#why don’t you ask *ahem* Chester how that worked out for him

[buildoblivion]

hnnnngggg can’t wait for gwen to inevitably come crawling back to lena having reaped the rewards of her own ambition

[hotchley]

and he will come back home

because these people are his family. and this place is his home. 

or, six times out of many aaron hotchner realised that other things may change us but we do indeed, start and end with our family because they are the people that love us, without any conditions, and not in spite of, but because of, our flaws.

this is literally pure fluff because someone *ahem* @whump-town *ahem* has been posting sad things which made me want to write something sweet.

nobody asked for this. literally nobody. however, it made me happy, so now everyone else has to put up with it. 

trigger warnings: references to child abuse (physical and sexual) as both hotch and morgan’s pasts are mentioned very briefly

read on ao3!

1. Jennifer

“Eat.”

Hotch looked up from his paperwork in surprise. JJ was stood in front of his desk, hands on her hips, somehow managing to intently stare both at him and the plate she’d put down in front of his name plate.

He hadn’t even heard her come in. But the door had been open, and the unspoken rule was that, unless his door was closed, nobody in the team needed to announce themselves. JJ and Dave were the only ones to actually follow that rule, everyone else knocking first. He used to think it was because he was unapproachable, but now he knew better. It was just what they preferred to do, just in case they were intruding.

Instead of taking the plate, he looked down at his watch. Time had gotten away from him, and he hadn’t eaten in about five hours, or however long it had been since him and Jack had eaten breakfast. In fact, Jack was probably the only reason he remembered. Because children copied their parents, and he couldn’t exactly tell Jack to eat his cereal if all he was doing was sipping some coffee.

In his defence, skipping lunch had not been the plan. There was just so much paperwork, and Strauss had needed to meet with him, and then there was the budget reports- and okay, maybe he had been intending to work through lunch. Sue him. He’d been feeling nauseous for days now, and he had no idea why. What he did know, was that eating made it worse. So did not eating, but still.

It was worse when he ate.

“JJ, I have all this paperwork,” he said.

“I know. Which is why you need to eat.”

He stared at her. She simply smiled and pushed the plate towards him. He actually looked at it now.

“That is-”

“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Yes. One of the few things you can stomach when you’re feeling sick.”

“How did you even?”

“I love you.” And it was the way that she said the words, so easily, without any hesitation or expectation attached that made him pick up the sandwich. He thought she would stay, at least until he’d taken the first few bites, but instead she stood, smiled and left.

He tried not to let it sting. She had a job to do as well.

But she came back, holding her own sandwich. “I know you hate eating alone. I just wasn’t about to come in here with my own lunch, or else you’d just watch me eat.”

She sat down in the chair opposite him and immediately took the pile of files that needed to be completed from him. As she bit into her sandwich, crumbs dropping onto her skirt, she started flicking through them. Hotch made a faint noise of protest. JJ just gave him the same look she gave her son when he wouldn’t go to sleep.

Aaron ate his sandwich.

“Let’s see. Morgan’s. Emily’s. Morgan again. And again. That’s Dave’s. Me and Garcia told Strauss the system crashed so technically, you don’t have the figures for that, which means I can just,” she throw that folder in the bin.

The next few minutes passed in a similar way. By the time she was done sorting, his pile was reduced to two files, both of which would be done by two. Which meant he could go pick up Jack.

“Thanks JJ,” he said. Not just for the sandwich, or for the files. For everything.

She smiled. “It’s not a problem.”

For once, he believed her.

2. Spencer

It had been a while since Hotch had done a custodial interview with Reid. After the whole Chester Hardwick incident, he tended to send Reid with Morgan. Or Prentiss. Or anyone that wasn’t him. One time, to give Anderson some more experience, the two of them had gone together.

He had no idea what had happened, but he never got the reports from either of them. And when he logged onto the database to see if they had gone to Rossi, or even Garcia for convenience, there was no evidence of the trip ever occurring. And that was when he decided that he didn’t want to know.

But that was irrelevant to their current situation. His ear was hurting. Reid had offered to drive them back because Hotch had done the drive there. Under normal circumstances, Hotch would have rather sat in a car with Morgan during the hunt for an unsub than let Reid drive. However, if anyone was going to cause an accident right now, it was him.

The ringing in his ears had only gotten worse as their prisoner had refused to talk. The lack of noise had made it the only thing he could focus on. And now, in the car, they were sat in silence. Reid was narrowing his eyes at other cars, being ever so cautious with the gas, focusing intently. And Hotch was glad that he wasn’t getting distracted, but he really needed to hear something.

He could also feel himself drifting off, Reid’s speed and the movement of the car soothing, especially given that normally it was him that needed to pay attention to the road. But every time he thought he was about to fall asleep, the piercing sound would get worse. And he would jolt, now fully awake.

Until he just didn’t.

When he woke up, he was confused. The surroundings had completely changed. And the radio was on. Some classical music he didn’t know the name of, but he had memories of dancing with Penelope at one of the FBI functions with that playing in the background. The thought made him smile.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and turned to face Reid. “Where are we?”

“I took a slight detour because you finally looked peaceful. Also, is the music okay? Lots of studies show that for people with hearing problems, having something soft play in the background helps them sleep. I don’t know what you think about classical music, but something called WAP, maybe? just did not seem like your thing.”

Hotch smiled. “Spencer, it’s fine. It’s perfect actually.”

Reid grinned back at him. “Good. Also when I took us on a detour, I got a bit lost so we’re now an hour away from Quantico.”

Hotch shook his head, fondly, but rested his head against the window once more, letting the soft piano and violin soothe him to sleep again, feeling completely and utterly safe.

3. Emily

“I can do it,” Emily said, poking her head through the door.

Hotch jumped in his chair, rolling his eyes when he realised it was just her, almost giving him a heart attack. Again. Probably for the thirtieth time that week. Dave, who was sat opposite him, just smirked, head resting on his cheek and Aaron silently cursed him. He must have known.

“Emily. How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

She smiled. “Long enough to know that you have a meeting with Strauss but Jack needs picking up from school because at four he’s going to the dentist. Which is why I’m saying that I can do it.”

Dave stood. “I’m going to take this as my cue to leave.”

Hotch watched as he left and Emily took his seat.

“Emily,” he said with a sigh.

“Aaron,” she responded, mocking his tone.

“It’s unfair to ask you to do that,” he said. What he meant was that he didn’t want to inconvenience her or her plans because he couldn’t get his dates straight, and that he should just cancel his meeting because fuck Strauss.

“These things happen. And Strauss will behead you if you miss this meeting. Jack and I will be fine. And besides, would you really deprive him of time with his favourite aunt?”

Damn Emily Prentiss and her ability to always know what he was thinking. “Em, I know you love Jack. And he loves you, but I still can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And even if you say no, I’ll still turn up. I’m on the list of approved people, they won’t stop me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And four hours later, Jack walked through the steps of the BAU, with an unusually wide grin for somebody that had just gone to the dentist. Emily was smirking.

“You didn’t,” were the first words out of Hotch’s mouth. Jack ran towards his dad and Hotch crouched down to high-five him. He winced when he realised he now had sticky hands.

“He deserved a treat for his perfect teeth,” Emily said.

“Yeah! Auntie Emmy said that you would understand and she got you a surprise because she knew that would make you more happy,” Jack said, grinning.

Hotch looked up at Emily, who sheepishly held out a cupcake. He smiled at her. She relaxed.

Uncle Spencer was showing Jack a magic trick when he went over to her.

“You’re amazing with him,” he whispered.

She shrugged. “I just do the things that feel right.”

“That’s all any of us can do. But I do enjoy it when the two of you spend time together. It makes you smile.”

“It’s funny, because I think the same thing about you. You look happier with him.”

“You make me smile as well. You all do. I just- I never know how to say it.”

“But you don’t need to. We know you love us. It shows in everything you do. And we love you too.”

Hotch turned to watch his son laugh and smile with the rest of his aunts and uncles. They all looked so innocent. So happy. So beautiful.

“Yeah. I know that.”

4. Derek

“Is everyone else asleep?” Morgan asked as he sat opposite Hotch.

The case had been a long one, and they had only departed a half-hour ago, meaning they wouldn’t be landing till the early hours of the morning. Reid had, like with most cases, taken the couch. JJ and Emily were sharing a blanket, JJ resting her head on Emily’s shoulder and Dave was sat opposite them. Everyone’s eyes were closed. But with profilers, there were no guarantees.

“I think so. Why?”

“Because I’m about to ask you something that I don’t want everyone else hearing,” Derek said. Hotch closed the file and stared intently.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you decorated the apartment yet?”

Hotch closed his eyes. He hadn’t, but he kept meaning to. Jack’s room at the house had been completely to his taste, with superheroes plastered over every available service and stars stuck on the ceiling to help him sleep at night.

The whole house had been more homely than the apartment currently was. And Hotch had been planning to decorate ever since Haley passed away because that was Jack’s home now, it needed to look like one. But life had gotten in the way.

And every time he looked at a magazine, or went shopping, he just got completely overwhelmed. When him and Haley had moved into the house, he’d let her take over the decorating. And when he bought his apartment, the concern had been having it be equidistance from there and work. Not how it looked.

Obviously, that had now all changed.

“I don’t want to offend you, I just wanted to know,” Derek said, taking the silence as offence.

“You’re not offending me. And no I haven’t.” Hotch sighed. Morgan leant back, giving him the space to either speak or change the subject. “I do want to,” he continued. “I just- I get overwhelmed. And I don’t know how much choice Jack should have, you know?”

“I get it. What are you doing tomorrow?”

If it was Dave, Aaron would have lied. But it wasn’t.

“Nothing, if I’m being completely honest. I may take Jack to the library and the park but aside from that…”

“Let me take you shopping. I’ve seen your apartment, I know the layout. I’ll tell you what would work best in the area and you can say yes, no or maybe. If you don’t find anything, that’s fine, but at least you can get some ideas.”

Hotch smiled. “You’d really do that for me?”

Morgan nodded. “Course. I know what I said when Strauss suspended you, but I do like you.”

“Well I would hope so after all the times I’ve saved your ass,” Hotch joked, setting the paperwork aside. The unsub was going to prison for a long time, it could wait.

Morgan’s taste was impeccable, and by the end of their shopping trip, they had purchased more decorative items than Hotch could carry. Luckily, Jack was okay with carrying the bag of wall stickers up, and he was content to babble on about everything he was going to do. Hotch had asked Morgan to stay for dinner, Jack making it impossible for him to leave.

When it got to Jack’s bedtime, he asked Morgan for a hug. Morgan bent down and embraced the kid, making eye contact with Hotch. Aaron knew what he was trying to say: neither of them would ever be capable of harming a child the way they had been.

“See you in the morning Hotch,” Morgan said, holding his hand out.

Hotch thought screw it and hugged him.

“Oh!” Morgan said with a laugh. “This is nice.”

Hotch pulled back with a smile. “Yeah. It is.”

5. Dave

When Hotch had first joined the unit, Dave learnt several things about him. One was that he wore the same suits pretty much all the time, the only difference being his tie. Two being that he hated lemon flavoured desserts with a passion, and if you injected enough morphine into him, he would tell you his literal court case for banning it.

The third, and arguably most important, was that every April, without fail, something would happen, and he would end up sick. One year it was learning he was allergic to shellfish. Another year it was chicken pox- which had been great. The year before he retired, Hotch had slipped down a hill and landed in poison ivy.

It had not been pleasant for anyone involved, even if secretly it had been hilarious to watch Hotch be forced to stay in the hotel because they didn’t know if he would pass it onto someone else.

This year, it seemed like it was the flu. When Dave answered the phone, Aaron had not sounded great. Now they were sharing a hotel room, and every few minutes, he would start coughing. It wouldn’t be a coughing fit, nor was it really enough to class him as ill, but Dave knew it was just the start.

He’d never been so glad that he had remembered to pack coughs syrup and various other medications. However, if he tried to help now, Aaron would probably do something stupid, like claim he would be fine because he did this every year, and every year he ended up not being fine.

The next day, it was clear he was unwell. He kept pressing one hand to his ear, his eyes were watery and there was a rather mortifying moment where his voice just went in the middle of his bad cop routine. Luckily, Emily was able to keep a straight face, but everyone else started giggling.

As soon as Hotch was out of the interrogation, Dave held up the cough syrup and car keys.

“You’re going to take this, and then I’m going to drive you back to the hotel. Then you’re going to get that jumper you technically stole from me, put it on and sleep. You’re not to come back till this flu passes.”

“Dave,” Hotch protested. That was the thing about him. He would be completely fine most of the time, but the moment he showed even the slightest symptom of sickness, it was only a matter of twenty-four hours before he completely shut down.

“Don’t make me phone Jessica,” Dave warned.

Hotch rolled his eyes, too tired to properly argue. A nap did sound good.

“Open up,” Dave said.

“I can give myself cough syrup,” Hotch said. However, that required him opening his mouth, so Dave just shoved the spoon in with a smirk.

It ended up knocking him out. Cough syrup always did. Dave smirked, took a quick picture and sent it to Garcia. It would be a cute surprise when Christmas came around.

Hotch was conscious enough to change into the jumper Dave had let him wear once- Hotch had been an idiot and not packed a single item of knitwear, which had led to Dave just sighing and passing his own jumper on, and then never getting it back- and the pyjama bottoms that were so worn, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had them since he joined.

“You’re really nice to me Dave,” Hotch mumbled, voice muffled by the hotel pillows.

Dave brushed his hair off his forehead and kissed him softly. He felt far too warm already. But it was fine. Hotch would complain, JJ would stare and he would obey the orders he’d been given.

“Get some rest kiddo,” Dave said, switching the lamp on and closing the curtains.

By the time they were flying back to Quantico, Aaron was fine. Dave was more than a little smug about that- not that he would ever take credit for his recovery, or anything like that. Nope. That was not who he was.

6. Penelope

Hotch loved all of his team. How could he not? They were his family. No, more than that. They were his chosen family.

But there was something about Penelope Garcia that he just loved even more. It wasn’t that she was his favourite, that was a bad way of wording it, but he was in awe of her entire being. The confidence with which she wore the clothes that made her feel beautiful, because screw the FBI clothing regulations, never failed to make him smile.

Her flirty comments- whether they were aimed at him or someone else- always made the colour rise in his cheeks. He had been raised in the south, where holding hands without a marriage proposal was seen as scandalous- and okay that was an exaggeration, but the point still stood. It kept them all of their toes.

But more than all of that, it was her complete and utter faith in humanity that made him love her in a different way to the rest of the team. She was always so good, and so kind and so loving. They had all seen what the world did to the people that saw beauty. Hell, she’d been on the receiving end of it all. And yet somehow, she never wavered. Even when she was upset, she managed to find the joy.

Garcia loved her boss as well. Not in a weird, forbidden romance way. Just as a best friend. He was always so sweet to her. And everyone else. He did everything he could to get her systems upgraded, always apologising when he couldn’t. Sometimes, when she needed a break from the screens and her bunker, she would just sit in his office, admiring various things.

She still couldn’t understand how he didn’t even know what half the certificates he had were for.

Garcia had spent a decent amount of time in Hotch’s office. And it just always seemed a bit boring. He kept a photo of the team in his desk drawer, alongside a bottle of wine that Rossi had told him to hide- if Strauss ever asked, nobody had even heard of alcohol- but it wasn’t very welcoming.

Hotch was welcoming. She never had any trouble going into the office when he was there. But aside from the heavy books to do with the law on the bookshelf behind him- you could take him out of the prosecutor’s office, but you could never truly get rid of the prosecutor within him- and the photo of Jack on his desk, it wasn’t him.

She hated having to grab things when he wasn’t there.

It became her mission to find a way to get it decorated. But she just never knew what to do, and she wasn’t about to tell the team. This was her special mission.

The team were coming back from a difficult case. JJ had warned her that Hotch had taken it particularly hard, so to maybe tone down whatever surprises she had planned. Garcia had put the brownies she’d made into the fridge. Damn profilers and their stupid abilities that meant they always knew when something was going on.

She was sat in Hotch’s office, just waiting for him to enter.

When he did, she stood up.

“Sir.”

He jumped. “Garcia.”

“I have something for you. It’s for your office.”

He raised an eyebrow, and suddenly, it felt like a terrible idea. She glanced round the office, at it’s neutral walls, the desk, devoid of anything put his pen pot and nameplate, the chairs that didn’t even have patterned cushions. Even the spare blanket he kept in there was plain.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be for your office, you could always put it in your bedroom. Actually, that’d probably be weird too. If you hate it, just say and I can always return it or you could give to Jack. I bet Jack would like it. If you don’t. If you do-”

“Penelope, I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he said, with the broad smile he only ever used with her.

“Right. Well, here you go.”

She held out the bag. He opened it.

“It’s a plushie.”

“Not just any plushie. It’s a beanie baby. And it’s called Bandito. I picked it because it’s got the same birthday of you. See look at the tag. Also it’s a raccoon. I don’t know if you realised that. I get now that it may be a bit weird. It’s just I was thinking about how impersonal your office is- not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just thought that maybe, it would be nice.”

When he looked at her, she could’ve sworn there were tears in his eyes.

“Penelope, I love it. I- nobody has ever put that much thought into buying me a plushie before. I mean, nobody ever really bought me soft toys. Thank you.”

She grinned. “Don’t thank me, you deserve it. So can I hug you? This feels like a huggy moment.”

He nodded, a little hesitant. She hugged him, pretending to not notice when she felt the sleeve of her cardigan dampen slightly.

When he pulled away, she held onto his hand for a few more seconds before letting go. He put the raccoon next to his pen pot, where anyone walking past or in would see it.

“It looks perfect,” he said.

Strauss tried to make a snide comment about it the next time they had a meeting. Hotch retaliated by buying one that had the same birthday as Garcia. And by the end of the year his office had one matching up with Jack, Sean, Jessica and Haley- all in various places.

He kept the ones corresponding with the team on his desk. Because they were his family. And every time he sat down at his desk, he would be reminded that he was home.

[drsilverfish]

The Triffid of Hope and the Stop-Watch of Despair - 15x09 The Trap

Hey everone,

I’m just catching up British time, as usual, and getting down my initial thoughts before I jump in and see what you’ve all been up to.

The much-anticipated Purgatory prayer episode - here we go!

First off - Chuck is a lying liar who lies, and also, how bad was his vamp Winchester bros script?! We know it’s a script, because he asks Sam - “So, what d’ya think?” writer-style, after AU!Bobby executes Vamp!Sam. I thought Bobo did great work here, distinguishing (for us) between his own writing and Chuck’s sucky (ha ha) vamp-Chesters ending. And oh boy, does Bobo torch the “Butch and Sundance going out together in blaze of glory” SPN scenario, because it’s one of Chuck’s shitty versions. I think we can rest assured we’re not gonna get that! 

“All good things must come to an end,” Chuck says, holding up a scalpel in the Lucky (pink) Elephant (in the room, ahem Destiel) Casino. Bobo’s meta way of telling us that yes, of course, there is pain to be endured (by us) along the way, before our heroes get their freedom. Pain, because Supernatural, our favourite show, is ending.

I loved the double-structure of the episode, which balanced Sam and Eileen’s story with Dean and Cas’ story - past, present and future folded into one another; see-sawing between the twin axes of hope and despair. 

The Triffid of Hope:

Isn’t this shot (and its symbolism) great? Dean is framed between the Purgatory-Triffid and the awesome three-eyed skull of a dead Leviathan (the “third eye”, in Indian spiritual traditions, symbolising higher self-knowledge).

Leviathan dude: “There’s a blossom, that grows out of the soil when we die.”

Ah-ha - I knew all the death symbolism in Michael’s God-locking spell had to mean something. It just didn’t happen the way I thought it would (Cas dying in Purgatory).

Instead, the Leviathan blossom is a monster-corpse feeding flower - it grows from death. And so it is a perfect metaphor for hope, linked to all the old vegetation Gods (like Osiris, like the myth of Persephone) as well as to those heroic underworld journeys, of Gilgamesh and Orpheus and Inanna which @prairiedust and I were talking about previously in relation to Purgatory 2.0. Because, from death, springs new life (just as Spring follows Winter) and from an underworld journey comes deeper self-knowledge and psychic growth (a la Jung). 

On a meta level, this is Bobo’s message to us too - yes the show has to “die”, but who knows what new and wondrous things will be born from its “corpse”. 

Dean was previously the one, of the two Winchester brothers, who’d lost hope as result of the “Welcome to the End” revelations about Chuck’s active machinations in their lives. Dean was the one who couldn’t figure out what was real especially his relationship with Cas:

Dean: “I can’t figure out what’s God and what’s real, and it’s driving me crazy” (15x06 Golden Time). 

He was the one who’d said (as emphasised in this week’s re-cap): “It’s God, Sam... How the Hell are we supposed to fight God?” (15x05 Proverbs 17:3). 

But, in Purgatory 2.0, Dean got his hope back. 

Why? 

We already know why, from watching Dean pivot from suicidal in 13x05 Advanced Thanatology, to happy cowboy cosplay in 13x06 Tombstone, as soon as he got Cas back from death. Cas is intimately tied to Dean’s sense of faith and hope.

And in Purgatory 2.0, Dean finally finds (some of) his words and gets his relationship with Cas back on track, and in so doing, he recovers that faith and hope. 

Hence that shot of him lying between death (the Leviathan skull) and the Triffid of Hope. Because Dean’s underworld journey to Purgatory 2.0 brings clarity to hs heart, just as it did last time. In Purgatory 1.0, “It felt pure”; in Purgatory 1.0, Dean’s mission was, “Where’s the angel?” In Purgatory 1.0, Dean let himself love Cas again (as I’ve said before) without guilt, despite the things Godstiel/ Levi!Cas had done, to Sam, and to the world.

In Purgatory 2.0, Dean (just like Sam, in the parallel story) is on the clock. Time is ticking - the rift Michael opened is finite:

 And so, in losing Cas for several frantic hours as the clock runs out, Dean finds clarity, just as he did before, and he prays (on his knees no less):

Dean: “Cas, whereever you are, it’s not too late. I should have stopped you. You’re my best friend, but I just let you go...”

And Dean cries as he prays, and there is absolutely no doubt, in those tears, and in that apology, that he loves Cas (although the text continues to embrace ambiguity as to the nature of that love). 

Imagine - Dean must also be reliving the last time they were in Purgatory together, when Cas actively chose to stay behind, which broke Dean’s heart so much he re-wrote his own memory. In the land of monsters once more, Dean is, finally, terrified it’s all going to happen again (because he pushed Cas away this time). 

As a romantic love-story, of course, it’s still subtext. The glass-closet still structures the narrative. We still get the plausible deniability “bromance” of; “Cas, you’re my best friend.”

And you know, it’s totally OK to feel disappointed, heart-sore, stricken or enraged about that. Nothing throws the heteronormativity of our world more into relief than watching Sam have a beautiful and tender kiss with Eileen (and I totally buy and love their relationship) when their love-story has had a tenth of the back-story and build-up that exists between Dean and Cas, whilst Dean and Cas get a hug (albeit a clearly very emotional one):

I think “queerbaiting” is, partly, a receiver-effect. Meaning, it’s partly subjective. So, some people may feel “queer-baited” by the show and others may not. It’s certainly perfectly legitimate to feel the pain of the closet, of almost-but-not-quite representation (and many queer fans have left the show over the years for that reason). The definition of “queerbaiting” however, is complex (and needs its own post). 

For myself, I absolutely do feel the pain of the closet, but I don’t feel a sense of “bad faith” from the writers’ room (and I used to). I certainly trust in Bobo, whose first episode was that paean to break-up angst, 9x06 Heaven Can’t Wait, to be telling Dean and Cas’ love-story as truly, madly and deeply as he can, within the constraints imposed by TPTB (the fact that also happens to suit TPTB is another level we won’t get into here). 

Because isn’t this the face of a man who had something else to say, when Cas cut him off with, “You don’t have to say it - I heard your prayer” ????

The Stop-Watch of Despair:

Chucks’ mission in 15x09 is to crush Sam’s hope, even as Dean is re-gaining his own hope in Purgatory. 

Chuck does that in two ways. First, he makes Sam and Eileen doubt how much of their love story is real, as he tells them he nudged Eileen’s resurrection along and then used her (unwittingly) to spy on the Bunker.

When Eileen leaves Sam, at the end of the episode, she says: “After what happened, I don’t know what’s real anymore..” 

Obviously, that is paralleled to Dean’s previous doubt about his relationship with Cas, which Cas answered expllicity in 15x02 Raising Hell (although Dean couldn’t take it in at the time):

Dean: “Nothing about our lives is real. Everything that we've lost, everything that we are is because of Chuck. So maybe you can stick your head back in the sand, maybe you can pretend that we actually had a choice. I can't.”

Castiel: “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

Sam plays Cas’ part (but it’s his own part too - I don’t want to reduce Sam and Eileen to mere parallels for Dean and Cas - their story is their own) when he kisses Eileen and says, “I know that was real,” (so, he’s able to hold onto a little hope, after all - go Sam!):

Second, Chuck makes Sam doubt the possibility of a happy ending, for the Winchesters, for the people they love, and, importantly, for the world. If they succeed in locking Chuck away, Chuck claims, Sam and Dean will die as vampires, and monsters will overrun the earth:

We can see here, that Metatron  was right, in 11x20 Don’t Call Me Shurley, when he said to Chuck, of humanity: “They are your greatest creation because they're better than you are.”

Because Chuck manages to get to Sam, psychologically, only because Sam cares, with all his heart, about the fate of the world and all the people in it. 

This is where the time-construction of the episode gets clever. Because, the future-Dean, who Sam sees, has lost hope again. And why? This is the face of a man who has locked Mark-of-Cain crazed Castiel in a Ma’lak box (and don’t forget S14 established the Ma’lak box as a closet metaphor):

And oh damn, we see Cas take on the Mark as part of the God-trapping spell in the “Trifffid of Hope” portion of the story. Does he still have it now, even though Chuck destroyed the spell?

Chuck shows Sam an (apparent) future in which the brother who raised him, has abandoned all hope, which is the true definition of Hell (”Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” - Dante’s Inferno) and that is the other psychological lever Chuck uses to get Sam to despair. His faith in Eileen is shaken, and his faith in Dean is shaken.  

Chuck clearly admires Sam. He almost treats him as a worthy antagonist. He refers to him as “Promethean” and “heroic”, and, in a sense, perhaps he genuinely means it. But, of course, it’s also part of his ploy to destroy Sam’s hope. Prometheus, after all, got his liver eaten out by eagles on the regular, sent by the chief God of Olympus himself, Zeus (aka Chuck) for his pains.

Chuck (to Sam): “You still think you’re the hero of this story. You still think you can win.”

And Chuck succeeds (temporarily) in destroying Sam’s hope, by making him doubt the reality of his love with Eileen, and by making him doubt that his big brother will have the hope necessary to “Carry on my wayward sons,” in the future (all the more believable because Sam has, in fact, seen Dean lose hope before when he’s lost Cas).

But what changes, monumentally, at the end of the episode, is that Dean doesn’t blame Sam. He just says, “That’s good enough for me,” about Sam’s assertion he believed in the Chuck-in-the-Cage future Chuck showed him, and, “We’ll find another way.”

Dean brought the Leviathan blossom of hope back from Purgatory, and with it, deeper self-knowledge about how he has taken his feelings of helplessness out, as anger, against the people he loves best (Sam and Cas). This time, he doesn’t do that. For Team Free Will, once all together again, The Triffid of Hope wins out over The Stopwatch of Doom. 

Just as it’s right, on a psychological level, that locking Chuck in a cage isn’t a viable solution - because external cages are metaphors for the prisons of the mind. Team Free Will’s heroic and metaphysical journey through the realms of the God-machine is also a journey towards emotional wholeness, and freedom from the psychological prisons of their past.  

And so, to conclude, this episode (my favourite of Bobo’s since his first) is filled with love.... and love. 

The Winchester brothers’ love for one another, we see, undoubtedly, in Sam’s narrative. But that’s also interesting, because again, Chuck misses Cas out of the story - and so ends up with a bros-only Butch and Sundance ending. And Bobo emphasises Chuck’s version is stuck in “toxic co-dependency” - because it’s the two of them, as Vampchesters, as monsters, going out together against the world - specifically against even their own friends, Bobby and Jodie. Now there’s a potent metaphor. By contrast, a healthy Sam and Dean relationship allows the loving presence of others.   

And there we have it -  the.. and love (precisely, the loving presence of others) in the love between Sam and Eileen (whose faith in that love, Chuck has deliberately shaken, for now) paralleled to the love between Dean and Cas (whose faith has been restored in Purgatory, for now).

Bobo clearly shows us that hope is the key to defeating Chuck, because it is only when Sam loses hope that Chuck is free of the God-wound. 

And love is hope, because to love is to be hopeful - to be hopeful that you will be loved back, that love will endure, that a future with your loved ones is possible and so, worth fighting for. 

Supernatural has always, always (as we all well know) been about the “power of love” (despite Dean’s doubt in 5x18 Point of No Return). 

In the end both the Triffid of Hope and the Stop-Watch of God-Time will converge, ending God-Time and granting true freedom for Chuck’s “characters”. 

[gaylittlemonsters]

FIRST POST FIRST POST FIRST POST *ahem*

We (Members and Affiliates of Chester and Vernon Paranormal Investigations) have made a Tumblr! Unfortunately. You can ask us questions, and also this is an aesthetic blog for those of us who are...more artistically inclined.

Anyways, click the readmore to learn more about all of us. Ask box is open! Come hither and ~ask away~. Also included are how we'll sign posts so you know who did what.

-Bailey Vernon, Head Detective and Legal Expert for C&V Paranormal Investigations, London.

Hi! My name's Marielle Chester! I'm very excited to run this blog; this whole 'internet' thing seems very fun!

Bio|

Age: :)

Gender: Female!

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Eye 👁️0👁️

Role within the Company: Head Detective!

Favorite Color: Green!

Fun Fact: I'm the coolest bitch in this group! 💙 I collect weird necklaces. Elm is my baby brother ❤️❤️

Sign off: - Marielle

Hey. My name's Elm Chester. I desperately want to sleep but I'm being forced to write this.

Bio|

Age: 29

Gender: Male.

Pronouns: He/Him.

Affiliated Entity: The Eye.

Position Within The Company: I don't work for C&V. I'm a researcher at the Magnus Institute, London.

Favorite Color: Blue.

Fun Fact: Trans rights baby. I also haven't seen the sun in months, send help El*as keeps assigning me to flesh cases.

Sign Off: -Elm.

Hey hey!!! My name's Chaesha (I also go by Cassidy) Harlow! I'm the coolest person on tumblr B-) Please ask me about art!!! I'm begging you!!!!

Bio|

Age: 28

Gender: Female!

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Spiral!!!!!!!!

Position Within The Company: Field Investigator specializing in abroad investigations!

Favorite Color: Purple!

Fun Fact: I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND SYDNEY!!!!!! also my cat is haunted. ( it's MY CAT -Elm)

Sign off: -CHAESHA (*_*)

Hey, it's Sydney. I'm a plant lover and I need you all to stop over watering your succulents. I take things too seriously sometimes. I'm the only person in this fucking building with sense.

Bio|

Age: 29

Gender: Cactus.

Pronouns: She/They

Affiliated Entity: The Buried.

Position Within the Company: Lead Field Investigator.

Favorite Color: Green.

Fun Fact: Yes Chaesha I love you too ❤️. Please finish your report. I'm a stickler for the rules and if you bully my filing clerk's I'll kill you.

Sign off: -Sydney L.

HEYHEYHEYHEY!!!! I'm Jamie!!!! I'm a Theatre Kid!!! I do IMPROV!!! Also if you want to eat the rich with me please RSVP slots are filling up fast!

Bio|

Age: Fuck you ♥️.

Gender: No ♥️

Pronouns: Any! All! Give me the pronouns!

Affiliated Entity: The Stranger 🤡🤡

Position Within The Company: I don't even go here!

Favorite Color: Blue!

Fun Fact: My girlfriend 💙 Marielle can and will kill you. I eat the rich! Starting with you Peter if you're reading this you better start running!

Sign off: - Jamie 🤡🤡

Hey. My name's Robbie O'Connor. I am an avatar in the way that avocados are fruit. Honestly just here to hang out with Elm and play music.

Bio|

Age: 29

Gender: Male? I guess.

Pronouns: He/Him but in the way that like, a car is a He/Him.

Affiliated Entity: Desolation/End

Position Within The Company: I don't work with Marielle and Bailey. I'm 'technically' employed for the Magnus Institute but I haven't been to work in like months. Why the hell is Elias still paying me?

Favorite Color: Orange.

Fun Fact: I've heard every death related joke in history please stop. Also let me infodump and I'll straight up marry you.

Sign off: ~Robbie.

Hello! I'm Kiva James! I very much love the Ocean, you can find me at the beach almost every day! I have my own tumblr that you will never find.

Bio|

Age: 33

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Vast! ⛈️⛈️⛈️

Position Within The Company: Field Investigator/ Detective In Training!

Favorite Color: Yellow!

Fun Fact: I got hit with the avatar stick at eleven. My girlfriend works here as well (Bailey say Hi!!!). Simon if you're reading this I'm killing you someday 💙.

Sign off: ~ Kiva James!

Hi! I'm Amethyst O'Riley!! We're all going to die someday and there's nothing we can do about it ❤️

Bio|

Age: 30

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The End

Position Within The Company: Detective!

Favorite Color: Dark Blue!

Fun Fact: I'm in a band! Shout-out to Robbie! Also my husband is dead </3 sometimes I can still hear his voice.

Sign off: Amethyst 💀💀

STOP TELLING PEOPLE I'M DEAD LOVE! My name's Jack Lukas and I'm sick of people thinking I've died when I'm ALIVE I'm just a HERMIT!

Bio|

Age: 30

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Affiliated Entity: The Lonely. Unfortunately.

Position Within The Company: 'Decontamination Specialist'

Favorite Color: Purple.

Fun Fact: I'm NOT DEAD. Also I like photography. Fuck you Peter let me come to the family funerals.

Sign off: Jack

I introduced myself earlier, but my name is Bailey Vernon. I'm doing this to appease my friends and nothing more.

Bio|

Age: 32

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Web ::::)

Position Within The Company: Detective, Co-Owner, and Legal Department.

Favorite Color: Orange.

Fun Fact: Sometimes you have to push your dad down the stairs. (also yes, hi Kiva love you too ♥️)

Sign off: Bailey Vernon, Head Detective and Legal Expert for C&V Paranormal Investigations, London.

I'm sleepy and don't want to write this 😔. My name's Gem. I just wanna read.

Bio|

Age: Like 27 I think?

Gender: Nonbinary.

Pronouns: He/They.

Affiliated Entity: Vast/Spiral/End

Position Within The Company: I work at the Magnus Insitute's Library, in that I'm haunting it. I'm the Leitner expert.

Favorite Color: Don't make me pick a color.

Fun Fact: I'm a ghost :) Also I like books :D and Space! And the Ocean!

Sign off: Gem 🌠☔

Hey. My name's Theo. Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.

Bio|

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Affiliated Entity: Hunt. Arguably also the Desolation but who cares? I kill monsters. Position Within The Company: I'm literally only allowing them to live because they give me information.

Favorite Color: Red.

Fun Fact: If you so much as look at Gem negatively I'll fucking rip your spine off. Also if you have any cool facts give me them.

Sign off: Theo

Hello. My name's A.H. (Aaron Hughes) Chester. I'm going to end up going insane one of these days from all the bullshit I put up with.

Bio|

Favorite Color: Green.

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Affiliated Entity: The Hunt.

Position Within The Company: Filing Clerk

Fun Fact: I do my own tattoos. My girlfriend will beat six people to death and then tell me "I can't help being a Gemini 😭". And honestly, valid.

Sign off: -A.H.

Hiii!!!! I'm Emily Fieldings, I'm a Gemini, and I love dogs. Send me pictures of your dog.

Bio|

Age: 17

Gender: Female!

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Slaughter

Position Within The Company: I don't work here!

Favorite Color: Blue!

Fun Fact: If you bully my friends I'll fucking stab you. Sign up for my book club!!!

Sign off: Emily 🗡️

Hello! My name is Elena! I like the night sky, sports, and pictures of your pets. Please send them.

Bio|

Age: 17

Gender: Female!

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Dark. Not by choice though. Unfortunately for me, I got eaten by the closet monster! I got better but not my lightbulbs burst for no reason :/

Position Within The Company: Filing Clerk! Favorite Color: Bright Green!

Fun Fact: TRANS RIGHTS!!! I just wanna love my girlfriend and do well in school.

Sign off: Elena 💜

Hi! My name's Milley Brown! I unfortunately know how tumblr works.

Bio|

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Affiliated Entity: The Corruption! I liked centipedes as a kid and now I get to feed jackasses to them! Win fucking win!

Position Within The Company: Filing clerk. Favorite Color: Yellow!

Fun Fact: I actually really hate the Corruption. I am only here so I can talk to cool bugs. Also, I want to go swimming but for some reason every time I try it FUCKING RAINS.

Sign off: Milley :)

[at-the-exd-of-everythixg]

Ok uh DND HEADCANONS aka welcome to fantasy queer eye

Ava: A tiefling paladin. Bonar Fidea ("BONER?" "Shut the fuck up Sal.") Is sworn to her mission to protect the group of travellers she's met. Especially when faced with a particular half orc,,,ahem, Bonar is intent on doing good, not for the cost of gold, but to perhaps wipe her hands of bloodshed left over from a suffocating war that she refuses to talk about....just a shame that the rest of her party doesn't agree with the motives.

Mimi: Dwarf fighter named Viet Clearwater ("'Cause she drags her enemies through the fucking mud!"). Dwarf milf -

("wait," Lace squints and Mimi grins. "How is she a milf??" "WELL. You know that thing where a woman gets out of the fire and shakes her head? That's that." Everyone waits for a moment before nodding appreativatevly.)

- who worked in a blacksmiths for many years before meeting Sal's character and ending up joining his kid onto becoming fantasy bounty hunters for a few months before meeting the others. Viet's personal mission is to get a beach day yet each plot ends up derailing her from it each and every time.

Finn: Druid Elf called Roisen-Mae Maylar who worked in fantasy Greggs before Bonar robbed them and Roisen-Mae was the one who was sent after her due to him being "the new guy". Long story short, Roisen-Mae realised he was underpaid and joined Bonar in her avenging for justice, quickly realising that "justice" was conceived of breaking into places and killing people in order to free others. Roisen-Mae kinda wishes he could go back to Fantasy Greggs but...he likes the feeling of adventure in his blood, likes helping people in such a freeing manner.

Sal: Elvish Bard named Chester. Out here playing the top hits of "I want thy love" and "I was created for loving thee." With the backups of Wulf's character. Realised that he could get more cash and that there was...fuck, there was something magic about his voice that struck the monsters and mysterious assassins often sent after the party for some reason.

("Wait so you're some sort of siren?" Pascal had begun to laugh as Sal sqwuaked in indignation. "No! Its- its magic! Shut up you solar piece of shit!")

Sure, murder wasn't was Chester was expecting. But fuck if it ain't gonna be fun (skksks ngl I'm...half wondering if Sal would let his dnd character be in love like I am with him and me being ace sksk)

Mahogany: No character since they struggle with grasping the game but they usually have someone sitting on their lap while they watch everyone play and suggest actions. Sometimes they're allowed to be monsters but often Mahogany is just there to get some cuddles.

Pascal: Orc rogue named Solgrindr The Rugged. 100% he's here to get jacked and each mission allows him to gain One Ab. His guns are huge but his heart is even huge-er and Solgrindr speaks with a fiery passion to sell his training regime and to collect a million fantasy numbers. Since. U know. Solgrindr has earned these by now.

("So you're a Chad?" Mimi squints and Pascal lifts up a hand in offense before Sal interjects. "YEAH PASCAL YOU AN INCEL?" Pascal cried a minute later. He just wanted to be ripped, was that too much to ask?)

Solgrindr is but a man of his whims and what's a bigger whim than a fiery battle and an even hotter romance? ("His sole goal is to romance Chester." Pascal says, smiling viciously when Sal chokes from across the table.) Its just a shame he hasn't been able to live up to his full power yet...

Edith: A half-orc paladin called Yanag Broifstïgnäh who is...basically a carbon copy of Edith but no one's gonna exactly argue with a 6'something Norse angel who everyone excluding Wulf and Dae, are attracted to her. Yanag fights with the same ire and power anyone else would have done to protect her party entirely. She gets a magical axe that apparently washes her into an entirely new and powerful form only once every game.

(Finn frowns, tilting his head curiously. "You made Edith into a magical girl?"

Doe blinks and for a moment, Finn shudders when his own eyes meet his. "Yeah. Is that what that's called? Coolio.")

Yanag saves and romances a woman with every town they go to, but it raises questions when she seems to deny their affections, just as its suspicious how black tar-like veins seem to spread on her the more she uses this power.

Wulf: A human ranger called Bob Greenson. Your average, typical human man who just so happens to believe in fate and adventure! He shall charm everyone and fight the good battles!

("So." Ava squinted and Edith tried to not smile. "He's playing as himself...but a human man?" Her question seemed to get a rough snort out of Edith and a slight nudge of the shoulders. "Aye, but 'tis what makes the man happy I suppose.")

Of course, Bob is on a strict mission to product review as many weapons as he possibly can for his company, Weap'n'throw, while perhaps finding a few good spots to camp out for the ol' family? How's it goin' neighbour? Sure there are some sale issues, what with everyone wanting to murder Bob, but what sales pitch doesn't come with a bit of haggling, hm? With his mighty band of sales assistants, please speak to Chester on aisle three for magical trumpets!

Adonai: Dungeon Master! It's a relief to be themselves and to still be able to interact with the games and everyone else. Doe was worried at first that they would have been left out while everyone got to be something different. They would have joined, but the idea of yet again forming a whole new identity, trying to find the balance and shifts...it sounded exhausting. They couldn't handle it.

Ava patted them and told Doe that they didn't need to be someone. They could think up the scenarios and risks and Joys. It wasn't often that they got an opportunity to take over and simply have fun with risking Mimi's life or trying to create romantic scenarios between Edith and Ava. Doe takes great pleasure in being the DM and it isn't uncommon for them to modify their body for certain campaigns.

Lace: A half-elf wizard named Elvish Presley (Everyone groans. Mahogany weeps. Edith demotes her Valkyrie ways. Sal becomes a nun.) Elvish is interested in learning all sources of magic and why their world works. Is there anything connecting them all? A reason for them being here? Elvish is determined to find out, no matter what the cost...mostly of himself though.

Whether he admits that he wouldn't allow his team to get hurt or not, that is entirely Elvish's thoughts and feelings alone. Quick! Put that healing spell away! We can't let these people know that we feel and yearn! But little does Elvish Presley know, everyone is aware that he is a giant nerd with a giant heart that weeps when Bonar rescues him from the angry orgre who's wagon dealership they ruined in a quest.

Dae: A dragonborn ranger named Torpa Armani who dreams of becoming a famous writer-

("Th-that's bas-basically what y-you do anywh-anyway." Morde squints as Wulf grins while Dae flushes and shakes his head. It's a weak argument, to hear your clone try and deny the elaborate romance novels he writes about his friends.)

-But! Sometimes you just get whisked away onto wild and heart melting adventures. Its hard to ignore how good it deeps to help other people with their problems. It seems that Torpa may just be finding out that there's more to life than romance or tragedy books for them. Especially if they seem so insistent on carrying a weapon and being willing to put their trust and faith within other people once more after being outcasted for who and what they are.

Peach: A tiefling ranger named Puddles Skipclear. Puddles was once a water nymph, but had been cursed into a more physical form that didn't allow her to touch water. She is bound to dry lands until Puddles is able to break her curse. Unfortunately, Puddles doesn't even seem to know what curse bounds her and changes her for possibly forever.

(Morde is quiet for a moment, not meeting his clone's eyes guilt makes his eyes and body dim and slouch. Dae does the same towards Mordecai and everyone tries to ignore the guilt that isn't there's suddenly shifting around the room.)

She likes the people she has chosen to travel with. They're silly and their quests don't always work out, but they're honest in helping Puddles and she wants to trust in them when they say that they will help her remove her curse. They're all rather different from her water sisters that faded away and slipped out of Puddles' too physical fingers, but she's begun to have high hopes about what this mission could mean for her along the way.

Mordecai: Orc rogue named Vecivus Brogun, who is a well renewed theft despite his size. Parties could only dream of having him upon their sides. It's easy to steal things from countless people, but it's harder to steal the secrets. Especially when such a strange party seems to hold so many of these secrets. Some of them have simple ideas and wants, but others?

Oh, there's mystery to them and contrary to what others believe about orcs, Vec is far more easily aware and shifty than most. If only the others would realise these and help him out with a few gigs...after all, is it so bad to steal from a dragon if said dragon had so many riches that he would have hardly noticed if a few went missing?

[libertarianbarbarian]

The Every-man Candidate

The Every-Man Candidate

  Facts:

-https://www.libertarianism.org/what-is-a-libertarian

           -for the core principles

-https://www.titlemax.com/discovery-center/money-finance/the-wealth-of-u-s-presidents/

 -https://www.usa.gov/branches-of-government

 -https://www.history.com/topics/us-presidents/george-washington

   OPED WARNING

   The every-man candidate. I know you guys are absolutely sick and tired of hearing me talk about this and that when it comes to “every-man” anything but hear me out now. There’s to it I promise you. Ok so everyone knows that we have Donald Trump in the presidency and he’s probably the closest we’ve had to an everyman the way I’d explain it in recent memory.

           Now what do I mean by every-man candidate you say? No, you fucking don’t, lets be honest you’re sitting there telling me to get to the damn point. Ok, we’ve had billionaires, we’ve had both parties…and some idiots back in the day that wanted to call their party the whigs. There was probably a deep meaningful reason but to me right now that’s like a new party coming out of nowhere calling themselves “the weave”. We had a black president…in MY own opinion he was one of the worst, not the worst if you read my last blog.

           But what I mean by an every-man candidate is something that is something completely different. We’re American for fucks sake. We work hard, we all know we’re American, but then we fight over who’s got the most Irish heritage, because we’re a nation of immigrants, or who’s more of a mut than the other. We started off the revolutionary war with getting aggravated at the country that brought our forefathers here like a bunch of teenagers by chucking their shit in to the ocean and flipping them the bird. We’re only eloquent when we absolutely have to be, but in day to day life we love to laugh about the absolutely most horrible shit because we all know life sucks and there’s nothing you can do about it. And we want to protect it.

           Time and time again, however, we’re told that we have to elect from a selected pool of people that keep running for congress to be president. Now we have a billionaire in office that speaks his mind. Lets be honest, he fucks up, but he doesn’t do it intentionally, he had no fucking clue what the hell he was doing when he ran. He was sick of the establishment. He was going about his normal day to day billionaire life collecting money from all his properties and watching people get screwed over by the government and said “Hey I think I want to change that.” And that’s the closest we can get?

           No, I’m sorry look a little bit further. Trump did open our eyes that we gotta do a little leg work and do our own research so why the hell not. Ummmm, George Washington? No. No fucking way.

           Ok, well lets go down the list. He wasn’t involved with the Boston Tea Party directly, but he was one of the founding fathers. I guess that could be a check, but not an every-man check. Turns out his family owned slaves…uh oh, ok bad start. That was before the revolutionary war, ok so not a good thing by todays standards…back then eh…still immoral to us so lets do a little digging on that one.

           I don’t think owning a slave is a good thing. Bar none. We’re not the only one’s to do it. The Chinese have done it, the middle easterners have done it, westerners have done it. Hell before England got to Africa they were enslaving the Irish, ask me how I know (hint I’m third generation Irish here). So lets talk about context. Was it like “Django Unchained”? Did his slaves get treated bad, oh yeah let me go across the street and talk to one of them. I can’t so I have to do the next best thing, historians. No I’m not going to have sex with one of them! From what I could gather, as best as I could not only did he treat them as amazingly as he could, George Washington worked in the fields with them.

           Yeah he had money to buy slaves…but it was kind of his fathers gig. That’s where most of the slaves came from. He felt bad about the whole thing as a matter of fact. Right before he died, before we even fought the civil war, before England caught off the slave trade George Washington had in his will that when his wife died all his slaves would be freed. Cool, so that isn’t so bad right? Doesn’t seem that bad to me to be honest, not the greatest, but not that bad.

           So ignoring the slave part, we know that George Washington could have sat there in the plantation house with his old man and sipped some southern sweet tea while watching the slaves. But instead he decided to go ahead and pick up a scythe and get at it just as hard as they did as long as they did from as many written down eyewitness reports as I found. George Washington busts his ass for work, that’s American as hell.

           How about empathy? So that’s one of the most underrated things about us Americans. Empathy gets us in to trouble ALL the fucking time, it’s the reason why we end up in foreign wars, and get manipulated by fucked up politicians, ahem Woodrow Wilson. What? I can’t let a dead dog lay. George Washington, though, only married once from what I could tell. Never had any kids, none at all…well none of his own.

           You see he married this one chick named Martha. Insert “Batman V. Superman” reference here. She was a widow, back in the day that made you an outcast. For christ sakes your husband could have died of cancer or measles and as a woman you were socially blamed for his death. All the bullshitery of the 1700’s behind, she had two kids from the man that had died when she was married to him. From what literally every historian says good ol’ Georgey boy here didn’t want any more kids cause he already had two. He viewed the two children Martha came as his own and became a diligent stepfather. You know the kind the crowd coos over on “Jerry Springer” for being a good dad when the other, ahem, “goes out for milk”.

           Ok, hard work, empathy. Both American as fuck. I would add standing up for what you believe in…but come on, do I really god damned have to? Revolutionary War ring any bells here people? How about this one. George Washington is famously known for not wanting to be President. Seriously, he didn’t want the job. To add on top of everything he was pretty much forced in to the role because of the moral fiber he was made of. You know, the good stuff. I’d say that’s kind of a check. So here we’re three checks so far that seem pretty American…and for the most part more every-man than pretty much every other president that we’ve had since him…and that’s 44 others.

           I probably could keep on going about the every-man candidate George Washington was, but I got something else for ya. We’ve come close to having every-man candidates since then. Out of all the presidents we’ve had we’ve actually had some that were just as broke as Washington, if not more. But mysteriously ended up getting more money after the presidency…kind of like Biden, ahem.

           Harry S. Truman, Calvin Coolidge, Woodrow Wilson…oh my hate boner is getting even harder now…Chester A Arthur, who in the fuck is that, and James A. Garfield. Those are pretty close to the brokest presidents we’ve had. If you look at them individually though their not all aligned with the every-man, American values that I, and probably you at this point, believe a president should have.

           So what do I think a president should be when it comes to an every man president? Well here, there’s going to be a part two on some of the things that I think would look great in practice as well on paper but I’ll give you a little taste.

           Someone who grew up in the ghetto, or a trailer park. Someone who sincerely had to work in a factory or manufacturing. Farming could do it to, but it’s not like you can’t relate to farmers on a hard days work, maybe not the same type of work but you still have to spend 12 hours or more busting your ass to feed yourself and/or your family. Someone who’s been homeless.

           Haha! I threw you off with that one huh? Well let me clarify that one. I know from experience myself. I’m a veteran for those of you who don’t know. I got out, I didn’t know what the world outside of the military was like when I did get out, so I had to adapt, and adapt quickly. It sucked and I couldn’t do it quick enough. I had a wife and one son at the time. I would like to have someone that knows what it’s like, in office, to sit in a shelter being regimented by a bunch of people that are social workers and that went to school that tell you they know exactly what your experiences are.

           No you don’t and you never will. My experiences are my own. So, Mr. Every-man president lets work together on getting together with the states on smoothing out the process of I don’t know…foodstamps, medicare, Medicaid, and all that other shit. Lets help men get help with getting in to shelters when they have to go to work and make child support too. How does that sound? Being homeless and being among the homeless, or in a trailer park/ ghetto kind of helps you understand that shit better a hell of a lot more than a degree ever will.

           Here’s one for you. I don’t want my every-man candidate to be squeaky clean either. I don’t want him to have a felony. Haha no I don’t want Mr. Murderer in the Whitehouse, only every-man. I want someone that knows what it’s like to be on the other side of the cops so he knows what it’s like to both fear and respect the cops. An absolute every-man. No manipulation, someone that says “I’m sick of this politician shit”, that’s been through hell and genuinely wants to fix shit because he loves this country just as much as you and I do.

[hcllfxre]

the aftermath

Padme and Achilles

There were days when he resented his job. Days when he would hate the oil that stained his clothes, and the metallic scent of pipe and car that clung to him for the duration of the week. Today... today was one of those days... If only due to the fact that there was this ridiculously good looking couple standing at the door, completely drenched from head to toe, eyeing him with thinly veiled amusement (...and was that awe?). 

“Leo Ronan?” The woman repeated herself, snapping Leo out of his internal tirade. He cleared his throat and rolled himself out completely from underneath the beat up corolla he had been working on, pushing himself upright and into a standing position. “You’re soaked.” he responded curtly, his brows furrowed as his gaze drifted from the woman to the man, then back to the woman. It didn’t seem like they were from Chester... Not only was it clear that they didn’t have the sense to carry around an umbrella, they were also dressed much too nicely for their small town with skin so sun-kissed it practically glowed. A far cry from his own, much paler complexion. Yet… there was something oddly familiar about the two. He hung the oil-stained rag he had been holding over his shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you Leo Ronan?” The man ignored his observation, voice deep and warm, and all too pleasant that it unnerved him. His frown deepened. Why did it seem that they were asking a question they already knew the answer to?

Before he could respond, one of his mechanics let out a sharp whistle. “Easy, Hades, try not to chase off a paying customer.” Davis let out a laugh, hopping out of one of their more expensive projects in favor of moving towards the trio. Leo scowled at the nickname but decided to let it slide. Davis was new, and he’d cut him some slack.  “Forgive him. He didn’t have his coffee today. Don’t let this ugly mug scare you though, Leo’s a softie on the inside. Bloody hell, the rain seemed to catch the two of you at a bad time.” Davis peered out their garage doors to the torrential downpour.  “Name’s Davis. Besides a few towels, is there anything we can help you with?” The couple turned their attention to the swarthy man with the amiable smile, allowing Leo a few more moments to observe them. 

The woman introduced herself as Jude. Her and her boyfriend, who was then introduced as Rowan, were on their way home to London when their car broke down. Not only were they having trouble calling a tow-service, but the less than pleasant weather made the situation a bit more difficult. 

“A woman passed by us and so kindly told us about your shop. About a Leo Ronan. She said you might be able to help us.” Soon, attentions were back on him. He stiffened slightly before clearing his throat in awkward contemplation. He didn’t know what it was, but his defenses all but crumbled. They all stood there for a couple of beats before he let out a sigh. “You’re going to catch your death from a cold. You two can dry off in my office while I make us some tea. We’ll call our tow guy, and you can get warm by the fire.” He hated how their smiles seemed to make his stomach flip with an eager desire to maybe make them smile again. 

-

“We really appreciate this, Leo. I hope we aren’t being too much of an inconvenience.” Leo waved his hand in dismissal, eyes wandering around his small office, mostly in an attempt to stomp down the blush that was making its way up his neck. Rowan’s smile was far too handsome (and again, unnervingly familiar), and the way Jude laughed made his insides warm. “Today’s a slow day. I might have to thank you, actually. If I spent one more hour under that piece of trash, I might’ve tossed it out altogether.” They both laughed, and Leo... Leo couldn’t help but crack a smile of his own. 

“There’s that smile.” Jude murmured with a fondness that made his stomach turn, and Leo’s blush came back full force. He turned away and ran a hand over his face. Stop this. Stop this right now. He busied himself with grabbing the towels he had warmed beside his radiator before handing it over to the two. “I... Davis said your car just arrived. I can... ahem... I can go check it out for you two now while you stay here and dry off.” His kettle let out a whistle, and with quick hands, he pulled out the two mugs he kept in his cabinets before passing it off to the both of them. Rowan eyed the light purple mug with a raised brow and a smile before showing it off to Jude. 

He craned his neck to see what it was they were both smiling about before allowing his own to tug at the corners of his lips. 

Best Big Brother 

“I won’t be long.” He promised, before making his way out of his office, ignoring the feeling of two pairs of eyes following him out. 

-

“Do you know them?” Davis asked almost suspiciously, leaning over the hood of the (incredibly nice) Dodge now parked in their garage. It was probably the most expensive car Leo had ever seen (let alone worked on), and having it here in his garage was almost as mind blowing as having the two stunning owners drying themselves off and having tea in his office. “No. I’ve never seen them before in my life.” Weirdly enough, those words left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Well, it seemed like they knew you. The way they looked at you was different. Hey, maybe they were in that game you were stuck in-” 

“Don’t talk about that.” It was a quick hiss, a crack of a whip that had Davis pressing his lips together quickly. Leo didn’t remember much about the game other than that it was a death trap he managed to escape with no recollection of. He woke up in a hospital bed with his sister asleep and holding his hand. When she found out that he was awake, she had buried herself in his chest, sobbing about how she had been waiting almost a month for him to wake up. 

She didn’t remember anything about the game either. 

“Apparently those that died in-game woke up not remembering anything about it. From what the news is saying, the game developers told everyone the opposite, so that’s what’s keeping everyone inside the game.” 

Fucking sadists. They managed to build a cage where the bars were the players’ own fear of death. 

After that, Leo tried to detach him and his sister from any sort of news regarding Velia. His sister had woken up earlier than him, and that meant she had died first. If one were to ask him, he’d much rather have the game remain forgotten if it meant never having to relive his sister’s death. The last he heard about the game was the big victory, where everyone finally managed to log off. He didn’t know if the players who successfully completed the game kept their memories and truthfully, he didn’t care. Him and his sister were home and safe and that was all that mattered. 

Nevermind the odd emptiness that sat in his chest. Nevermind the strange tug at his heart whenever he reached for a weight around his forearm, as if something were suppose to be there. Nevermind the odd dreams that he could only remember in flashes, the zip of an arrow and the howl of a wolf. Nevermind all that. He had his life back and he wasn’t about to let it go. 

He shook his head and focused his attention on the car at hand. As if the day couldn’t get any stranger, however, the car didn’t seem to have anything wrong with it. Not under the hood, not in its wheels, not in the engine… He pursed his lips in thought before taking a seat inside and switching it on, only to raise a brow at the near perfect rev of the starter. 

“There’s… There’s nothing wrong with it…” He said quietly, only to look up to find both Jude and Rowan staring at him with a longing that seemed to mirror his own. He slowly got out of the car, mind trying to work out what could possibly be going on before unknowingly reaching out to scratch at his forearm in idle confusion.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Even in this world, you’re hard to find, Leo.” He turned to Rowan with a frown, heart hammering against his chest as the other man took a few steps towards him. “Zoner, you can leave us.” He raised a brow, only to feel a clap on his shoulder as Davis… or rather, Zoner, shot him a small, apologetic smile. “I’ll talk to ‘ya later, Hades.” Again, that nickname made his head pound as he watched Davis make his way out of the garage. He looked between the two once more before taking another step back. 

“Who are you two?” It came out soft, almost pleading as Jude let out a small sob, hands stretching out for him. Her hands cupped his face, and almost immediately, it felt as if the floor had been knocked away from underneath him. Her eyes were misty with tears as she traced the contours of his cheeks and in that moment, he felt he should move away. This was too intimate. Too… too familiar for his liking. He turned to check on Rowan, to see if this display of outright affection had upset him, but only found the same expression on his face. He decided then that he didn’t like seeing either of them sad. Without another thought, he reached out for Rowan, only to stop when the man grabbed at his forearm, clasping a cuff around it with a breathless ‘I’m sorry’. 

What happened next brought him to his knees. 

People speak of that moment before you die. The montage of your life flashing before your very eyes. This… this was like that. Only… painfully overwhelming. It was as if the missing pieces, the loose threads, the fragmented edges in his memory were being super glued together in a sea of vivid scenes and gut-wrenching emotions. 

His first days in Velia… His separation with his sister… Catalyst… Achilles… Padme… Death... So. Much. Death. 

He remembered his first kill. The fear in the other player’s eyes when he had struck him one last time. He remembered Luke’s death, Cass’ murders, Jupiter’s sacrifice… 

And then the worst one. 

He let out a choked sob as he remembered Sawyer’s death with a cruel vividness. He felt the renewed anguish in his chest as he curled in on himself, the memory of her body limp against his arms, the desperation in his screams as he begged for them not to take her, the ultimate emptiness that remained when she was reduced to pixels. He didn’t want this. He didn’t… want… to remember. 

“I know. I know it hurts, Leo. I know it hurts, but you have to remember the good. There was also so much good.” Jude cupped the sides of his neck, pressing her forehead against his own as Leo gripped at her arms desperately. 

Her and Rowan were saying words that Leo couldn’t seem to make out, the assault of memories coursing through him like wildfire, but their voices were an anchor that kept him grounded. Remember the good. All the good. 

He remembered his first days in Catalyst, the odd sense of belonging that wrapped around him like a blanket. He remembered his training sessions with Luna, his late nights with Radish… He remembered the ugly mug Nike had made him for his first birthday in Velia, and the too-big coat Adora had gifted him as thanks for a quest completed. He remembered Kali and the Vixens, and how he had tried to piece her together when she felt the world was collapsing around her, and he remembered the large black wolf with gleaming red eyes... and he remembered them. God, he remembered how much he loved them. 

It was a renewed sort of completeness that had his mind swimming. 

“My suns…” 

He remembered their bright light, and their overpowering warmth. He remembered the way he would watch them when the night was still and the moon hung above them like a sentinel, his two suns tucked safely against him for him to admire in his own quiet moments. He remembered their fights, and their sorrows, hand in hand with their unconditional love and support. 

He remembered the love… the beautiful, incomprehensible love that he knew he could never live without again. 

The shaking steadied as the world began to recollect itself. He began to regain feeling in his fingers, and his vision lost its mist till it finally focused on the silver band wrapped around his forearm. 

The wings of a Catalyst raven. 

“What the fuck…” He breathed out, slowly realizing he had his face buried against the crook of Jude’s neck. It was as if he had gone on the trippiest emotional  rollercoaster of his life. He pulled away to look at them. Look at them both, full realization coming back to his expression before quietly grasping both of their hands. From their expressions, he could tell they were just as exhausted, a hopeful expression on both of their faces as they regarded him with quiet uncertainty. They sat there on the floor of his old garage in silence for a few more moments before Hades sniffled, rubbing the back of his neck in astounded awkwardness, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

“So um… I’m going to kiss the both of you now.” 

And for the first time in a long time… he felt complete. Broken, bruised and a little bit off kilter… 

But complete. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[khelinski]

In the End

A \m/ short story

By: Keith Helinski

(Don't) Leave Out All the Rest: My Tour of the \m/ Studio, PT. One

Buena Heights News - Page 9 - Entertainment

By: Robert Morgan, Staff Writer

As I was walking toward Outsider's Vengeance very own studio in Winter Haven, passing the famous La Grange on my way inside, my phone starts lighting up.  Usually, I keep my phone dialed down.  No need to worry about the newest Trump storm.  But this was different. Chester Bennington of Linkin Park committed suicide.  And it just so happens to be on the same day of Chris Cornell's birthday.  I was unsure if I should reschedule this interview. It was really Mike who reached out to me for this candid interview.  But then I thought that this breaking (and tragic news) might make the interview more interesting.  Us journalist's tend to be cutthroat when it comes to getting emotion (and the truth) out of people.  

I knocked on the door.  Moments later, Mike opened the door, wearing an Linkin Park 2004 tour shirt.  I suspected right there and then that he received the news.  Looked like he was crying a little, as it appeared he had a tear-stained face.

He ushered me inside, coughed a little, and then reintroduced himself.  He also pointed out that he was the only one that would participate in the interview.

"The rest of the band felt uncomfortable.  And especially with what happened today...with...ahem...Chester."

I suggested that we could (and should) reschedule.  But he insisted that the show must go on.  There was a question - more than any other question of all questions that was boiling inside of me to ask Mike Cook of Outsider's Vengeance:

"First and foremost, I have to ask...why me? Why reach out to me for this interview? I am just a pissant staff writer for the local news circuit.  There are certainly more qualified interviewers out there."

He wiped his eyes.  My guess, he had been crying all morning.  Death of rock great's are felt amongst the great's themselves.  He then said:

"You were the first to give our band a positive review.  Do you remember?"

Off hand, I don't.  I've written so many pieces over the years, I've forgotten most of them.  I must have looked disappointed, because Mike assured me that it's okay if it has lost my mind.  He walked me over to the band's studio.  Instruments such as drums, an elaborate keyboard set up, and an assortment of guitars (electric, acoustic, bass) were stationed exactly where they should be. Mike headed toward a desk, and reach over to a folder, and pulls out a cut-out newspaper article.  He then hands it to me.  I glance at it, and see that it's an oldie but a goldie from yours truly: me!  

"For being young, Outsiders played with mature perfection, covering classic rock tunes as if they were polishing relics at an art museum. They weren't just good, they were great. And their energy was like watching the Harlem Globetrotters do tricks with instruments, instead of a basketball."

Okay.  I will admit it.  I remember writing that two hours after I saw the young kids play Buenafest.  Talk about ancient times!  

"So is that a folder of all reviews?" I asked.

"No.  Just the positive ones.  We call it, 'Use Your Illusion."

"Do you keep the negative reviews as well?"

He sighed.  Then said:

"Yes.  We keep those in another folder called 'Appetite for Destruction!"

I laughed.   This band has kept their studio well themed with rock history. After all, their studio is known as simply, \m/.   You look around, with rock posters all over the place.  Yes.  Dream Theater.  Metallica. Elton John.  Avenged Sevenfold. Pink Floyd.  Even a spotted Lady Gaga poster in the mix, the one in which she is flicking her middle finger out toward her 'little monsters.'

Mike broke the silence in the studio by putting on, in low volume, music I never heard before.  I must admit - even though this band has made the city of Buena Heights proud, I haven't kept track of the band.  I was mostly into older rock like Aerosmith or Bad Company.  There are selective songs played on WRIF or WCSX I would recognize.  As a matter of fact, the intro of the song Mike started playing me sounded, faintly, like the beginning of Soundgarden's 'Black Hole Sun.'  But it was instrumental - with subtle signature changes. I am no music critic by any means, but this sounded damn good.

"Our new album, called 'Black Hole Sun.'  I got the inspiration the day after Chris Cornell's death.  I wanted you to listen to it before anyone else.  And before you ask, why me?  Why not, you?"  

He got me there.  I completely absorbed the melodies played before me, thinking of all the crazy music notes interacting with each other, dancing and making love to its finer touches.  Not since I was a teenager was I captivated by the magic of music, and its grand escape it does to our senses (both inwards and outwards).  Wasn't until over an hour later did I realize that I was still in that studio with Mike.  He had given me a seat somewhere in the space of time (I don't even recall sitting down). The music was that good.  

I pull out my pen and paper out of my bag that was next to me.  Some journalists like to use a tape-recorder.  I am more old school.  Always have been.

I jot down the time, date, and who I was sitting next to.  Introductory stuff, you know.  

"Sooo..." I said.  

"Sooo..." he replied.  

Great interview so far, I thought, not!  I haven't done an exposé since my first year in college.  I think I am doing it right....not!  Setting the scene.  Check. Expressing my thoughts and feelings. Check.  Trying to get something out of my subject.  Fail

Mike then continued to say:

"Let's get this out of the way.  Chester committed suicide on Chris's birthday. When I found out about Chris Cornell committing suicide in Detroit, out of all places, that stirred up a lot of raw emotion about Andrew's overdose."

I gulped.  Although I wasn't completely familiar with the band's music - I was familiar with the band's history.  Every resident in Buena Heights was.  And certainly Andrew's death was a huge blow to the city.  Though, in terms of tragedy - nothing compares to the killings that took place in that dreadful movie theater.  But I've covered that enough.

I piped up, using my empathetic journalistic skills of attempting to pry without asking:

"Can't imagine a band going through that."

Mike knew I was baiting him to continue on. He took it, and said:

"Nothing goes on inside the head as it happens. All you can think about is, shit, we just lost one of us.  Almost as if you lost your hand or eye-sight.  A band is a fully-functional life-form.  Each member is the body parts that makes the life-form alive, well, breathing, and working. Like food and water and air that makes any life-form alive - a band needs their own nourishment.  As you can see, we love music - love rock - love all different types of band.  We listen to these bands, much like we drink water, to keep our body whole.  We use that inspiration, like food, to produce the energy to create.  Our creation is our breathing of air.  It all flows within - and gets equally released.  When you lose a piece of you - you are unsure of yourself.  Unsure if you should go on - or can go on."

He then paused for a few moments, gathering his next thoughts.  He sighed as he said:

"I am starting to sound like Andrew.  All profound, insightful, Mr. Music Philosopher! Heh!"

I wrote every single word he said down on paper. I wasn't quite sure where this interview would go at first.  But much like the music Mike played for me a little bit ago, I am intrigued.  

Mike then continued to say:

"First, the emotions of your lost brother sets in. The funeral arrangements.  Facing family and friends.  Uncertain how they are going to react, as you are uncertain how you want to react.  Should I filter myself?  Am I going to break down?  No one is really prepared for any of that until it actually happens.  And once it does - while going through it feels like eternity of hell looped over and over - it's over in mere seconds.  You then brush yourself off, go back to the empty studio where your lost brother's instrument sits there, unoccupied."

He glanced at an empty space in the studio. My guess, where Andrew's drums resided at.  He continued to say:

"And you are expected to continue life as if nothing happened.  Sure, your fans and family and rock mates across the universe reach out.  Everyone says they, you know, 'understand.' Everyone who is everyone has experienced death.  But that comfort only gets you so far.  The question you often ask yourself late at night: why him and not me?  Similar to your question, but in a much grimmer scale. But the question I still ask myself: why didn't Andrew talk to me, or anyone one of us about his addiction?"

I uncomfortably adjust myself in my seat.

Mike then chuckled and said with some uncertainty in his voice:

"Perhaps I called you down here to be my therapist! You are at least cheaper than a therapist.  And you haven't asked about my dreams, and what they mean!"  

I was about to ask him about his dreams when he interrupted my own thoughts by saying:

"Well, Andrew does show up in my dreams once in a while, playing a song I've never heard of - which has evolved into some of Outsider's Vengeance songs."

Mike noticed that I wasn't jotting anything down.

"It's okay that you add that part.  Listen, man...don't leave out all the rest. Publish this whole."

CONTINUED ON PAGE 15

So here I am, sitting next to Mike Cook in the rockin' \m/ studio.  The \m/ studio, residing in the outskirts of Winter Haven, Fl - has been the inspirational setting of some of Outsider's Vengeance's successful albums to date. His band-mates aren't present.  

"So where are the rest of the band?  You mentioned they were uncomfortable with this interview."

Mike chuckled at the word, 'interview.'

He then got up and walked toward the drums.

"They always have been, shy of the attention of success."

He chuckled again.

"Except Ellie.  She loves the attention, and talking about whatever, whenever, however. She couldn't make it to this one, though.  She went back home.  With all the shit happening in the UK right now, she wanted to be with family.  I will be joining her in a few weeks."

As I write the last bit Mike said on my paper, he walked away from the drums and headed toward his guitar.  He strapped the guitar around his body, and started to strum a few chords.  I recognized it.  An Linkin Park tune.  Didn't know the exact song at the very second, but I looked it up later.  It was the intro to 'In the End.'

"We all come and go, Robert.  That is life.  In the end, I guess it depends what you do with the time you have.  I am still searching for the whys and hows to Andrew's death.  Each time I hear or read about yet another tragic death in the rock scene, it resurfaces the emotions that unfolded the morning I saw Andrew's body in that hotel room."

He plotted down on a couch across from where I was sitting, and kept on talking.  My pen was reciting everything he was saying.

"The scene is reacted in my head.  The empty pill bottle on the dresser.  The empty Captain Morgan bottle next to his bed. The headphones attached to his lifeless head, with two songs looped back to back. It never leaves your head.  Time heals, sure.  And life goes - but the scene never fully leaves your brain. Once you see something like that, it can't be unseen.  It's cemented in your memory forever - seeing it in your sleep, in your daily routine. Even when I am touring, on stage playing, it's still there.  It has faded a little, until the next overdose or suicide story floats.  And as Pennywise always says - 'everyone floats!'”

Mike chuckled, then continued to say:

"Look, I don't want to make it appear like this is a depressing interview.  You caught me in a weird mood, out of all days, you know.  That's life.  The positive side of things...we are still working on our new album, fine-tuning it. Then we go on tour.  Still battling that damn ticket empire, but that's a whole other story.  Another time and place!"

I had the impression that the interview was just about over.  He asked me if I wanted to tour the studio.  I said of course.  This would be the first time I toured a studio, like, ever!

But as Mike said, that's a story for another time. Next issue, I promise.

Until next time...

                                                                      K.H. - July 20th-August 9th, 2017.

***

Around mid-July, I was reading a magazine about Lady Gaga.  It was excerpts of different interviews she had done over the years.  About a week or so later, Chester Bennington committed suicide.  I was struck with the same raw emotions I felt after Chris Cornell's and Scott Weiland's death - sadness.  Sadness to their families, their band, and sadness of the pain they were going through up until...

I got inspired the night of Bennington's passing - and started a little writing project.  I wasn't sure where I was going with it - except I decided to write it in a form of a newspaper article, similar to what I've read in that Gaga magazine.

I am not quite in love with the end result of it - but it was a great writing exercise. Practice is never a waste, and I have a feeling I will be continuing the \m/ series for years.  I really like these characters - and it's the closest I will ever get to being in a rock band!  

Also got me thinking - all rock band's are fans of other rock band's.  I am sure they feel the same feelings/emotions as the fans do when one of their favorites dies.  That's ultimately the gist behind this story and 'Black Hole Sun.'