#yeah it’s the science experiments and also the Experimenting

[archive-z]

Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time or, what was on Daniel Molloy’s bookshelf in 1973?

Inspired by @volkswagonblues’ and @islandbetweeenrivers’ reading list of texts providing historical and cultural context for Daniel Molloy as journalist in the 1970s and 80s

This is, pretty much in its entirety (bar one or two references throughout the show and its extant material), assumptions I’ve made about the character. But, also: it’s my blog so I can do what I want. Dating works is somewhat inconsistent, as I opted for the date a piece was published in a collection or translation rather than when it first appeared in print if it seemed more realistic to have been acquired in that format.

I’ve found the archives of Rolling Stone and Playboy have been helpful in piecing together a who’s who of literary life in the late 1960s and early 1970s, especially for a intellectually precocious teen from suburban Modesto, CA transplanted into the centre of countercultural life in Haight-Ashbury.

From what I can gather, being born in ‘53 means Daniel was just a year shy of being drafted to fight in the Vietnam War, an experience that would have profoundly effected his peers just a year or two older than him. Throughout his teenage years, he’s got the spectre of the possibility of being drafted hanging over his head. It reminds me of pop-inspirational phrases like “you only live once,” which really puts his risk-taking, thrill-seeking behaviour into the perspective of yeah, this is someone who is trying to live life to the fullest every second of every day because the possibility of being drafted means that he might not make it past twenty. (Unfortunately! Louis & Armand also mean he might not make it past twenty either xoxoxo)

However, crucially, he did narrowly miss the draft, and despite that it would be horrible, I think there’s an acute sense of having missed out on this profoundly altering experience as well. Moving to Haight-Ashbury, he’s six years late to the Summer of Love ‘67, and the rose-tinted image of hippies, peace, and love is replaced by the grittiness of speedfreaks and serial killing (the Zodiac Killer being active throughout 1969, when Daniel would have been sixteen). He’s made it to San Francisco just a few years after its golden era, and i think this makes him even more determined to live, more determined to chase living life in order to make up for that, yknow?

i think the themes that he’s drawn to when reading are:

new journalism, and particularly when the journalist-as-rockstar persona is inserted into said reporting

the provocative, bacchanalian pursuit of pleasure, whether it be sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll — and often sex mixed with violence in a way that is neither straightforward nor legible

travelogues and adventure stories that reflect his restlessness, particularly which let him romanticise far away places with thriving literary scenes like Paris and New York

a general aura of repressed queerness and crises of american masculinity (Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ginsburg, Hemingway)

war narratives as a vehicle for cold war/red scare anxieties

Without further ado, the actual book list:

Periodicals

Playboy magazine. People have long joked about reading Playboy for the articles, but it is the one piece of literature teenage Daniel is in-universe confirmed to have readily accessible, so I’m running with “Danny actually does read it for the articles, though” (and anyways, it’s Diana Ross’ Rolling Stones cover issue from Feb 1 1973 that he jerks off to). In 1973 alone, Playboy featured interviews with playwright Tennessee Williams; Huey Newton (co-founder of the Black Panther Party); news anchor and journalism’s elder statesman Walter Cronkite; science fiction novelist Kurt Vonnegut; and Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times Vietnam war correspondent David Halberstam. Other Playboy interviews of possible interest: Fidel Castro, Orson Welles, Michael Caine (1967); Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, sexologists William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson, Paul Newman (1968); Martin Luther King Jr., Marshall McLuhan, Allen Ginsberg (1969). Also of note: between 1969 and 1971, Playboy was publishing faked letters to the editor that eventually developed into the Illuminati conspiracy theories.

In terms of reporting from major national newspapers in circulation, significant stories that come to mind are the New York Times publication of the Pentagon Papers (1971) and Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s Watergate investigations for the Washington Post (1972-73). It’s harder to gauge the circulation of underground newspapers like the Berkeley Barb (CA) and the Village Voice (NY) but its entirely likely that a resourceful and enterprising young reader with a point of view in Modesto, CA could get their hands on a copy.

Prose, Fiction & Nonfiction

The Little Red Book by Mao Zedong. At Berkeley, The Black Panthers would raise money by selling copies bought in bulk at markup to students. Absolutely makes sense that daniel would acquire (and actually read) a copy. Growing up in the wake of McCarthyism/Red Scare nonsense def makes me think he would see flirtations with communism as provocative and cool/edgy, but never back that flirtation up with follow-through.

The Hell’s Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga (1966) by Hunter S. Thompson. Throughout the 1960s and 70s, the Hells Angels had a sizeable presence in San Francisco and Oakland — from what I can find they lived dead centre of Haight-Ashbury up until ‘69 if not later. As a teenager in Modesto, Daniel would have been geographically quite close (if not actually in attendance at) the 1969 Altamont Festival Rolling Stones performance where a teenage concertgoer was stabbed to death by a member of the Hells Angels.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail in ‘72 (serialized in Rolling Stone magazine) by Hunter S. Thompson. The quintessential text to understand ‘73 Daniel, imo. Fuck Nixon, Fuck Reagan, fuck the National Guard killing student protestors. Thompson’s other works include “The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved“ (with illustrations by Ralph Steadman) and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The New Journalism: An Anthology (1973) edited by Tom Wolfe. In addition to excerpts of Hunter S. Thompson’s work already discussed above, the anthology collects In Cold Blood (1965) by Truman Capote, Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968) by Joan Didion, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968) by Tom Wolfe, and Armies of the Night (1968) by Norman Mailer. I won’t do justice to summarizing the New Journalism here, but it’s def important.

Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut. The quintessential Daniel Molloy fiction novel, to me. Exploration of post-traumatic stress disorder through an encounter with time travelling science fiction aliens. Takes on a new resonance for Daniel when he’s dealing with his own ptsd post-1973. Vonnegut’s other works include Cat’s Cradle (1963) and Breakfast of Champions (1973). On the subject of Cold War anxieties, there’s Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller. I don’t have much to say about it as I’ve not read it yet, but it feels like the kind of thing teenage Daniel living in Schrödinger's draft call-up would take to. Maybe also John Le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1963) and The Looking Glass War (1965), the latter particularly for the palpable air of repressed homoeroticism and WWII nostalgia/Cold War anxiety.

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway (published posthumously in 1964). Daniel absolutely spent his teenage years romanticising being an expat America writer in the Paris literary scene. Substance use, war, and crises of masculinity throughout. In addition to Hemingway’s reporting on the Spanish Civil War (1937-1938), other works include novels The Sun Also Rises (1926), A Farewell to Arms (1929), and For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940).

George Orwell: Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), Burmese Days (1934), Homage to Catalonia (1938), Animal Farm (1945), Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949); and essays ”Books v. Cigarettes“ (1946), ”Decline of the English Murder” (1946), “Politics and the English Language” (1946), and “Why I Write” (1946). I think Orwell’s nonfiction writing would appeal to Daniel more than his fiction, especially when at the right age to romanticize the poverty-tourism of Down and Out. Also bonus points for Paris.

On the Road (1957), The Dharma Bums (1958), and The Subterraneans (1958) by Jack Kerouac. In particular, The Subterraneans is based on Kerouac’s interracial relationship with an African American woman in the 1960s. He’d also probably read Naked Lunch (1959) by fellow Beat poet William S. Burroughs.

Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov, both for its salacious notoriety and its unreliable narration. Like myself, Daniel feels like the kind of teenager who would read Lolita at sixteen as a provocation in a conservative environment, but come away genuinely enjoying it.

Poetry, Drama, Misc

Howl and Other Poems (1956) by Allen Ginsberg, particularly the edition published locally by San Francisco’s City Lights Books Pocket Poets series.

A series of miscellaneous titles I’d group together as “Daniel Actually Did the Assigned Reading in High School English Class” — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger (“Get off that bench, brother”), Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, and “The Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats. Most significantly, I imagine high school is where he’d be exposed to the work of American playwrights Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller. The Glass Menagerie (1944), A Streetcar Named Desire (1947), and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955) by Tennessee Williams. In the context of his relationship with Louis, I think it’s fun to imagine he’s familiar with/attracted to the Southern Gothic by way of Tennessee Williams (again with the crises of masculinity, the spectre of war, the repressed sexuality). Williams and Death of a Salesman (1949) by Arthur Miller, present the life Daniel could have had ie. the alcoholic husband, housewife vacuuming on Valium, etc.

If there’s anything else anyone thinks I’ve missed, feel free to hit me with a reply or a dm or an @ or whatnot. stay freaky & support yr local library x

[greeniegirl23]

Isn't It.. Lovely? (Chapter 3#)

One month.

You had one month to make the biggest decision you'd ever make in your life. Part of you wondered why you didn't tell Alastor to have a field day with your Father's corpse, until you remembered that the other part of you still loved and cared for him.

He was still your Dad and once upon a time he was a very good Dad. Your parents were practically a power couple when your Mom was alive, after her death, depression fell on him like a bag of bricks. Leading him to find feeling again in glasses of wine and bottles of hard liquor.

Everyday you pondered on this, wondering if something would finally push you over the edge. If you'd snap and take revenge for yourself.

You didn't like having those thoughts. Yes, the idea of liberty made you feel elated but at the cost of the last family member you had? It was conflicting to say the least.

All that worrying came to a halt once Alastor began to solidify his place in your life.

Every night at 9pm sharp, when you were dressed for bed and your despicable abuser was asleep. Alastor used his powers to turn your radio into your own personal hotline. He was ever so happy to hear from you, happiest when he saw nor heard any traces of harm inflicted on you that day.

He soon found out that you were a curious one and a terrible over-sharer. It was obvious you never really had friends before and if you did, they left you behind long ago. You were as innocent and pure as the driven snow. Always asking questions about him, about Hell, and what it was like back when he was on Earth.

You loved when he told you more about his life. It was like he was reading you your own personal bedtime stories. Tales of speakeasies and the depression, parties that lasted from dusk to dawn, and of course, all of the completely justified crimes he committed before his demise.

As payment for his stories, you told him about your own and caught him up on modern day issues. He seemed especially interested in World War I, disappointed that he died a few years shy of when it started. You told him about your health science classes, your school, and he even became a good study buddy to help you out with your tests.

“Alright darling, last question.” He stated, a drum roll playing in the background. “If your patient performs a forward lunge, which plane of the body are they moving in?”

You chewed on the end of your pencil. “..Coronal?”

A bell dinging made you smile. “Correct! Well done darling, but I'd like for you to work on your confidence when you answer. No one wants a doctor that's unsure of what they're doing.”

“Yeah..I just get so unsure sometimes. I think I'm more scared of being wrong than being right.”

He chuckled. “Do not fret my dear! I've been doing these little pop quizzes with you long enough to know you have a sharp mind. Confidence is a tool that will solidify your place in the career you plan to pursue, so don't be afraid to utilize it more.” His voice was so kind and mentoirish. It felt like he was giving you life lessons almost every time he talked.

On one hand that made you embarrassed. Like these were things you should have already known but you didn't, but you decided to give yourself some grace. Life was different for you than everyone else, so obviously there would be some things you didn't experience to gain knowledge from.

You placed your pencil down and sat cross legged in your chair. Not being the type of person who could sit still, nor do things normally. “Is that how you become a radio host? Because you were super confident?”

There was a pause. “Well, it was something that helped. Being a professional at what I do required more than just believing in myself. Most people think it's easy, but it has its challenges. For example, I used to rehearse my script in the mirror to stop myself from unconsciously going ‘umm’ every 10-30 seconds. It also aided in preventing myself from fumbling my words.”

“That sounds like solid advice.” You smiled. “I should start keeping a journal when you're around and call it ‘Life Lessons As Taught By The Radio Demon.’”

A loud cackling broke out over the radio. “Ah, so the girl does have a sense of humor. A good one at that!” He said proudly. “And here I thought you were all doom and gloom.”

“Hey! I'll have you know staying positive at all times can be very exhausting.” You huffed, placing your hands on your hips in a pouty attitude. “It's really hard to smile when it feels like the world is against you...”

There was a stagnant silence in the air as you turned your head to gaze out the window, watching the rain drizzle from the grey sky. It was your favorite weather, even more so because of the friend it allowed you to find.

Alastor pondered over your words before he took a deep breath. “That leads to a question that I've been meaning to ask you for some time now. It's a rather sensitive one so if you'd prefer not to answer, I would understand.”

Giving the plushie your attention, Alastor's tone turned concerned as he asked. “I can’t help but wonder, Darling, where is your mother..?”

Without missing a beat, you replied. “Oh, my Dad murdered her.”

A sharp microphone screech omitted from the radio. It was safe to say he most definitely was not expecting that..

Not because he can't see your degenerate of a guardian doing something of the sort, he was actually more curious as to how someone as sloppy as your Dad could get away with something like that. No. What got him was even though you were saying words that no child should ever say until they're well into adulthood, you smiled. A soft one, filled with unspeakable pain and a lust for something you could not yet gain.

You could feel him hesitating to ask you some more questions on the topic, so you decided that you could quickly give him your life story. “Whenever anyone asks about it, I always tell them that she passed from cancer but, that's not true..”

Alastor’s signal chirped in curiosity, but he made sure to sound sympathetic. “What happened?..”

You chuckled a bitter melody.

“She was born a diabetic and I was around twelve.. Everyday my Mom took her medicine, the diabetes is actually what led her to becoming a doctor in the first place. Every morning my Dad would make her coffee, as a way of telling her he loved her. I snuck a few sips before only to find out she made it black, when she caught me she told me “Mommy can't have sugar…”

When I turned fourteen, they started arguing. A lot. I can remember hearing them sometimes. Mom threatened to leave him because he was starting to grow a gambling issue and she was tired of taking the brunt of most of the bills. He promised to change and that's when everything started to go downhill.. Weeks went by, she just started getting sicker and sicker seemingly out of nowhere. Still had her morning coffee though. I'd make it for her sometimes and she reminded me “Mommy can't have sugar.” Hardly able to do anything for herself, much less take her medicine. Of course he said he'd do it, he promised me he did when he took me to school..He still made her coffee, before he went to work and after she had been made bed bound..I thought it was a lie, that it wasn't true until I realized that she died that morning with a cup of coffee in her hand..”

A sour laugh left your lips, as you recalled that day you came home from school and found her lying there with blood on the pillow, blood that she had been coughing up for almost a month.

“That bastard was poisoning her with fucking sugar… Everyday he was putting a little bit in her morning coffee and not giving her the insulin she needed. She was a Type 1 diabetic and he did all of it for some fuckin insurance money..” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Before yanking it in frustration and punching your fist through the nearest wall, your face was blank and unmoving for a second not even flinching as you removed your bruised fist from the drywall. “Mama couldn't have sugar..”

Alastor listened as you explained your mother's demise. His distaste for your father grew more and more as he recalled memories of his own childhood. He'd never tell you to your face, but he could see parts of himself in you from his younger years, if lead in the proper manner, you could become quite the promising killer.

He shook his head. Not the best thoughts to be having right now, not while you're on the edge of a mental breakdown.

“I..Would be lying to you if I said I knew what to tell you about such an awful situation..” He stated hesitantly. “But I can say that I am sorry, that you had to deal with something like this so early in life.”

“Don't be sorry, there's nothing to be done about it…She's gone now and I have to get away from him.” You declared, looking at your now bruised hand. “Now you understand why I made that wish. On any day, at any time, for any reason, that man could decide to kill me. To kill his own daughter in cold blood..”

Alastor hummed. “If you know this, then let me help you." He demanded. "I cannot sit idly by forever my dear, these links to your world are only good for short times to prevent other demons from causing other problems. No one understands the severity of this situation more than you. I would love to help you exact revenge on that putrid sack of skin but you must choose before it is too late and I am no longer around..

You sat in silence as Alastor did his best to help you come to a decision. As much as you hated being rushed, you couldn't deny that he was correct. But the decision was hard, harder than you thought it would be considering the fact that you still loved your father and the man he used to be…

All these thoughts ran through your head on a daily basis, everytime they made you wanna curl up and cry. Snatching up the plush doll, you gave it a good squeeze and hid your face in your knees, wishing that your Mom was still around.

The Radio Demon pursed his lips in thought, he wasn't good with others emotions unless he could feed off of the entertainment from it, much less comforting them. There was nothing entertaining about this, about you being sad. He didn't like it for a reason he couldn't explain, perhaps because you were so bubbly in the beginning?

You weren't trying to do anything miraculous, you just wanted to live your life in peace and possibly get justice for your mother. That was something he could understand. He wouldn't mind completely decimating your Dad, truly he wouldn't! It'd be on the house for you, truly you're the most pitiful soul he's come across in a long while.

He supposed he could pull a few quick strings to make you feel better in the moment. To bring back that smile of yours, full of wonder and a desire for life.

As you continued to seek shelter in your knees, you felt a gentle touch caress the top of your head, sharp claws softly scraping your scalp in an attempt to comfort you.

Wait..

WHAT?!

Quickly yet carefully, you snapped your head up to see none other than The Radio Demon crouched down right in front of you. His hand still rested on the crown of the head as you both stared at each other for a moment.

“I'm sorry.. am I dreaming?” You blurted out.

Alastor smiled, laughing in a low tone at your completely gobsmacked expression. “Fortunately for you, the answer is no my dear. As a gentleman, it'd be rude of me not to at least attempt to help a lady in emotional distress.”

You were still dazed and confused about him being here, much less t o u c h i n g you!! “Ida..I-- I didn't know you could-”

“Travel through the radio? It is quite possible but I only do so on rare occasions since it requires a fair bit of my power that cannot be overexerted in one day.”

Standing up to his full height, you realized how tall he was and thanked God that the ceiling was high enough for his antlers not to scrape. Crawling out of your chair, you immediately felt like an ant compared to him, the top of your head barely came to his collarbone.

“Holy crap you're tall." You blurted again. "I mean, I knew that you were tall but, you're really, really tall..”

Smirking with pride, he twirled his cane expertly like the show off you knew and loved. “7”0 exactly my dear, a foot taller than I was when I was a mortal! Though I suppose that was the universes funny way of punishing me for my crimes, I've bumped my forehead on door frames a good 50 times in both life and death!”

As you examined his real life appearance, you couldn't help but laugh. “Yeah well, the heels don't help.” You pointed to his shoes.

He huffed in feigned offense. “They are not heels, darling they are tap dancing shoes and it was quite common for them to have a bit of height back in my day.”

“Okay, Fred Astare.” You snorted as he settled himself on the side of your bed as you marveled at the fact that he was still taller than you even while sitting down. “And here I was preparing to offer you a dance in hopes of lifting your spirits, only for you to insult my tastes in fashion.” He hmphed, crossing his arms and legs while sticking up his pointy nose towards you.

In a daring moment, you sat right next to him crissed crossed, careful not to to touch him while he continued to play offended. “C’mon Al, don't be so huffy. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“ ‘Al’ huh?” He hummed. “Sounds like someone is getting rather familiar.”

“Hey, you call me 'Darling' and 'Dear' so often I think that it's only fair that I call you 'Al' on occasions.”

“I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, I came here to try and boost your spirits, you seem to be doing better so if you wish to be bratty I can just go back home..” He teased with an evil grin.

“Wait!” You said just a bit too loudly. “Would you like to play a game with me? Ya know, before you go..”

Alastor raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he parted his lips to deny your offer, until you pulled out the big guns and gave him your best puppy girl eyes. A chill went down his spine from your usage of such cheap tactics, remembering his years as a lad and doing the exact same thing when he wanted something desperately from his dear mother.

“Okay! Okay!” He said, placing his hands up in surrender. “I shall subject myself to whatever game this is for one round, as long as you stop making that revolting expression..”

He watched as you smiled with pure enthusiasm. Such a beautiful smile you had, it made him irritated that you didn't do it more, yet proud that he typically was the source of it sprouting in the first place. Crimson eyes followed your movements as you shuffled off the bed to grab a small deck of cards off of your shelf. A part of him hoped you heard the chuckle that left his lips while you struggled to stand on your toes to retrieve this game.

“It's called ‘Uno’ “ You explained, walking back to him with a red box in hand. “It's a pretty simple game and the rules are easy.” Dumping the cards out of the box, the two of you sat parallel with one another.

”However, this simple game has been known to end more friendships than Monopoly and Mario Kart put together. It shall truly test our bond as companions, only the strongest survive it's trials..” You spoke in a dramatic tone while shuffling the cards and placing the proper numbers out for the both of you. Once you were finished, you placed the extra cards in the middle and looked the Radio Demon square in the eye. “Are you ready?”

“Yes yes,” He replied aloofly. “There isn't any possible way this silly game could cause such a staggering amount of broken relationships. I refuse to believe it's that bad.’

You chuckled bitterly. “You beautiful unsuspecting fool.”

---------------------- ( 2 Hours Later) ---------------------

“That's against the rules!” Alastor hissed underneath his breath as you threw out a fat stack of +2 cards.

“No it's not Alastor, you said you wanted to play stacks and this is how it's played.” You muttered.

The first round between you two consisted of showing Alastor the ropes. The confident man he was, he assured you that the game was easy enough for an infant to play and win effortlessly, especially since he won the first round. You then decide to spice things up by teaching him how to play stacks. He claimed that was easy as well and you allowed him to believe this as the next round consisted of him losing, and so did the next round, and the round after that, and the round after that…

Before you knew it, two hours had gone by and Alastor was determined to beat you at least once. It had gotten so intense that he resorted to taking his tail coat off and even putting his hair up, leaving him in his tight red office shirt and hair that framed his face like the scrumdiddlyumptious being that he was. The sight of his bare arms totally didn't have you blushing up a storm behind your cards.

While he was stewing over his next move, you got to confirm a few fan theories and ogled at his appearance.

Respectfully, of course.

But, the game wasn't over yet. Alastor sat across from you, irritated and with at least eleven cards in his hand, while you had three. The air was tense as he scratched his head and finally decided to throw out a small handful of 8’s, bringing his card count down to five.

Your poker face remained unmoving as you calmly threw out a wild card. “Blue.”

A warble of interference omitted from Alastor's person as his eyes scanned his cards carefully. You were actually surprised at how the tables had turned personality wise. In the beginning, it was Alastor who was calm and collected, but every loss slowly chipped away at the pride that fueled his unwavering persona. His usual smile was now looking more forced, making his disdain obvious.

Throwing out a blue card, you threw out two on top, leaving you with one card as you stated that dreadful word. “Uno.”

With a growl, Alastor tossed out a draw +4. “Red.” He stated blandly. A quick glance at the clock let him know he was late for a meeting with Charlie, but formalities be damned because he was going to win this game.

You took your cards quickly and deemed your hand an amazing one. He replied by tossing out a 2 and leaving three cards left. Victory was close and he swore that once he won he would ‘kindly’ rub it in your face.

But, just as you had been doing for these past five rounds, you had an ace up your sleeve. You tossed out the red ‘Skip’ card, costing Alastor a vital turn that could have turned the tables, only to metaphorically slap him in the face by cheering “Uno!” and dropping your final cards in the middle of the messy deck.

He suppressed a scream of irritation as you did your little victory dance, glaring at you both with gaiety and pure spite. He stood up and snapped his coat back on and his hair back down, he pinched your cheek just a little too hard. “That's enough cutting a rug darling, especially for someone that has two left feet such as yourself.”

“Stop trying to cease my dancing, I must wiggle out my joy.”

With a roll of his eyes, he tuned the radio on to his station to prepare to go back home. “Well you can dance until your heart's content, unfortunately I have to return back home to handle some business.”

Immediately your uncoordinated movements stopped, as you frowned. “Oh, right..”

Part of him felt bad. Not that he would tell you outright, but he didn't exactly want to leave you behind either. The thoughts of what your father could do unannounced made him concerned for your safety, but there wasn't anything he could do. Instead, he smiled genuinely and lifted your gaze up with his finger.

“Chin up, dearest. I shall check on you tomorrow as always and don't forget, you still need to make up your mind about what you want from the options presented to you.”

You didn't reply verbally, but you did nod your head sadly which would have to be enough for now. As he prepared to walk off, he was suddenly stopped by a tight embrace from behind. Anyone else who would have ever dared to think of such a thing would have been a splatter on the wall and he was just about to give you a kind yet serious talk about personal space until he felt something wet soaking through his clothes.

“..Thank you.” You mumbled through the fabric. Inhaling his scent as you sniffled and tried to calm down, honestly you were surprised he didn't push you off.

As mentioned before, emotions were not Alastor's think nor was physical affection. However in this moment, with you crying lightly and hugging him as if he were your only hope of survival, he decided that maybe, just this once, he would let it slide.

For his comfort, you didn't allow the hug to last longer than a minute. Once you pulled away you were embarrassed to say the least and prepared for him to possibly scold or never talk to you again. But, to your surprise, he simply pat your head and whispered, “Sleep tight, cher.”and was gone with a blink of your eyes.

To say you were sad was an understatement, but you knew that he'd be back tomorrow like he was everyday. The idea of talking to him tomorrow. To hear his voice in real time, talking to you and to offer comfort because he actually cared made your heart pound in your chest. As much as you didn't want to think this way, you couldn't help it. He seemed so concerned about you, in a way that no one else has until now.

You did your best to still your beating heart as you began to clean up your fun from earlier, only to find your cards were missing. You looked everywhere and still couldn't find them, ultimately you claimed into bed and decided that maybe Alastor snapped them somewhere you'd never find so that he wouldn't have to loose, I mean, play anymore.

Meanwhile…

“Alastor you're late!” Vaggie snapped as he came waltzing down the stairs, following her to where the rest of the group sat waiting.

“I am aware Vagatha, I was busy doing something else.” He replied calmly, only to make the fallen angel more irritated. “Whatever, I hope you brought something because it's your turn for a group activity today..”

“But of course! How could I forget?” He smiled impishly, before pulling out a red box with a familiar word on it. Once with the rest of the residents, Alastor clapped his hands together and pulled out a chalkboard seemingly out of nowhere.

“For today's activity being hosted by yours truly, we shall all be playing a game suited for bonding and the strengthening of relationships,” He beamed, writing out the title of the game in big letters for everyone to see.

“The name of the game is...UNO!"

------------------------------------------------------------

(Thank you for coming back for Chapter 3# of this story! I hope you stick around for the next one because I plan to make it the last. I've been so busy with life and stuff, it's kinda hard to find time or motivation to write, but I do want this to come to a close while still making room for a bit of fun between Al and the Reader.

For those who asked me to make a tag list, I'm not entirely sure how to 😅. Though I will try to figure it out for the next time I write a short story. Don't forget to leave your opinions behind in the comments and thank you for all the love you guys give me, it means a lot 💜

Stay Tuned! :D

Taglist: @twistedvanillacoffee @diffidentphantom @boldlyenchantingfox22

[eldritch-bf]

It is pretty funny of the (unreliable?) narrator to be telling the police after the fact “I was so afraid of Herbert West and his unnatural experiments which I was his indispensable assistant and also I lived with him for seventeen years”

[unnonexistence]

one of my friends is a biologist & i was really amused hearing some of her stories yesterday because they put into context just how believable newt's kaiju drift is as Shit A Biologist Would Do. like my friend has personally met both a guy who got infected with a botfly larva and didn't do anything to remove it (because he just didn't mind), and another guy who identified a tapeworm species by intentionally exposing himself to it (he had it narrowed down to 2 species and needed to know if it was the one that would infect humans) (it was)

[ki1ldeer]

I need to do a research paper on the correlation between me taking a chemistry class and me drawing Finn being sad

[definitelynotshouting]

Can I ask, since you mentioned agreeing 'even if under duress' - how did the Watchers convince Player Grian to join them in hunger au?

So take this with the specific grain of salt that ive never watched Evo directly (but have friends who have ((thank you wren)), so i know tidbits via osmosis from them), but my thought has always been that the riddles the Watchers gave the Evo Players were all tests used to measure cleverness and intelligence-- the whole point of them attempting to copy the mind of a Player into a Watcher larva in the first place was to try and avoid the insanely high infant mortality rate their typical juveniles go through, bc they dont understand their own limits enough to even know they have them yet. So they needed a Player they knew they could instruct and who would listen to them, and, well. Grian, for all he was rebellious and outright defiant of the Watchers, still solved their puzzles and only had to be punished once before he stopped trying to mess with them

What ive always pictured is after the dragon fight the two main elders of the Watcher colony finally revealed themselves to Grian properly-- i have this crystal clear image of the two of them hovering above and next to the central end island, looming over Grian, and like, these guys are big. HUGE. A good 5x bigger than the ender dragon itself, at LEAST. It would be hard not to feel insanely intimidated by that, honestly, especially when there are two of them side by side, blocking your entire view of the End from that direction.

Anyway picture that with the context of these two giant floating winged worms youve never seen before, who have demonstrated their powerful ability to manipulate code in a way you cant.... telling you that they have chosen you to become one of them. Thats an immense amount of pressure, both from flattery and fear, especially considering theyve punished you before for defying them. I like to think even then, Grian balked a bit, and while i dont have exact dialogue beats here, i know the Watchers continued putting that pressure on him (likely while leveraging his friendships too-- like ive always said, if Grian hadnt been chosen, BigB wouldve been, and i can absolutely see the Watchers offering to take him in Grian's stead) until he finally caved and accepted their "offer" of joining them.

Unfortunately, he didnt find out exactly what that entailed until it was far too late.

[bistaxx]

I like Forever's idea of having everyone break the rules together to try to summon Cucurucho, but I don't think asking questions is gonna get them anywhere,,,

I think they should try to straight up kill the bear just to see what happens after

[hazardsoflove]

thinking about social worker percy again

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

🌹🌹🌹HII HI HI.... tidalwave???crumbs for the poor??? staring up at u w big wet eyes??

i love you scientific names !!!!!! <3

[narwhalandchill]

85 surgically implanted psychiatry degrees and still lost the fight against clinical depression and existential nihilism day 1. everyone point and laugh please

[unrealblacklightvirus]

every moment tempts me with just @ -ing all the alex variants just to see what would happen

[crownedpuppet]

One of the best things we learned from someone (a professor) who is an Extreme believer in science (to the point we're not sure how much she would consider something true if science couldn't support it -- or maybe it's just that she's only willing to share information science has shown) is that science doesn't "prove" arguments, it only suggests or supports arguments.

Like yeah, if many scientists all have multiple studies concluding the same thing, it's unlikely it will be refuted, but like

When it comes to things like DID/OSDD/systemhood/plurality that are SEVERELY under-studied/under-researched, you can bet that science hasn't "proven" anything about it.

Peoples' experiences will always matter more than whatever a silly book says or whatever doctors say.

[liliallowed]

guys I think the way our brains interprete existence is flawed.

Idk why but I feel like we're only seeing a small part of the collective sensation we share as "perception"

I'm either ascending beyond the human mind or it's because of sleep deprivation.

[emsloe]

mildly graphic medical content warning

had a very harrowing visit to the surgery center today during which my surgeon had to get a bunch of 4-day-old coagulated blood out of my pecs via massaging them aggressively, reopening an incision, and stuffing some gauze into said incision. Most disturbing part to me right now is that I can feel the gauze under my skin, and he wants me to rip it out tomorrow... was informed complications like this are more common if you have more muscle, and if it doesn't resolve by wednesday he will have to operate on me again.

he also put the wrap back on so tight that my ribs feel bruised. augh

he told me i was very stoic during the whole thing but frankly it was pretty gross. Ended up with apparently ~200ccs of clotted blood out of my problem side. This was a complication from a few hours after surgery, but I was too out of it to call them about it, and wasn't able to get it looked at til today due to the holiday, but it had been slowly reducing til today so I'm optimistic - fingers crossed I don't need that second operation.

I have extra aftercare instructions for now and will be back in the center on Wednesday so he can see how it's going

I know it's gonna be so so worth it in the end, but man I hate recovery. This sucks supremely.

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

so I keep learning about The Horrors™️ of American healthcare and I keep hearing Americans talk abt this shit like it’s totally fine and let me tell y’all. It’s not. Apparently and ADHD or Autism test costs like 500$ for you guys? And then when you do get diagnosed you gotta think abt shit like “okay but do I actually need meds?” Bc apparently that’s a financial decision? But it,,, it shouldn’t be right? Right okay bc

I live in Europe, specifically Austria, and this is how healthcare works here: if you have a job you have healthcare. Your employer pays for it. They have to. It’s absolutely illegal and unheard of not to. They do take about 20% out of your pay-check every month to pay for that and other legal things that I don’t quite understand (my dad explained it to me once but I’m 20 so I still don’t get it bc I don’t really have to but every cent they take out benefits me I think so it’s fine).

Now irl this is a lot more complicated but basically, you have public healthcare and private healthcare and then just stuff that’s up to the government (like ambulance rides, I think. Even if you don’t have insurance u don’t pay for that. I know this bc an American friend of mine didn’t and had to go to the hospital and called a cab and when they told me I was like “??? BRO WHY NO AMBULANCE” this is also how I found out that Americans have to pay for ambulance rides. wtf.)

Basically your insurance covers all medical expenses from doctors who are in your network (public practice). This is your GP, hospitals, and pretty much all specialised docs (dentist, internists, cardiologists, etc.). However, the public offices are much busier than the private ones (obvi) so if you’re in a rush, want special treatment, or just be a little fancy you can CHOOSE to pay for private doctors. And even then you can hand in those bills to your insurance and you get part of the money back (abt 30% which you receive abt 4 months after handing the bill in).

If you keep your bills for private care doctors you can hand them in to,,, someone somewhere somehow (idk man) and get a bigger tax return. (bc we don’t calculate our taxes ourselves. it just gets taken out of your pay-check by your employer every month and then at the end of the,,, fiscal year??? I guess?? Idk man idk how shit works — you get any money that was like,,, extra (????) back)

Now you might ask yourself: “phi, why would I pay for doc if I can go to free doc?” Which is an excellent question. Again, for most people it’s about waiting times but there is one field where it just really makes more sense: mental health services. Private practitioners have less clients and more high quality care than public ones because they choose their own funding, which, surprise surprise, is better than public funding.

I will now take you through my own personal journey so you can have a practical example of how good healthcare CAN AND SHOULD BE (keep in mind here I have parents who after messing me up and being terrible but learning their lessen once I became an adult and told them how horrible they were are very supportive of me pursing my mental health)

When I was about to turn 20 I went to my GP and had a conversation with her about how I think I might have ADHD. She asked me about my complaints and agreed there definitely are symptoms indicating it. She wrote me a referral to a Psychiatrist. When I got to my Psychiatrist she tested me and because of the referral she could tell the insurance company that this test was necessary and not elective, meaning insurance payed for it in full and I never even saw that bill.

Now I had a diagnosis all but a week later. I spoke to my parents who agreed to support me in finding private care. My Psychiatrist charges 160€ (insurance returns 48€) per appointment which my mum graciously pays for. I see him once every couple of months to check in on my use of medication and how I’m responding and to see if my dosis needs adjustment. If and when I need a refill, I only have to write him an email. Before he could put me on medication I needed a blood draw and cardiac test, to ensure that I qualified for a stimulant, since they can be harmful in some cases. He wrote me referrals and I went to my GP and a public cardiologist for those tests, which were all free of ANY charge.

I was then cleared to take my meds within a few weeks (cardiologist had a bit of a waiting list). I was prescribed Ritalin and some sleeping pills by my psychiatrist. He gives me the prescriptions and a letter to the insurance company asking them to cover the cost, as I have a diagnosis which he confirmed again in his initial assessment of me. Now that I’ve gotten approved, all I pay for is the prescription, not the actual medication. Which is about 6-7€ for the Ritalin and 4-5€ for the sleeping pills (monthly supply each).

My Therapist is also a private doctor. She charges 120€ per session and I go twice a month, which is 240€ per month. My dad contributes 100€ and my mum contributes 30€, which means I’m down to 110€ per month. Insurance pays 30€ per session (so 60€ per month) so I pay a grand total of 50€ or 25€ per session.

So my medical treatment each month costs me just about 62€ AT MOST (since I don’t always need my sleeping pills refilled).

Now, just for fun, let’s assume my parents don’t support me and I see both my therapist and my psychiatrist in the same month and need both my meds refilled. This would come to just about 304€ (because of insurance deductions).

But you have to consider that I DON’T see my psychiatrist every month, so the more realistic monthly cost would be 187€. And should I decide I can’t pay for that I can still get on a waiting list for public mental health practitioners, in which case the only thing I’d ever need to pay for are the prescription costs for my medication which would still be up to 7€ for the Ritalin and up to 5€ for the sleeping pills putting the grand total at 12€ PER MONTH.

My family and I simply chose the quicker, more efficient option, but no one twisted our arm into paying this amount of money FOR BASIC CARE.

And yes, it’s a lot of bureaucracy (it took me WAY too long to spell that) and paperwork, but I’d much rather that than have to decide between mental well-being or being broke.

So, my conclusion: Cancel America, move to Europe, OR just tell the American People In Charge Men that it is that easy and they really should try a little harder and you citizens shouldn’t settle for the shit you have to put up with right now because wtf

if you wanna cry a little it’s okay lemme know I’ll come sit with you and offer a hug but you can say no if that’s not your thing

anyways love ya

phi

[genderdog]

every time i listen to ugly death no redemption i go fucking insane about ice the last generation again