she hurried down the halls — mostly Em’s name and choice expletives.

The woman in question only sighed and took a sip of water. Her head thanked her for removing the object of its irritation. Emily looked at the rest of the room, on edge but none the less relieved.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” she muttered, earning a few chuckles in response. Timothy rose his own glass to hers.

“Cheers to that.”

The rest of the room raised their glasses. Silently, they threw back their drinks and resumed their nightly ritual of staring off in the distance and wondering what their fate may be.

***

There was only one place in the outpost no one came to. The library was her sanctuary, but even it was prone to invasion by Timothy, Emily, or anyone else who knew her. Here, however, she was safe for as long as she wished.

It was the staple of a luxury private boys’ school, a grand piano that sat front and center of a circular room with high ceilings. A tightly wound spiral staircase off to the side, framed by Greek marble columns. A door sat on every level but rarely did one walk through them. Bookcases framed the room, tall enough to warrant a finely crafted ladder. Every page on the shelf pertained to music — dedicated to either theory or song.

Gallant and Coco had found the room when they first arrived. Em would come to it only to turn around when the grating sound of bad notes echoed down the hall. They had soon grown bored of it, much to her relief.

Andre used to linger there with Stu, eyes filled with adoration as he watched him play. Sometimes they’d duet, one taking the low notes and the other the high. Em remembered the laugher. The memory of it was enough to make her cry. She didn’t blame the man for never returning.

She was no Mozart... Certainly no Stu, but she knew enough to pluck chords to her favorite songs. Em had never truly learned to play. Her reading of bass cleft was painfully slow, but she had a good ear. After some practice and a few improvisations, the songs came to sound somewhat presentable.

The only good thing her father gave her was music. He had been in a band… ‘had’ being the keyword. Instruments littered their house, unused and untouched for years. Em would always wait for him to leave to play them.

Hands skimmed over the keys. Long and dainty fingers twitched as she searched for a note and settled into place. When she needed to quiet her mind, she’d try to remember the chords to her favorite songs. Music pushed anxious thoughts to the background and all that mattered was the melody. The intro to City of Stars echoed upwards, a piece she had mastered back in high-school.

Who knew four years later she’d be in high-school 2.0?

She missed her friends. The people here were cruel and callused, so rich that she couldn’t relate to them if she tried. Emily and Timothy tried their best but fell short in the memory of those she’d left behind. Some she knew upwards of a decade. They were dead… all dead.

“I don’t want to die, Em,” they had begged, “please don’t let me die.”

Each one of them deserved so much more. They were more qualified than Coco, more qualified than Gallant, more qualified than any purple in this fucking hellhole.

City of Stars devolved into Moonlight Sonata. She only remembered the first page or so, some of the notes added in because she thought they sounded right. It was a peaceful, but she always played it with anger. Each note she hit with intensity, giving a feeling of doom more than serenity. It was the type of anger than accompanied grief, the gaping void it left where your heart once beat.

“How long have you played?”

Langdon thought he was being stealthy, but her reaction told him that she knew he was there the whole time. She only sighed, fingers running over a scale as he came to stand beside her.

“I was never formally trained... not for long, at least,” she said, “I use to try and play songs on an out of tune piano before that.”

“Classical or modern?”

Em smiled a bit, “If you count the first few stanzas of Moonlight Sonata as classical training.”

“I fancy the violin myself.” He noted, watching her pluck out another tune.

“I as well,” she said, “that instrument I know far better.”

He smiled and motioned to the seat beside her on the bench, brow raised in an unasked question. Em waved a hand and he sat, watching her fingers as she plucked out a small, quiet melody. It was her way of fidgeting.

“Who are we mourning?” He asked, leaning on his knees. He had turned opposite of her, facing the door as she faced the piano. It give her some semblance of space.

She didn’t look at him, focus still on the notes, “Who says I was mourning?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he hummed, “your reaction to Coco says otherwise.”

“What?” She said, stopping the music to give him her full attention, “You can read minds now?”

“Not yours,” he admitted, looking into her eyes, “but I’d like to think I can make an educated guess.”

The brunette pulled away from his gaze, hitting a note with her finger and letting it sit.

“You play?”

He dropped the subject.

“No,” he admitted, turning around to face the piano, “never had the time.”

With two fingers he tapped out to play basic chopsticks.

“It’s all math, you know,” she told him, watching him hit random notes, “or at least so they say.”

Langdon grinned, unsurprised, “you say otherwise.”

“I don’t see math,” Em explained, hands hovering over the keys once more, “I see patterns that turn into a larger story.”

“A story?”

She placed her hands over the keys, her hand but a breath away from his own as she began to play.

Then she began to sing, “It goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor chord and the major lift. The baffled king composing hallelujah.”

“I’ve never been one for religion,” He told her once she trailed off, voice a quiet murmur. If he shifted over even an inch, her face would be a breath away from his own.

“It’s not a song about religion,” she corrected, turning to face him and finally realizing their proximity. Her eyes flickered to his lips, but she made no attempt to move away. “It’s a song about faith. Judaism is much different than Christianity. It's based more in culture than our typical conventions of religion.”

“Faith is fragile,” Langdon noted, “it makes things seem stronger than they really are.”

“It’s the closest mortals can get to divinity,” Em countered, “to look upon something and... completely believe in it without a single doubt.”

A sad smile came to her lips, “I may not envy the religious, their rules and structures, but… I envy their faith.”

Her eyes finally rested on his and Langdon felt like he was really and truly seeing her for the first time.

“Do you have faith in anything?” he asked after a beat of silence.

“No,” She answered, her response needing little thought, “it’s why I envy them.”

Langdon smiled the same rueful smile she had moments before. They stared at each other. Em realized if she leaned in only a few inches she’d be close enough to kiss him. The question was if she wanted to kiss him or if he wanted to manipulate her into kissing him. She realized her hand had come to sit atop his own.

“We’re being honest, yes?” Em finally asked after a moment of consideration.

Langdon simply hummed an affirmative, more focused on her hand than anything else.

“Why do you seek me out? Why do you call me to meetings more and find me when you don’t?”

He chuckled a bit, so quiet Em could hardly hear it, “that is the question. One I’ve been asking myself over and over.”

Em was afraid to ask the next question, but she knew it needed to come out to the open.

“Does this actually mean anything or—”

“Yes,” he answered as her mouth opened to speak the next word, “it does.”

Finally, she let out a breath, nodding as she took in the information.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Langdon’s eyes looked almost pained, but he knew her pause was logical. It was the same logic that made him wonder if she was using him to survive.

“You don’t,” he said, more an observation than a response.

Her lips pressed into a line, eyes flickering away from his as she tried to find the words to say.

“In your first interview,” he noted, “you said your sexuality was complicated. Why?”

“Asexuality,” she explained. Her words came out slow as she weighed each one in her mouth before speaking them into the world. “means I don’t feel sexual attraction. Aesthetic and emotional attraction, yes, but I can’t look at a stranger and—”

She sighed, “In a relationship in which I fully and completely have trust in the other… maybe. But it would be more of an emotional connection than a sexual one to me.”

“A relationship based in faith,” he noted.

“Exactly,” she said. Green eyes flickered away from his once more. “and that is something which is earned, not given.”

“And you won’t until you see your name on the list of survivors.”

Her brows knitted and her eyes focused on their hands. It sounded so manipulative when he said it that way, but it was true. That was the only way for Langdon to prove he wasn’t playing a game with her, using her emotions as a mean to an end and even then—

Langdon turned his head as he heard something down the hall, pulling away from her and raising from the seat. Em suddenly felt cold, her body growing accustomed to his presence. She watched as he buttoned his dinner jacket and straightened his sleeves.

“We’ll speak again soon,” he assured, voice back to the one he used in interviews when he was nothing more than a Cooperative representative.

“Goodnight,” She said, voice quiet, “Mr. Langdon.”

“Goodnight, Emily,” He said, dipping his head in a final farewell. Then he was gone.

She waited back a good while, trying to clear her mind with music and failing miserably. What were her feelings towards him? What were her feelings towards her fellow residents? Could she really sit here while Emily and Timothy—

Her head began to buzz and she started the trek back to her room. Pace slow and steady, a million thoughts filled every step. Brows furrowed and showed no sign of relaxing. It wasn’t until she caught movement out of the corner of her eyes that she was pulled out of her own head.

Down the hall stood a black figure in Latex with its back to her. Breath hitching in her throat, she watched it walk down the hall and pause outside Gallant’s room. She stumbled backward towards her door, hand shaking as she tried to unlock it with her key.

It fell to the ground with a sharp metallic sound and her eyes flew wide as the figure turned to her. The lack of features terrified her and she rushed to grab the key, shoving it into the lock and rushing into the room.

Em slammed the door shut, pressing her back to it as she turned the lock. She stood there for a long moment, picturing each step the thing would take.

Covering her mouth, she quieted her breathing so she could hear footsteps. There were none. Not for one second… not for two… not for ten. A loud slamming of a door made her jump, the thing taking another path. Perhaps she wasn’t much of a threat… or maybe it was trying to lure her out.

Taking quick strides across the room, she grabbed the chair from her desk and dragged it across the floor. With deft hands, she placed it under the knob and tested it a few times to make sure the chair wouldn’t topple to the ground.

There was something about that thing… person… whatever it was. It made the air feel thick around her — more like tar than oxygen. It didn’t feel like a person. It felt like a sentient shadow.

***

“Gallant!” Coco exclaimed as the hairstylist entered the salon. It was late, only a few Greys in the halls. The man in question looked disheveled. His shirt had become untucked and hair poking up in all directions as if he had just woken from a nap. He picked up a glass of water and eyed it before taking a sip. “Gallant! Gallant!”

He had barely a moment to turn towards the woman before she was hurrying up to him, biting her lip to keep whatever she was going to say from bursting forth. She patted at the air in front of her, aiming for his hand but missing terribly.

“I just saw the craziest thing.”

He quirked his brow, thinking of his rendezvous a few minutes ago and playing dumb. “What?”

Coco either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She pulled the man to the couch like a child at Christmas and looked around to ensure they weren’t overheard.

“I just saw Langdon and Emily kiss,” she whispered, “Well… almost kiss. There was more talking than anything, really, but—”

Gallant gave the woman a look, brows scrunching in confusion, “I thought Emily had the hots for Timothy? Aren’t they like… dating?”

“No!” Coco exclaimed with a roll of her eyes before quieting her voice once more, “Not that Emily!”

Gallant sighed, twirling the water in his hand, “this is why we gave them nicknames.”

“That’s not important!” Coco hissed, “What if she’s like… seducing him to get into the sanctuary.”

“Em? Seducing someone?” Gallant said with a scoff, “unless the person has a thing for random, unimportant facts—”

“It’s not funny!” Coco hissed. She leaned forward even more for the sake of secrecy. “They seemed to be talking about something really serious! What if she takes my— our spot in the sanctuary?”

“Look,” Gallant sighed, leaning forward. He had just had sex with the man… there was no way he’d make a move on a girl. Not with that kink. “This is between you and me, but I got a good read off Langdon and he definitely likes guys.”

“How can you be sure? What if he’s bi?”

The hairdresser gave his friend a look, “Has my gaydar ever led you astray?”

“I’ve had a boyfriend as long as we’ve known each other,” Coco reminded.

“And who got a hit off that guy who tried to flirt with him at that Hollywood party?”

Gallant rose his brow for emphasis as Coco gaped like a fish, unable to find a response. Finally, she rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she relented, “I’m not going to argue with you, but how do you explain what I saw?”

“He’s using her, obviously,” Gallant said, “he knows she’s a flustered virgin and is making her sweat to get what he wants.”

“You better be right,” Coco says, “or its both our heads on the block.”

“Trust me,” Gallant assured, reaching over the couch to grab another champagne glass of water and handing it to the woman, “would I ever lead you wrong?”

Coco tried to keep a serious face but ultimately failed. With a sigh, her shoulders sagged and she gave a halfhearted smile to her friend. Gallant grinned and clinked their glasses together.

“We’re getting into that sanctuary,” Gallant says, “your dad bought the tickets. He kills off paying residents and the Cooperation or whatever it’s called they’re going to have a riot.”

“Yeah, but my dad is dead.”

“But you’re not.”

The pair were unaware of the shadow lingering above them. Langdon felt nothing but disgust when he looked upon the pair. Blue eyes filled with venom and his upper lip twitched as he pulled himself away from the scene.

“What do you mean?” Coco’s voice echoed down the hall, clashing with the sound of his steady footsteps. They weren’t nearly as quiet as they thought they were.

The hairdresser had fallen for his ploy. Shadows were so easy to manipulate, visions so easy to produce. Outpost three would fall into chaos without him lifting a finger.

A few Greys paused as he passed, heads bowed to hide their faces. His interviews with them had proved less than fruitful. They were all the same. Either they wilted under the weight of the new world or filled with anger by their oppression. An anger which aimed at either Venable or the Purples or both. It meant little to him, what they thought. They were but his pawns, protecting their king, protecting their—

The blond paused as he spotted a figure down the hall. Their back to him and facing the elevator. Quirking his head to the side, he approached them. A smile forming on his lips as he recognized the familiar brown hair.

“A sheep should not wander far from the flock,” He teased, stopping in his tracks and waiting for her to turn. When she didn’t his brows furrowed and he took a few slow steps towards her.

When he came to her back, he realized her hand hovered over the control panel, the lights blinking in an odd pattern. Still, she showed no sign of knowing he was even there.

Growing concerned, he placed a gentle hand on her arm and turned her slowly to face him. Her eyes were blank as she faced him, her usual light gone. He placed a hand on either arm as she swayed a bit.

“Emily,” he spoke, crouching a bit to look in her eyes, “Emily.”

She blinked slowly as if she was waking from a dream, eyes seeming heavy with sleep. He didn’t rush her, searching her eyes for any sign of something wrong. When awareness finally returned to her, she jumped back out of his grip and look around wildly. Langdon’s hand hovered close to her, seeing her waver on her feet.

“Are you alright?”

Her brows knitted with confusion. She turned here and there as she tried to put pieces of the puzzle together. She was scared, anxious, but doing her best to mask it. “I… think so.”

“You file never mentioned you were prone to sleepwalking,” he noted.

“Because I’m not,” Em said, nose scrunching as she tried to see. She didn’t have her glasses, the world around her cast in a semi-blurry fog. Looking down she realized she was still in her nightdress. At least she hadn’t been sleeping naked…

“Sorry to… concern you,” She apologized. Her attention was more on figuring out how she got there than on her words. “... I should go back to bed.”

Ignoring his presence, the brunette turned and started to walk back down the hall. Her body had other ideas, however.

The world spinning around her, making her head light and her legs jelly. Gritting her teeth, she felt herself fall into the wall, hands flying out to keep herself vertical.

Langdon was quick to catch her, one hand on her hip and the other holding up her arm. His lips pursed, the rest of his face twisting with concern. Em didn’t see it, too busy scrunching her eyes shut and trying to center herself with no avail. The floor didn’t feel real below her feel.

“Perhaps I should escort you back to your room,” Langdon noted, earning a shake of the head from the woman he held up.

“No sign of interaction, remember?” She reminded, “It’s fine. I’ll—”

The blond’s voice was firm and left no room for argument, “I insist.”

Em sighed. She didn’t have the energy and, more importantly, the strength to fight him. “Alright.”

They started walking almost agonizingly slow. Langdon would have offered to carry her, but he was sure the woman would only tell him off and crawl to her room instead. Holding up one of her arms and his own curling around her back for support, they took it one step at a time.

“Something can be said about the extent of your independence,” He noted. She tried to walk out of his grasp, subtly shaking him off. Her reply was short and terse.

“My mother raised me to solve my own problems.”

He did nothing to hide his annoyance, “part of solving problems is knowing when do ask for help, wouldn’t you say?”

“Vultures will follow weak animals for miles until they drop,” She replied, “some people are no different.”

“So, you aren’t entirely without trust.”

She glanced at him, “I just have high standards.”

“Am I up to standard?”

“Meh,” she teased, “you’re getting there.”

Langdon chuckled, “you wound me.”

Another wave of dizziness hit her like a brick wall. Stopping in her tracks, she closed her eyes again and breathed through it. This was certainly a new symptom to add to the ever-growing list.

“This will count against my evaluation, won’t it?” she asked once she got moving again.

“I thought you didn’t care what the outcome was.”

“I prepared myself for the worst,” She noted. The sight of stairs made her grimace and she prepared herself for the challenge. “retain any dignity I have left. Just because I’m prepared for death doesn’t mean the thought of it doesn’t terrify me.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?” he asked after a moment of silence. It was as if their conversation from earlier had never stopped.

The question caught her off guard, “pardon?”

“Most people have a concept of heaven or hell.” He noted.

She chuckled, “I’d take either.”

“You’d subject yourself to eternal damnation?”

“Afraid of the nothingness, remember? I’d rather be tortured for eternity.”

They finally made it up the last step, taking a moment to pause as Langdon adjusted his grip.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Heaven or hell,” she pushed, “I already gave my answers so technically you can’t sway me.”

“So, it is…” he said, sounding almost proud, “technically.”

“So?” she said, stopping and showing no hints at moving until he gave her what she wanted.

“Hell."

“Is that due to belief or desire?”

“A bit of both,” he admitted, smiling at a joke only he knew, “who knows— perhaps I’ll take over Hades.”

Em laughed. He quite liked the sound of it. “And become Satan himself?”

“Something like that.”

They started moving again, finding his response satisfactory.

“And what would you do?” she asked, “once you became ruler of hell?”

She turned her head to him at his silence, catching a brief glance at his smug face.

“Classified,” he noted.

“Ah yes,” she sighed, “I suppose it does wander into the category of leading the witness, but I thought we made a promise.”

“Does this look like my office?”

Em shook her head and kept pressing forward. God, they were going at the pace of a snail. Usually, she’d be frustrated beyond belief. Langdon made the journey somewhat tolerable.

“You know my nickname in high-school used to be Satan,” She found herself saying to break the silence that took over them.

Langdon laughed and rolled his eyes, “of course it was.”

Em narrowed his eyes at him, judging his reaction, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” he assured, “how did this name come about?”

The brunette was eager to tell the tale… perhaps a bit too eager.

“I was in middle school,” she began, “at a sleepover. The girls were still up a giggling, but I had gone to bed. They said I rose up around three in the morning, ordered them to go to sleep in the voice of the devil himself, and laid back down.”

Her companion chuckled, “That’s all?”

“The fact that I remembered none of it certainly added to the effect.”

Finally, they reached his door. Langdon almost looked disappointed at the fact.

“Thank you for helping me,” Em said, humor replaced with sincerity.

“Consider it a favor for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

A smug smirk crawled on his lips, “I haven't decided.”

Em rolled her eyes, “of course.”

“Do try to keep out of trouble,” Langdon pressed, tone serious but light, “If you go and get yourself killed, I’ll be stuck with the paperwork.”

She mirrored his smirk, pulling herself out of his arms to lean on the doorframe. Pride forbidding her to stay in his arms any longer than necessary. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m feeling spiteful.”

His eyes flickered between her eyes and lip before he took a step back. Nodding a goodbye, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall. Em turned to open her door, only to find it stuck. She checked the knob and realized it was still locked. When she pushed on it heard the familiar sound of a chair spoke hitting the wood.

Outpost Three was getting stranger and stranger and Em was swept along for the ride. With a sigh, she looked down the hall to find Langdon had vanished.

Allowing herself to fall against the door, she weighed her options. Flopping around the outpost hardly seemed a good idea. Her best bet was waiting for her fellow Purples to wake and get her some help or a Grey to wander by and get the master-key. Until then, she planned out a lie. Blackouts would make her stick out more and the last thing she wanted was to give Coco a reason to call her crazy.

[bargainbinwizard]

The Book of Psalms

Original Source:

http://readersandrootworkers.org/wiki/Category:The_Book_of_Psalms

Psalms 1: For removal of the ungodly from a group; for a safe pregnancy.

Psalms 2: To aid in disbanding and breaking up enemy conspiracies.

Psalms 3: For relief from a severe headache or from back pain.

Psalms 4: For restful and peaceful sleep; to change one's luck from bad to good.

Psalms 5: For finding favor with authorities or superiors in business.

Psalms 6: For healing diseases of the eye; for protection in the dark.

Psalms 7: To stop conspiracies, enemy pursuit, for court cases.

Psalms 8: Business success through the good will of associates; blessing of oils.

Psalms 9: To punish enemies; to restore health to male children; for court cases.

Psalms 10: To cleanse off an unclean, restless, or intranquil spirit.

Psalms 11: To cast off fear; for righteous retribution against your foes.

Psalms 12: For protection against severe persecution or oppression.

Psalms 13: For safety from unnatural death; for curing painful eye diseases.

Psalms 14: To stop libel and slander from tarnishing the trust others have in you.

Psalms 15: To exorcise evil spirits and devils from a person; for mental peace.

Psalms 16: To identify a thief; to change sorrow to joy and to heal pain.

Psalms 17: For safe travel abroad and to help bring a loved one safely home.

Psalms 18: To drive off approaching robbers; for anointing the sick to cure them.

Psalms 19: For help in childbirth, for release from jail, to remove evil spirits.

Psalms 20: Protection from danger for a day; to be justified in a court case.

Psalms 21: To both calm a storm and to offer protection for seafarers and sailors.

Psalms 22: For travel protection from dangerous storms, pirates, beasts, and men.

Psalms 23: For prosperity, love, protection, wisdom, and guidance.

Psalms 24: For protection from floods and escape from rising waters.

Psalms 25: Forgiveness of the sins of youth; protection from capture.

Psalms 26: For the release of someone from confinement or from jail.

Psalms 27: For protection and hospitality while one is travelling abroad.

Psalms 28: To bring back estranged friends who have become hostile to you.

Psalms 29: To drive out devils and restore peace and tranquility to the home.

Psalms 30: For protection from enemies; for recovery from severe illnesses.

Psalms 31: For protection from conspiracies, back-biting, and gossip.

Psalms 32: To gain respect, love, grace, and blessings from Heaven.

Psalms 33: To protect, unite, and bless all of the members of a family.

Psalms 34: To destroy and reverse back evil; for protection while travelling.

Psalms 35: For justice to prevail in court cases and legal matters.

Psalms 36: For protection from slander and gossip and to expose liars.

Psalms 37: For protection against slander, gossip, lies, and evil-doers.

Psalms 38: To help in court cases where slander fouled up the proceedings.

Psalms 39: To turn around a court case when false testimony has been given.

Psalms 40: For protection against evil spirits and to cast them out.

Psalms 41: To restore a good name if slander and gossip have ruined a reputation.

Psalms 42: For spiritual guidance; for answers in dreams; for love reconciliation.

Psalms 43: To work against slander and wicked people; to turn back evil.

Psalms 44: To guard and protect against enemies, invading armies, or war.

Psalms 45: For peace between husband and wife; to calm an angry spouse.

Psalms 46: To help a struggling marriage; to soothe marital tensions.

Psalms 47: To gain favour from those in power; for mastery over people.

Psalms 48: To destroy hateful and envious enemies; to seize them with terror.

Psalms 49: To help heal and ease serious illnesses, diseases, and fevers.

Psalms 50: For healing; to overcome fevers and other forms of sickness.

Psalms 51: For cleansing and removing sin, especially after acts of revenge.

Psalms 52: To end all manner of gossip and calumny by poison-tongued people.

Psalms 53: To protect from enemies whose names are known or unknown.

Psalms 54: To give protection by reversing works of evil and malice.

Psalms 55: To call upon the Lord to bring down retribution against attackers.

Psalms 56: For intercession by the Almighty to remove temptation and bad habits.

Psalms 57: To turn around one's luck, changing bad luck into good luck.

Psalms 58: For warding off snakes and wild beasts; to reverse evil unto enemies.

Psalms 59: To bring down the vengeance of the Lord against one's enemies.

Psalms 60: For the Lord to march into battle and protect His soldiers.

Psalms 61: For a new home to be fixed with good fortune, happiness, and peace.

Psalms 62: For forgiveness of sins and to gain the blessing of the Lord.

Psalms 63: To protect from being victimized by business partners and investors.

Psalms 64: For protection, especially while at sea, and for a safe return.

Psalms 65: For road opening that breaks through barriers and leads to success.

Psalms 66: To remove evil spirits; to heal those possessed; for wishes to come true.

Psalms 67: Against illness and fever; to free one imprisoned or bound; for protection.

Psalms 68: Recited while preparing baths that are used to exorcise evil spirits.

Psalms 69: To free one from slavery to addictions and unhealthy habits.

Psalms 70: To cast down and reverse the wickedness wrought by enemies.

Psalms 71: To release clients from prison, for acquittals in court cases.

Psalms 72: To craft talismans that bring favour; to bless children for success.

Psalms 73: To protect travellers against religious persecution in foreign lands.

Psalms 74: For an end to persecution and to destroy oppressors and persecutors.

Psalms 75: Used along with specially prepared baths for the cleansing of sins.

Psalms 76: For the Lord's intercession, to provide protection from all attacks.

Psalms 77: Used against danger, poverty, chronic illness, drought, and famine.

Psalms 78: To gain favors from kings, princes, and other government officials.

Psalms 79: To utterly destroy the wicked and also to cast fatal curses.

Psalms 80: To end spiritual doubts and to prevent people falling into unbelief.

Psalms 81: To save people from error and mistakes, for safety from accidents.

Psalms 82: To facilitate business deals and assist those making investments.

Psalms 83: To keep clients safe during times of war, persecution, and captivity.

Psalms 84: For healing, especially when the body has contracted unusual odors.

Psalms 85: To soften hearts and restore peace to friends who have become enemies.

Psalms 86: To bring goodness, spiritual peace, and happiness to the community.

Psalms 87: To cleanse the community before starting healing and blessing work.

Psalms 88: To remove evil and bring blessings; used with baths and talismans.

Psalms 89: To anoint the sick, to secure a release from prison, for psychic vision.

Psalms 90: Used with Psalms 91 for protection; also to bless the work of the hands.

Psalms 91: For protection from distress and harm; to exorcize evil spirits.

Psalms 92: Prayed over herbal baths used to bring good fortune and high honors.

Psalms 93: Against prosecution by unjust and oppressive men; to win in court.

Psalms 94: For protection and to turn all evil back onto your enemies.

Psalms 95: To cleanse sins; to pray for guidance and forgiveness for enemies.

Psalms 96: To bless a family and bring happiness, peace, and joy to them.

Psalms 97: Used with Psalms 96 for healing, blessing, and cleansing a family.

Psalms 98: To restore peace between two hostile families; to bless a home.

Psalms 99: For praise and devotion to God; to gain conversation with God.

Psalms 100: To bring victory against enemies by uplifting the client.

Psalms 101: For protection against enemies and to be rid of evil spirits.

Psalms 102: For assistance in matters of fertility and to be granted grace.

Psalms 103: For help in conceiving of a child and for the forgiveness of sins.

Psalms 104: To cleanse away evil; to bless natural curios and spiritual supplies.

Psalms 105: For healing illnesses, especially recurrent or periodic fevers.

Psalms 106: For healing and to restore one to health, especially from fevers.

Psalms 107: For remission or healing from periodic or recurrent fevers.

Psalms 108: Utilized in a spell for financial success in your place of business.

Psalms 109: Used in a powerful curse against oppressive, slanderous enemies.

Psalms 110: For victory; to cause enemies to bow before you and beg for mercy.

Psalms 111: Recited to acquire many friends, as well as respect, and admiration.

Psalms 112: To increase in might and power, for success, abundance, and blessings.

Psalms 113: Prayers and blessings for those in need; to stop infidelity and heresy.

Psalms 114: Used in a spell for success in matters of finance, business, and money.

Psalms 115: To foster truth-telling, for victory in debate over scoffers and mockers.

Psalms 116: Recited daily for protection from violent or sudden death or injury.

Psalms 117: For forgiveness of a failure to keep a vow or promise that you made.

Psalms 118: For protection against those who try to misguide or lead you astray.

Psalms 119: The longest Psalm, its 22 alphabetic divisions cover all human problems.

Psalms 120: For success in court and for protection against snakes and scorpions.

Psalms 121: For safety at night, both during sleep and while travelling in darkness.

Psalms 122: For peace within a city, and to gain the favour of those in high station.

Psalms 123: Employed in a spell to cause a servant, trainee, or employee to return.

Psalms 124: Cleansing of the soul, protection at sea and from being wronged.

Psalms 125: For protection in foreign lands and against those who work iniquity.

Psalms 126: After miscarriage or the death of a child; for the next child to live.

Psalms 127: Placed in a mojo for the protection and blessing of a newborn baby.

Psalms 128: For a fortunate, accident-free pregnancy; for uncomplicated childbirth.

Psalms 129: Recited daily to prepare one for a long life of virtue and good works.

Psalms 130: Recited to the four quarters when passing by sentries in a war zone.

Psalms 131: Recited three times a day to reduce one's sin of pride and scornfulness.

Psalms 132: To remediate one's unpunctuality and failure to perform duties on time.

Psalms 133: To retain the love and respect of friends and family, to gain more friends.

Psalms 134: For altar work in matters of higher education and for success in school.

Psalms 135: For repentance, spirituality, and rededication of one's life to God.

Psalms 136: Recited on behalf of those who wish to confess and be cleansed of sins.

Psalms 137: For cleansing of the heart and soul from hate, envy, evil, and vice.

Psalms 138: Recited daily to bring love and friendship from the Lord.

Psalms 139: To nurture and maintain love, especially within the context of marriage.

Psalms 140: To restore tranquility and to preserve and maintain relationships.

Psalms 141: To ward against terror and fear and against looming oppression.

Psalms 142: To heal the body, restore health, and alleviate pain and suffering.

Psalms 143: To heal bodily limbs, especially the arms and to alleviate pain.

Psalms 144: To speed up healing and to ensure the perfect mend of a broken arm.

Psalms 145: To cleanse and purify clients who are beset by ghosts or evil spirits.

Psalms 146: Used with altar work for healing and recovery after being wounded.

Psalms 147: For healing wounds and bites from snakes, insects, and other animals.

Psalms 148: Used with Psalms 149 to keep clients safe from accidents by fire.

Psalms 149: Used with altar work to protect against fire-related accidents.

Psalms 150: For the glory of the Lord and to give thanks for His intervention.

[grimoireweavers]

Inside the Mind

          { plotted starter for Seb and Illya ;; @ataash }

♞—-» STEM was...

Fuck, Sebastian didn’t even know how to describe STEM at all. During his time in this impossible world, he’d come across documents, journal entries, and taped recordings that offered some insight on what was going on in this nightmare and why the nightmare even existed in the first place. It helped Sebastian understand that this was some sort of experiment that took its subjects to a different plain of existence, almost like a reality within a reality.

In truth, it sort of reminded him of the movie Inception. A silly thing to compare real life to, but a comparison that he couldn’t really overlook either, because the further he moved through the ever-changing and contorting environments that seemed to make no logical sense, Sebastian very much felt as if he were moving from one dream to another, further and further down until the possibility arouse that he would never be able to come back.

Letting such thoughts grab hold of him in such a way, though, brought about feelings of hopelessness. What was the point in fighting if he didn’t understand what was going on in the first place and had no real way out of the dark at all? It would be much easier to give himself over to the corruption that seemed to infect anyone who dared to brave the false-reality. He’d even watched as the corruption appeared and took root in his best friend and partner, Joseph Oda.

Yes, his relationship with Joseph had been strained as of late. Ever since Lily’s death and Myra’s disappearance after numerous attempts to convince Sebastian that Lily was alive, Sebastian’s reliance on alcohol as a means to cope grew worse and worse. Sebastian wasn’t oblivious to his problems, as many people who spoke about why Myra ran off and disappeared wrote off Sebastian’s worries and suspicions around her disappearance as her having enough of his shit. They often blamed him for chasing her off, since they both dealt with the grief of Lily’s death in their own ways and Sebastian “couldn’t be there for Myra because he was too worried about drowning his own sorrows in a liquor glass.”

The opposite, in fact, was true. Myra kept spouting off insane conspiracy theories over Lily’s death, even going as far as to claim she was still alive. She never provided Sebastian with proof and instead of sounding able-minded, she sounded crazy. Sebastian believed in the only thing they could do. Accept Lily’s death. Grieve. Deal with their loss together. Move forward. They had to accept reality before they could ever even begin to heal and as much as it pained him to say such, it’s what Myra needed to hear. Myra never listened and the further she pushed into her crazy ramblings about Lily still being alive, it drove a wedge between them. How could it not? She wouldn’t listen to him. She was picking at the wound and letting it fester and he could do nothing to stop her.

Myra ran off without him, likely to follow these leads about their daughter that she never actually shared with him, and no one would listen to him. Because it was his fault, his drinking, and his attempts to cope with the most horrific thing that could happen to a parent. Everyone thought so. He suspected that even Joseph thought so, despite how many times he reassured Sebastian that he was on his side.

Joseph worried for his friend, Sebastian knew that.

But Joseph went too far when he actually got their chief involved in Sebastian’s developing drinking problem. Seb never pretended not to have the issue, but it never interfered with work. He didn’t show up to the precinct drunk. He didn’t go on cases and investigations intoxicated. His addiction never stopped him from being efficient and effective, it was only a way to fill the silence of his loneliness when no one else was around to ground him. And Joseph had to go and run his mouth, thinking it would help the detective get better.

How, exactly? That was Sebastian’s question.

The turmoil in their relationship made watching Joseph slowly turn into a monster, reverting first to multiple suicide attempts to keep himself from losing his humanity, to actually turning on him no less horrific, though. Joseph was the one friend Sebastian still had in the world, the one person that would always have his back, and Joseph was just... gone. Boils and protruding veins spread across his flesh and the burning, red hot rage that pulsated in his eyes as he finally turned on Sebastian were not Joseph. Fuck, Seb wasn’t even sure there was anything left of Joseph in there.

And he could feel that same evil bubbling through for him as well... It was inside of him, trying desperately to claw its way out and take control. The longer people stayed inside STEM, the more they became part of STEM, and once they were part of the machine, they would have a roll to fill. Every cog had to spin, and every piece had a part to play. Once you lost yourself, you were nothing more than a cog, nothing more than a tool to keep this plain of reality as real and as authentic as possible.

So, what, again, was the point? Sebastian didn’t know how to navigate this place. The world was always changing. The second he thought he knew where he was going, he would plummet through the ground or be hurled at full force through the sky and land somewhere unrecognizable and foreign. He barely had enough time to navigate that new section before he was tossed somewhere else. A never-ending cycle that always brought about new and dangerous terrains as well as mindless creatures that only registered him as a threat.

The Haunted, as some of the notes he’d found, were the most common. That’s what he assumed happened to Joseph. They seemed to be the most normal form of corruption STEM had over a person who’d been trapped here too long. They were almost zombie-like in the way they moved and rushed people with ravenous hunger, though they didn’t actually appear to have any interest in devouring their victims and their condition didn’t spread by bite ( thank whatever God there might be, honestly ). There were other beings, though, larger, more volatile and hostile. The Keeper, with a safe for a head and the ability to kill itself and respawn from another safe elsewhere, always carrying that awful-smelling sac full of who knew what and a massive meat mallet that could crush the head of a human with one swing. The Sadist, a Haunted that was larger, stronger, and always seemed to be wielding a chainsaw as it’s weapon of choice. The Shiyo, a water monster that Sebastian never really got a good look at because it was always submerged in murky masses, unable to be seen by the naked eye. Laura, Ruvik’s mutated woman with six long, spidery limbs that moved just like a spider would. She was quick and her hands ended in curved talons that could carve flesh from bone.

Ruvik himself, a rather average looking specter who suffered severe burns all over his body. He seemed to linger in the background, pulling the strings, rather than confronting Sebastian himself. He always had an eye on the detective, but he rarely engaged firsthand.

And those were just to name a few of the many opponents Sebastian had to avoid or put down with his small arsenal of collected and modified weaponry. Thank fuck he actually knew how to use most basic firearms. Had a person less skilled than him in survival come into this world, they wouldn’t have lasted long. Which was probably why there were so many Haunted running amuck seemingly everywhere.

He finally found himself in a decrepit city. It looked like Krimson City, the place Sebastian had been born and raised and still lived to this day, but it was difficult to tell with the way the entire city seemed to float over nothing, the ground cracking apart so that anything unfortunate enough to fall into the fissures would cascade into nothingness. Buildings crumbled and sat at odd, unnatural angles, some even leaning so heavily on the building beside them, it was a wonder they didn’t send one another tumbling over like dominos.

Supplies were his top concern. After Joseph’s turning, he’d been completely alone to fend for himself, save for a boy named Leslie that wandered in and out of the picture. Leslie was... not all there. He was almost always accompanied by his doctor, who seemed to act as a carer for him in this world, though why either of them was here, he couldn’t quite discern. He’d run into them both together and separately a few times, and Sebastian had taken Leslie under his wing to protect him twice now, only to have the boy wander off again. Every time Sebastian attempted to follow him, the world would shift, and he would be dumped out into a completely new place. Alone.

Despite his worry, he knew he needed to keep moving, restock, and keep himself alive. He wouldn’t be any good to anyone if he was dead or worse, if he allowed himself to become Haunted. Why he still had the drive to fight and push through when it all seemed to hopeless, he didn’t know. Even if he did make it out of here, what did he have to go back to?

Every time those thoughts crept up, he stubbornly pushed them down and forced himself to take another step. That’s all he could do. Take another step. Step again. And again. Do the next thing, and then the next. It was the only way to navigate and survive a place like STEM, a place that didn’t make sense.

Part of him, a very little part all the way in the back of his mind, had already accepted that he must have snapped, that he’d finally lost it, and that none of this was real. Maybe a really elaborate fever dream? Maybe he was in a coma? Or maybe he’d died and gone to Hell. Sebastian always tried to be the best man that he could be, but he’d sinned enough and hurt enough in his life that if he’d woken up dead in Hell, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

‘Sorry, Mom,’ he kept finding himself thinking.

Finally, he managed to take shelter in a mostly intact office building. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there long. The Living always had a way of attracting the creatures of STEM, no matter how well they hid, but he’d at least be able to stop, rest for a breather, and hopefully find some supplies that would prove to be useful.

Making his way inside, he rummaged through a few mailboxes and desks in the entryway, finding a couple of spare bullets, a questionable looking syringe filled with a liquid that was so bright, he wondered if it’d glow under blacklight, and a journal entry ripped from its spine. The handwriting was smudged and it was difficult to make out, but it said something about Ruvik working with the doctor that was always with Leslie. Strange...

There was also a missing persons poster hanging on the front bulletin board. He found a lot of those during his time here. Were they the people who had lost themselves in STEM, he wondered?

He made his way up a few more floors, checking drawers, closets, and cabinets as he went for anything that might be useful, though the building showed signs of already being searched. Drawers left open and doors hanging on their hinges suggested that someone had already looted this place. Not exactly surprising, seeing how many people had apparently been here, but Sebastian wondered if this building was not quite as safe as he first expected. Was the person still here? Was it even a person?

Footsteps from above him caught his attention and he quickly lowered himself down into a crouch, slowly moving along the wall for cover as he made his way to the stairwell at the end of the hall. If someone or something else was here, he needed to know, and he needed to put it down before it found him if it turned out to be a threat. He found himself hopeful that might have been Joseph or, for Fuck sake, even Kidman might have been a blessing at this point. Even if the Junior Detective working under him and Joseph had proven to be rather sketchy, she was at least still alive and herself as far as he knew.

Sneaking his way up the stairs, he emerged on the floor above him, and he slowly pulled the revolver hanging in his shoulder holster from its protective pocket. Cocking it, Sebastian moved towards the source of the sound, only to find a rather normal-looking man in one of the cubicle office rooms. Well, normal wasn’t the right word. Tall—far taller than Sebastian—and well built, he definitely wasn’t your average, run of the mill human. If Sebastian’s mind had been allowed to wander, he even would have gone as far as to say handsome. But he looked human, a human not infected with the curses of this terrible place. No signs of turning and no signs of hostility. Yet.

Was he even real? That was an important question in these parts. And if he was, who the Hell was he, and what was he doing here?

Sebastian debated whether or not to engage, pressing his back firmly against the hallway wall next to the doorframe as he peaked inside the room, watching the man flip through documents atop desks and rummage through drawers. So, he was likely the reason that there wasn’t much to actually take in this building, then? Maybe that was a confirmation that he was, in fact, real?

[hillaryisaboss]

8/25/2016: Hillary was the first to call out Trump's racist history and dog whistling to racists.

This speech should be required viewing. Required reading. The woman who got 3 million more votes called it. She was 100% right. She had the crystal ball. If only a few more of us had listened.

This speech needs to be burned into our memories forever:

"After all, it’s hard to believe anyone – let alone a nominee for President of the United States – could really believe all the things he says.

But the hard truth is, there’s no other Donald Trump. This is it.

Maya Angelou once said: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Well, throughout his career and this campaign, Donald Trump has shown us exactly who he is. We should believe him."

~Hillary Rodham Clinton; 8/25/2016

She warned us.

"Everywhere I go, people tell me how concerned they are by the divisive rhetoric coming from my opponent in this election.

It’s like nothing we’ve heard before from a nominee for President of the United States.

From the start, Donald Trump has built his campaign on prejudice and paranoia.

He’s taking hate groups mainstream and helping a radical fringe take over one of America’s two major political parties.

His disregard for the values that make our country great is profoundly dangerous.

...

It takes a lot of nerve to ask people he’s ignored and mistreated for decades, “What do you have to lose?” The answer is everything!

Trump’s lack of knowledge or experience or solutions would be bad enough.

But what he’s doing here is more sinister.

Trump is reinforcing harmful stereotypes and offering a dog whistle to his most hateful supporters.

It’s a disturbing preview of what kind of President he’d be.

This is what I want to make clear today:

A man with a long history of racial discrimination, who traffics in dark conspiracy theories drawn from the pages of supermarket tabloids and the far reaches of the internet, should never run our government or command our military.

If he doesn’t respect all Americans, how can he serve all Americans?

Now, I know some people still want to give Trump the benefit of the doubt.

They hope that he will eventually reinvent himself – that there’s a kinder, gentler, more responsible Donald Trump waiting in the wings somewhere.

After all, it’s hard to believe anyone – let alone a nominee for President of the United States – could really believe all the things he says.

But the hard truth is, there’s no other Donald Trump. This is it.

Maya Angelou once said: “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Well, throughout his career and this campaign, Donald Trump has shown us exactly who he is. We should believe him.

When Trump was getting his start in business, he was sued by the Justice Department for refusing to rent apartments to black and Latino tenants.

Their applications would be marked with a “C” – “C” for “colored” – and then rejected.

Three years later, the Justice Department took Trump back to court because he hadn’t changed.

The pattern continued through the decades.

State regulators fined one of Trump’s casinos for repeatedly removing black dealers from the floor. No wonder the turn-over rate for his minority employees was way above average.

And let’s not forget Trump first gained political prominence leading the charge for the so-called “Birthers.”

He promoted the racist lie that President Obama isn’t really an American citizen – part of a sustained effort to delegitimize America’s first black President.

In 2015, Trump launched his own campaign for President with another racist lie. He described Mexican immigrants as rapists and criminals.

And he accused the Mexican government of actively sending them across the border. None of that is true.

Oh, and by the way, Mexico’s not paying for his wall either.

If it ever gets built, you can be sure that American taxpayers will be stuck with the bill.

Since then, there’s been a steady stream of bigotry.

We all remember when Trump said a distinguished federal judge born in Indiana couldn’t be trusted to do his job because, quote, “He’s a Mexican.”

Think about that.

The man who today is the standard bearer of the Republican Party said a federal judge was incapable of doing his job solely because of his heritage.

Even the Republican Speaker of the House, Paul Ryan, described that as “the textbook definition of a racist comment.”

To this day, he’s never apologized to Judge Curiel.

But for Trump, that’s just par for the course.

This is someone who retweets white supremacists online, like the user who goes by the name “white-genocide-TM.” Trump took this fringe bigot with a few dozen followers and spread his message to 11 million people.

His campaign famously posted an anti-Semitic image – a Star of David imposed over a sea of dollar bills – that first appeared on a white supremacist website.

The Trump campaign also selected a prominent white nationalist leader as a delegate in California. They only dropped him under pressure.

When asked in a nationally televised interview whether he would disavow the support of David Duke, a former leader of the Ku Klux Klan, Trump wouldn’t do it. Only later, again under mounting pressure, did he backtrack.

And when Trump was asked about anti-Semitic slurs and death threats coming from his supporters, he refused to condemn them.

Through it all, he has continued pushing discredited conspiracy theories with racist undertones.

Trump said thousands of American Muslims in New Jersey cheered the 9/11 attacks. They didn’t.

He suggested that Ted Cruz’s father was involved in the Kennedy assassination. Perhaps in Trump’s mind, because he was a Cuban immigrant, he must have had something to do with it. Of course there’s absolutely no evidence of that.

Just recently, Trump claimed President Obama founded ISIS. And then he repeated that nonsense over and over.

His latest paranoid fever dream is about my health. All I can say is, Donald, dream on.

This is what happens when you treat the National Enquirer like Gospel.

It’s what happens when you listen to the radio host Alex Jones, who claims that 9/11 and the Oklahoma City bombings were inside jobs. He said the victims of the Sandy Hook massacre were child actors and no one was actually killed there.

Trump didn’t challenge those lies. He went on Jones’ show and said: “Your reputation is amazing. I will not let you down.”

This man wants to be President of the United States.

I’ve stood by President Obama’s side as he made the toughest decisions a Commander-in-Chief ever has to make.

In times of crisis, our country depends on steady leadership… clear thinking… and calm judgment… because one wrong move can mean the difference between life and death.

The last thing we need in the Situation Room is a loose cannon who can’t tell the difference between fact and fiction, and who buys so easily into racially-tinged rumors.

Someone detached from reality should never be in charge of making decisions that are as real as they come.

It’s another reason why Donald Trump is simply temperamentally unfit to be President of the United States.

Now, some people will say that his bluster and bigotry is just over-heated campaign rhetoric – an outrageous person saying outrageous things for attention.

But look at the policies Trump has proposed. They would put prejudice into practice.

And don’t be distracted by his latest attempts to muddy the waters.

He may have some new people putting new words in his mouth… but we know where he stands.

He would form a deportation force to round up millions of immigrants and kick them out of the country.

He’d abolish the bedrock constitutional principle that says if you’re born in the United States, you’re an American citizen. He says that children born in America to undocumented parents are, quote, “anchor babies” and should be deported.

Millions of them.

And he’d ban Muslims around the world – 1.5 billion men, women, and children –from entering our country just because of their religion.

Think about that for a minute. How would it actually work? People landing in U.S. airports would line up to get their passports stamped, just like they do now.

But in Trump’s America, when they step up to the counter, the immigration officer would ask every single person, “What is your religion?”

And then what?

What if someone says, “I’m a Christian,” but the agent doesn’t believe them.

Do they have to prove it? How would they do that?

Ever since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, America has distinguished itself as a haven for people fleeing religious persecution.

Under Donald Trump, America would distinguish itself as the only country in the world to impose a religious test at the border.

Come to think of it, there actually may be one place that does that. It’s the so-called Islamic State. The territory ISIS controls. It would be a cruel irony if America followed its lead.

Don’t worry, some will say, as President, Trump will be surrounded by smart advisors who will rein in his worst impulses.

So when a tweet gets under his skin and he wants to retaliate with a cruise missile, maybe cooler heads will be there to convince him not to.

Maybe.

But look at who he’s put in charge of his campaign.

Trump likes to say he only hires the “best people.” But he’s had to fire so many campaign managers it’s like an episode of the Apprentice.

The latest shake-up was designed to – quote – “Let Trump be Trump.” To do that, he hired Stephen Bannon, the head of a right-wing website called Breitbart.com, as campaign CEO.

To give you a flavor of his work, here are a few headlines they’ve published:

“Birth Control Makes Women Unattractive and Crazy.”

“Would You Rather Your Child Had Feminism or Cancer?”

“Gabby Giffords: The Gun Control Movement’s Human Shield”

“Hoist It High And Proud: The Confederate Flag Proclaims A Glorious Heritage.”

That one came shortly after the Charleston massacre, when Democrats and Republicans alike were doing everything they could to heal racial divides. Breitbart tried to enflame them further.

Just imagine – Donald Trump reading that and thinking: “this is what I need more of in my campaign.”

Bannon has nasty things to say about pretty much everyone.

This spring, he railed against Paul Ryan for, quote “rubbing his social-justice Catholicism in my nose every second.”

No wonder he’s gone to work for Trump – the only Presidential candidate ever to get into a public feud with the Pope.

According to the Southern Poverty Law Center, which tracks hate groups, Breitbart embraces “ideas on the extremist fringe of the conservative right. Racist ideas.

Race-baiting ideas. Anti-Muslim and anti-Immigrant ideas –– all key tenets making up an emerging racist ideology known as the ‘Alt-Right.’”

Alt-Right is short for “Alternative Right.”

The Wall Street Journal describes it as a loosely organized movement, mostly online, that “rejects mainstream conservatism, promotes nationalism and views immigration and multiculturalism as threats to white identity.”

The de facto merger between Breitbart and the Trump Campaign represents a landmark achievement for the “Alt-Right.” A fringe element has effectively taken over the Republican Party.

This is part of a broader story -- the rising tide of hardline, right-wing nationalism around the world.

Just yesterday, one of Britain’s most prominent right-wing leaders, Nigel Farage, who stoked anti-immigrant sentiments to win the referendum on leaving the European Union, campaigned with Donald Trump in Mississippi.

Farage has called for a ban on the children of legal immigrants from public schools and health services, has said women are quote “worth less” than men, and supports scrapping laws that prevent employers from discriminating based on race -- that’s who Trump wants by his side.

The godfather of this global brand of extreme nationalism is Russian President Vladimir Putin.

In fact, Farage has appeared regularly on Russian propaganda programs.

Now he’s standing on the same stage as the Republican nominee.

Trump himself heaps praise on Putin and embrace pro-Russian policies.

He talks casually of abandoning our NATO allies, recognizing Russia’s annexation of Crimea, and of giving the Kremlin a free hand in Eastern Europe more generally.

American presidents from Truman to Reagan have rejected the kind of approach Trump is taking on Russia.

We should, too.

All of this adds up to something we’ve never seen before.

Of course there’s always been a paranoid fringe in our politics, steeped in racial resentment. But it’s never had the nominee of a major party stoking it, encouraging it, and giving it a national megaphone. Until now.

On David Duke’s radio show the other day, the mood was jubilant.

“We appear to have taken over the Republican Party,” one white supremacist said.

Duke laughed. There’s still more work to do, he said.

No one should have any illusions about what’s really going on here. The names may have changed… Racists now call themselves “racialists.” White supremacists now call themselves “white nationalists.” The paranoid fringe now calls itself “alt-right.” But the hate burns just as bright.

And now Trump is trying to rebrand himself as well. Don’t be fooled.

There’s an old Mexican proverb that says “Tell me with whom you walk, and I will tell you who you are.”

We know who Trump is. A few words on a teleprompter won’t change that.

He says he wants to “make America great again,” but his real message remains “Make America hate again.”

This isn’t just about one election. It’s about who we are as a nation.

It’s about the kind of example we want to set for our children and grandchildren.

Next time you watch Donald Trump rant on television, think about all the kids listening across our country. They hear a lot more than we think.

Parents and teachers are already worried about what they’re calling the “Trump Effect.”

Bullying and harassment are on the rise in our schools, especially targeting students of color, Muslims, and immigrants.

At a recent high school basketball game in Indiana, white students held up Trump signs and taunted Latino players on the opposing team with chants of “Build the wall!” and “Speak English.”

After a similar incident in Iowa, one frustrated school principal said, “They see it in a presidential campaign and now it's OK for everyone to say this.”

We wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior in our own homes. How can we stand for it from a candidate for president?

This is a moment of reckoning for every Republican dismayed that the Party of Lincoln has become the Party of Trump. It’s a moment of reckoning for all of us who love our country and believe that America is better than this.

Twenty years ago, when Bob Dole accepted the Republican nomination, he pointed to the exits and told any racists in the Party to get out.

The week after 9/11, George W. Bush went to a mosque and declared for everyone to hear that Muslims “love America just as much as I do.”

In 2008, John McCain told his own supporters they were wrong about the man he was trying to defeat. Senator McCain made sure they knew – Barack Obama is an American citizen and “a decent person.”

We need that kind of leadership again.

Every day, more Americans are standing up and saying “enough is enough” – including a lot of Republicans. I’m honored to have their support.

And I promise you this: with your help, I will be a President for Democrats, Republicans, and Independents. For those who vote for me and those who don't.

For all Americans.

Because I believe we are stronger together.

It’s a vision for the future rooted in our values and reflected in a rising generation of young people who are the most open, diverse, and connected we’ve ever seen.

Just look at our fabulous Olympic team.

Like Ibtihaj Muhammad, an African-American Muslim from New Jersey who won the bronze medal in fencing with grace and skill. Would she even have a place in Donald Trump’s America?

When I was growing up, Simone Manuel wouldn’t have been allowed to swim in the same public pool as Katie Ledecky. Now they’re winning Olympic medals as teammates.

So let’s keep moving forward together.

Let’s stand up against prejudice and paranoia.

Let’s prove once again, that America is great because is America is good.

Thank you, and may God bless the United States."

~Hillary Rodham Clinton; 8/25/2016

The woman who warned us.

Trump is a con-man propaganda artist:

Never Normalize Trump.

#strongertogether

[the-tendo-blog]

the curious case of cooper Barnes

HD week day 6: appreciating the shit out of the cast

I want to say this is based on a true story but I honestly have no idea

Anyways cooper here is underrated as hell so here’s this shitty and surprisingly raunchy fic about his anime backstory 

"What the fuck, Sean?" Jace asked with confusion.

"No, think about it! Cooper never tells us about his past, so it's totally realistic if he's actually an escaped lab experiment!" Sean replied. "Just look at him!"

Jace looked over at their coworker. We wasn't really doing anything of note, just drinking some soda, and once he finished it he crushed the can with his hand and took a bite out of it, chewing on the metal like gum.

"...okay, I know he's done weird stuff like that, but that doesn't mean he's an escaped lab experiment." The blond said, giving His friend a weird look. Cooper flipped them off and walked away.

"No, listen to me dude, he's done way more than that." Sean said, leaning in close and his voice suddenly a whisper. "Meet me at my house after work. I have something to show you."

Extremely skeptical, jace agreed to do so.

Once he arrived, Sean turned around in his computer room seat like some kind of bad guy in a movie, grinning just like one too.

"Ok, what did you want to show me?" Jace asked, crossing his arms.

Sean tilted his head. "Do you think you're ready?"

"What does that even mean?"

"The things I've found definitely are not for the faint of heart."

"Please, it's cooper barnes. How bad can it be?"

"Worse than you think."

Jace sighed and walked over to the computer. Sean followed him, scooting along on his chair.

the screen had an article titled 'Henry danger: a new nickelodeon gay subtext classic?'

Jace had a confused yet inexplicably surprised look on his face. "Sean, what the hell is this?"

"I know, just look." The young man at the computer said as he scrolled down to a specific line and ran the mouse over it. "Read that."

Jace looked at the small paragraph.

Cooper barnes, shown here, is no stranger to gay things. He starred in a homoerotic film about football players.

"Wait... he starred in WHAT?" Jace shouted in surprise.

"Gay porn, Jace! Cooper did gay porn!" Sean shouted back. Thank god the computer room had thick walls.

"You're joking, right? This article is a joke?"

"Not at all."

"ok, but how do you know that's true? You can't just use one article." Jace replied, clear skepticism in his voice.

"Okay, yeah, but it's not like it's a clickhole article or anything." Sean said, "i do have more evidence, though."

"Oh yeah? What?"

Sean quickly searched up 'cooper barnes gay porn' and got a surprising amount of results, all of them having cooper's name in the title.

"...dude! No way that's real." Jace lied, he believed Sean now, but didn't want to admit it so quickly.

"Do I need to show you pictures, jace?" sean replied, irritated.

"No! No! Absolutely not!" Jace responded. "I don't want to see that shit!"

"Good choice." His friend replied. "I really wish I could unsee that shit."

"Oh god."

"Anyways, cooper also has a lot of other weird suit going on for him." Sean said as he closed the tab and got ready to type something else up.

"And what exactly would that be?"

"When I first found out about the gay porn, I decided to do more research to see if I could find anything else." Sean began. "You'd expect him to have a Wikipedia page like us, right?"

"Yeah..." jace replied, sickened yet curious.

"I looked for it, because surely they'd mention gay porn on his page, right?"

"Yeah..."

"I looked, and he doesn't. Not outside of the Henry danger wiki."

"Bullshit! I know he has one!" Jace suddenly shouted.

"Yeah, in polish!" Sean shouted back.

"Wait, what?"

Sean showed him, And sure enough, there it was.

"This is so weird..."

"And you should go through his IMDB later, it's got a lot of weird shit."

"I believe that."

"Also, i think matthew zhang found out about this first, but cooper also confessed to killing someone in an interview recently." Sean changed the subject a bit.

"Wait, what the hell?" Jace responded, not sure if he should believe him.

"Seriously, let me show you the article he sent me."

Sean pasted a link in the search bar, scrolled for a while, and pointed his mouse at a passage.

"It's the first question of an interview." He replied.

Jace read over the passage which cooper told a suspiciously detailed story of a first date where he took a girl out to make out and do other things in his car before some dude high on meth or something tried to attack them, so cooper tried to fight them and his date ended up killing them, and they dumped the body in a river and left to get food and wash up.

"...oh my god, dude."

"I feel like it actually happened, but he tried to pass it off as a joke." Sean explained. Jace nodded in agreement.

The two boys were about to discuss further, but it was interrupted by Sean's phone ringing.

They looked at the screen. Matthew zhang was calling. Sean picked up the phone and answered, then put it on speaker.

"You're on speaker right now, Matt. Tell us what you found."

"The Pornhub podcast said they're going to have cooper barnes on their show, we need to follow them over and witness him expose himself as an ex-gay porn star." He said through the phone. "I'm headed to your house right now. We're following his car to the place."

Sean hung up and dragged Jace outside, where Matthew pulled up in a surprisingly expensive looking car.

"Hey guys! I had to call an uber!"

"What kind of uber driver has a whip that expensive?" Sean shouted back.

"No time to explain, get in the car both of you!"

Sean and Jace ran in, shut the door and drove off.

"Okay, who's driving us?" Jace responded as they took off.

"Me, asshole." A voice said. Sean looked over at the driver as he followed cooper's car.

Once both hit a red light, the driver turned around to look at them. Jace's jaw dropped.

"POST MALONE?"

"Yeah, stop freaking out. I'm just as invested in this as you are, you know." Post replied, returning to following cooper's car.

"What? Since when do you watch henry danger?"

"I don't. My friend told me about it."

Jace and Sean looked at each other and shrugged.

"By the way, can nobody mention the murder? I don't want whatever KGB shit cooper used to cover his tracks hunting us down because we know too much." Matthew zhang asked them before grabbing the aux cord and turning on some lil toenail music, which resulted in everyone telling him to 'turn that shit off'

After a lot of arguing and conspiracy theories, they finally arrived significantly earlier than cooper did to pornhub studios for the podcast.

"Okay, how do we sneak in? Post is the only one who looks old enough to even be there." Jace asked, still trying to process what was happening.

"I have an idea." Post Malone replied and took two black suits and sunglasses out of the trunk.

"Blond kid and your friend there,"

"Our names are jace and Sean!"

"Jay and sam, get changed in the car, you'll be my secret service agents." Post instructed.

Jace shrugged and crawled back into the car to do so.

"What about me?" Matthew zhang asked.

"You're going to cling to my stomach and we're going to put a shirt over you so I look like some fatass." Post said.

Matt cringed a little, but it was worth the risk to find out the truth about cooper barnes.

Once Jace and Sean were in their disguises, they both climbed out and noticed cooper had arrived.

"Follow that cryptid!" Sean whisper-shouted.

"Dammit, sam." Post Malone replied.

Sean sighed and they followed post inside, a considerable distance behind cooper.

Getting into the building undetected was hard, they had a few close calls as cooper kept looking around warily, in his shitty varsity jacket with the pornhub logo with his last name and the number 69 on the back. None of them could take him seriously wearing that.

But overall, they managed to get in and follow the target undetected.

Once cooper found the podcast room, he entered and shut the door Behind him, allowing the four cryptid hunters to come out from hiding behind the corner.

"You can come out now, matt." Post Malone said, lifting up the second shirt that Matthew zhang fell out of.

"Thank god! It was starting to smell fucking terrible!" Matt cried in relief.

"Hey! It's not my fault they made me use cherry scented lube!" Someone said nearby.

"Nobody was talking to you, asshole." Jace replied.

"Oh..." the person replied and walked off sulking.

After that exchange, everyone put their ear up to the door, trying to hear anything they could, searching for the perfect time to strike.

So far, the podcast was quite strange. Cooper had a lengthy talk about politics with who post Malone insisted was the person running the company's twitter account, and asa Akira, which Jace swore he knew about her only by seeing the pornhub twitter account's shitposts.

Everyone gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"So when do we kick the door down and expose cooper like in a cop movie?" Matt asked everyone.

Jace and Sean simply shrugged. Sean had no idea, and Jace was still not entirely sure if this was happening, if his best friend was actually an ex gay porn star and possible serial killer, or if this was all some weird drug trip or a fever dream.

"Just wait for my countdown." Post replied, listening closer.

"One..." the rapper began. The three child actors got behind him

"Two..."

Jace's heart raced. What if there were bodyguards? What if there were assasins hiding in that room to kill them?

"Three!"

The door was kicked open with a surprising amount of force.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Asa Akira, cooper barnes, and aria, the person behind the pornhub twitter account, all froze and looked at them like deer in headlights.

"you can't hide anymore, cooper! We know everything!" Matt shouted.

"Who are you guys?" Asa Akira said, confused.

"My coworkers... and post Malone...?" Cooper said, tilting his head.

"They look a little young to be in gay porn, did you-"

"Oh, god no! Im not a fucking pedophile, I'm on nickelodeon now!"

"You never said that."

"No seriously! It's called henry danger, I play-"

"We actually don't care, we just wanted to make sure you weren't a child molester or something."

"That's fair."

Cooper turned to look at them, not realizing jace was with the three.

"Okay, first up. Matt, we already knew you were a meme loving fuck so this was probably hilarious to you when you found out about my past." The brunet began.

"Yeah, I'm not going to make fun of you for it though." Matthew zhang replied, awkwardly looking around the room.

"Sean, are you cool with this?" Cooper asked.

Sean nodded. "Yeah, I'm not some asshole who shames people because they did sex work in the past. You do what you have to do, ya know?"

"Thanks bro I almost had to suck dan Schneider's toes for my role as captain man" cooper said once more.

"Wait, what?"

"Nothing."

"Anyways, post Malone, why are you involved with this? Since when did you watch Henry danger?" Cooper asked and tilted his head.

"I don't, Matthew zhang told me and I honestly thought it was hilarious." Post Malone replied. "Also, there's one more person here."

"Whomst?"

"Jace normie."

At least he got my first name right... Jace thought as he ran out to see cooper, feeling extremely mixed emotions.

"Jace! Hi..." cooper started, visibly terrified.

"Cooper seriously, why the fuck didn't you tell me?" Jace suddenly screamed. "I'm having an existential crisis over this!"

"Dude, you were like 14 when I met you, you wouldn't have been able to handle that. I was going to tell you once you turned 18, I'm not tryna fuck tho don't freak out."

"Okay good otherwise I'd be really scared."

The two yelled at each other about morals for a while until jace came to his senses.

"Man fuck this lmao, wanna go get food?"

"Hell Yeah I do"

And so the entire cryptid hunting team, aria, asa akira, And the cryptid himself all went out to get some food, and life was good.

[onceuponamirror]

\\\ the winged beast

///// CHAPTER 15

fandom: riverdale

ship: betty x jughead

words: 57k

chapters: 15/18

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

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Jughead looks at her, eyes moving rapidly across her face. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” he says slowly. “Go on, Cooper. I’m listening.”

Betty extricates herself from his arms and crosses the room, where she grabs and wheels a whiteboard back towards the desk Jughead has hopped up onto. She uncaps a pen and turns to him.

“So there are a few pieces to this puzzle, right?” She asks rhetorically. He nods, and she then twists back to the whiteboard to write SERPENTS in big letters on the far right side. “First, the Serpents. This is where it all started, right? The attacks. Motorcycles getting run off the road, storefronts being vandalized but never looted…you getting beat up. And so on.”

She writes FENTANYL below. “Then, the overdoses. At first, it just felt like drugs targeting those suspectible to it. Didn’t know where they were coming from. But I’d thought they were connected to the attacks for a while, and when you said that you got roughed up for writing about it, that pretty much confirmed it.”

Betty draws an arrow between the two words and stares back at Jughead. “We figured that the Serpents were getting targeted for not wanting to sell the fentanyl, but we didn’t know who from.” She pauses. “Wait, you said that Joaquin was arrested during a retaliatory attack on a gang from Greendale?”

Jughead nods slowly, seeming to realize her train of thought. “Yeah, we thought it was them vandalizing our businesses. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“Right, a convenient enemy,” Betty says quickly, a feverous sort of excitement flushing over her. She scribbles the name MUSTANG to the left of the other two words, and circles it. “A little too convenient.”

He blinks at her. “You think it was him?”

There’s nothing in his voice that gives any indication of what he might be thinking, so Betty bites her lip. “I know you might not like this, but I think we have to consider the possibility that this might not be entirely us vs. them. I was so obsessed with proving the town wrong about all Serpents that I didn’t consider the possibility that it’s…a big gang. We’re no better than the police if we look at this black and white. There are hundreds of Serpents. You yourself said you don’t trust Mustang, and you thought it was possible he was behind your attack, because you were looking into the overdoses.”

Jughead’s face holds blank. Then he curses.

He pushes off the desk and kneads the balls of his palms into his forehead. “You’re right,” he breathes. “Shit. Fuck. Maybe that’s it.”

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. He appears a furious kind of sad. “Look, for a lot of people, being a Serpent is about community. Looking out for one another. Helping kids. Supporting their families. But there are some of them who…think that being a Serpent should be a little more financially sufficient, who would maybe want to make a power grab or that there should be one leader. Mustang is definitely one of those guys.”

“Guys who would be willing to deal hard drugs,” Betty concludes, relieved Jughead hasn’t reacted as defensively as she might’ve initially thought.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, pacing. “When I think about it, it’s so obvious. The attacks were too organized—like they knew where people would be, or they knew when stores would be empty or—fuck. It’s coming from the inside.”

He looks so dejected and her whole body feels for him. She crosses the room to him, and takes his hand. “It’s not like everyone is in on it,” she says delicately, her other hand finding his jaw and guiding it towards her so he has to meet her gaze. “Your dad, Joaquin—”

Inhaling so loudly and shakily that it interrupts her, his eyes squeeze shut. When they open, they’re cloudy. “My dad doesn’t want me to know everything,” he says quietly. “Like I said, us underage Serpents get maybe half the picture. I bet that’s why my dad made me transfer schools; because I was getting too close to the truth.”

“Then let’s get it,” Betty says urgently, using both hands to cup his face. “No matter what.”

Jughead stares at her. Something passes between them; a silent vow.

She returns to the whiteboard. “But what I don’t understand is how the drugs got from Mustang to Reggie Mantle’s house party?”

He joins her next to the two drug boards, eyes flicking between them. She does the same, and her gaze lands on a particular index card. “Wait, jocks,” she says suddenly, hitting his shoulder excitedly. “It was one of the very first things you said.”

Nodding, Jughead rubs at his chin. “Statistically, rich, white, popular athletes supposedly make the most effective drug dealers. Profiling, privilege, et al.”

She taps her fingers against her crossed arms. “Kevin said that the Feds were brought in because the drugs were crossing state lines. So Mustang is either moving the drugs in and out of the state, which makes sense, since he’s in a motorcycle gang, or he’s cutting the drugs here himself. Or both. And then he turns around and recruits someone from Riverdale to expand the market?”

“Makes sense,” Jughead says lowly. “But who?”

Betty nibbles on her lips, hating the thought that festers at the worst of her imagination. “Jason Blossom,” she says quietly, with finality.

Jughead’s eyes land sharply on her, almost incredulous. “Your sister’s boyfriend? That Jason? He who throws the football? Local Golden Boy of the fabled American Dream?”

“Think about it, Juggie.” Betty’s voice is almost at a whisper. “There’s no one whiter, more privileged, more popular, or more of a jock than Jason Blossom. And I saw him the night of the party, and he looked terrible. At first I thought he was really drunk, but he might’ve been high. Polly said he’s been really hot and cold lately—trying to push her away, and then freaking out and wanting her back. And have you even seen him recently? He looks worse every day. Like maybe out of guilt for what happened to Moose? He was his friend.”

“Damn,” Jughead swears, rubbing his thumb against his lips. “That might be it.”

Betty paces in front of him. “But why would he even start selling drugs in the first place? What’s to be gained for that? Money? He’s already the richest kid in town.”

Jughead shrugs. “Honestly, from everything I’ve read, white, jock drug dealers usually take it up because they’re rebelling against their parents. Or they’re bored, or ignored, or responding to one or all the supposed trappings of wealth.”

“Okay. So Jason starts selling drugs because he’s acting out and gets in way over his head. That could make a lot of sense. I know that Polly doesn’t much like his parents,” Betty muses thoughtfully. “They’re not good people. They’ve always been very cold to her. And our parents absolutely hate them, my dad especially. It’s some ridiculous story about the Blossom family business. Apparently the Coopers were cut out of the syrup industry.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Jughead mutters. She glances at him curiously, so he adds flatly, “My family too. The Jones were also a founding family, believe it or not. My grandfather ran a glass blowing factory; we made all the maple syrup jugs for the Blossoms. The company went bankrupt when my dad was a kid…he says it’s because his father picked a fight with old man Blossom and so he took his business elsewhere.”

Betty’s mouth opens, surprised. He continues, “I don’t know if that’s true because my dad lives for his excuses, but the Blossoms are vengeful little flowers, so it’s not exactly out of the realm of possibility. But: maple syrup jugs—thus, Jug-head. It’s kind of a sick joke of a nickname, when you think about it, but I don’t know, I always thought that made it pretty fitting.”

It’s one of his self-deprecating jokes again, but she’s realized they belie a very real insecurity, so she presses her head into the crook of his neck and sighs.

“I like your nickname,” she says softly, staring at the index card for JOCKS pinned to the corkboard. Her mind is half racing with conspiracies about Jason Blossom and half trying to focus on uplifting Jughead. “Even if I still don’t know your real one.”

“It’s Forsythe,” he says, voice small, after a very long moment of staring at the ceiling. “Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.”

She pulls her head back to look at him properly, unprepared for his name to be that. It’s really quite regal, but she can see how that would make him uncomfortable. “Wow,” she replies slowly. “You want fries with that?”

It’s perhaps the only thing she could’ve said in that moment that would make him smile, and it’s incredibly successful. He throws his head back with a full laugh. “Damn, Cooper,” he says, shaking his head. “I knew I liked you.”

Then he points a finger at her. “You take that secret to your grave, by the way,” he says seriously.

“Scout’s honor,” Betty agrees, though she’s sure she’ll find ways to tease him about it. She settles back against his shoulder and returns her eyes to the two drug boards. She exhales, too distracted with dark thoughts to enjoy the moment of brevity.

“I wish I didn’t feel so sure it’s Jason,” she says quietly. “Polly really loves him.”

Jason scratches behind his ear. “The fact that you don’t want it to be him means it probably is,” he sighs. “Sorry. I know that doesn't help.”

It’s normally the kind of bluntness she appreciates about him, but he’s right. It doesn't help. She rubs her temples, closing her eyes. “Ugh, and she’s pregnant with his babies, too, Juggie. God, this is a mess. But if he really is involved with this, even if he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, even if he doesn’t know what he’s really dealing, we have to know for sure. I can’t let Polly get dragged into this.”

Jughead nods gravely. “So what do we do?”

“I think we should tell Agent Drew,” Betty announces. Jughead looks apprehensive. “He’s not Sheriff Keller, Juggie. He wants to do the right thing.”

“A lot of people want to do the right thing,” Jughead says under his breath, his jaw squaring. “A lot of people think they’re doing the right thing, including the good sheriff here. Everyone is the hero of their own story, Betts. But sorry, no way am I going back there without proof. I literally just got out of interrogation. Who the fuck is gonna believe me when I march into the station and accuse the son of the richest family in town of dealing fucking fentanyl?”

She understands where he’s coming from, but he doesn’t know Agent Drew like she does. Even if he isn’t her long-lost brother, she still trusts him. But as she opens her mouth to tell him this, her phone rings across the room.

Betty passes him a pausing look and digs for her phone in her jacket pocket. It’s an unknown number and she squints at it. “Hello?”

“Hi Betty,” Polly says across the line. Her voice sounds very odd—something determined in it, but mixing with nerves. “So I need you not to freak out.”

“What’s going on, Pol?” She asks, exchanging a worried look with Jughead. “Whose phone are you calling from?”

“Promise me you’re not gonna freak out,” her sister repeats.

“Not when you keep saying that,” Betty replies, starting to get genuinely scared.

“We had to leave town,” Polly says quietly, after a long pause. “I can’t tell you where I am right now. But you know how I told you Jason has been acting really weird lately? Well—he—” Betty’s breath catches in her throat, her mind racing. “—He said it’s not safe for us in Riverdale right now. Not anymore.”

“Polly, what are you saying?” Betty breathes, her heart slamming against her chest. “What—where are you?”

“I told you, I can’t tell you where I am right now. I don’t know much, but…I saw him last night, and he seemed really scared, Betty. I think he’s messed up in something bad.”

“Then what the hell are you doing running away with him?” Betty all but yells into the phone. Next to her, Jughead’s eyes bulge. “Polly, what if—”

“I told you not to freak out,” Polly says, her voice turning very firm. “I trust him. I love him. This is the right thing to do for us, for our babies. This is how we’ll all be together.”

“How can you know that, Polly? How can you do this when you were saying a few days ago how weird he was being?” Betty demands shrilly, because all she can think about is drugs and Jason’s empty eyes and sirens blaring in her ears and Moose Mason dead on the floor.

“Because. I trust him. And he’s really afraid of something, Betty. Not just for himself, but for me, and the babies,” her sister says, tone still unyielding. She pauses. “Do you remember when Cheryl threw that Vixen party before school started?”

Her mind is still running rampant with fear and worry for her sister, so it takes a moment for her to catch up to the change of subject. “What? Yeah, I guess. But, Polly—”

“I already knew I was late by then and didn’t want to be around all the pot everyone was smoking. I went outside the house to get some air. I was wandering around in the dark and ended up by the Blossom barn. I didn’t even go in, but Cheryl found me and totally freaked out. She started screaming at me and telling me I couldn’t be there, saying all this terrible stuff, and that if I wasn’t careful I was gonna get kicked off the squad for gaining too much weight.”

“That’s why you haven’t talked to her all semester?”

“I’ve never her seen her act so cruel, Betty. It was scary. It made me think that Jason was telling the truth, that we needed to run. I don’t know, I—”

But Betty still can’t wrap her heads around what her sister said earlier, especially since she had just been theorizing that it was Jason Blossom who dealt the drugs that killed Moose Mason.

Him begging Polly to run away with him all but confirms he’s trying to flee town before it gets back to him. It about proves his guilt.

“Polly, you need to know something—”

“I have to go,” Polly interrupts, almost deliberately. “Tell Mom and Dad you don’t know anything when I don’t come home. I’ll try to call them tomorrow night. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon, I promise.”

No, no, no— “Polly, wait—”

But the line is already dead.

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.

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Betty throws the phone down on her jacket and lets out a frustrated screech. “She’s being so stupid!” She shrieks, her hands in the air. Jughead immediately rushes to her side, his hands cradling her shoulders in a soothing gesture.

“Slow down, Betts, what happened? What’s going on? Where’s your sister?”

“She won’t tell me!” Betty cries, her voice cracking. “She ran away with him! She’s literally on the lam with Jason! And she’s pregnant!”

Jughead’s instinctual reaction does nothing to calm her, as his eyes widen and his lips take a dark twist. “Shit.”

“Maybe Jason didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she says in a breath, more to herself than anything, “Maybe he’s a good person who just got in too deep. But now he’s pulling Polly down with him. I—we—need to stop this, Juggie, now!”

He nods quickly, wrapping her deeper in his arms to keep her from hyperventilating. “Okay, okay. What do we do?”

She shakes her head rapidly with distress, lost for words, and he starts making calming shushing noises. The familiar rumblings of a panic attack flash across her chest. “Count backwards from ten,” he says softly, but urgently. “It helps. Trust me.”

10… Her heart hammers in her ears and she tries to focus on steadying her breaths. 9… His hands move to grip her own. 8, 7… She knows he’s trying to keep her nails from digging into her skin.

6, 5… She stares off blankly over Jughead’s shoulder. 4, 3… She takes a long, shaky breath.

2… Jughead’s fingers move to massage at her neck.

1… She knows what she needs to do.

Betty sniffs, and rubs at her eyes. She feels her face harden. “We need to go to the Blossom barn.”

Jughead swallows. “Okay. Why?”

“Polly said that she was just standing outside of it and Cheryl found her and got really upset. Told her she couldn’t go in there and was acting really strangely. Cheryl loves Jason more than anything—if the barn has anything to do with the drugs, she’d protect it for him. I think we need to look there.”

“Wait, we need to think about this,” Jughead says, shaking his head. “If we’re about to walk into a drug den—”

“No, we need evidence, Juggie,” Betty snaps, tightening on her ponytail. “You were right. You can’t go back to the station without proof. I won’t be able to convince Polly to get away from this without it either. It’s already after midnight. By the time we get to the Blossom property, it’ll be late enough that no one will be awake. They might’ve not realized Jason is gone yet, but we don’t know how deep this goes and we might lose our window. If we’re going to go, we need to do it now.”

But Jughead doesn’t look entirely convinced. “This is dangerous, Betty.”

“I’m going with or without you,” she decides, putting her hands on her hips.

He stares at her, and then runs a hand down his face with something like wilted resignation. “You might literally be the death of me, Cooper. But you’re right. Let’s go.”

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.

.

Luckily, Jughead’s motorcycle is parked not from school. He hadn’t ridden it to Archie’s house earlier because he didn’t want to walk all the way back from Pop’s, so it’s only about ten minutes away. When they reach it, Jughead reaches into the back storage and retrieves a spare helmet for her. “I grabbed it this morning, just in case,” he explains, mounting the bike.

She hesitates, and he notices. “I’ve never been on one of these,” she says, briefly losing her edge.

Jughead fiddles with a smile. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says solemnly, as if his words seem to mean something else entirely.

“I know,” she nods, also saying something much deeper. And then Betty Cooper, a girl raised of pink and pastel, swings her leg over the dark motorcycle.

“Hold on tight,” Jughead advises, as she’s pulling on her helmet. She wraps her arms tightly around his stomach. He flips down his visor, kicks off the ground, and she feels the motorcycle revving deep in her gut. Her whole body vibrates with the power of the engine and then they tear off into the black night.

Abstractly, she’s always understood the appeal of a motorcycle. There’s something uniquely thrilling about it in a way that other grasps at adrenaline can’t quite replicate. The wind whisks rapidly around them, filling up her jacket with rippling pockets of air and whispering the rules of the road in her ears. It roars like some kind of living beast beneath them, like perhaps it has a mind of it’s own that could turn on them at any moment.

It’s also absolutely freezing, Betty notes, completely appreciating the practicality of a thick leather jacket when there’s nothing but the stars between you and the blurring road. By the time they reach the outskirts of the Blossom maple trees, she has to consciously keep her teeth from chattering.

He pulls off the path and rumbles into a small clearing. “We should walk from here, if we’re going for even the tiniest bit of stealth,” Jughead says, cutting the engine. He twists on his seat to look at her, grinning broadly despite himself. “What’d you think?”

“Cold,” she admits, chuckling. “And I think my heart is gonna fall out of my chest. But I liked it.”

“You get used to it,” Jughead smirks, helping her out of her helmet. “Thanks for trusting me.” His hands are on her jaw once it’s off, dropping a quick kiss onto her lips.

She’s about to deepen it, because honestly making out on the back of his bike is something of a fantasy she’s been filing away for a couple weeks now, but then she remembers the whole point of the midnight ride. She slides off the motorcycle while Jughead procures a flashlight from the same storage bin on the back. He hands it to her, and uses his phone for his own light.

Together, they make their way through the wood, and Betty’s about to announce that it’s possible they might be lost when she spots the Blossom barn across a clearing. They sneak towards it as quietly as possible, and Jughead heaves the big rolling door open just enough for them to steal away inside.

“Now what?” Jughead breathes, shining his phone light over the room. It’s a musty space and smells of hay and wood, and absolutely covered wall to wall with big wooden barrels.

“Now we start looking,” Betty says firmly, throwing her flashlight into the corners.

Jughead squats down, and taps at a nearby barrel with his ear to the drum. “Sounds like there’s liquid in this, Betts,” he says with a sigh. “I think this is actually just a creepy barn full of maple syrup.”

“Well, this isn’t a cartoon, Juggie, they’re not gonna have boxes labeled ‘top secret drugs’ everywhere. Keep looking.”

They move around silently, tapping against each of the barrels within reach. Suddenly, Jughead freezes. “Wait, this one. Sounds like something rattling in there.”

Betty rushes over. “How do we get it open?” She gives him a once over. “Do you…have something on you?”

Jughead straightens up, fixing her with a look of faux offense. “You know, despite the whole biker gang stereotype, I don’t actually carry a crowbar on my person at all times,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” he says, and he shuffles back a few feet. “Step back. I have an idea.”

And then he rushes forward and swings his foot into the barrel. It fractures, and he keeps kicking at it until it’s nothing but splinters and scattered wood. Something orange glitters at them beyond the cracks.

Betty looks at Jughead, impressed. He gives a bashful sort of shrug. “Steel-toed boots,” he says, before giving it one last kick. A mountain of plastic comes pouring out, spilling out over their feet.

She stares at the floor and gasps. She crouches down and runs her hands over the pile of—

“Juggie, these are pill bottles,” she says quietly, grasping one between her fingers. She holds the cylindrical orange tube up to him. “Empty prescription bottles.”

“Holy shit,” Jughead says, covering his mouth with his hand. “Holy shit, we were right. Jason is the one selling the drugs.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other, breathing heavily. Then Jughead starts taking frantic pictures with his phone while Betty grabs a few bottles and stuffs them into her jacket pocket. “We should get out of here. Go straight to the feds. We have proof now, Juggie.”

He nods, still staring at the river of little orange bottles. They lace their fingers together and head for the door, closing it quietly behind them best they can. They’re almost to the trees when—

CRACK!

The sound of a gunshot barrels through the wind overhead. Jughead stumbles into Betty in shock, his head whipping around behind them. “Was that a gun?” He hisses, eyes wide with panic.

CRACK! CRACK!

“Someone’s definitely shooting at us—go, go!” Betty yells, pushing on Jughead’s shoulders.

They break for the woods, the sound of bullets whizzing around them like glass shattering against a wall. When they hit the trees, they duck behind the old maples to catch their breath. Jughead is visibly shaking. “Are—are you okay? You didn’t…you weren’t...”

“I’m okay,” Betty pants. “You?” Jughead nods quickly. She cranes her neck around the tree and lets out a shuddered gasp. Jughead glances at her and then, with measured breaths, follows her gaze.

Cheryl Blossom is standing at the edge of the field.

She cocks the hunting rifle in her hands and shoots it straight into the air. Birds shriek overhead, scattering into a starless sky like some sort of breathing, mutable shadow swooping lowly over them.

Cheryl’s hair is bright against the darkness and whips around her face with a burning rage, as red and as furious as the flames of hell, come to collect on their souls.

.

.

.

.

.

[peterkayscarshare]

Is there more Car Share? Part 2

(PLEASE NOTE: The content of this post, the research and wording is NOT by me. This post was written by the godlike MittenCrab at digital spy. HUGE thanks to Mitten for finding this, doing so much research, sharing this, and allowing me to share here.)

Originally posted HERE on digitalspy.com

Disclaimer:

The following post contains tinfoil hat conspiracy speculation. The author's deteriorating mental state since the final episode and his obsessive need for a “#*!#ing proper ending" should be taken into account. Apply due scepticism to the contents below.

Will There Be Any More Car Share?

As I see it, and given what we know, there are currently two plausible scenarios:

1) The Truth: Everything we have heard from Peter, Sian, the producers and the BBC is true. Creative juices running short, series 2 was always envisaged to be 4 episodes long. There's only so much you can do in a car, and having exhausted all story-lines, the series was brought to its always intended conclusion. This scenario doesn't exclude a change of mind at some point in the future, but as of now, there is no more Car Share in the can and any future episodes are speculative and years in the future.

2) Playing Us Like a Banjo: Given the huge success of the first series, it was decided early in the development of series 2 to hive off the material for the final two episodes to form an Xmas special(s). Peter Kay, old fashioned showman and keen student of comedy, knows the value of an encore and compounds the emotional impact of the final episode by ringing a local radio station (twice) to aver that there will be no more. Audience desire for a happier ending reaches fever pitch and, on the run up to Xmas, the BBC suddenly announces a u-turn and a Merry Xmas and huge audiences ensue.

Whilst myself and many others would love to believe the Banjo Scenario, in the absence of any contradicting evidence, Occam's Razor suggests we must dry our tears and accept the simplest explanation - that we have been told the truth. Then again, Occam was a smelly 14th century monk. What the hell did he know? So....

Evidence For the Banjo Scenario

Obviously, the easiest way to gather compelling evidence would be to go straight to the horse's mouth. But given the dubious legality of kidnapping and waterboarding Peter Kay, I decided to try another approach first.

It stands to reason that if extra, unseen material has been filmed then it has been filmed in and around the Greater Manchester conurbation. Such scenes may have been photographed and published in both traditional and social media. So I conducted a search for images posted in newspapers, on twitter, facebook, etc for the period from April to July 2016, when series 2 was shot. I looked specifically for references to Peter Kay and Car Share and found quite a few images and videos.

Most of the images, when examined and located, show filming of scenes that aired in episodes 1-4. I did come across a couple of exceptions.

This picture suggest that episode 3 featured John and Kayleigh getting pulled over by police. 

This one, ordering their coffees from the drive through window in episode 1. It's not surprising that there's unseen footage from the episodes we have seen. We know this was the case with series 1. None of what I found, however, showed anything that could be placed after episode 4.

I was ready to give up and go and buy some rope and duct tape when I found the image in this tweet

(Link to full size photo: X)

Now this image is interesting for many reasons, but lets start with the most obvious. That black cab looks very familiar. Is it the same one as in episode 4?

(Link: X)

Yes it is!

The second question to ask is, where is it? The cab itself only appears at the end of episode 4. That sequence was filmed on Pomona Strand, near the ship canal in Salford:

(Link: X)

Our image and the building behind it don't appear to be anywhere on or near Pomona Strand. Of course, maybe the image was taken before filming started, somewhere further afield. But it does appear as though they're actually shooting footage rather than waiting around.

Instead of expanding the search radius fruitlessly, I decided to look it from another angle. The tweet was posted on the 24th June 2016. Where was Car Share filming at the time?

Peter Kay spotted filming Car Share on Merseyside beach

Peter Kay has been spotted filming the latest series of Car Share on a Merseyside beach. The comedian was seen shooting the second series of BBC comedy on Ainsdale Beach in Southport on Tuesday - just days after he also popped up on Wirral.

So Peter and Sian were filming the monster truck dream sequence from episode 1 on 22/23rd June up in Southport. I wonder if our image could come from somewhere near there? Lo and behold, there it is:

(Link: X)

(Link: X)

So now we know that they were filming the taxi in Southport on the 24th of June. Let's examine that in the context of our scenarios above and see if it makes sense.

Truth Scenario

To recap, we only see this taxi in the final two and half minutes of episode 4. We see Kayleigh get into the taxi, the taxi drive off, John follows the taxi, climbs down cars in the dream sequence, smooches, then says "I'm done" as the taxi drives off for real. That's it! That short section comprises all we see of the cab. Is it really plausible that there was a cut scene with Kayleigh pulled over at the side of the road? Would it make sense with that ending? Could you really fit it in?

But the better question is, why not just film it there on or near Pomona Strand? There's likely many similar areas within a short drive. Why cart the taxi over 30 miles (as the crow flies) to Southport? And not just the taxi. There's the car and John and Kayleigh's work clothes (recall they were dressed as cowboy/cowgirl in the monster truck scene).

All in all, it's very hard to come up with an explanation for why that taxi should be in Southport. It just makes no sense given its small role in the story.

Banjo Scenario

If we assume the image shows a scene from a future episode then the reason for filming it in Southport becomes clear. Although no-one at the time knew the significance of the taxi, filming any post-episode 4 scenes near busy central Manchester carried a high risk of leaked picture subsequently giving the game away. For example, here is a picture of the road-rage cyclist from episode 1, published over a year ago. Filming it near comparatively rural Ainsdale beach must have seemed a better bet, but they reckoned without our intrepid tweeter!

[bountyofbeads]

https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/2019/08/10/opinions/trumps-influence-is-spreading-like-a-virus-dantonio/index.html?__twitter_impression=true

Trump's influence(White Nationalist Supremacy) is spreading like a virus

By Michael D'Antonio  | Updated 9:21 AM EDT, Sat August 10, 2019 | CNN | Posted August 11, 2019 10:35 AM ET |

(CNN)In 1981, Donald Trump revealed his view on life when he told People magazine, "Man is the most vicious of all animals, and life is a series of battles ending in victory or defeat. You can't just let people make a sucker of you." Trump, who shared similar sentiments  as recently as last November, holds a dim view of humanity -- and this is reflected in both his compulsive effort to create conflicts and his brutish politics. It also seems to be spreading, at home and abroad, like a virus that generates fevers of fear and hatred.

At home, Trumpism and white nationalism cast immigrants and people of color as enemies. Trump's 2020 re-election campaign is already echoing the themes of his 2016 run, which included false andinflammatory claims about immigrants and crime. No reasonable person can doubt that his rhetoric, including his recognition of "very fine people" among neo-Nazis in Charlottesville, has contributed to a sharp rise in hate crimes.

And it's not just what Trump says, but how he says it. Denunciations of white supremacy are offered by a robotic teleprompter president who spoke after the deadly Charlottesville protests and in response to last week's mass shooting. ("It gets very boring when you do the teleprompter deal," he has said.) Hatred for people of color comes with animated political rally glee. At a recent rally in Florida he heard someone shout that immigrants should be shot and responded with a sly smile and a joke. "It's only in the Panhandle you can get away with that statement. Only in the Panhandle."

Internationally, Trump's penchant for hostility and aggression seems to be setting a template for other leaders, many of whom operate without the constraints of American-style checks and balances. And while Trump is not solely responsible for the actions of strongmen and other leaders around the world, many appear to be following his lead. Among them are:

Narendra Modi, prime minister of India, ended the autonomy of the Muslim-majority state of Kashmir on Monday by revoking its constitutionally guaranteed special status. This move ends a 70-year agreement that protected Kashmiris and made the border region with a hostile Pakistan more stable. In Foreign Policy, an expert on Kashmir notes that Modi is acting on Hindu nationalist dreams.

Xi Jinping, president of China, is throttling the liberties of the people of Hong Kong, who were guaranteed certain freedoms under the "one country, two systems" policy after the UK handed the territory back to China in 1997. While demonstrators successfully pressured Hong Kong's leader to shelve an extradition bill that would have allowed people to be sent to the mainland to face trial in courts controlled by the Communist Party, protestors are now demanding democratic reforms. Xi seems determined to exert his authority. Meanwhile, Chinese troops have been filmed conducting protest drills and Chinese authorities have sternly advised an end to the demonstrations.

Shinzo Abe, prime minister of Japan, has picked a trade fight with South Korea that renews a long-running animus rooted in Japan's occupation of Korea from 1910 to 1945. South Korea's insistence that Japan recognize its atrocities during the occupation have long rankled Japanese nationalists. In hinting at a trade war, Tokyo appears to be taking cues from Trump, who wields tariffs like weapons.

Boris Johnson, the UK's new prime minister, has vowed to leave the European Union by the end of October -- with or without a deal. With the possibility of a no-deal Brexit on the horizon -- and the catastrophic effects it may have on the economy -- some in Scotland and Northern Ireland (where a majority of people voted to remain in the EU) are talking about seeking independence from the United Kingdom. As the UK hurtles towards the October 31 deadline, Johnsonhas adopted Trump's chaotic keep-them-guessing style, adding to the uncertainty about Britain's economic and political future.

Jair Bolsonaro, president of Brazil, has led with a combative, Trump-like style as he accelerates deforestation in the Amazon and applies an apocalyptic sensibility to crime and justice. "A policeman who doesn't kill isn't a policeman," he has said. In the spirit of Trump, he wants to appoint his son to be Brazil's ambassador to the United States, even though he lacks diplomatic experience.

The list of leaders affected by Trump's brash leadership style and nationalist bent is long, and traces of his influence can be seen in Italy, Germany, Romania and Sweden. In Denmark and the Netherlands, new bans on face coverings are seen as hostile moves targeting Muslim women. The United States leads the world when it comes to deadly attacks motivated by white nationalism, but they have also been carried out in Greece, Britain, Sweden, Norway, Canada and New Zealand.

After the horrific slaughter in New Zealand, where a white nationalist killed 51 Muslims, Trump denied that white nationalism is a serious problem. But the killer there cited the "great replacement," a conspiracy theory peddling the idea of white genocide, which was also referenced in the El Paso gunman's manifesto. Similarly, the neo-Nazis in Charlottesville chanted "Jews will not replace us" in an obvious echo of the replacement theory. Nationalists around the world subscribe to similar ideas, and one of the most prominent of these figures is former Trump campaign chief Steve Bannon. Bannon, who has devoted himself to advising nationalists in Europe since his departure from the White House, has repeatedly referenced the racist book "The Camp of the Saints," which depicts a Europe sinking under chaos caused by black and brown refugees.

Bannon's nationalism and propaganda skills meshed perfectly with Trump's and helped him to become President. Both men, and the broader nationalist movement, threaten to transform the world into a place of never-ending battles and vicious human beings that reflects the president's view of life. This is the primal existence, the "war of all against all" which philosopher Thomas Hobbes imagined was the natural state of humanity absent laws and regulations which create '"social contracts."

Hobbes suggested social contracts to soothe the savage beast and the Age of Enlightenment, which began after he died, saw the creation of laws and customs that solidified social contracts and expanded individual rights. America is the greatest manifestation of the Enlightenment ideal, a nation committed to peace and equality for people of every sort.

It's a safe bet that President Trump never read Hobbes and couldn't describe the Enlightenment (Bannon seems conversant). This ignorance combined with his brutish inclinations make him qualified to lead a worldwide effort to fully realize the Hobbesian nightmare, and ruin the best that the Enlightenment produced.

[etechwire-blog]

10 best free total conversion mods for PC

New Post has been published on https://www.etechwire.com/10-best-free-total-conversion-mods-for-pc/

10 best free total conversion mods for PC

Blockbuster games like DOTA, Counter-Strike and DayZ have are all connected by the fact that they started off as total conversion mods. These are labours of love created by code-savvy fans who one day thought ‘What would ARMA be like with zombies?’ or ‘How would Warcraft III play if I controlled just the one hero?’ 

From these little kernels of inspiration, a phenomena were born.

But we’re going to put aside those success stories for now, and look at the best total conversion mods that are still completely free. After years of work and hundreds of hours of development, these mods are so well crafted that if you squint just a little, you may just mistake them for full standalone games.

The ability to completely transform your existing game into an entirely new one using total conversion mods is yet another reason why gaming on PC is so good. So, as part of our PC Gaming Week 2018, here’s our pick of the best total conversion mods you can install and play right now for free.

1. A Game of Thrones – Crusader Kings II 

Released not long after Crusader Kings 2 itself, A Game of Thrones is not only a perfect fit for the mechanics of Paradox’s feudal grand strategy game, but hands down the best video-game set in George R.R. Martin’s blockbuster fantasy world.

A Game of Thrones may sometimes appear to be all battles and dragons and bad language, but really it’s a saga of political intrigue, scheming and Machiavellian plotting; who should be married off to whom, and for what gain? What would assassinating a certain lord do to your claim on their land? How do you clamber your way up the feudal ladder to get to the Iron Throne? 

Its themes meld perfectly with Crusader Kings II, and this mod realises George R.R. Martin’s world right down to the writing and the topographical lay of the land.

And yes, of course there are dragons… 

2. Enderal – The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

One of the most polished total conversion mods ever made, Enderal could just about pass off as its own triple-A game. 

German developer SureAI (who also made stunning Oblivion mod Nehrim) pulled out all stops, writing and voicing tens of hours of dialogue (that arguably outdoes Skyrim’s oft-risible script), and painstakingly building a beautiful new world that offers around 100 hours of content.

Within Skyrim’s rather action-orientated engine, Enderal manages to find its own identity, and in many ways harks back to old-school RPGs; it’s tough, with a traditional levelling system, no fast travel, and slow pacing, while offering a powerful story that often ventures into darker, more mature territory than Skyrim’s mass-market take on high fantasy.

3. Gekokujo – Mount & Blade: Warband

Mount & Blade: Warband is the quintessential feudal sandbox, letting you create a character in a central-European kingdom and build them up into a roving mercenary, a heroic commander or, ultimately, a lord who answers to no one. You go about this through a messy, delightful mix of direct combat, RTS-like strategising, and RPG-like decision-making.

Gekokujo takes all that, and whisks it off to Sengoku-era Japan. The world map spans the entire Land of the Rising Sun, complete with major kingdoms, villages, cities, holdings, and lords for you to saddle up with (before, inevitably, betraying them). 

Weapons, armour, clothing and architecture are faithful to the setting, and a whole world of dialogue and events has been written to convincingly migrate the inimitable Warband formula to the Far East.

4. X-COM/UFO: Enemy Unknown – X-Piratez

The original 1994 turn-based squaddie alien shooter X-COM UFO: Enemy Unknown has been kept alive thanks to the OpenXcom Extended open-source project. Based on this, X-Piratez is a fascinating piece of punky fan-fiction set in the same universe, borrowing ideas and mechanics from the whole gamut of X-COM games.

Set in a future where the X-COM resistance was crushed by the alien invaders, X-Piratez casts you as a buccaneering crew of space-pirates, robbing settlers and plundering ships until the intriguing plot inevitably brings you into contact with greater threats. 

With its unique arsenal of makeshift weaponry, fresh tech tree and lowlife factions, it all feels refreshingly scrappy compared to the high-tech shenanigans of the mainline series.

5. Underhell – Half-life 2

From Black Mesa to Garry’s Mod, by way of Natural Selection, Half-life 2 has been the launchpad for several successful mods that went on to become fully fledged games. One of the ones that never made the jump, however, was Underhell.

Following a psychologically-spiraling S.W.A.T. operative who’s struggling to deal with his wife’s death, Underhell is part puzzler, part horror, part bullet-time shooter that’s thick in atmosphere and experimental storytelling. 

The action flows like a fever dream between a dreamworld, spooky home and vicious action, making Underhell stand alongside The Stanley Parable as one of the more artful Half-life 2 mods.

Sadly, only one of the intended six episodes of Underhell was ever made, with developer We Create Stuff’s priorities shifting to other projects in recent years.

6. The Dark Mod (Thief) – Doom 3

The Thief IP, once revered for its revolutionary stealth mechanics and level design, was run into the ground with the facile 2014 reboot. Luckily, The Dark Mod, a total conversion mod for Doom 3, is as fine a spiritual successor to the original games as you could ask for.

The Dark Mod eschews combat and action in favour of good old-fashioned stealth.

Stick to the rafters, extinguish candles with water arrows, and loot the rich and wealthy of a brooding steampunk city that’s somewhere between the worlds of Thief and Dishonored. The base mod (now standalone) is just the tip of the arrow, as it’s bolstered by hundreds of excellent community-made levels.

7. The Lord of the Rings: The Third Age – Medieval II: Total War

There’s no shortage of Middle-Earth-themed mods out there, but, like Gandalf at a Hobbiton pipeweed convention, this one stands tall among them. 

So complete and detailed is The Third Age – from Rohirrim shield crests to the city layout of Osgiliath – that seven years on, it remains the most popular LoTR mod for Total War. 

It’s spawned a slew of sub-mods too, including the relatively-recent The Third Age: Reforged, which adds new factions, animations and units.

As a sidenote, if you’re on the Total War: Warhammer battlewagon, check out the recently-released The Lord of the Rings: Rise of Mordor. It’s far from complete yet, but looks promising and could yet become the true successor to The Third Age.

8. Fall from Heaven 2 – Civilization IV

Staying on the theme of historical strategy games with a fantasy makeover, Fall from Heaven 2 is a superbly imagined swords-and-sorcery overhaul of Civilization IV.

It transports the history-spanning formula to a lore-rich fantasy world brimming with magic spells, Hero units (complete with properly designed models), demonic religions and its own arcane tech tree.

It’s not always easy for a total conversion mod to evoke a powerful atmosphere that really sets it apart from its base game, but Fall from Heaven 2 pulls it off with aplomb, thanks to an encyclopaedic amount of lore, and a soundtrack that immerses you in its faraway world of werewolves and wizards.

9. Fallout 1.5: Resurrection – Fallout 2

This one’s for the retro PC gamers for whom Fallout is a game of taking turns and isometric cameras – none of this pseudo-FPS nonsense. 

Released in 2016, Fallout 1.5 is a total conversion mod for Fallout 2 which crams a 25-or-so-hour chapter between the events of the first and second games, taking you to the post-apocalyptic wastes of Albuquerque, New Mexico (no signs of a drug-lab camper van out in the scrublands, sadly).

Fallout 1.5 is well-written and old-school relentless, which you’ll learn from the off as you’re beset by sizeable mobs of ghouls and rats. True to the spirit of the original game, Fallout 1.5 also throws some dark questlines and morally murky quandaries at you, so be prepared to have your Karma sternly tested.

10. The Nameless Mod – Deus Ex 

Another option for gamers of a certain vintage, the Nameless Mod takes Deus Ex’s cyber-noir tone of gravelly voices and shady conspiracies, and amplifies it. 

Set in a city that’s a manifestation of tribal internet forum culture, it’s a strangely apt game given the make-up of society today. 

Forum City is a place of lonely neon lights and zeal-maddened characters, weighed down by an air of constant paranoia that you must stop from spilling over into self-destruction.

What’s impressive about The Nameless Mod is how it manages to build on certain areas of the original Deus Ex; the AI is more responsive to your actions, and the story can pretty much split into two depending on your decisions, coming good on that bold promise that ‘Every Choice Matters’.

TechRadar’s fourth annual PC Gaming Week is officially here, celebrating our passion with in-depth and exclusive coverage of PC gaming from every angle. Visit our PC Gaming Week 2018 page to see all of the coverage in one place. 

[itsworn]

This 890-Wheel-Horsepower 2007 Corvette Z06 is the Ultimate Therapy

Everyone’s path to Corvette fever is different. Some get there through a love of preserving history and some through undeniable performance-per-dollar value Corvettes have always offered. Others still derive the fever from experiences from their youth that stick with them. That was precisely what hooked Bill Cobb of Medina, Ohio.

“When I was 10 years old,” Cobb recalled, “my father came home with a red 1976 Corvette and two short years later he traded that ’76 for a 1978 Silver Anniversary with every option. I was immediately hooked.” But just as Cobb was coming of age to take the wheel himself, everything fell apart. He told us that his dad “ended up selling the car 21 days short of my 16th birthday because, as he put it, he wasn’t going to do hand-to-hand combat with me for the keys every Friday night.” For 15-year-old Cobb, this new reality was crushing. “I have honestly never recovered,” he told us. But it all worked out for the better because Cobb’s love for Corvettes only got stronger over those years—the classic “you want what you can’t have” scenario.

Even though his dad let go of the ’78, Cobb still found a way to get his fix of Corvettes by spending his summers working for a guy named John Drahos who, not coincidently, is the owner of Corvette Conspiracy in Cleveland, and has been for 40 years now. “I will always treasure that awesome experience and the memories I have,” said Cobb. “They are a part of what fueled my passion.” Unfortunately, life happened and responsibility took hold of him. It wasn’t until much later when he picked up a black ’02 Corvette convertible that Cobb got his first taste of Corvette ownership. It was good, but didn’t quite hit the spot. Then in 2006, he made a trip down to his local dealership and put in an order for a brand-new 2007 Z06. “I took delivery in the fall of 2006,” Cobb told us, “and have never been happier with an automobile!”

He drove and enjoyed the Corvette in its stock form for a few years, but then started to notice some of the builds that his old friend Drahos was turning out at Corvette Conspiracy. More specifically, the huge power they were adding to late-model Vettes via ProCharger superchargers. All of a sudden, his dream-come-true C6 Corvette wasn’t all that exciting any longer—it needed more.

The guys at Corvette Conspiracy began by pulling the entire drivetrain and sending the engine out to ERL Performance where the LS7 received their Superdeck treatment, sleeving the cylinders so they could withstand way more power than stock. Then back at Corvette Conspiracy, the rotating assembly was upgraded to match. They went with a Callies crankshaft and Callies Ultra H-Beam rods with Wiseco pistons. As for the top end, a Lingenfelter GT9 camshaft was tossed in and then the stock heads were ported for more flow. The LS7’s air and fuel capabilities were further enhanced with a FAST intake manifold and 102mm throttle body. Then the fuel injectors were upgraded to Aeromotive 85lb units. Finally, the engine needed more oiling capabilities so a Katech billet oil pump was installed.

With all of the supporting mods done, Corvette Conspiracy got to the fun stuff and installed ProCharger’s D-1SC centrifugal supercharger along with an air-to-air intercooler. The result? Double the factory horsepower. Once they got everything back together and bolted on the Pfadt Tri-Y header exhaust system with X-pipe and Billy Boat Fusion mufflers, they ran it on a chassis dyno. The Corvette put down an astounding 890 horsepower to the rear wheels. Add in a bit of correction for drivetrain loss and that’s just over 1,000 hp at the crank compared to the factory-advertised 505 hp.

As for the rest of the drivetrain, the stock transaxle was retained but got a new twin-disc clutch and B&M shifter. Driveshaft Shop supplied them with a new torque tube to tie everything together.

From the outside, Cobb’s C6 doesn’t let on that it’s hiding a 1,000-horsepower mill under the hood. The only visual differences over stock are the 19×10 front and 20×13 rear HRE wheels shod in Nitto Invo rubber, the fronts getting 285/30R19 and the rears 345/25R20. Inside, the whole interior was gutted and covered in Dynamat then put right back in place. A fuel pressure gauge is hidden in the ashtray and some higher-quality Kenwood and Boston Acoustics speakers replaced the stock units, but other than that, it’s all just as Chevrolet designed it.

The whole build process likely took a lot more money and time than Cobb might have preferred, but the lucky man his is, he had his wife Amy’s patience and support through it all. Without her support, we wouldn’t get to enjoy his one-of-a-kind Z06. So for that, Amy, we thank you. And once the Vette was done, Cobb showed it at the annual Cleveland, Ohio, Piston Power Show in 2013 and took home Best in Class. Then he came back the next year and did it again.

When we asked how he typically uses the Corvette he replied saying, “As needed—mostly for therapy.” Can you think of a better way to blow off some steam after a long work week than taking your 890-wheel-horsepower Corvette Z06 for a drive? We can’t. Vette

The post This 890-Wheel-Horsepower 2007 Corvette Z06 is the Ultimate Therapy appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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