#this wasn’t even about van at first i was thinking about laura lee | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

domripley · 2 months ago

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First Time

pairing: lottie matthews x laura lee

warnings: top lottie, bottom laura, characters are 18+, college au, fingering, oral sex, lube, shy laura, fluff, begging.

summary: laura confides in lottie.

kinktober 23/24’: first time

word count: 2.2k

part three of ?

edited by my lovely girlfriend @specialinterestshows 🥰

Laura took a deep breath, watching as Lottie focused on writing her paper. Normally when they would have study sessions with the group, Laura would be focused. But after overhearing her best friend talk about how Nat and her fucked (Your Name), that was all Laura could think about. She wasn’t jealous - far from it really - she was just curious. It was no secret in the friend group that she was a virgin and although they didn’t care, Laura wanted to at least do it once. She just wasn’t sure on how to go about asking, or even who she would pick.

There was Nat, but she had noticed how rough she was right off the bat. Taissa and Van were monogamous and although she could pick Jackie or Shauna, she was drawn to Lottie. Lottie was soft spoken and comforting, and Laura had always had a crush on her.

“Hey…” Laura took a deep breath, whispering to get Lottie’s attention.

“Hey yourself,” Lottie smiled, looking up from her laptop. “What’s up?”

Laura looked around, not wanting anyone to overhear what she was about to say. “I… I’ve been thinking…”

“About?” Lottie pushed.

Laura took a deep breath, there was no backing out now. “I want you to take my virginity.”

Laura could barely look at Lottie, but she needed to try and read her facial expression as she sat there in silence. She was panicking now - did she just fuck her friendship up, having thought it would be okay to ask? She prayed for Lottie to say something, anything, before she had a panic attack.

Finally, after a minute of silence, Lottie spoke up. “Are you sure?” she asked, licking her lips before looking back down at her laptop,

Laura nodded, “I’m sure.”

Lottie wiped the sweat from her forehead, “Okay.”

Laura furrowed her eyebrows, “Okay?”

“When are you free?” Lottie asked, taking a drink from her water bottle. “And are you sure you want to do this? It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“Lottie,” Laura said, her face red with embarrassment. “I want to do this, especially with you.”

Lottie smirked, “So when are you free, Lau?”

“Tonight or- or tomorrow night. Whatever works best for you,” Laura said, refusing to look at Lottie any longer. She wasn’t sure why she was so shy, when she and Lottie had been friends for years.

“Tonight works, I just have to text Nat,” Lottie says, grabbing her phone out of her pocket.

“Wait,” Laura said.

Lottie paused mid-movement, waiting for Laura to continue.

“Don’t cancel your plans for me,” Laura said, shaking her head. “Tomorrow night can work just as much as tonight.”

“Oh,” Lottie laughed. “I’m not canceling plans; I’m just letting her know that I won’t be available for tonight in case she gets bored. That’s all, I promise. I wouldn’t cancel plans or anything, I would just make our plans for a different day!”

Laura nodded. “Okay.”

Lottie gathered all her stuff up, putting it all in her backpack before getting up. “I’m gonna head out, but I’ll be at yours around seven-thirty or eight.”

Laura watched Lottie walk away, her face still red. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out how she was able to ask that right then and there when she had been building the courage up for weeks.

Laura rushed back to her dorm room, taking two showers to make sure that she was completely clean. She cleaned some of her room, wanting to make sure that her best friend was comfortable while she was there. When it was seven-twenty-nine, she set out snacks that she knew Lottie would like. She was so busy with cleaning and making things perfect, she almost screamed when there was a knock on the door.

Laura rushed to the door, opening it with a smile when she saw Lottie standing there with a different backpack - one she had never seen before. She moved out of the way, allowing the brunette to step inside before she closed the door and locked it.

“Hey,” Laura said.

“Hey,” Lottie smiled, “How are you feeling?”

Laura thought about it for a few seconds, “A little nervous but other than that, good.”

Lottie smiled, “Thank you for being honest with me… I’m assuming you don’t want to do this out here. Show me your room?”

Laura nodded, leading Lottie to her bedroom and once they were both inside, she shut the door. “You… You can sit on the bed if you’d like,” Laura said. She sat down on it first and Lottie was quick to follow her.

“So,” Lottie spoke up, turning to look at Laura. “What are you not comfortable with?”

Laura jumped a little as Lottie placed her hand gently on her thigh as she waited for her to answer.

“Well… no anal or even touching there… um… nothing with knives or things that could hurt me?” Laura said.

Lottie smiled, “We aren’t doing anything that rough today. Don’t think about things like that.”

Laura nodded. “Okay. I’m not sure what I like or don’t like except for kissing. I’m a bit too shy to uh…”

“To make out? Cute,” Lottie said, licking her lips. “Don’t worry, if you don’t want to do that today, that’s completely okay with me.”

Laura nodded, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Lottie leaned in, kissing Laura’s neck gently. “Is this okay?”

Laura moved so her neck was on display for Lottie, “Y- Yes, it’s more than okay, Lot.”

Lottie hummed, sucking on her neck - she wanted everyone to know that Laura was hers after this. “Oh-“ she gasped just as Lottie pulled away.

“Why don’t you take this pretty shirt off for me?” Lottie suggested, tugging at Laura’s shirt sleeve.

Laura stood up, keeping her eyes on Lottie’s thighs as she pulled her shirt off. Throwing it on the ground, she covered her chest in embarrassment.

“Don’t hide from me,” Lottie demanded, moving so she was sitting fully in the bed with her back to the headboard. “C’mere.”

Laura looked at Lottie’s lap as she was patting it - making her way onto the bed so she sat down down on her. Laura bit her lip as she saw the way Lottie was looking at her.

“You like when I mark you?” Lottie asked, bringing her hand up to Laura’s mouth. She tapped two of her fingers on the blonde’s lips and as soon as she opened her mouth, Lottie pushed them in. “I asked you a question, baby.”

Laura nodded, trying her best to suck on Lottie’s fingers. Lottie hummed, “Good girl.”

Laura let out a soft moan at Lottie’s praise as she took in her fingers further into her mouth. “You wanna try sucking on something else, baby?” she asked, pulling her fingers out of Laura’s mouth.

“Like… like what?” she asked.

Lottie gently moved her off her lap so she could get off the bed. Lottie pulled her own shirt off, followed by unbuckling her pants so she could pull them down and off. Without saying a word, Lottie grabbed her backpack and took out a strapon - the smallest one she owned. When Laura turned to look at what the brunette was doing, her eyes widened.

Lottie grabbed a bottle of lube out of her backpack as well, she turned to set the stuff on the bed. “Take your pants and underwear off. I want you to lay on the bed and wait for me,” Lottie instructed.

Laura did as she was told quickly, putting her clothes with her others before climbing onto the bed. She waited patiently, watching as Lottie put the toy on and climbed onto the bed to join her.

“Wait- Lot-“ Laura panicked, but Lottie shook her head.

“Oh you thought we were going straight for it?” Lottie asked, trying to contain her laughter. “No baby, I have to get this pretty pussy all nice and ready for my cock.”

Lottie laid down on her stomach so her face was level with Laura’s pussy. Turning her head so she could kiss the skin on her left thigh, before doing the same on her right thigh. When Lottie’s gaze went down to Laura’s pussy, she licked her lips at how wet she was already.

“You smell so good,” Lottie hummed, kissing Laura’s bush, causing the blonde to blush even harder.

“I- I’m sorry I didn’t shave…” Laura trailed off, closing her eyes as Lottie continued to kiss her everywhere she could reach.

”Don’t Lottie said, leaning in to rub her nose through it. “I prefer it.”

Lottie moved down so she was more comfortable before bringing her mouth to Laura’s pussy. She placed a gentle kiss to her clit, pulling away as she licked her lips. ”Fuck,” Lottie moaned, looking up to see that Laura was surprisingly looking down at her.

“You keep your eyes on me, understood?” Lottie instructed. Although she wasn’t domming Laura, she couldn’t help but want her to listen.

Laura nodded but that wasn't good enough for Lottie. “I need you to say it, baby, or you’re not getting my mouth,” Lottie smirked, bringing her hand to the blonde’s pussy. Lottie took a single finger, running it gently through Laura’s folds. Smirking as Laura whined, fighting the urge to close her eyes and doing as Lottie instructed. “Come on, baby, tell me what you’re going to do.”

Laura whined as Lottie sped up her finger, “I- I need to keep my eyes on you!”

Without saying another word, Lottie leaned in, replacing her finger with her tongue. She hummed, running the tip of her tongue through her folds before wrapping her lips around her clit. Laura cried out as Lottie began to suck gently - she gripped the sheets as she tried to grind against her mouth. Lottie brought her arms to Laura’s thighs to hold her in place.

Lottie moved one hand and brought it between her legs. Pulling her mouth away just as she lined a single finger to Laura’s entrance. She slid her finger in slowly, licking her bottom lip as Laura was struggling to keep eye contact with her.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Lottie praised as she slid the full length of her finger inside. Lottie spit on Laura’s pussy, bringing her thumb to rub it in against her clit. “Can’t wait to have you on my cock.”

“L- Lot-“ Laura whimpered as the brunette slipped a second finger into her. “Please.”

Lottie tilted her head, “Please what?”

She fucked her fingers in and out of Laura, finally adding a third one as she wait for the blonde to respond. Lottie slapped Laura’s thigh lightly, getting her to focus on what she had been asking “Please, what?” Lottie asked once more.

“I- I don’t know… just feels so good and I don’t want you to stop,” Laura pleaded, looking at Lottie with wide eyes. Lottie almost stopped anyway, wanting to hear her beg even more, but told herself that would be for later as she curled her fingers.

“You’re squeezing around my fingers,” Lottie pointed out. When Laura nodded, Lottie continued. “I want you to come for me. Go on.”

Laura did as she was told, coming with a small cry as Lottie fucked her through her orgasm. As soon as she came down from her orgasm, Lottie pulled her fingers out and brought them to her lips. She sucked on her fingers, maintaining eye contact with the blonde as she finally looked away. Normally Lottie would spank her for that, but this wasn’t the time for that.

Lottie sat up on her knees in between Laura’s legs, grabbing the bottle of lube before squirting some onto her fingers. She slowly pushed her now-lubed fingers back into Laura’s pussy, studying her face to make sure she was okay.

“F- Fuck, Lot,” Laura whined. She was sensitive and her nerves from earlier were now completely gone. “Please.”

Lottie removed her fingers, squirting some lube on the dildo. Laura watched as she sat the bottle on the nightstand before grabbing the base of it. She lined the tip up with Laura’s entrance, pushing in slowly. Once it was in, she waited for Laura to let her know she could continue. After a minute of waiting, she nodded, and Lottie pushed the rest of the strapon inside of her as slowly as she could.

“How do you feel, baby?” Lottie asked, leaning down to take one of Laura’s nipples into her mouth.

“So… full,” Laura whimpered as Lottie brought one of her hands down to play with her clit. “Please move, I need you.”

Lottie removed her mouth from her nipple before she began to move at a slow pace, just to get the blonde used to the feeling of being stretched. After a few minutes of this pace, Lottie sped up.

“More, please, just-“ Laura cut herself off with a moan as Lottie listened to what she was starting to beg for.

“That’s what you want? Me to fuck you harder?” Lottie teased.

All Laura could do was nod, focusing on how good it felt as Lottie fucked her at a bruising pace. The room was silent, only filled with their heavy breathing and when Laura’s orgasm hit, she held her breath as Lottie fucked her through it.

Finally, Laura let out a breath, causing her to tear up. “Fuck,” she whimpered as Lottie pulled out of her.

Lottie wiped her tears away, giving her a soft smile. “You did so good, baby,” she praised, kissing Laura’s cheek. “I know you’re comfortable, but you need to get up and pee.”

Laura whined, “Do I have to?”

Lottie sighed playfully, “Yes, then we can eat those snacks you put out for us. I’m hungry.”

Laura smiled, “And cuddle, right?”

Lottie nodded. “Fuck yes.”

#my writing #mine

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docholligay · 1 year ago

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Ep 4: Bullet points

Hello! This is about up to Episode 4 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 4 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the fourth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me. Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

With Lottie we are CLEARLY playing with the old, “Is she crazy or is the a prophet?” “Yes” thing, and I have no problem with this and very much looking forward to seeing how we progress along this line.

I am in love with Shauna’s think about writing, and how she’s making it make sense to herself. I have keptn a journal for years and years, and that’s very much how I would identfy it: Making my life make sense to myself. I go back and read the way I felt about people when I first met them, what I noticed about them, what i noticed about me, I have clear, crisp memories immediately when I get back into it, and it, later, gives me distance on how I experienced something versus how I am remembering it later. I love it, truly, it makes me feel connected with my own life.

I am not going to do a whole post on how unbelievably, stupidly incorrect everything around the shooting/hunting sequence of ideas is, but I need you all to know I am going to have a fucking stroke, there is so much more to hunting than just being a good shot, this is not even remotely the smartest way to go about things, and also, I don’t care if Travis is the best shot on planet fucking earth, if someone has acted that way with a gun, we do not let them have the gun and GO OFF WITH THE PERSON THEY HAD PROBLEMS WITH ARE YOU FUCKING OUT OF YOUR MIND.

So the plane. I assume Laura Lee is going to get the thing off the ground, but it’s not going to work somehow. I have no idea how I think they’ll go with it, but I dunno, moment of darkness, something something God, I am waiting. It can’t be for nothing that they have an extremely visibly religious character doing this, pusuing heaven, Tower of Babel, etc.

Both on that point and not on that point, the show gives us a moment of maybe, well, redemption doesn’t feel like the word I’m reaching for, but certainly it shows us that Jackie’s attitude wasn’t ever “fuck Van” it was “save Shauna” (I also maintain that Jackie made the absolute correct choice in the moment, even if it didn’t feel good)

I love that in the first thirty seconds of the show, they showed the girls brutally murdering another girl with the fucking pit. I think what they are trying to do with that moment, the more I watch the show, is reassure us they don’t have a Lost problem. When they speak over and over again about something too horrific to admit or talk about, we know what it was! We know that they didn’t just become cannibals, they became predators, our in the wild. Now, do I think we fully do not have a Lost problem? UNSURE. I love what the show has done so far, but I am VERY nervous (please don’t say anything either way) that they might not know exactly what is the deal with the symbols, and whether or not there is anything supernatural at issue here, or who the architect of all this is.

I couldn’t work this into any of the longer posts or make it long enough to be its own, but his show works at its MOST genius when it is doing things in both a figurative and literal sense: When Jackie is literally and figuratively haunting Shauna, I love the way that while Travis is telling the truth, we are literally unburying bodies, When Shauna is pretending to be the teenager that she still actually is internally. Amazing.

#Doc watches Yellowjackets #yellowjackets S1 E4

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imsososolesbian · 7 months ago

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I was originally just going to comment this but it got to long and I don’t wanna make multiple comments soooo anywho. And it’s really long…

You’re so right. The first time I watched the show, I didn’t like Travis. But that’s because I didn’t pay attention to him.

But he is actually a really complex character. Now I don’t remember much, because I’ve only watch it once (last summer) and am only now rewatching it. But dude goes through it. Sure he’s sexist, but do people not see that it was the 90s? Like I’m not trying to excuse how he was but decades before the 2020’s had more sexism no? Also people gotta see that man went through some shit, like he literally saw his father die right in front of his own eyes, making him basically the sole protector of Javi. Also him being rude to Javi wasn’t right but it makes sense, he literally was just in a plane crash, saw his father die well he was trying to save him, and then Javi wouldn’t listen to him. Even if he was a dick he still did some not so shitty stuff, like he got that ring for Javi, that’s all I can think of off the top of my head right now. Also I forgot to mention how the girls forced him into an orgy and how people in this fandom make it seem like it was okay because it was ‘hot’ or something. It really wasn’t, in the context of the show he is literally a person not some chew toy thing. I would mention stuff from season two but I don’t remember much, meaning I don’t remember if he changed his tune on sexism and such, but he did go out of his way to search and search just for his brother. All he had out there was his brother, he was the only one with immediate family out there. He never stopped look in for Javi, and it was fucked up that Nat tried to tell him he was died by putting blood on an old pair of pants (I hope I remember that part right, please correct me if I’m wrong). This whole fandom likes to say ‘they were just girls!’ Yeah well Travis was just a boy (or girl however you wanna see it) because then too. Like I know Shauna lost Jackie but she was one of the reasons Jackie died, if Shauna went out Jackie would have probably survived, and I know Lottie lost Laura Lee but Travis lost both his father and brother in the spawn of a few months if I’m not mistaken. Also what Van said to him about eating Javi? That was even more fucked. He had to eat his little brother to survive, cannibalism as a whole is bad but imagine you’re the eldest child and your father died, which makes you the person who has to watch over your younger brother because your mother didn’t come, and just when you think everything is fine, he runs off because a bunch of people got high as hell on mushrooms and you can’t find him for months, and all you have left is your girlfriend (once more please correct me if I’m wrong I can’t remember if they were anything more than fuck buddies) and she is the only one helping you look for him. And when you finally find him you get probably less than a month with him, and he’s not really talking to anyone. And then the girls you are with decide to use cards to pick who they will kill and eat, and your little brother doesn’t get the Queen card but your girlfriend does but by the time this animalistic hunt is done it’s your brother that comes back died. And your girlfriend who seemed to get close to the kid didn’t even try to stop it because the others told her not to. And then you have to eat your little brother. Like no one else had to eat their own blood (as in family) other than Travis, and it probably fucked the kid up, because yeah, that’s his little brother.

I’m sorry this is so long, I literally don’t get the hate after rewatching it a bit. It makes no sense to me. I mean I used to be a Travis hater (I think not really, can’t remember that far back) but dude goes through a lot of shit. Also I’m not trying to discredit what the girls went through. But people gotta see that Travis went through some bad shit too.

Also I don’t really know where to break that off into paragraphs so it’s just gonna be one big thing of text.

rocking back and forth. GUAHH how do i get people to understand travis. "i know he went through it but all of the other girls did too" is literally counterintuitive because like... yes. and the other girls were bad too. some arguably worse. and you still stan them. i dont get it!! this is the shitty people show!! hes just a guy! maybe a girl!

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part seven Word count: ±5570 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part seven summary: Zoë goes undercover to find out more about the murder she saw in her dream. Little does she know, that Sam and Dean do the same. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Confident, Zoë bends down in order to fit under the yellow ‘crime scene - do not cross’ ribbon. She takes out her federal agent ID and flips it open before the officer guarding the perimeter can ask her about it. He steps away respectfully and lets her through.

It’s about 10 AM and the sun is already out on this relatively warm November day. Marching up the driveway with her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete, Zoë unbuttons her black suit jacket to let in some air. The Stars and Stripes hasn’t been taken down yet and still flutters from the top of the mast, located in the center of a perfectly landscaped garden. The fallen leaves drape parts of the neatly mowed lawn in different tones of orange and brown. Not only does this particular estate look amazing, the entire street is brochure perfect. It is obvious that the families living in these homes on Reynolds Park Road, are wealthy ones. However, the ambulances and police cars blocking the street and the officers scanning the area, indicate that something is terribly wrong. What would seem like the last place on earth for a murder, is indeed a gruesome crime scene.

Two officers are having a conversation by the front entry. They pause the discussion once they notice the unfamiliar face approaching them. She captivates them instantly. Determined strides, head held high, clearly a woman who stands her ground in the men’s words that is law enforcement. There’s not a single trace of doubt noticeable when she flashes her ID once more. “Agent Evans, FBI,” she states.

“Detective Lee. This is officer Sanchez,” a tall man, with a serious case of a receding hairline, introduces his colleague a little reluctantly, clearly not happy about the presence of a fed. He holds out his hand anyway and Zoë makes eye contact, giving him a powerful handshake. “I didn’t know the Bureau was involved,” he comments with an Upper South accent, common for the region.

“Well, if you had paid attention while investigating the crimes in your own county, detective,” the specialist returns without missing a beat, facing the two man with enough arrogance to shut them down immediately, “- you might had noticed that there has been a murder similar to this one, making this a serial killing.” “Still don’t make this a federal case,” Lee returns, standing his ground. “What does, is the fact that there’s a whole string of deaths leading from Alabama up to your lovely little town.”

Of course she just made that up on the spot, just to back up her reason to be here, but no one would be able to tell without doing some solid digging first. She is so convincing that the two men fail to counter her. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. If you could be so kind to show me the way, that would be neat,” she requires, throwing them a fake smile while narrowing her eyes.

The two officers glance at each other, it being clear as day that the detective is not amused by the way he’s spoken to. Nonetheless, he gestures to the FBI agent to get into the house. She seems like a person not to be messed with.

They enter the villa with Zoë in tow, who nods approving while taking a look around. She glances up to the high ceilings, which are decorated with beautiful alto-reveilo, carved into the white plaster. Roman pillars support the level above, and in the back two staircases circle up to the second floor. Every square inch of the floor underneath their feet is made from marble. Renaissance paintings, portraying country sides in the 19th century and battles from the Civil War hang from the walls, a gold plated chandelier floats overhead. Flower pieces, amongst them an expensive bouquet placed on the mahogany round table in the center of the main room, gives the house a finishing touch. Zoë knows the lifestyle of the rich and famous, but this place looks more like a palace than a principal’s home in a town called Paragould.

“As you can see, Mr. Van Dyke lived the good life. His father owned a Dutch shipping company and made millions,” Officer Sanchez explains, having noticed the federal agent’s impressed expression. “We believe the fortune he passed on to his son might have something to do with Van Dyke’s death.”

As they climb the stairs, Zoë chuckles, but doesn’t say a word. These oblivious bastards... they have absolutely no clue, do they? “You think something else is going on?” Lee questions, noticing the sarcasm in her little laugh. “Money is not the motive,” she returns, curt.

An awkward silence follows and Zoë can feel the hostility between her and the two police officers. She has experienced it before, especially in smaller communities. Most cops despise the feds, simply because the cases they work quite literally hit close to home. The FBI is no stranger to barging in and taking over entire investigations, without sending a ‘thank you’ card. A lot of hard work for the local coppers, without any credit. Zoë can’t say she blames the police for being reluctant.

“This way.” Sanchez beckons them after climbing the stairs to the second floor, where he turns left on the vestibule. The closer they get to the crime scene, the more crowded it gets. The Crime Scene Unit has already arrived and forensics dust for prints, take pictures and search for evidence. When Zoë enters the room and finds Mr. Van Dyke, she frowns.

In the corner lies a man, probably in his mid fifties, half into a shattered exhibition case, his eyes open, death evident. It’s not the first time Zoë has seen a dead guy, but she wasn’t expecting such a violent killing committed by a ten year old. Apparently his head got smashed into the showcase; glass is scattered all over his body. He has bruises and cuts on his arms and face, but most peculiar is his probable cause of death. His neck is broken; the head at a 90° angle.

Zoë scans the room, which shows several signs of a struggle. One thing is certain; Van Dyke really got his ass kicked before he died. As she takes a look around, a woman wearing white latex gloves updates Lee and his partner. Zoë glances over, notices the CSU logo on her jacket, and walks over to tune in. “- time of death was between 6:30 and 7 AM. No prints found so far,” the forensic states. “Look at this place. There must be something,” Detective Lee ponders, his gaze panning over the crime scene. “Not even a fiber,” she sighs. “I have to admit; I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Seems like the suspect has left no trace,” Zoë intervenes, mixing into the conversation. “Someone just did a good job covering up,” Sanchez scoffs, not finding her remark relevant. “We’ll find something.” Dude, you have no idea, Zoë thinks to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. She doesn’t cut in on him, although she has about a dozen smart curve balls ready. Never get too smart around cops, who knows what she might need them for later on.

“There’s one thing, though, but it adds more confusion than it clears up.” The forensic walks over to the body of Mr. Van Dyke and points out the way his sweater is pulled down. It uncovers his left shoulder, the sleeve seems too long at the end by the force that was used. “Looks like someone pulled him down. As if the killer wanted to level his victim with him or her,” she clarifies. “The murderer was shorter than the victim,” Lee concludes. “Not just a little shorter, I’m talking about round 4 ft. 5 here, looking at the angle and location of the bruising,” the forensic adds up. “About the height of a ten year old, right?” Zoë fills in, as the clues sum up. “Yeah, that would be correct, but that’s impossible. Even if a ten year old could be capable of doing such a thing, they wouldn’t have the strength,” she rules out.

Impossible isn’t in Zoë’s dictionary, but she has seen enough. The forensics might be on a dead end, Zoë is a hundred percent sure of who Van Dyke’s killer is. She is dealing with one furious ghost child here, but two questions remain unanswered: why isn't Laura at rest and how is she able to relocate? A cursed object is the first thing that comes to mind. Being on the clock, Zoë decides to leave and have a talk with the family. “Thanks very much, I’ve got everything I need.” She gives both the forensic and the members of the PPD a nod, before she exits the room.

While Zoë walks down the corridor towards the staircase, the undercover huntress goes through the things she just learned. It almost seems like Laura is trying to put her victims through the same horror she experienced before she died. She simply shows them who’s boss, just like her father used to teach her. It’s violent, not suited for viewers under the age of eighteen, and yet a girl of only ten years of age, is behind these murders.

Back on the first floor, Zoë can hear soft wailing coming from the dining room. For the third time this morning she shows her ID, this time to the officer guarding the shielded off private space. The door is slightly ajar, when she pushes it open further in order to enter, the investigator finds the Van Dyke family, gathered together. A woman in her early fifties with blonde pixie hair has her arms around a teenage girl, who Zoë presumes to be the principal’s daughter. The son, a few years younger than his sister, stares outside, his empty eyes gazing out over the lake, quietly grieving in his own way. Instantly, Zoë feels sorry for the family. She wouldn’t wish this upon anyone. “Mrs. Van Dyke?”

The woman looks up with tears in her eyes and lets go of her daughter, but not before sweetly stroking her hair. Zoë shows Mr. Van Dyke’s wife her identification. “I’m Special Agent Evans, you can call me Sharon. I would like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.” The mother of two nods her head as she wipes away her tears. “Of course.” “Your husband’s passing took place between 6:30 and 7 O'clock this morning. Where were you at this time?” Zoë questions calmly. “I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast,” Mrs. Van Dyke replies, having crossed one arm over her chest, her hand covering her mouth as she breathes out with a shudder. “And you heard nothing?” the huntress wonders, her voice gentle, not wanting to upset the poor woman even more. “Not a sound,” she shakes her head. “Heather was in her room next to Bill’s office, she didn’t hear a thing until the dog started barking, that’s when she found him.”

Zoë nods at that, aware that dogs have a better sense of the supernatural than humans have. She glances past the woman before her, noticing the kind Australian shepherd, who has laid his head in Heather’s lap, watching up at her with worried eyes while trying to comfort his owner. The dog seems calm now, a good indication that Laura isn’t anywhere near. What the huntress does find strange, though, is that their daughter didn’t hear a thing. The article in the newspaper yesterday about Robert Shire’s murder comes to mind. His family was home during the incident as well.

“That will be it for now, thank you for your time,” Zoë notifies, smiling sympathetically. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Van Dyke turns back to her family with half a nod, still in complete shock after this morning’s events which turned her world upside down. Zoë would like to take more time to talk to the children, but she simply doesn’t have a minute to spare. Hastened, the huntress exits the house, stepping out into the warm sun as she takes out her shades and puts them on.

It all makes sense now. Laura isn’t just getting even with the people who are directly or indirectly connected to her death. She’s recreating how she died. What Zoë remembers from her flashback, the poor girl was a punching bag for her father’s fist on a daily basis, but it’s not just that. No one around heard a thing, not even a single sound, like the victims were isolated from the outside world. The vision of Laura’s mother stoically continuing her dinner while her older brother watched TV. As if they couldn’t bear the abuse and therefore shut out the sounds that came along with it.

Pondering, Zoë strides down Reynolds Park Road, back to her bike, which she parked near the water. Unlike the police, the huntress is everything but stuck, she knows exactly where she needs to go. Next stop; The Shire residence.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Dean has been complaining ever since they pulled away from the In-N-Out, when Sam came up with his newest masterplan. Their usual jeans and several layers of plaid have been replaced with black suits, the sharp dressed men now approaching Arkansas Methodist Medical Center, leaving the Impala in the parking lot.

“We are doing this, so get used to it,” Sam returns, getting tired of his brother’s whining. “You have the ID’s?” Dean takes out two leather wallets and flips them open, showing him the fake identification. Sam stares at the ID’s, his jaw falling open. “FBI? Are you nuts, Dean?” “Dad and I do it all the time. No sweat,” Dean shrugs, not that worried about getting caught.

“What if they look up our badge numbers? This is suicide!” Sam hisses, keeping his voice down when they pass people at the entrance of the hospital. “You wanna know what’s suicide? Meddling with Zoë’s case,” Dean counters. Sam huffs. “Oh, come on. How bad can it be?” “You should have seen her in Rochester when she found out we rang Cliffer and blew her cover. That wasn’t even intentional, and now you actually choose to get involved?” Dean argues.

He gives his brother his new identification, which Sam studies carefully as he mumbles his fake name. Dean watches his brother closely, curious if he will detect the little gimmick in their aliases, them being Angus and Young. But Sam doesn’t know enough about rock music to notice that the two names combined is the full name of AC/DC’s lead guitarist. Nonetheless, Dean is proud of the inside joke.

“She might get a little annoyed, but she won’t get mad. We’re helping her,” Sam assures, hoping his brother will stop being dramatic. “Exactly! I’m dressed like a fucking penguin while I know she won’t ever thank us, even if we have a major breakthrough.” Dean loosens his tie a bit, smothered by the tightness of his collar. “Look man, we can sit on our ass and waste this day or--” “- I prefer that actually,” the oldest intervenes. “Or--” Sam continues, sternly, “- we can do something useful.”

With that being said, he walks through the revolving doors of the governmental facility, followed by Dean, who mutters something unintelligible; stubborn fucker. Dean might be the older sibling here, but when Sammy has got his mind set on something, he can’t be reasoned with. Heading straight for the main desk, the Winchester brothers get into character. Sam especially looks somewhat young to be a federal agent, thankfully his height makes up for that. They both need to sell this in order to gather new information on the case. Confidently, Dean flashes his FBI identification to the woman behind the counter. “Agent Young, this is my partner Agent Angus. We’re here to see a dead body.” “You came to the right place,” she comments, apparently not impressed by their badges. She calls for an older physician in a long white coat who just passed by. “Dr. Hughes? Could you escort these two agents to the morgue?” she asks him. “Of course, I’m heading over there anyway,” he agrees, beckoning Dean and Sam to walk with him.

The hunters follow the doctor through the long hospital hallways. White ceilings, mint green vinyl floors and random photos and Picasso rip offs on the walls every now and then; the typical hospital decor the Winchester brothers are more familiar with than they would want to be. They’ve been inside medical centers plenty. To investigate a case, but also as a visitor whenever someone in their close circle got hurt on the job, but also as a patient. Hunting isn’t just a profession prone to injury, it’s worse than that. It’s a profession prone to death.

Dr. Hughes eventually breaks the silence when they reach an elevator. “Who are you here for?” “Ronald Shire,” Sam informs. Unpleasantly surprised, Hughes looks up at the tall agent. He halts by the elevator, calling it down to the first floor. It takes a second to arrive, the doctor uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the other. Dean and Sam have noticed it, however, exchanging a look.

“I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes when he realizes how his behavior might come across. “Ronald was a colleague of mine, but he was also a close friend.” “Our condolences,” Dean says, knowing all about Shire’s death after Sam filled him in earlier. Hughes pushes the button to call the elevator down, accepting the sympathy offered by the agent. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? We see death every day and yet when it hits close to home, you never see it coming.”

Wise words, applicable to everyone. He has been there on many occasions when the final hour struck; of hunters, of people they were trying to save. One would expect all this experience to give him thick skin, since he’s used to the violence and killings. But when Jess was murdered, it hit him harder than a wrecking ball.

The younger Winchesters train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the bell, announcing that the elevator has reached their level. He clears his throat and directs his attention to the doctor again. “Do you have an idea what happened to Mr. Shire?” “I did the autopsy myself; it left me stunned,” Dr. Hughes tells them as they enter the elevator.

Again the doctor presses a key and the doors close. As they slowly move down to the basement, Dean tries to find out if Hughes knows more about the case then he’s willing to let go at this point. “We think his death might have something to do with the murder that took place in the Van Dyke residence,” he fills in. “I heard about that on the news. CSU is still on that, though”, the physician says. “We have one of our agents at the scene,” Sam returns, with the short statement explaining their suspicion.

The doors open and the three enter the morgue of the hospital. It’s cool in this section and an unpleasant scent fills the area, chemicals almost masking the lingering smell of the dead. The doctor walks over to the furthest wall of metal drawers. He pulls out one of the many trays and puts on a pair of latex gloves before he zips open the body bag. “What’s so stunning about this case?” Sam wonders. “See for yourself.” Hughes unfolds the bag and both boys raise their eyebrows. “Ouch,” Dean comments.

The body of Laura’s father is badly bruised and battered, as if he got beaten up by a street gang in a bad neighborhood. His jaw is demolished, his neck broken; this is some serious abuse. The ‘Y’ shaped incisions on his torso indicated that a full autopsy has been performed on Ronald Shire, but the large stitches barely stand out between the black and broken skin.

“That’s not all,” the doctor adds as he takes out the file. “I searched every inch of his body on the in and outside, but there is not a print, not one single fiber on him that could point you fellas towards a suspect.” Dean gives Sam a look without the physician seeing it. Dr. Hughes might have never seen this before, the hunters certainly have. Ghosts never leave any trace on their victims, unless they want to.

“This caught my attention, though.” The doctor points out the bruises. “See how they run out upwards? That indicates that these injuries were caused from a lower angle. Or the killer was on its knees - which would be most unlikely - or the injuries were inflicted by someone shorter than 4 ft. 7. Someone with a growth defect, dwarf syndrome. That’s the only way I can clarify this.” “Have you considered a child?” Sam questions, carefully. “I have for a brief moment, but it’s theoretically impossible for a child to throw punches like this, even when it would use an object to create some kind of leverage, which I found no indication of,” the doctor explains. “Honestly, I’ve never seen damage done like this, not even by trained fighters. The evidence doesn’t add up in the slightest. This shouldn’t be possible.”

The boys exchange another glance; the evidence adds up just fine for them. Sam tilts his head and nods to the door, giving Dean the signal that they are leaving. “Thank you for your time, doctor.” he rounds up their visit. “If there is anything else, let us know.” “You’re welcome, I hope you’ll get this one,” Hughes mentions while he cleans up. “We’ll do our best,” Sam ensures.

The two hunters leave the morgue and step back into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, the oldest of the two turns to the other. “Laura, definitely,” the youngest brother states, determined. “Unless this town is haunted by two frustrated mini spirits, yeah, it’s Laura.” Dean agrees, watching Sam take his phone out of his pocket as they arrive at the first floor again. “Who’re you gonna call?” “The other Ghostbuster,” Sam replies, as he looks up Zoë’s number and presses the green button as soon as they step outside the hospital. “Shouldn’t we get to the bomb shelter first?” the oldest suggests, snarky. “This information could be useful”, Sam replies, but before Dean can respond to that, Zoë answers her phone.

“Sullivan.” “Hey Zoë, it’s Sam. Listen, I’ve got some info on Ronald Shire for you,” Sam cuts to the chase. “Why would you have info on Laura’s dad?” Sam cringes slightly, detecting the suspecting tone in her voice. Oh well, here goes nothing. “We went to the Medical Center to see Shire’s body.”

Complete silence, but Sam can almost hear Zoë’s blood boil on the other side of the line. Dean pulls his sleeve and gestures at him, frustrated. “What are you including me for?” he hisses, making sure Zoë can’t hear him. Sam waves him away, without making a sound he hushes his brother to be quiet, turning away from him in order not to get distracted. He takes a breath, gathering his courage.

“Zoë?” “I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood you. Did you just tell me that you deliberately messed with my case, even though I told you VERY clearly not to get involved?” The huntress’s voice trembles with anger, Sam can hear she tries to keep calm. “We figured we could spare you some time by going ourselves--” “- You FIGURED?!”

Sam cowers, her voice so sharp and loud that he doesn’t have to put her on speaker for Dean to pick up on the conversation. He did move closer to his brother, invading his personal space in order to tune in. “Better take cover,” Dean advises his brother. Annoyed, Sam pushes his brother away and focuses on Zoë again.

“We didn’t mess anything up if that’s what you’re worried about”, he states defensively. “I wouldn't give a flying fuck if you solved the fucking case! You didn’t listen!” “You’re not my boss!” Sam makes clear, not having her raging attitude, no matter how intimidated he feels by the fiery woman. “I am the boss when it comes to MY cases, damn it! This is not a fucking candy store I’m running, Sam! You can’t go do my job without telling me, you almost got me killed last time!” “It was an innocent morgue visit!” Sam exclaims while making a wild gesture, even though Zoë isn’t there to see it. “And honestly, would you have said ‘yes’ if I asked you first?”

“No of course not, you fucking asshat! That’s the fucking point!” she returns, clearly furious. “I swear to God, Sam, if you and your brother cross my path again…” “What? You’ll kill us?” Sam huffs. “Listen, Zoë. Ronald Shire was attacked by Laura, without doubt. He was a mess, his jaw was wrecked and his neck was broken, all injuries inflicted from a lower angle. That’s all the info I’ve got for you, you do with it whatever the hell you want.”

Before Zoë can return an answer, Sam ends the call. It’s only now that he notices Dean opposite of him, his arms crossed in front of him. He nods, appreciating. “No more Mr. Nice Guy. I like it,” he comments, then continues his way to the Impala. Without responding to his notification, Sam follows and catches up with him, still angry with the ungrateful attitude of the huntress. He cannot believe he saved her at least an hour and a half and this is what he gets in return; so much for gratitude.

Together they walk over to the classic Chevrolet without speaking about it further. Yet Dean can’t help but smile as he opens his door. Sam notices the grin and rolls his eyes. “Just say it,” he mutters. “Say what?” “You know what.” Dean looks at him over the top of the black Chevrolet and ponders, still deciding if he should say the words which he longs to say. He can’t help himself, he has to enjoy the moment and rub it in. His smirk grows even wider. “Hate to say I told you so.” “No, you don’t,” Sam sighs, sits down and closes the door.

Dean does the same and turns the key, starting up the Impala’s V8 engine, which lets out an enthusiastic roar. People Are Strange by The Doors is playing on the radio while Sam stares through the windshield, still bummed about the call. “Why doesn’t she just drop the act?” Sam wonders. “I’m not sure if it’s an act, Sammy.” Dean checks in both directions before steering his precious car onto the road. “I sincerely think her soul is pitch black.”

But Sam shakes his head, not buying it. “This can’t be her persona. You said it yourself; she was different when you first met her.” “So? People change,” Dean simply declares, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe, but this is just stupid. We’re in town, bored out of our skull while she is working her ass off to finish up on time. It can’t be that hard to accept our help.” “Apparently she’s socially disturbed, Sam. Let it go already. If she can’t appreciate a helping hand, she’s not worth the effort,” the older brother suggests, not wanting Sam to be bothered by the matter. “Let’s go to Texas and hunt some wolf, huh?”

He considers the advice for a moment as they drive by Linwood Cemetery. As soon as he spots the place, he glances across the road at the Hampton Inn, but there is no sign of Zoë; she must be at the crime scene. As they pass through, he decides he wants to stay. “No. We agreed to stay in town till tonight. Zoë will leave, case closed or not. It’s almost midday, so what difference will it make if we leave now or tonight?” “Half a day,” Dean answers smartly. “Denise? Or did you completely forget about the fact that you are meeting up with her later?”

The driver of the black car raises his eyebrow at that, contemplating, because Sam is right; he did forget about his ‘date’ later today for just a second. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but Denise is a very big plus to stay in town just a little while longer. A silence follows after Sam’s mention while his brother thinks through his options.

“Point taken,” he gives in. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Zoë is not gonna come around.” “She will, believe me. She’s not as bad to the bone as she pretends to be,” Sam states, sure of his words. After all, last night she was friendly for letting him crash in her room and transferring all that lore to his computer. “I know her better than you do,” Dean weighs up. “I don’t believe that's true,” Sam counters, shaking his head. “Wanna bet?” Dean looks aside as the argument is starting to turn into a ‘do not, do too’ fight. “Burgers for a week.” “I rarely eat burgers. How’s that gonna benefit me?” the younger sibling brings to mind.

“Okay, well… If I win, you buy me burgers for a week. If you win, I won’t give you shit for ordering a salad in every fast food joint we eat at.” The green eyed hunter wiggles his eyebrows, his arrogant grin confident, spread wide on his lips. “I’m not settling for that.” Sam huffs and shakes his head. “You can buy me whatever I order for the next seven days if I’m right.” “Deal.”

Before Dean can assure him that this is a bet he will win, his brother’s Blackberry rings. Surprised, he checks the screen for the number, his long chestnut hair falling in front of his eyes when he looks down, then he raises his eyebrows and smiles. Victoriously he shows the screen to Dean; it’s Zoë. Sam picks up his phone and puts her on speaker. “What?” he snaps, still mad at her. “What are you up to?” The youngest of the Winchesters isn’t sure if she’s asking him if he’s still intending to mess with her case or that she’s asking if he has some spare time. “Depends,” he answers, curt. “You said Shire broke his neck, so did Van Dyke.” “So?” “Might be something.”

Sam keeps his mouth shut, warning Dean to do the same with only a look and a slight shake of the head. An unpleasant silence follows. Obviously, it irritates Zoë. “C'mon, Sam. Knock it off!” “No, Zoë! We’re helping you out and this is what we get?” Sam returns. “You two nosey dickwads went behind my back! How can you expect me to be--”

They can hear her sigh and swallow down the rest of the sentence as she collects herself, trying to keep her temper in check. “I don’t like working with others and I certainly don’t want to abandon this case. I’ve never passed up a job, it’s not my style. But if I don't finish up by tonight, I don't have another option.”

“I get that, but wouldn’t it be better if we just work together now and make sure that you’ll make your deadline?” Sam suggests, calmer than a moment ago, now that the woman on the other end of the line has done the same. “Look, Zo,” Dean interrupts, adding his two cents. “I know you’re not particularly happy about teaming up - and hey, neither am I - but you’ll be able to cover more ground that way. You can’t expect us to leave town knowing you might have to face a dilemma. The sooner you close this case, the sooner we can go our separate ways.” “I don’t know...” Again a sigh while Zoë considers her next move. Sam allows the silence, granting her the time to think it through. The way he sees it, she doesn't have much of a choice. The Winchesters are the best option she’s got. “Okay, fine,” she eventually gives in. “But this is still my case. I call the shots and might we stumble on trouble, we stick to the plan. I can’t settle for anything less.” Dean has already opened his mouth to object, but Sam elbows him hard, shooting him a warning glare. “Agreed,” the youngest quickly answers, ignoring the quiet muttering from his left. “Dean?”

The older Winchester brother grinds his teeth. Shit, he does not want to bow down to her, because he knows the second he does, she will without a doubt step up to become Evil Queen Bitch. He’s never going to live it down. One case, he tells himself. One fucking case and he will never have to deal with her again. “Fine,” he utters, barely audible. “One other thing. I need to leave town tonight, case finished or not. We have to try or take care of this today, okay?” “We will,” Sam assures. “And if we run into trouble and can’t manage to wrap up, you don’t have to worry about this case. We’ll make sure to have it covered and that Laura will be put to rest.” “So, do we meet up or what?” “Yeah, sure.” “Where are you at?”

Before Sam answers he checks the name of the road they are on. “W. Kings Highway, going west. We’re staying at the Ramada Inn,” Sam tells her. “Shit motel.” He scoffs a chuckle, glad the tension has lifted. “Tell me ‘bout it.” “I'll see you at In-N-Out,” the huntress decides. “I want an Animal Burger.” “Have you had that 4x4 burger?” Dean says, his mouth watering. “The amount of meat, hmm.” “Are you kidding me? I grew up in California; In-N-Out is my jam!” “Their food is fuckin’ amazing, ain’t it?” Dean agrees. “Oh my God, yes! How they grill their cheese—”

Stunned, Sam stares from the phone to Dean and back. Did the unthinkable just happen? Did Zoë and Dean actually agree on something? Remarkable, but truly, here is the one subject they can’t fight about; food. “Zo?” he interrupts. “Yeah?” “See you at In-N-Out.” He chuckles and hangs up.

The Ramada Inn shows up in front of them and Dean pulls up into the parking lot, turning off the ignition once he has found a spot close to the entrance. Before he gets out of the car, he registers Sam, who’s wearing a boyish grin on his face. His eyes sparkle through the curtain of his bangs, his pearl white teeth on display; it’s clear he’s very much amused. “Hate to say I told you so,” Sam nags victoriously, and pushes the passenger door open.

With a confused expression upon his face, Dean gets out of his car himself. He then glares at younger Winchester over the top of the Impala, the words sinking in. Fuck, he lost a bet; Zoë came around. “No, you don’t,” he mutters, following his sibling inside. Looks like he’s going to have to live through the embarrassment of ordering and paying for salads the coming week. Oh well, at least he doesn’t have to eat them.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eight here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Supernatural OFC series #SPN #Supernatural #dean angst #sam angst #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #STSS #STSS 1x01 #In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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nuvya · 7 years ago

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Michael Jackson: The Human Being Behind The Superstar By Paris Jackson

Paris Jackson: Life After Neverland (Rolling Stone Interview )

In her first-ever in-depth interview, Michael Jackson's daughter discusses her father's pain and finding peace after addiction and heartache

Paris-Michael Katherine Jackson is staring at a famous corpse. "That's Marilyn Monroe," she whispers, facing a wall covered with gruesome autopsy photos. "And that's JFK. You can't even find these online." On a Thursday afternoon in late November, Paris is making her way through the Museum of Death, a cramped maze of formaldehyde-scented horrors on Hollywood Boulevard. It's not uncommon for visitors, confronted with decapitation photos, snuff films and serial-killer memorabilia, to faint, vomit or both. But Paris, not far removed from the emo and goth phases of her earlier teens, seems to find it all somehow soothing. This is her ninth visit. "It's awesome," she had said on the way over. "They have a real electric chair and a real head!"

Paris Jackson turned 18 last April, and moment by moment, can come across as much older or much younger, having lived a life that's veered between sheltered and agonizingly exposed. She is a pure child of the 21st century, with her mashed-up hippie-punk fashion sense (today she's wearing a tie-dye button-down, jeggings and Converse high-tops) and boundary-free musical tastes (she's decorated her sneakers with lyrics by Mötley Crüe and Arctic Monkeys; is obsessed with Alice Cooper – she calls him "bae" – and the singer-songwriter Butch Walker; loves Nirvana and Justin Bieber too). But she is, even more so, her father's child. "Basically, as a person, she is who my dad is," says her older brother, Prince Michael Jackson. "The only thing that's different would be her age and her gender." Paris is similar to Michael, he adds, "in all of her strengths, and almost all of her weaknesses as well. She's very passionate. She is very emotional to the point where she can let emotion cloud her judgment."

Paris has, with impressive speed, acquired more than 50 tattoos, sneaking in the first few while underage. Nine of them are devoted to Michael Jackson, who died when she was 11 years old, sending her, Prince and their youngest brother, Blanket, spiraling out of what had been – as they perceived it – a cloistered, near-idyllic little world. "They always say, 'Time heals,'" she says. "But it really doesn't. You just get used to it. I live life with the mentality of 'OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.' So going forward, anything bad that happens can't be nearly as bad as what happened before. So I can handle it." Michael still visits her in her dreams, she says: "I feel him with me all the time."

Michael, who saw himself as Peter Pan, liked to call his only daughter Tinker Bell. She has FAITH, TRUST AND PIXIE DUST inked near her clavicle. She has an image from the cover of Dangerous on her forearm, the Bad logo on her hand, and the words QUEEN OF MY HEART – in her dad's handwriting, from a letter he wrote her – on her inner left wrist. "He's brought me nothing but joy," she says. "So why not have constant reminders of joy?"

She also has tattoos honoring John Lennon, David Bowie and her dad's sometime rival Prince – plus Van Halen and, on her inner lip, the word MÖTLEY (her boyfriend has CRÜE in the same spot). On her right wrist is a rope-and-jade bracelet that Michael bought in Africa. He was wearing it when he died, and Paris' nanny retrieved it for her. "It still smells like him," Paris says.

She fixes her huge blue-green eyes on each of the museum's attractions without flinching, until she comes to a section of taxidermied pets. "I don't really like this room," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I draw the line with animals. I can't do it. This breaks my heart." She recently rescued a hyperactive pit-bull-mix puppy, Koa, who has an uneasy coexistence with Kenya, a snuggly Labrador her dad brought home a decade ago.

Paris describes herself as "desensitized" to even the most graphic reminders of human mortality. In June 2013, drowning in depression and a drug addiction, she tried to kill herself at age 15, slashing her wrist and downing 20 Motrin pills. "It was just self-hatred," she says, "low self-esteem, thinking that I couldn't do anything right, not thinking I was worthy of living anymore." She had been self-harming, cutting herself, managing to conceal it from her family. Some of her tattoos now cover the scars, as well as what she says are track marks from drug use. Before that, she had already attempted suicide "multiple times," she says, with an incongruous laugh. "It was just once that it became public." The hospital had a "three-strike rule," she recalls, and, after that last attempt, insisted she attend a residential therapy program.

Home-schooled before her father's death, Paris had agreed to attend a private school starting in seventh grade. She didn't fit in – at all – and started hanging out with the only kids who accepted her, "a lot of older people doing a lot of crazy things," she says. "I was doing a lot of things that 13-, 14-, 15-year-olds shouldn't do. I tried to grow up too fast, and I wasn't really that nice of a person." She also faced cyberbullying, and still struggles with cruel online comments. "The whole freedom-of-speech thing is great," she says. "But I don't think that our Founding Fathers predicted social media when they created all of these amendments and stuff."

There was another trauma that she's never mentioned in public. When she was 14, a much older "complete stranger" sexually assaulted her, she says. "I don't wanna give too many details. But it was not a good experience at all, and it was really hard for me, and, at the time, I didn't tell anybody."

After her last suicide attempt, she spent sophomore year and half of junior year at a therapeutic school in Utah. "It was great for me," she says. "I'm a completely different person." Before, she says with a small smile, "I was crazy. I was actually crazy. I was going through a lot of, like, teen angst. And I was also dealing with my depression and my anxiety without any help." Her father, she says, also struggled with depression, and she was prescribed the same antidepressants he once took, though she's no longer on any psych meds.

Now sober and happier than she's ever been, with menthol cigarettes her main remaining vice, Paris moved out of her grandma Katherine's house shortly after her 18th birthday, heading to the old Jackson family estate. She spends nearly every minute of each day with her boyfriend, Michael Snoddy, a 26-year-old drummer – he plays with the percussion ensemble Street Drum Corps – and Virginia native whose dyed mohawk, tattoos and perpetually sagging pants don't obscure boy-band looks and a puppy-dog sweetness. "I never met anyone before who made me feel the way music makes me feel," says Paris. When they met, he had an ill-considered, now-covered Confederate flag tattoo that raised understandable doubts among the Jacksons. "But the more I actually got to know him," says Prince, "he's a really cool guy."

Paris took a quick stab at community college after graduating high school – a year early – in 2015, but wasn't feeling it. She is an heir to a mammoth fortune – the Michael Jackson Family Trust is likely worth more than $1 billion, with disbursements to the kids in stages. But she wants to earn her own money, and now that she's a legal adult, to embrace her other inheritance: celebrity.

And in the end, as the charismatic, beautiful daughter of one of the most famous men who ever lived, what choice did she have? She is, for now, a model, an actress, a work in progress. She can, when she feels like it, exhibit a regal poise that's almost intimidating, while remaining chill enough to become pals with her giant-goateed tattoo artist. She has impeccable manners – you might guess that she was raised well. She so charmed producer-director Lee Daniels in a recent meeting that he's begun talking to her manager about a role for her on his Fox show, Star . She plays a few instruments, writes and sings songs (she performs a couple for me on acoustic guitar, and they show promise, though they're more Laura Marling than MJ), but isn't sure if she'll ever pursue a recording contract.

Modeling, in particular, comes naturally, and she finds it therapeutic. "I've had self-esteem issues for a really, really long time," says Paris, who understands her dad's plastic-surgery choices after watching online trolls dissect her appearance since she was 12. "Plenty of people think I'm ugly, and plenty of people don't. But there's a moment when I'm modeling where I forget about my self-esteem issues and focus on what the photographer's telling me – and I feel pretty. And in that sense, it's selfish."

But mostly, she shares her father's heal-the-world impulses ("I'm really scared for the Great Barrier Reef," she says. "It's, like, dying. This whole planet is. Poor Earth, man"), and sees fame as a means to draw attention to favored causes. "I was born with this platform," she says. "Am I gonna waste it and hide away? Or am I going to make it bigger and use it for more important things?"

Her dad wouldn't have minded. "If you wanna be bigger than me, you can," he'd tell her. "If you don't want to be at all, you can. But I just want you to be happy."

At the moment, Paris lives in the private studio where her dad demoed "Beat It." The Tudor-style main house in the now-empty Jackson family compound in the LA neighborhood of Encino – purchased by Joe Jackson in 1971 with some of the Jackson 5's first Motown royalties, and rebuilt by Michael in the Eighties – is under renovation. But the studio, built by Michael in a brick building across the courtyard, happens to be roughly the size of a decent Manhattan apartment, with its own kitchen and bathroom. Paris has turned it into a vibe-y, cozy dorm room.

Traces of her father are everywhere, most unmistakably in the artwork he commissioned. Outside the studio is a framed picture, done in a Disney-like style, of a cartoon castle on a hilltop with a caricatured Michael in the foreground, a small blond boy embracing him.It's captioned "Of Children, Castles & Kings." Inside is a mural taking up an entire wall, with another cartoon Michael in the corner, holding a green book titled The Secret of Life and looking down from a window at blooming flowers – at the center of each bloom is a cartoon face of a red-cheeked little girl.

Paris' chosen decor is somewhat different. There is a picture of Kurt Cobain in the bathroom, a Smashing Pumpkins poster on the wall, a laptop with Against Me! and NeverEnding Story stickers, psychedelic paisley wall hangings, lots of fake candles. Vinyl records (Alice Cooper, the Rolling Stones) serve as wall decorations. In the kitchen, sitting casually on a counter, is a framed platinum record, inscribed to Michael by Quincy Jones ("I found it in the attic," Paris shrugs).

Above an adjacent garage is a mini-museum Michael created as a surprise gift for his family, with the walls and even ceilings covered with photos from their history. Michael used to rehearse dance moves in that room; now Paris' boyfriend has his drum kit set up there.

We head out to a nearby sushi restaurant, and Paris starts to describe life in Neverland. She spent her first seven years in her dad's 2,700-acre fantasy world, with its own amusement park, zoo and movie theater. ("Everything I never got to do as a kid," Michael called it.) During that time, she didn't know that her father's name was Michael, let alone have any grasp of his fame. "I just thought his name was Dad, Daddy," she says. "We didn't really know who he was. But he was our world. And we were his world." (Paris declared last year's Captain Fantastic , where Viggo Mortensen plays an eccentric dad who tries to create a utopian hideaway for his kids, her "favorite movie ever.")

"We couldn't just go on the rides whenever we wanted to," she recalls, walking on a dark roadside near the Encino compound. She likes to stride along the lane divider, too close to the cars – it drives her boyfriend crazy, and I don't much like it either. "We actually had a pretty normal life. Like, we had school every single day, and we had to be good. And if we were good, every other weekend or so, we could choose whether we were gonna go to the movie theater or see the animals or whatever. But if you were on bad behavior, then you wouldn't get to go do all those things."

In his 2011 memoir, Michael's brother Jermaine called him "an example of what fatherhood should be. He instilled in them the love Mother gave us, and he provided the kind of emotional fathering that our father, through no fault of his own, could not. Michael was father and mother rolled into one."

Michael gave the kids the option of going to regular school. They declined. "When you're at home," says Paris, "your dad, who you love more than anything, will occasionally come in, in the middle of class, and it's like, 'Cool, no more class for the day. We're gonna go hang out with Dad.' We were like, 'We don't need friends. We've got you and Disney Channel!'" She was, she acknowledges, "a really weird kid."

Her dad taught her how to cook, soul food, mostly. "He was a kick-ass cook," she says. "His fried chicken is the best in the world. He taught me how to make sweet potato pie." Paris is baking four pies, plus gumbo, for grandma Katherine's Thanksgiving – which actually takes place the day before the holiday, in deference to Katherine's Jehovah's Witness beliefs.

Michael schooled Paris on every conceivable genre of music. "My dad worked with Van Halen, so I got into Van Halen," she says."He worked with Slash, so I got into Guns N' Roses. He introduced me to Tchaikovsky and Debussy, Earth, Wind and Fire, the Temptations, Tupac, Run-DMC."

She says Michael emphasized tolerance. "My dad raised me in a very open-minded house," she says. "I was eight years old, in love with this female on the cover of a magazine. Instead of yelling at me, like most homophobic parents, he was making fun of me, like, 'Oh, you got yourself a girlfriend.'

"His number-one focus for us," says Paris, "besides loving us, was education. And he wasn't like, 'Oh, yeah, mighty Columbus came to this land!' He was like, 'No. He fucking slaughtered the natives.'" Would he really phrase it that way? "He did have kind of a potty mouth. He cussed like a sailor." But he was also "very shy."

Paris and Prince are quite aware of public doubts about their parentage (the youngest brother, Blanket, with his darker skin, is the subject of less speculation). Paris' mom is Debbie Rowe, a nurse Michael met while she was working for his dermatologist, the late Arnold Klein. They had what sounds like an unconventional three-year marriage, during which, Rowe once testified, they never shared a home. Michael said that Rowe wanted to have his children "as a present" to him. (Rowe said that Paris got her name from the location of her conception.) Klein, her employer, was one of several men – including the actor Mark Lester, who played the title role in the 1968 movie Oliver! – who suggested that they could be Paris' actual biological father.

Over popcorn shrimp and a Clean Mean Salmon Roll, Paris agrees to address this issue for what she says will be the only time. She could opt for an easy, logical answer, could point out that it doesn't matter, that either way, Michael Jackson was her father. That's what her brother – who describes himself as "more objective" than Paris – seems to suggest. "Every time someone asks me that," Prince says, "I ask, 'What's the point? What difference does it make?' Specifically to someone who's not involved in my life. How does that affect your life? It doesn't change mine."

But Paris is certain that Michael Jackson was her biological dad. She believes it with a fervency that is both touching and, in the moment, utterly convincing. "He is my father," she says, making fierce eye contact. "He will always be my father. He never wasn't, and he never will not be. People that knew him really well say they see him in me, that it's almost scary.

"I consider myself black," she says, adding later that her dad "would look me in the eyes and he'd point his finger at me and he'd be like, 'You're black. Be proud of your roots.' And I'd be like, 'OK, he's my dad, why would he lie to me?' So I just believe what he told me. 'Cause, to my knowledge, he's never lied to me.

"Most people that don't know me call me white," Paris concedes. "I've got light skin and, especially since I've had my hair blond, I look like I was born in Finland or something." She points out that it's far from unheard of for mixed-race kids to look like her – accurately noting that her complexion and eye color are similar to the TV actor Wentworth Miller's, who has a black dad and a white mom.

At first, she had no relationship with Rowe. "When I was really, really young, my mom didn't exist," Paris recalls. Eventually, she realized "a man can't birth a child" – and when she was 10 or so, she asked Prince, "We gotta have a mom, right?" So she asked her dad. "And he's like, 'Yeah.' And I was like, 'What's her name?' And he's just like, 'Debbie.' And I was like, 'OK, well, I know the name.'" After her father's death, she started researching her mom online, and they got together when Paris was 13.

In the wake of her treatment in Utah, Paris decided to reach out again to Rowe. "She needed a mother figure," says Prince, who declines to comment on his own relationship, or lack thereof, with Rowe. (Paris' manager declined to make Rowe available for an interview, and Rowe did not respond to our request for comment.) "I've had a lot of mother figures," Paris counters, citing her grandmother and nannies, among others, "but by the time my mom came into my life, it wasn't a 'mommy' thing. It's more of an adult relationship." Paris sees herself in Rowe, who just completed a course of chemo in a fight against breast cancer: "We're both very stubborn."

Paris isn't sure how Michael felt about Rowe, but says Rowe was "in love" with her dad. She's also sure that Michael loved Lisa Marie Presley, whom he divorced two years before Paris' birth: "In the music video 'You Are Not Alone,' I can see how he looked at her, and he was totally whipped," she says with a fond laugh.

Paris Jackson was around nine years old when she realized that much of the world didn't see her father the way she did. "My dad would cry to me at night," she says, sitting at the counter of a New York coffee shop in mid-December, cradling a tiny spoon in her hand. She starts to cry too. "Picture your parent crying to you about the world hating him for something he didn't do. And for me, he was the only thing that mattered. To see my entire world in pain, I started to hate the world because of what they were doing to him. I'm like, 'How can people be so mean?'" She pauses. "Sorry, I'm getting emotional."

Paris and Prince have no doubts that their father was innocent of the multiple child-molestation allegations against him, that the man they knew was the real Michael. Again, they are persuasive – if they could go door-to-door talking about it, they could sway the world."Nobody but my brothers and I experienced him reading A Light in the Attic to us at night before we went to bed," says Paris."Nobody experienced him being a father to them. And if they did, the entire perception of him would be completely and forever changed." I gently suggest that what Michael said to her on those nights was a lot to put on a nine-year-old. "He did not bullshit us," she replies. "You try to give kids the best childhood possible. But you also have to prepare them for the shitty world."

Michael's 2005 molestation trial ended in an acquittal, but it shattered his reputation and altered the course of his family's lives. He decided to leave Neverland for good. They spent the next four years traveling the world, spending long stretches of time in the Irish countryside, in Bahrain, in Las Vegas. Paris didn't mind – it was exciting, and home was where her dad was.

By 2009, Michael was preparing for an ambitious slate of comeback performances at London's O2 Arena. "He kind of hyped it up to us," recalls Paris. "He was like, 'Yeah, we're gonna live in London for a year.' We were super-excited – we already had a house out there we were gonna live in." But Paris remembers his "exhaustion" as rehearsals began. "I'd tell him, 'Let's take a nap,'" she says."Because he looked tired. We'd be in school, meaning downstairs in the living room, and we'd see dust falling from the ceiling and hear stomping sounds because he was rehearsing upstairs."

Paris has a lingering distaste for AEG Live, the promoters behind the planned This Is It tour – her family lost a wrongful-death suit against them, with the jury accepting AEG's argument that Michael was responsible for his own death. "AEG Live does not treat their performers right," she alleges. "They drain them dry and work them to death." (A rep for AEG declined comment.) She describes seeing Justin Bieber on a recent tour and being "scared" for him. "He was tired, going through the motions. I looked at my ticket, saw AEG Live, and I thought back to how my dad was exhausted all the time but couldn't sleep."

Paris blames Dr. Conrad Murray – who was convicted of involuntary manslaughter in her father's death – for the dependency on the anesthetic drug propofol that led to it. She calls him "the 'doctor,'" with satirical air quotes. But she has darker suspicions about her father's death. "He would drop hints about people being out to get him," she says. "And at some point he was like, 'They're gonna kill me one day.'" (Lisa Marie Presley told Oprah Winfrey of a similar conversation with Michael, who expressed fears that unnamed parties were targeting him to get at his half of the Sony/ATV music-publishing catalog, worth hundreds of millions.)

Paris is convinced that her dad was, somehow, murdered. "Absolutely," she says. "Because it's obvious. All arrows point to that. It sounds like a total conspiracy theory and it sounds like bullshit, but all real fans and everybody in the family knows it. It was a setup. It was bullshit."

But who would have wanted Michael Jackson dead? Paris pauses for several seconds, maybe considering a specific answer, but just says, "A lot of people." Paris wants revenge, or at least justice. "Of course," she says, eyes glowing. "I definitely do, but it's a chess game. And I am trying to play the chess game the right way. And that's all I can say about that right now."

Michael had his kids wear masks in public, a protective move Paris considered "stupid" but later came to understand. So it made all the more of an impression when a brave little girl spontaneously stepped to the microphone at her dad's televised memorial service, on July 7th, 2009. "Ever since I was born," she said, "Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine, and I just wanted to say I love him so much."

She was 11 years old, but she knew what she was doing. "I knew afterward there was gonna be plenty of shit-talking," Paris says, "plenty of people questioning him and how he raised us. That was the first time I ever publicly defended him, and it definitely won't be the last." For Prince, his younger sister showed in that moment that she had "more strength than any of us."

The day after her trip to the Museum of Death, Paris, Michael Snoddy and Tom Hamilton, her model-handsome, man-bunned 31-year-old manager, head over to Venice Beach. We stroll the boardwalk, and Snoddy recalls a brief stint as a street performer here when he first moved to LA, drumming on buckets. "It wasn't bad," he says. "I averaged out to a hundred bucks a day."

Paris has her hair extensions in a ponytail. She's wearing sunglasses with circular lenses, a green plaid shirt over leggings, and a Rasta-rainbow backpack. Her mood is darker today. She's not talking much, and clinging tight to Snoddy, who's in a Willie Nelson tee with the sleeves cut off.

We head toward the canals, lined with ultramodern houses that Paris doesn't like. "They're too harsh and bougie," she says. "It doesn't scream, 'Hey, come for dinner!'" She's delighted to spot a group of ducks. "Hello, friends!" she shouts. "Come play with us!"Among them are what appear to be an avian couple in love, paddling through the shallow water in close formation. Paris sighs and squeezes Snoddy's hand. "Goals," she says. "Hashtag 'goals.'"

Her spirits are lifting, and we walk back toward the beach to watch the sunset. Paris and Snoddy hop on a concrete barrier facing the orange-pink spectacle. It's a peaceful moment, until a middle-aged woman in neon jogging clothes and knee-length socks walks over.She grins at the couple as she presses a button on some kind of tiny stereo strapped to her waist, unleashing a dated-sounding trance song. Paris laughs and turns to her boyfriend. As the sun disappears, they start to dance.

From being a kick-ass cook to a strict dad, here are the 5 things we learned about the King of Pop from Paris Jackson.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0kjc3VEwFM

#paris jackson #michael jackson #rolling stone magazine #childhood #prince jackson #the jacksons #blanket jackson #captain fantastic #jackson 5 #moonwalker #fatherhood

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mysterioustransmissions · 7 years ago

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My favorite comics of 2016

Here are my favorite comics of 2016. (You can see previous years lists here.) At the time I’m posting this it’s almost 2018. I had a lot of big life stuff happen in early 2017 that kept me away from this. Also, my submission to Tom Spurgeon’s Comics Reporter’s “Year in Comics” Five For Friday (why I started keeping these lists) was rejected for breaking format. Sorry Tom! (This was reflected in last year’s family Christmas, where I was shown the door for using the gravy boat as a neti pot.) Comics I particularly enjoyed are marked with an asterisk.

A Cosplayers Christmas by Dash Shaw (Fantagraphics) The ending really delighted me.

* Abe Sapien #30 by Mike Mignola, Santiago Caruso (Dark Horse) Holy cow, the art on this.

Alienation #1 by Inés Estrada (Gatosaurio)

Another Blue World by Jon Chandler (Breakdown Press)

Blammo #9 by Noah Van Sciver (Kilgore Books)

Blubber #3 by Gilbert Hernandez (Fantagraphics)

The Book of the Cave Tooth by Benjamin Marra (Colour Code)

Boy’s Club by Matt Furie (Fantagraphics) One of the great humor strips of all time, finally collected.

Britannia #1 by Peter Milligan, Juan Jose Ryp, et al. (Valiant) Good dumb fun.

Cankor: Calamity of Challenge #1 by Matthew Allison (self-published) Raw subconscious filtered through punchy superhero comics.

Concentrate Volume 1 by Jesse DeNobrega (self-published) The colors and production on the printed version of this… my god.

COPRA by Michel Fiffe (self-published) I love getting this in pamphlet format, feeling the gorgeously printed book, and admiring at the illustrations.

Dad’s Weekend by Pete Toms (Hic and Hoc) Pete Toms is a storyteller on par with the best any medium currently has on offer.

* Dark Age (Thuban Press) and Laid Waste (Fantagraphics) by Julia Gfrörer. I’ve never stopped thinking about every book Julia has put out.

* Decadence #11 (Decadence Comics) The Decadence anthology series always has so much of my favorite stuff.

* Demon Volume 1 by Jason Shiga (First Second) This thing is just wired to satisfy.

Do Not Disturb My Waking Dream Number Five by Laura Park (Uncivilized Books) Our current cross hatching champion.

Epoxy Cartoon Magazine by John Pham (self-published) Show this to people when they come over to your house and just watch their jaws hit the floor.

Frontier by Eleanor Davis, Kelly Kwang, et al. (Youth in Decline) Looking back on this year’s last three Frontiers, I think they all share some common ground in tone… quiet introspection, maybe? The first one, #11 by Eleanor Davis, had so much to dig into and I loved hearing people talk about it.

Generous Bosom 2 by Connor Stechschulte (Breakdown Press)

Geopolitical Manipulation Through the Use of Fungi Based Parasites on 186F by Lando (Decadence Comics) Out of everyone out there, Lando is probably the closest to doing the work I want to be doing.

Gulag Casual by Austin English (2dcloud) I enjoyed figuring out how to read this.

* Hellboy in Hell #9 and #10 Mike Mignola, Dave Stewart (Dark Horse)

Hermit Crab Real Estate by Tyler Landry (self-published)

House of Women, Part III by Sophie Goldstein (self-published)

I Am Not Okay With This by Charles Forsman (self-published)

I Feel Weird #1 and #2 by Haleigh Buck (Hey Boy! Press)

Impatience by Inés Estrada (Gatosaurio) Estrada produces another one of my all time favorite books-as-objects.

Island #7 (Image Comics) I like Island, but this entry is all about that mind-blowing cover.

John’s Worth #2 by Jon Chandler (Breakdown Press)

Jump Duck by Tom McHenry (self-published)

Kramer's Ergot 9 edited by Sammy Harkham (Fantagraphics)

Lilin by Mou (Ediciones ¡Joc Doc!)

Megg & Mogg in Amsterdam and Other Stories (Fantagraphics) and Drone, Landscape, and Winter Trauma (self-published) by Simon Hanselmann

Multiverso by Inés Estrada (Gatosaurio)

Nexus, the Comic Strip by Mike Baron, Steve Rude et al. (Rude Dude Productions) While pricey, it was a delight to receive these in the mail. Even at the relatively high price I paid, getting a full-color, enormous object in the mail every month didn’t seem sustainable, and it seems it wasn’t. The colors on Vol #6 were a high point.

Nod Away by Joshua Cotter (Fantagraphics)

* Providence #7, #8, #9, #10, #11 by Alan Moore, Jacen Burrows, et al. (Avatar Press) I don’t give a shit about H. P. Lovecraft, but this comic is an all timer for me.

Self Magazine by Meghan Turbitt (self-published)

She-Wolf #1 by Rich Tomasso (Image Comics) I enjoyed all of the first four issues of this comic, but the first one especially hit a balance of opaque storytelling and horror milieu that’s a particular sweet spot for me.

Sixth Mass Extinction by Ines Estrada (Perfectly Acceptable Press)

Snotgirl #1 by Leslie Hung and Bryan Lee O’Malley (Image Comics)

* Someone Please Have Sex With Me by Gina Wynbrandt (2dcloud) I can hand this book to anyone, including people with comics-blindness, and tell them to open up to any page and they’ll get it and fall in love immediately. Comics would be in much better shape if we had more Gina Wynbrandts.

Study Group Magazine #4 by various (Study Group Comics)

The Black Hood edited by Josh Bayer (Comics are the Enemy)

* The Experts by Sophie Franz (Retrofit Comics)

The Four Reptiles of the Apocalypse by Lando (Decadence Comics)

The Weight Four and Five by Melissa Mendes (self-published) Looking forward to when this is collected and everyone loses their shit.

Turning Japanese by MariNaomi (self-published)

Úlcera by Puiupo and Adonis Pantazopoulos (Czap Books)

Virus Tropical by Powerpaola (2dcloud)

And a couple things that weren’t new this year, but were new to me:

DLTLPS by Gabriel Corbera (Space Face Books)

Generous Bosom 1 by Connor Stechschulte (Breakdown Press)

#best of the year #best of 2016

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londontheatre · 8 years ago

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The Significant Other Festival (c) The Pensive Federation

It never takes that long for a group of British people to find themselves talking about the weather, and so it is almost inevitable that this edition of The Significant Other Festival, in which – to summarise – two’s a party but three’s a crowd, should at some point take ‘Conditions’ as an overarching theme.

Despite ten (very short!) plays and an equally short musical having different writers, different actors and (mostly) different directors, there were some links between the plays. Some links were more explicit than others, with the same props coming up time and again, serving different purposes. As for the subtler links, well, that would be giving too much away.

Humid by Anthony Cozens opens proceedings with a bit of a ‘swearathon’, a point I didn’t personally pick up on at the time but it was commented on by fellow audience members in the interval. There are, of course, people who do tend to swear as naturally as they breathe, but here, when all three characters are at it, there’s little to distinguish one from another. Miles (Michael Shon) is at a fairground with his partner Izzy (Olivia Negrean). He is carrying around a goldfish that he won earlier in the day by putting some hoops through some objects. This being a funfair, the fish has been in a bag for an indeterminate period and has now died, presumably through lack of oxygen. The fish’s fate gives Izzy’s friend Hannah (Katherine Jee) the impetus to hurl insults at Miles (yep, more swearing). The ending is open-ended enough to leave a question in my mind about the fish being a metaphor for Miles and Izzy’s relationship unanswered.

Flurry by Olu Alakija was the darkest of the plays, and not just because it was set in a forest in the middle of the night. It is, to be blunt, gradually revealed that of the three characters, played by Leanne May Bennett, Ashleigh Cheadle and Virginia Lee, one shows no remorse or pity whatsoever for the death of a man who “shattered” their own lives, which understandably horrifies the other two. It is not made entirely clear – perhaps it wasn’t considered important – precisely what the deceased man did, or was alleged to have done, but it’s clear that this isn’t a motiveless murder. The play got me thinking about how I would react to discovering if I were complicit in the taking of another person’s life: I might well have ended up being the character in this play that started panicking and needed calming down.

One more thing: I couldn’t help but scribble down a line in this play about the weather. “The wind is howling like an X-Factor contestant.”

Inclement by Emma Allison sees Mark Bentham (John Rayment) and his second wife Nina (Rekha John-Cheriyan) meet up with his ex-wife Linda (Pat Garrett). Or, rather, Linda meets up with them, in order to join in with the many arrangements required for Simon and Louisa’s wedding. The bride is Mark’s daughter by Linda. Nina has no patience for Linda’s fretful personality, and the play quickly becomes beautifully dramatic and explosive. The fears and insecurities of both Nina and Linda are palpable, though it is Nina’s forthrightness that ends up putting a substantial dent in Mark’s diplomacy, with almost devastating consequences.

Tornado by Lydia Rynne is set at Simon and Louisa’s wedding, or rather, the reception, though the (presumably) happy couple remain off-stage characters. The best man, Adrian (Nick Pearse) and a bridesmaid, Kyla (Kate Tulloch) are lost in a maze at the reception venue. There is, probably, some imagery going on with being lost without a roadmap and only the weakest of mobile phone signals with which to attempt to contact a friend. It wasn’t altogether clear to me what the ‘tornado’ in Tornado was, except to say that this pair initially seemed too different from one another to commence a relationship, even one that, for reasons unfolded within the narrative, would only last a relatively short time. The ‘significant other’ role, a fired waiter (Roberto Landi) is rather underwritten and plays an ultimately negligible part of the play.

Gust by Alexander Williams begins with Gail (Elizabeth Guterbock) taking her friend Steve (Anthony Cozens) out of doors for a badminton match. The standard of play is inconsequential to the dialogue, particularly when Robin (Kamran Vahabi) appears. Robin has, in Gail’s own words, betrayed her trust, and while Robin and Steve are more than reconciled, Gail remains uncompromisingly unresponsive. The play is an intriguing observation into how certain people who busy themselves trying to ‘help’ are often themselves unable to swallow the sort of medicine they insist others must take in order to get over the past.

Overcast by Rob Greens had me in a combination of laughter and deep thought. Becca (Christi Van Clarke) and Angie (Hanna Lucas) are using a pair of binoculars to spy on people. Not just any people, but people they know. There isn’t much difference between this and looking people up on social media and reading about what they have been up to. Warren (Jamie Coleman) enters the scene after an altercation with an off-stage character (one the ladies are spying on) from which he has both physically and psychologically run away from. The implications and applications of this storyline are vast – it seemed to me to be a reminder not to draw conclusions too hastily from what can be seen at face value without being aware of the bigger picture.

Thaw by Reece Connolly sees another dead goldfish as a narrative driver. Colin (Luke Lampard) and his girlfriend Jenny (Evelyn Lockley) are attempting to bury ‘Gary’, the late fish belonging to Colin’s sister Abbie (Flora Ogilvy). Abbie is distraught at the news, and there’s a hilarious moment in which, in desperation, she attempts to use body heat and friction to warm the frozen ground up. This came across as a coming of age story, and in burying the fish, Abbie is also saying goodbye to an age of innocence and, one would hope, able to go onwards and upwards in life.

Haze by Sylvia Arthur begins provocatively. “I’ve just seen Mother in bed with a fascist,” declares Sidney (Laura McGrady), a statement that becomes all the more strange, and macabre, once it is established what has happened to ‘Mother’. Shelley (Laila Alj), the firstborn of these three siblings, has a long-standing secret that can now be revealed to both Sidney and Sonny (Alex Dowding) now their mother has passed away. Why wasn’t anything being done about a corpse being assaulted though, irrespective of the assailant’s political beliefs? Hazy indeed.

Cold Front by Brian Eley considers what happens when loyalties are tested by the practicalities of life. Squidge (Rachael Oliver) is naturally defensive at the change in living arrangements between herself and long-term friend Becks (Rachel Smart) and relative newcomer Jess (Katherine Rodden). The narrative took a while to really get going. A lot of time in the first half was given over to establishing that this trio get on very well with one another through fun, games and singing, and at first sight I couldn’t see the point of it all. On further reflection, it’s an example, par excellence, of how people prepare for awkward conversations by living in the moment and crossing the bridge of confrontation only when it is reached.

Drought by JFW Nutt starts with an apt question: “Why is it called London Luton?” It is indeed in Bedfordshire and well outside both the Oyster public transport travel zone and the M25 motorway. A stream of silliness is quickly established as Tamsin (Jayne Edwards) and her partner Ben (James Lawrence) try to enjoy an afternoon out with Ben’s older sister Annette (Lydia Smart). Annette speaks her mind, and all of her thoughts spill out, however unsavoury, without any filtering or leaving out of even the most trivial of details – Tamsin later points out that Annette must do better to take her “meds”. It isn’t easy for the likes of Ben, trying to care for family members while trying to live out his own life. A good combination of hilarity and poignancy.

Sunny Spells by Frances Bushe (with music composed by Lemon and Franner Otter) skilfully tells a story through song – there is some spoken dialogue, too, and a suitably big finish allows for the rest of the cast throughout the evening to join in a rousing closing number. The lyrics are witty, even if the narrative isn’t, with characters played by Antonia Bourdillon, Clark Alexander and Sydney Aldridge dealing with what to do with an increasingly frail elderly relative who now requires round-the-clock care (and no, a one-way plane ticket to Switzerland is absolutely not on the cards). If a fuller version of Sunny Spells were of the same quality as this short musical, it would be worthy of a West End run – there’s something about looking to the future and carrying on even when one is frightened of messing things up along the way that places this well-devised show firmly within the canon of musical theatre.

Review by Chris Omaweng

The Significant Other Festival 14th to 18th March 2017 http://ift.tt/2kUAXNu

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