tigrkittn | Reading

How is it going on your side of the internet?

I'm hanging in there. Some of you know. Some of you don't know. About a month ago Cynthia asked for a divorce. After 14 years together (8 of marriage) she realized that she is not in love with me. That's why I've been well, not great. It's been a very NOT GREAT month with little signs of it getting better any time soon. I really need this distraction right now. I've started therapy and that seems to be helping. But overall, not doing well. So, thank you for your patience and understanding.

But hey - next year is the 20th anniversary of LJ Idol, which was started following my first divorce. I needed a distraction and my friends were nice enough to play along with that crazy little idea I had. So it looks like we'll be gathering together for the anniversary just after my second! (that's literally all I have for a positive spin on this. Work with me people!!)

In the meantime, there's a game afoot and a poll's worth of entries to read, comment and vote on! https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1192630.html
So let's focus on that.

***

In better news, there are no signs of any activity from the Killer(s) this week!! What are they up to????? This is getting suspicious!!

kizzy

*fragment*

In my real life movie I'm wearing a light blue frock which swirls as I twirl endlessly in a lush green meadow the way Julie Andrews does in the prologue of The Sound Of Music. I'm not singing. Instead in my mind's eye my twirling body is squared off in an upper corner of a movie screen. The rest of the screen is black, the title, stars, producers, and finally, director, in white loopy script. The corner widens, and here I am, filling the screen, giddy with glee as I sprint across grass, tumble, and grin as I gaze into a cloudless sky.

*reality*

They're not my real parents, they're actors playing my parents.

That's not my best friend, that's a child actor like myself playing my best friend.

My first grade teacher is an ingenue. This is her very first major role. I'm sure she never thought her character would be constantly corralling 15 children between lessons and recess. She loses her voice with the boys. During busy work I creep up to her desk to ask her a question. Her tone is small and raspy. She tells me to sit down. I return to my seat and pretend I'm doing a closeup with the slightest trembling lower lip.

*fragment*

There are so many people. Classmates. Teachers. My godmother and her family next door. The crusty lady at the five and dime who shrieks if she sees you touching something. They're the cast. They have real names. The names I know them by are their character's names, just like my name.

*reality*

I don't like my character's name. It's too plain. I sit with a pencil and paper at the dining room table trying to think of glamorous, star-worthy first names to counter the commonness of my last name. I go through all the names I know but nothing fits.

I'm named after my maternal aunt who died two weeks before my mother was born.

*fragment*

If I'm the star, should I act like one? Of course not, I'm an actor. I have an invisible script that tells me how to act, react, how I'm supposed to jump rope or Red Rover so I don't hurt myself, the way I argue over a board game, the slight sobs and teary glances when I'm sad or upset.

This invisible script gets me into trouble, though, especially at school. A minor character in my class accidentally does something which causes me to careen across the hallway and smack my forehead against brick. I get up. The script tells me to pause, breathe hard, stare at nothing as I turn around and put right to this character, who, at this moment, is staring at me, mouth agape.

This character is slightly shorter than me but I have bigger muscles, so I slowly approach them. I see a teacher in my periphery so I scream while grabbing the character's shoulders and watch myself fling said character onto the cold tile floor. I watch my foot start to kick the character's side when I feel adult hands pull me away.

I don't know how to defend myself in the principal's office except to cry and apologize because I can't tell anyone about the script. My tears and remorse at home? Worthy of an Oscar.

*reality*

I grow out of all this, of course, but much stays with me. It's briefly reignited when reality TV became a hit when I dare myself to apply to this show, that competition, but I ultimately chicken out because I have responsibilities, a full time job, people depending on me.

I've made peace with my name.

My will to follow the invisible script dimmed years ago, although I still believe it's there somewhere and there are ~~cast members~~ people following it, if only for societal protocol.

I cannot remember the name of the girl who played me other than we shared the same surname. I remember writing out this cast of characters at the dining room table, then painstakingly typing a TV-Guide like synopsis of this reality show I'm currently starring in. I remember using an old manual Smith-Corona, hunting and pecking with my right index finger.

I remember dropping the script after the hallway incident when I witnessed a neighborhood fight at the park between two of my very minor male characters. Adults were summoned and pulled them apart, bloody and achy.

The script reappears years later when I'm battling a series of misunderstandings in high school. Nothing lands me in the headmaster's office but I end up losing friends. To this day I have no idea what I did.

Decades later at work I'm transferred to a "more visible" position because "it's clear that you're very animated and people are drawn to you."

I am?!? You have no idea. I'm very quiet at home. I read a lot, write a lot, watch a lot of National Theatre online. Yes, it's true I initially majored in theater at uni, but I switched it upon realizing that my anxiety would crumble with every audition because I'm not the one calling the shots.

"OK, I'll do it."

New audience, new script. Curtain up.

Current Mood: bouncy

adore

I watched this with a big smile on my face, almost as big as the gigantic moth sitting on the curtain in my room right now.

It's so sweet! As Blusie would say, my blood turned to sugar dust.

Watch on YouTube

The movements are so cute, as cute as can be, really. I love how they choreographed this. I love the all-pink styling and the heart stickers a couple of them are wearing on their cheeks. The styling especially suits Hyunsuk, who captured my eyes, but as ever, Yonghee captured my heart.

Current Mood: giddy

clauderainsrm posting in

therealljidol

A few words from

clauderainsrm:

Before we get to the good stuff, reading the entries, we have to deal with the bad.

3 contestants ran out of byes and missed the deadline this week. Which means we are saying goodbye to gunwithoutmusic , krispykritter and static_abyss

You will all be missed. But I’m hoping you will Home Game, until the Wheel spins in your direction again and allows you to get back into this beautiful mess!

The poll is rapidly shrinking. But as everyone knows, that could change at any point! (it could also rapidly shrink!!)

For now though, we will be losing… *spins the wheel) the bottom 2 this week.

So make sure you read, comment and vote for your favorites!! And tell your friends to do the same!!!

The poll will close on Thursday July 31st at 8pm ET.

Good luck to everyone!

Poll #33434 ’WheelofChaos-Week5’

Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: Just the Poll Creator, participants: 26

Vote For Your Favorites!

adore's Bye Week - Votes Do Not Count
1 (3.8%)

alycewilson's entry
8 (30.8%)

autumn_wind's entry
9 (34.6%)

bleodswean's entry
9 (34.6%)

drippedonpaper's Bye Week - Votes Do Not Count
2 (7.7%)

flipflop_diva's Bye Week - Votes Do Not Count
2 (7.7%)

garnigal's entry
6 (23.1%)

hafnia's entry
9 (34.6%)

halfshellvenus's entry
10 (38.5%)

inkstainedfingertips's entry
13 (50.0%)

legalpad819's Bye Week - Votes Do Not Count
2 (7.7%)

marjorica's entry
7 (26.9%)

muchtooarrogant's Bye Week - Votes Do Not Count
2 (7.7%)

rayaso's entry
8 (30.8%)

roina_arwen's entry
4 (15.4%)

serpentinejacaranda's entry
7 (26.9%)

simplyn2deep's entry
3 (11.5%)

swirlsofpurple's entry
5 (19.2%)

talonkarrde's entry
8 (30.8%)

tonithegreat's entry
5 (19.2%)

wolfden's entry
9 (34.6%)

xeena's entry
13 (50.0%)

clauderainsrm posting in

therealljidol

People seemed to either forget or just give up this week. :D There were very few accusations received.

But the majority (by 1) was that

autumn_wind was a Killer!!

*cue dramatic music*

Maybe people were just busy hiding from the Killer after the death last week. Understandable.

After all, just knowing that they could be striking at any time... that no one, and nowhere, is safe... that...

*SOUNDS OF SCREAMING ECHO THROUGH THE HALLWAYS, ENDING ABRUPTLY*

Who was that? Did anyone see anything? Who is missing?

Oh no.... she's over there, leaning on the edge of the bookcase. It looks like she was trying to grab a book of poetry...

Is she???? Yeah, she's gone.

eeyore_grrl has been murdered. :(

I see she left a note though, scrawled on a piece of paper. It looks like it was her entry for this week. But maybe there's a clue... make sure to check it out!! eeyore-grrl.dreamwidth.org/640479.html

autumn_wind

The grand reception hall was heaving, everyone sipping the complimentary glasses of champagne, munching on tasty nibbles and brimming with anticipation for the night's entertainment, the annual opera event. People had travelled from far and wide for this special event at the Balor Arts Centre in Donegal town for the Welsh National Opera's production of Carmen! This year it was even more exciting as this was the tenth anniversary and to mark the occasion, the guest tenor and soprano were none other than internationally renowned and loved Luigi Zannetti and Natalia Zadorov ! The tickets had been sold out within two days due to the price being offered at discount to celebrate the anniversary.

Assumpta Duncannon could not have possibly missed this chance as Luigi was her most favourite tenor and to get a chance to see him at such a bargain price was one in a million. Assumpta's sister Orla, an artist and lover of all the arts had arranged the tickets online and so this is how the pair of them ended up in the bustling throng of opera buffs from all over Ireland and further afield.

This was not their first time here of course, their passion for music and opera had seen the sisters make the trip to Donegal many a year. Tonight there was an extra special magic in the air and apart from the champagne and their favourite singers, there was also going to be a pre-talk by one of opera world's greatest tenors, retired now of course, and opera directors Sir Matthew Collingsworth who was directing this production of Carmen as well, which was the cherry on the cake.

The ladies were flushed with excitement as they wove their way through the opera goers, chattering away. There were quite a few regulars whom they met there every year, waving and smiling to each other, tand they stopped here and there to make small talk. In the midst of the mayhem, they heard two voices calling out to them,

'Ey up girls, you two are a sight for sore eyes!'

There was no mistaking those deep, rich Yorkshire tones, Charlie and his brother Richard!
'Oh! Am I glad to see you two, to be sure!' exclaimed Assumpta and Orla in unison, laughing at their telepathic moment.

'' Ah, lassies, we weren't going to miss this night for all the tea in Ireland and we were hoping we would see you two fair ladies. Shall we do the usual and meet up for a late dinner after the performance and discuss Carmen?'' ventured Charlie

This had become another highlight for the ladies as Charlie and Richard were well known in opera circles for their knowledge and appreciation of the art. They also donated a fair amount to the arts being successful businessmen with their own construction company.

''To be sure we will, it's our tradition!'' Orla beamed.

Orla, green eyes shining, looked exceptionally fetching tonight, Assumpta thought, in a lemon and pale blue chiffon trouser suit with a lovely cashmere wrap around her shoulders. Her red hair piled up in a chignon and her green eyes aglow. Assumpta saw Richard appreciative looks as he watched Orla, Charlie was a happily married man, but Richard had lost his wife ten years before.

As they were chatting, a loud voice at least ten decibels above everyone else's boomed out,
'' Yes, well I told old Matty it's better to stick to Carmen, you know, not too highbrow for these parts, I mean, it's not like we are at Covent Garden or the Met now is it? '' the 'voice' guffawed loudly.
His companion, Daniel, looking decidedly uncomfortable, smiled nervously, his eyes darting around the room, Giles could be a bit much at these venues, especially after a few glasses of bubbly.

'Well, you know Giles, Carmen is a very beloved and popular opera,' Daniel mumbled timidly, 'it is actually one of my personal favourites.'
'Of course, I will acknowledge that there are a few rousing songs in there, but obviously not in the same league as Tosca or Turandot, even Traviata, which are clearly far over the heads of most of these people here.'
Giles' voice was getting louder and louder with each glass of champagne and Daniel's face was getting more and more flushed. The others were beginning to stare with disapproval written all over their faces. Assumpta fists were clenching and her lips were set in a firm line,

''Hhumph! I'd love to give him a tray over his head!'

Her face looked so fierce that the other three couldn't help themselves and burst into laughter at the sight.
'Well, really, who does he think he is Verdi himself!?' She puffed out her chest in that bossy pigeony way that she had which said, 'Don't mess with me!'

Sir Matthew stood up on the small podium in the corner of the room and a hush fell on the hall.

'Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the tenth anniversary of, 'Opera for All!' I am so pleased to see so many familiar faces among you and I know that tonight will be an absolute thrill for all of us. Just a quick hello from you all please to welcome our stars Luigi Zannetti and Natalia Zadorov.'

Thunderous applause broke out with chants of bravi, bravi! The stars smiled benevolently at their fans.
Giles elbowing people out of the way, pushing to the front shouting out to the singers, 'Toi, toi, toi!'',
Charlie frowned and whispered to his companions,

''Bloody pretentious poseur-bet he doesn't know half the things he pretends to and I know he has no clue what toi,toi,toi even means !''

'So,' Sir Matthew continued,'I have another exciting announcement and a wonderful surprise for you all which I only found out about tonight, about 30 minutes ago to be precise. Our two most generous stars have set three questions for you and the winners will receive a very special prize, an all expenses paid trip to London, two nights in a hotel and two front row tickets for La Boheme at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden when Maestro Zannetti will sing the role of Rodolfo with Maestra Zadorov as his Mimi!

The room exploded with cheers and applause.
'Ok, ok then, quiet please and naturally all iPhones must be put away, no cheating haha. Please write your answers on the cards which you were given at the entrance this evening!'

The room fell deadly silent as they all waited with bated breath for the questions, cards in hands.

'Our first question is this, in which year was Carmen first performed?'
There were conspiratorial whispers and slight disagreements going on as they wrote down their answers.
'Second question, who was the very first Carmen?'
'Mmmm a tough one to be sure.'Orla mused
'And last, but not least, who was the librettist?'

Charlie's face lit up at this as he knew this was a trick question.

'Well, pop your cards in the box by the door as you go through into the auditorium for the performance, good luck everyone and enjoy this wonderful performance of Carmen!!'

The opera was everything they had expected it to be, the rousing, emotional music of Bizet, the sublime voices which brought tears to their eyes, flirtatious, flamenco dancing, all of it was just divine! And the company of their old friends made the night perfect! They all agreed it was one of the most memorable nights ever!

When the last curtain call had been taken, leaving the stage strewn with roses, those who had taken part in the mini Carmen quiz made their way back to the hall. A buzz of tension hovered in the air=who had won this wonderful prize?

Sir Matthew welcomed them all in and a glass of wine in their hands they stood fixed upon him as he made the announcement....

'Ladies and gentlemen, I know many of you have dinner reservations, so I'll be quick, the winners of this marvellous prize so generously donated by our stars tonight is Charlie Dingle!!'
'Bravo Charlie!' with shouts of,'It couldn't happen to a nicer man,' rang out.
Just then Giles piped up,
'Now you see here my good man, I got those answers correct too! Answer 1, 1875-answer 2-Célestine Galli-Marié and answer 3-Ludovic Halevy! This is an outrage!'' Giles face had turned puce and he was fuming.

'Quite right sir, yes'.Giles started to preen like an oversized peacock,
'BUT, the last question was a trick question as on Carmen there were actually two librettists, the other namely, Henri Meilhac! Charlie got all three perfectly correct! However, I will be happy to donate a bottle of the best champagne as a runner-up prize'

Giles blustered shouting it was not fair when the main librettist had been Halevy... just then Daniel finding his voice at last shouted out,
'Wait! No champagne Sir Matthew please, Giles cheated, he googled on his iPhone, I recorded him, look!'
Gasps danced around the room as Giles was escorted very reluctantly put of the theatre.

The four friends went off to dinner with lots to talk about, much laughter ensued at Giles expense and a lively discussion about the night's performance until finally at 1 am, they all bid each other a fond farewell with promises to meet next year again.

The next day as they were on the coach home to Bundaron, Assumpta reached into her handbag for some lemon sherbets only to discover a small card with her name on. Curious, she opened it and let out a little squeal of delight.

'What in the world, Assumpta, you frightened me half to death, what's wrong?' Orla exclaimed

'Wrong? Why, nothing at all, dear sister-those dear, sweet men! Just listen to this.'

In a sloping, manly handwriting was written;

'Dear ladies, you can't imagine what joy your friendship brings to us and how much we look forward to your company each year, it makes the event twice as wonderful for us. We were thrilled to win this prize, but as we already have tickets for that night, we decided to give these to two friends whom we know would appreciate them , this means that we can share yet another evening together, in friendship, opera, scintillating conversation and laughter-see you there!'

Charlie and Richard

xeena

In October 2025, thirty-seven writers disappeared from Idol Manor while participating in some writing games that turned out to be cutthroat in more ways than one. Gary Dreslinski, the organizer of the games, also disappeared along with them.

Six weeks later their footage was found.

_________________________________________________________________________________

06/14/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 001]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

A crowd of people, some familiar faces and a few new ones gather around the man in the center of the room, GARY.

GARY: WELCOME, WELCOME EVERYONE TO IDOL MANOR AND THE WHEEL OF CHAOS!

(halfshellvenus): Thanks Gary! But I'm a bit confused by this whole weel of chaos thing?

(rayaso): Me too.

(adore): Yeah, it sounds fun, but I'm new here! Not really sure how it works?

(muchtooarrogant): Yeah, heh. Should we be worried Gary?

GARY: [laughing] No, not at all. This is simply a variation on our old games. Each week I'll spin a wheel, kinda like the wheel of fortune, to decide your fates. So you'll need all the luck you can get!

(used_songs): Ooh, well this will be my first time participating, but I'm excited to get started!

END OF FOOTAGE.

06/14/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 006]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

*Johann Strauss' Blue Danube Waltz can be heard playing in the background*

GARY: I've called this emergency meeting because ONE OF YOU HAS BEEN POISONED IN THE NIGHT. THERE ARE KILLERS IN THE CASTLE! Cold blooded murderers who have chosen to use a slow acting poison!

If chosen as their victim, you will begin to lose your two byes.

(halfshellvenus): WHAT? Thid is very weird, Gary!

(xeena): You don't mean actually poisoned though, right?

GARY: (laughing): Don't panic, whoever "wins" each week's poll will be given an antidote. They can consume it or give it to someone else. If chosen correctly, then that person is cured. If not, the antidote has no effect.

Those remaining will have the chance to vote on who they believe the killers are. If correct that Killer will be eliminated.

Each week, the Killers can either poison someone, or recruit someone to join them. If chosen, you are a Killer. If you opt out of the invitation, you will be automatically poisoned, so it's not really like you have a choice at this point.

This WILL continue until either everyone has been poisoned or the Killers have all been exposed. Or the top five.

(simplyn2deep) stares at Gary in manner of the shocked pikachu meme.

(inkstainedfingertips): DAFUQ?

(marjorica): I CAN KILL TOO? BEST GAME EVER!!

Cofused voices mingle together drowning each other out.

Gary is smirking evilly.

END OF FOOTAGE.

06/29/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 008]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

GARY: Good morning, everyone. An accusation has been made!! roina_arwen is the first to be accused of being the killer!

AUDIBLE GASPS ECHO AROUND THE ROOM.

(roina_arwen): *laughs* Thanks I guess?

(muchtooarrogant): I almost voted her too, before choosing at random.

GARY: You've all guessed WRONG however. The killer, or killers are still out there and you're next!

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/03/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 011]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

GARY: Good morning players! I'm afraid I have some bad news.

(xeena): Well there's a switch.

GARY: In the dead of night, the Killer(s) have poisoned yet again. Who is it? It could be anybody... everybody's a suspect.

(xeena): I'm seriously eyeballing everyone from now on

(autumn_wind): I know how you feel!

(halfshellvenus) I think that's fair!

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/09/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 013]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

GARY: Flipflop_diva has used her antidote. Did she save a life? Only I can be privy to such classified information.

Silence in the room is deafening.

GARY: This week none other than inkstainedfingertips is accused of being the killer!

(inkstainedfingertips): Who, me? Seriously?!

(bleodswean): *laughing*

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/15/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 015]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

GARY: Yet another contestant has been poisoned and you've still not managed to find any killers. Fortunately xeena was given an antidote, however, how she used it I will never tell.

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/20/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 019]

GARY: Good evening contestants. This week's accusations leaves flipflop_diva accused of being the killer. You have though guessed wrong yet again. I -

*LOUD THUDDING*

faust's_dream has fallen to the floor and constestants stand around whispering.

Gary makes his way through and kneels beside him.

GARY: *yelling* SOMEONE CALL A DOCTOR!!! SOMEONE CALL... oh, it's too late... fausts_dream is dead. The Killer(s) have murdered him and with him goes the nullifier, ie: the power to chance results and take out twists!

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/20/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 020]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

GARY: This is just to remind you all that the killers have not poisoned someone else this week. Does that mean they're expanding their ranks? And what did xeena do with the antidote this time you may wonder.

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/23/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 023]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

GARY: It is with a heavy heart that I announce to you that murielle has sacrificed herself,by throwing herself off the turret.

alycewilson: Wow, I did not see that coming!

swirlsofpurple: I'm so sorry to see her go!

END OF FOOTAGE.

07/23/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 023]

INT - IDOL MANOR WHEELHOUSE - DAY

Haydn's Trumpet Concerto in E-Flat Major can be heard playing as everyone gathers around, which can only mean one thing.

GARY: It's time for your next prompt, everyone. This week it will be - drumroll please - TOI TOI TOI! aka Good luck, you'll definitely need it.

Gary chuckles sinisterly.

END OF FOOTAGE.

10/10/2025: [IDOL MANOR FOOTAGE TAPE 051]

xeena: *whispering and crying into the recording*

I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME I HAVE LEFT BUT I'M LEAVING THIS MESSAGE IN CASE SOMEONE FINDS THIS SO EVERYONE KNOWS SOMETHING WENT VERY WRONG HERE. I DON'T KNOW WHAT AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE OTHERS ARE. ANY OF THEM! NOT EVEN GARY! BUT SOMETHING IS OUT THERE.
How else would over thirty people just vanisih??? But they're all gone and I'm ne-

*screaming*

*loud banging*

*banging continues*

*thudding and crashing*

*heavy breathing*

END OF FOOTAGE.

No further footage of the Idol Manor retreat has ever been retrieved.

This is the only information anyone has about what happened to them.

This case has currently gone cold.

_________________________________________________________________________________

fiction.

... but for how long?

My last three entries have been really somber, so this week have unhinged meta fiction.

Footage of me to myself after hitting post on this:

notes: >>

Opening lines are a reference to the Blair Witch Project!

Haydn's Trumpet Concerto in E-Flat Major and the Blue Danube are references to my favorite show, Squid Game. If you know, you know.

I'm afraid I have some bad news.
Well there's a switch.

are lines from the 1986 movie, Aliens, which is one of my favorites.

inkstainedfingertips

“Toi, toi, toi, I banish all evil,” Liam whispered, his voice quavering. “I banish the monster. I ask for protection.”

Clutching the small stick in a hand shaking as wildly as his voice, he carved the intricate symbol into the soft dirt of the forest floor. Tears blurred his vision, and he wiped them away, sniffing loudly. He leaned back against the thick, wide trunk of the tree behind him and sighed. Every square inch of his body ached, and his breath was shallow and ragged. He felt as if he’d been running for days. And still he was in danger.

Huddled in a bush, Liam hugged his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. Between the thick canopy overhead and the clouds that blotted out the moonlight, it was black as pitch in the forest. The trees loomed over him, and a malevolent energy crackled in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His stomach turned over on itself and the acidic tang of bile coated the back of his throat.

Liam gingerly pressed his fingertips to his eye and winced. It was swollen. Thankfully, it hadn’t swollen shut. He could still see. But his throat was dry. Cracked. And he knew there would be deep, dark bruises ringing his throat. It wasn’t the first time he’d tangled with the monster, and the aftermath always left him covered in cuts and bruises. Liam knew one of these days, if he did not escape for good, the monster would kill him.

“Toi, toi, toi. I banish all evil,” he repeated softly.

Deep down, Liam knew the incantation his grandmother—his Nana—had taught him so long ago did no good. It did not banish evil or the monster. No, the monster always came for him. The monster always found him. It always forced him to either run or fight for his life. But his grandmother’s words always brought him some sense of solace. Some bit of peace.

His grandmother had been his port of calm within the storm. She had always managed to ward off evil. She had always kept the monster at bay. Liam never knew how she did it. Never knew what bit of magic she used to protect him. But when he was with her, he never feared the sun going down. Never feared the darkness. He never feared the monster would come.

But ever since she’d died, the brief periods of calm in his life were punctuated by episodes of tremendous and increasing violence. As if it knew his shield and his protection was gone, the monster came for him often. It had grown bolder. More vicious. The beast seemed more determined than ever to put an end to him once and for all.

Liam closed his eyes. “Help me, Nana. It’s out there. It’s coming for me.”

The sharp crack of a branch echoed in the darkness, sending Liam’s heart straight into his throat. He swallowed and tried to quell the churning in his belly. The rustle of a bush and a low, rumbling growl rang in his ears. Grimacing in pain, Liam got to his knees and peered through the branches of the bush, searching the darkness, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It sounded as if it was all around him.

The sound of shuffling footsteps rustling the bushes sent a white-hot bolt of lightning crackling up his spine. He couldn’t tell where it was, but it was close. Very close.

Liam squeezed his eyes shut and whispered to himself. “Help me, Grandmother. Banish the evil. Send the monster away.”

Its heavy breath cut through the darkness, and Liam felt the intense weight of its gaze pressed down on him. It was standing on the other side of the bush he was hiding in. He slowly opened his eyes, hoping it was gone. But it wasn’t. It stood there. A malevolent shadow in the darkness standing not two feet in front of him.

“Please don’t,” Liam said.

The shrill roar shook the branches of the bush and sent a wave of goosebumps washing across his body. He jumped to his feet and sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him. Liam ran through the darkness, jumping over exposed tree roots and rocks. He ran headlong into the darkness but was trying to be careful to avoid tripping over something or turning an ankle. If he fell, the monster would be on him before he ever hit the ground. If he fell, he was dead.

Behind him, the beast gave chase. It crashed through the bushes, snapping limbs, and kicking rocks out of the way as it tried to reach him. His heart racing and his lungs burning as hot as his muscles, Liam ran. He could practically feel its breath on his neck. Could feel its hands reaching out, groping in the darkness, mere inches from snagging him. Tears spilled from his eyes. But he lowered his head and ran for his life.

Liam leaped over a fallen log and his stomach dropped. He suddenly felt weightless, like he was going over the precipice and into a steep dive on a roller coaster. He opened his mouth to scream, but he hit the ground with a bone jarring impact. His jaw cracked shut audibly, making him bite his tongue. Pain shot through him, and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of his own blood.

He tumbled and bounced down an embankment, crashing into every stone and log embedded into the earth. He hit the bottom and gasped as the breath was driven from his lungs. Liam lay half in the water of the creek, staring into the sky overhead. He wheezed, his lungs crying out for air as every muscle and bone in his body cried out in a chorus of agony.

Liam’s brain screamed at him to get up. To move. To run. It told him the longer he laid there, the more danger he was in. But his body refused to obey. It would not move. He could not move. All he could do was lay there, gazing at the stars above, wondering how everything had gone so wrong. Wondering when it had gone so wrong. Had it been when his mother died? When his grandmother died? Before either of those things happened?

When had the monster first come for him?

Liam racked his brain, trying to figure it out, and he couldn’t recall. The monster had been with him as long as he could remember. Liam couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t live in fear of it. Of its violence. Of its hatred. He couldn’t remember a life before the pain.

With a groan, he sat up and was unsurprised to find it standing in the creek before him. A massive, dark silhouette in the shadows. Though Liam could not see its face, he could feel its eyes burning holes into him. Could feel the rage and the hate radiating from it and pouring into him. Liam’s skin prickled and his heart pounded in his ears as his skin warmed, and his face grew hot.

The monster took a step forward, one of its massive arms reaching through the darkness toward him. Liam recoiled as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Please, Dad,” he whispered. “Please don’t.”

Current Mood: mellow
Current Location: Ye Olde Inkwell

talonkarrde

I always knew that you liked the stage a lot. You dragged me to shows - brand new ones and revivals, the classics and avant garde productions that I could not make heads or tails out of - at least twice a month for over six years. And I also know that you knew that I mostly went for you, at least at first, but I warmed up to it, eventually. The first time I went without you, I almost broke down, but I swear that I could feel your hand squeeze mine during those scenes (Gavroche, every time). I still feel you lip sync to the songs - never sing, that would be terribly rude, of course - and it makes me feel close to you, even now.

Still, I didn’t realize why you liked the smaller productions, why you dragged me to community shows or even children’s theatre with six graders with just as much fervor as the Broadway Tony winners. I always thought it was about supporting the arts and especially the youth, about making sure that the actors and crew always had someone to cheer for them, someone to appreciate their hard work and dedication.

I see it now, and I think that it’s what you saw as well, though I can’t be sure. The actors, the stage, the orchestra when it’s a musical - all of it is so bright. It’s an aura around each of them, a blanket of light. A weave, a spell, a manifestation of good luck, of a good performance, of good.

“You know that saying… the one about the moral arc of the universe?” You asked, one night, from the hospital bed, and I looked up from doing completely useless research on stage IV cancer.

“What?” I asked. I wasn’t feeling that there was a lot of justice in the world at that moment.

“You don’t win every battle,” you said.

“Are we talking about…” I didn’t want to finish the sentence.

“You’ll put in the time, and the effort, and sometimes, you still won’t win the battle. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing.”

I cocked an eyebrow at you, and when you reached out a hand, I got up and sat down on your bed so you could push it down, and we both laughed.

I understand what you did now before the shows. It was almost every small show, but sometimes also the big ones. After watching you approach everyone from lighting techs to play directors - and that one time you somehow managed to talk to absolute Broadway Royalty, I thought it was just the charisma you had plus game recognizing game from those that live and breathe theatre.

But now I see the aura of the performance, and more importantly than that, I see that just a little bit more to one of the actors, an extra word, an extra piece of encouragement, may make the difference between a blanket that unravels and one that comes together to protect the performance.

Sometimes, I reassure them, I encourage them, I wish them luck, I tell them to break a leg, and they still falter. Each time, I wonder if I could’ve done better, if there were more words, or a stronger ritual, a better way of protecting them. But each time, the performance goes on, and at the end, they take their bows, the audience applauds, and it feels… right, somehow. Like maybe it would’ve been worse, without my intervention.

I feel your lips on my cheek.

You were so calm the night that we got married - it was closing time and the venue needed us out and gone and our limo had broken down and we ended with boxes and a mess outside and there was no room in the car for us and and and… and you just looked up from your phone, stood up, twirled a bit, and said that we needed to leave right now to catch the last train.

It was two transfers and an hour longer than it should’ve been, and somehow, we caught each transfer, each last train, across three boroughs. And before boarding each car, you would mutter something under your breath, close your eyes, for a moment, and press your palm to the door.

I remember asking - somewhere around 70th street, one transfer down, one to go, just the two of us in our finery on a mostly empty train at 1am - what you were doing.

“A ritual,” you said. “I’m putting my intent in the world. This one is for security.”

You said it seriously, and I had learned by then - after all, we were married - that you meant it seriously.

I raised an eyebrow, my patented ‘excuse me, wife, what do you mean’ expression.

You smirked, and pushed it back down.

“Rituals mean something,” you continued. “You instill a bit of what you want into the world, and with enough intent, you might be able to nudge things in the direction that you want. My parents taught me that, and their parents before them, and all the way back to our ancestors.”

That was the first time that you told me what it meant to you. Of course, I thought you meant it figuratively then, but I’m sure you knew that, just as you knew that I would eventually learn.

I see it outside of the stage, of course. Glowing lines that exist, briefly, when someone crosses themselves, when someone calls on their ancestors, when someone does any number of things where they put a wish into the world. Most dissipate after a bit, but every once in a while, there’s enough of a desire, an intent, that it stays.

I see it in the day to day of a million New Yorkers going about their days, each wishing for a bit of good luck, a bit of serendipity, a bit of happiness. And sometimes, every so often, it feels like I feel like the universe responds. An aspiring actor friend wishes for a bit of good luck in her love life, and she meets someone at the coffee shop she works at. A family friend calls on the ancestors to help for a promotion, and is given a chance to prove themselves.

You know what I wish I could’ve shown you, though? We never went to the Empire State while we were dating - we were both locals, so it didn’t make any sense to pay so much money for something that we lived in every single day.

And yet, if only you could’ve seen - from up here, each light stand, each wishline, each whatever you call it - there are so many rituals that extend beyond just wishes for themselves. They are wishes for their neighbors, their partners, their friends, all the strangers that inhabit this city together. The aura permeates every nook and cranny of the city.

It doesn’t mean that only good things happen, of course. You taught me that, in more ways than one. But every time I look at the news, every time I’m depressed, I come up here, and I look at it, and I see what it means.

The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice. Towards happiness. Towards joy.

You were sitting there, in the library, studying for an upcoming test that we had in biochemistry. I saw you before you saw me, and honestly, I would’ve kept going, but you did this thing with your hands - a ritual, I know now. I never asked about it, at first because I didn’t think it was appropriate, and later, because I didn’t need to.

I saw you make that sign a few more times, in the time we had together, and each time, the universe responded.

You asked for joy, and joy is what we found.

And now, it's on me to carry on the work, to pass that joy on to others.

tonithegreat

Poof! It is a very animal sound. A visceral sound. Didn’t old cartoons used to caption the action of spitting with words like “Patooey”? I think they did. But when you’re really clearing the airway, you only need one syllable.

It sounds like a dolphin is nearby with a real blowhole, but I know that isn’t the source of the sound. Snorkels aren’t that efficient, even when you get really good with them. And you aren’t actually spitting into the snorkel. You’re just releasing air. A single sharp exhalation. If you do it as you ascend, it doesn’t even have to be very sharp. The air expands as it rises. But there has to be enough sharpness to it that it pushes all of the water up and out of the tube of the snorkel.

I like the way I can hear you clear that snorkel and it sounds like a marine mammal. Like competence. Like you’re completely comfortable in the water. Maybe things are going to be alright after all. That’s what today has felt like. A sigh of relief. A shifting of attitudes and burdens. Summer is coming to a close. But not before we actually manage to get a vacation in. Not before we go into Bahia Honda State Park on a very crowded Sunday and pull our snorkel gear, full of laundry room dust, out of the car and wade out into the water with it.

Visibility in the water was really good today and we happened to hit the sandspur beach at high tide. Pretty much perfect conditions to visit the nearshore hardbottom community except for the fact that we were out there starting around 1:00 PM, so UV exposure was no joke. I think we blocked up sufficiently, though. I don’t think either of us burned.

There were so many queen conchs grazing along the bottom. From juveniles the size of my hand up to one huge one that might rival the chromebook I’m writing on for size. The brightest colors I saw were wrasses. But there were also little stoplight parrotfish in their sand-matching coloration. So many of the old keys ocean friends. It felt so good to hang on the surface of the sea and look down at them and to share it with a daughter.

The 2024/2025 school year went so fast, just like the start of the summer. It feels a little like PTSD. My work has been a very constant hum and pull through it all, good stress and bad. But between the tornadoes last spring and then the hurricanes that flooded my folks’ house at the end of last summer, it has just been so much. Rog’s Parkinson’s progresses. The girls had their Sophomore year. A good big year for them. They both learned to drive. They’ll both be on the road for the start of their Junior year.

And now Jas has a job- one that she cares enough about she decided to skip our vacation to keep working it. It is true that I already spent a week with her in Dallas for synchro JOs, so I think she felt like she had summer vacation already. And I am happy for her finding a good niche lifeguarding. And Rog wasn’t going to be up for primitive camping in the keys in the summer, so it’s good that the two of them can support each other at home, and be there with the pets. But it means that our family is split in half for this vacay, which is an odd feeling. It’s not like I can’t check in with them. But it isn’t the same as all being together.

It isn’t the same. Nothing is the same as it was, it sometimes feels. But today it feels like maybe all of the forward progress isn’t just sliding into the void.

Anson spotted a cowfish while we were out there. Cowfish are such cool critters. We followed it for a bit, watching it grazing along the bottom, nabbing things from among the sponges and algae. I dove to get my mask closer to its level several times, kicking to try to stay close. We didn’t put our fins on, not being sure what we would find out in the water, so I was swimming sort of slow.

But as I came up each time, clearing the snorkel was still easy for me. A thing that became reflex as part of a job that I had over 25 years ago. Poof! A literal clearing of the air in my little breathing tube. Maybe a bit of a benediction. I’m so thankful for this time to actually slow down and catch my breath. Summer in the keys 2025. I think it’s going to be a good one.

bleodswean

A backyard theater at the rear of the Queen Anne, because of course. A house so marvelously malleable that it can bend and flex architecturally as prompted. Created cerebrally and thus housed in the imagination of writer and reader.

It’s summertime now and the property is more interesting from the outside. The dying Dutch elms given another season of life, crowned with yellow green leaves, a line of cypress acting privacy buffer between the house and the street, the white noise of crickets.

Perhaps in winter, the drama will move indoors, footlights in the front room, velvet curtains strung on ropes traversing the length and rugs rolled back to allow trodding on the hardwood floors. With hand-painted screens carried inside to block the windows and the fireplace. Better acoustics, but less space for the audience. Black box theater, intimate if you will, downstage actors just within an arm’s reach.

That’s a different story to share, different plays, muted costumes and dimmed lighting.

With warm nights and strung fairy lights and old banks of movie house seats, the backyard theater comes to repertory life behind the ageing three story house. Cement steps lead down from the French sleeping porch to two patches of lawn divided by a brick walkway meandering its herringboned way to the matching carriage house at the bottom of the deep lot. The old and leaning building with its hinged double doors that front the alley. All the alleys have recently been named by city elders, and this one has been mysteriously designated Pomegranate Alley. Tree fruited alleyways in this section of downtown referred to as Elysian Fields; Orange, Apple, Peach, Plum. All night shades in midtown are labeled Tartarus; Tomato, Eggplant, Blueberry. The housing market requires more bedsits. Garages, she-sheds, and accessory dwelling units are converted or built to oblige.

The carriage house has seen many incarnations since the decade it housed a horse and carriage, but its current state is to serve the stage. Costume shop, makeup and mirrors, dressing rooms, warm up barre, speakers and light bars are stacked in one corner, a desk with a copy machine and stacks of stapled scripts.

He names the troupe in honor of the bone theater of the bard - the Beoley Skull Players. The name comes before the players themselves are recruited. Seduced at poetry readings, a local theater in the round, an improv workshop, and amongst friends. In the springtime.

He has cajoled construction of the stage, converting anyone who owns a hammer, sketching continuously on bar napkins. He consigns a shop of bridal seamstresses to construct the grand drape. On a monumental afternoon, the sumptuous velvet is hung on tracks, inside a magnificent proscenium arch he himself has painted. Is any of the construction weatherproof? Or all a passing fancy.

Someone is giving away an old upright piano on Facebook Marketplace and he hauls it into the backyard but is told the stage hasn’t been built for that. It sits unevenly on a patch of ground. Anyone who admits to a single piano lesson is invited to play.

The sets begin to be built. The Beoley Skull Players are nothing if not artistic. Solo cups filled with poster paint, wire and paper mache. Cardboard and plywood and exclamations.

As the work commences, someone wonders aloud one evening, drinking port and using torn pieces of baguette to eat gobs of whipped cream cheese, if the play really is the thing. The preparation feels more alive and immediate and filled with symbolism. The doubter is shushed and told to wait just wait. Wait and see. We are creating worlds and if a tree falls in the forest can it be heard if its not perceived.

He wants to perform the quintessential summertime play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Of course. He is told that the smallest cast is thirteen. This pleases him. He believes he can direct.

He will play Puck. He refuses her a part because he desperately needs her to be his audience, and she agrees. She can move along a catwalk but has no desire to take on a role, memorize lines, project her voice, and emote.

In a fit of inspiration, he claims it comes to him in a dream, he deems the troupe skeletal and from that proclamation forward the actors appear in skullface. White boned figures of death donned in fantastical garb. Bottom, Theseus, Hermia, Oberon, Titania, Lysander. Skeletons each one. Blackened eye sockets, cavernous nasal cavities, jaw-socket-wide grins. He is pleased to the point of joyful seizure each time he jumps from the stage during rehearsals and stands back to take it all in. He falls in love with his theater.

Dress rehearsal is a jubilant affair. Photos are leaked on Instagram and phones begin blowing up. How to procure tickets for the next evening.

He lays in bed with her until late afternoon. When they surface from their basement bower the house and yard is overrun with people. Everyone is sworn off liquor, but lines of coke are requisite. It is opening night. Grease paint and quick calisthenics. Operatic vocal warmups and meditative breathing exercises. Bottom decides he will strap a GoPro to his head and does. An industrious group concocts a signature cocktail and sells them from the porch.

They must wait for the sun to set, the twinkle lights come on, a beautiful woman in a top hat admonishes seats to be taken please. Gothic ballads have been playing through the sound system but stop. A spotlight travels the yard and stage, shadows and illuminates the drapery, the strung lights are extinguished, the murmurs quiet and quiet and quiet. Backstage, the players stand in a tight circle, holding hands and whisper an old old line to one another.

halfshellvenus

Cursecraft
Idol Wheel of Chaos | Week 5 | 1605 words
Toi toi toi (warding off bad luck)

x-x-x-x-x

Helga McTwittle was a hag, and proud of it. She kept her hair long and stringy, and she rubbed toads on her face to enhance her warts. She kept her fingernails gray and ragged, and she honed her screeches and cackles with the diligence of a singer practicing her scales.

She wasn't as powerful as her former schoolmate, the Evil Queen, but that was all right. Helga had a good business doling out curses and enchantments for money.

She lived in a house made of cookies and candy, which she used to entice little children. Once she had them, Helga made them clean her house. Then she laid a forgetting spell on them before releasing them back into the forest. It required more effort than most hags would find reasonable, but Helga hated housework, and little children were able to get to the small spaces that Helga (who frequently sampled her own house) could not.

She once tried to change a rat into a tiny person for cleaning purposes, but she wound up with a large rat with human hands, which was disgusting even to Helga.

( Read more... )

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rayaso

Wheel of Chaos 2025
Week 5
Prompt: Toi toi toi
Sunday July 27th at 4pm

“Toi toi toi,” besides sounding deeply silly, is a phrase, as we all now know, that is similar to “break a leg” and is used primarily in the performing arts as an expression of good luck. Supposedly, besides sounding like spitting three times (silly, silly, silly), it is thought to have derived from the German word “Teufel,” or Devil. There should be no doubt as to which meaning I chose.

THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE

“Why would anyone want to meet me in a Hawaiian restaurant in this town?” thought Nicolaus Abaddon, “I’m getting too old for this.”

Nicolaus was one of the premiere political consultants in Washington, D.C., unmatched for his success rate. If he took you as a client, you would be favored to win.

Potential clients usually preferred meeting in steakhouses with lots of dark wood and heavy glass tumblers, while holding expensive, manly drinks. They wanted to project the power and importance they lacked, and of course to be seen by other low-level political toadies. After all, this was Washington, D.C. and everyone wanted to make America great again, as long as it involved a little something for them.

Bo Thompson was late, which annoyed Nicolaus.

“Stupid power move,” he thought. “The I’m too important to be on time tactic.  I’m an alpha and you’re not. More like, you’re a bug about to be squashed and you’re too dumb to know it.” There would be no special deals for good ol’ Bo.

In the meantime, Nicolaus ordered the Hawaiian Burger Special. He had the cook hold the Hawaiian and add some cheddar cheese and bacon. Nicolaus enjoyed a good cheeseburger, but this wasn’t it. The fries were limp and greasy, and the Poi! Poi! Poi! Milkshake did not deserve its exclamation points. It also did not deserve drinking.

“I’ll have the administrative cafeteria add this for the minions,” he thought. “Right next to the duck milkshake."

Bo finally arrived. To show he was a genuine Man of the People, he was wearing a black t-shirt emblazoned with a “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying over an assault rifle colored like a Confederate flag. To demonstrate that he was a true patriot, he wore an American flag pin which, lest anyone be confused, was upside down. His 50-year-old belly bulged over his new too-tight jeans and he sported the requisite red baseball cap.

“I’ll have to change all that,” Nicolaus thought. “Maybe a cheap suit with too-small cowboy boots – business on top with cowboy on the bottom. The painful feet will give him that fresh-off-the-horse gait.”

Nicolaus enjoyed inflicting pain whenever he could; it was a little taste of what would be coming later.

“How do you do?” Nicolaus asked as he stood to greet him. He did not hold out his hand.

Nicolaus looked like a political consultant. He wore a bespoke grey suit with a white shirt and a red tie. On the table was his briefcase, a 1942 Luis Vuitton classic. He looked every inch the power broker. In London, a dapper werewolf had once asked for his tailor.

Nicolaus waited for Bo to start, which clearly made him ill at ease. Nicolaus kept waiting until Bo finally said, “I hear you’re the best.”

“Why don’t you order something, and we’ll get to work,” suggested Nicolaus.

Bo ordered the Deluxe Spamburger, a 1/3-pound beef patty topped with two slices of fried spam, French fries, and Hawaiian BBQ sauce, with an extra-large fully-leaded Mountain Dew.

“Didn’t think no one would recognize me here,” said Bo, as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Bold choice,” said Nicolaus, who knew that no one would recognize him anywhere.

Nicolaus kept waiting for Bo to ask for his help. This was critical. If he didn’t say it, he couldn’t crack open Bo’s soul to see what was crawling inside.

“I want to primary our RINO congressman. I’ll run from the right ‘cause people don’t think she’s really supportin’ the President.”

This was, of course, a lie. Few politicians were as vocal in their support as the incumbent. Even her detractors praised her for her craven spinelessness. Beau just wanted to get his snout in the trough.

“I need your help.”

There they were – the magic words. Nicolaus grinned slightly. The fun was about to begin.

“Before we start, you need to sign a personal services agreement. Otherwise, I can’t represent you.”

While Bo read it over, Nicolaus opened his soul and looked around.

“Just what I expected,” he thought with a sigh. “It’s tiny, twisted, and without any compassion. He has the standard vices. His porn leans toward young women with a sprinkling of men. He’s terrified that his wife will know. Basic stuff for these men of the people. He’s a Grade A avaricious pig. I’m not going to get much credit for this one. Low hanging fruit.”

Still, a soul was a soul, and as one of Hell’s Soul Catchers, he had a quota. Failure to meet it meant a stint in the Pit of Fire. This was a great motivator, and Nicolaus had always exceeded his quota.

Nicolaus had never been damned to Hell -- he just worked there. As a demon, he had never had a soul. His only purpose was to serve the Master. When not on Earth, he lived in the Administrative Circle of Hell, which was painful, but the perks were pretty good, except for the food, and he enjoyed creating Hell on Earth. It was almost too easy. Politicians did most of the heavy lifting.

Bo finally finished reading the contract for the primary election and signed it. He didn’t really understand it, but the eternal damnation clause caught his eye. He didn’t believe it and the political power would be worth it. Anyway, he’d just confess his sins to Pastor Steve and get absolution. Bo didn’t know that Pastor Steve was running his own scam. He could no more absolve anyone of sin than any other grifter.

Pastor Steve had his own agreement with Nicolaus – there would be no escaping the contract for Bo.

Nicolaus took over Bo’s campaign. He brought in his staff of minions to run everything. It was a classic mud-slinging, substance-free campaign. Bo supported all the President’s hot-button issues. No vaccinations. No fluoride. No contrails. Tarriffs. End Social Security and Medicare.   Tax the poor to feed the rich. It didn’t matter how bizarre the position; if the President was against it, so was Bo. Truth was not only optional, it was forbidden.

Of course, his opponent was just the same, but Bo accused her of being a closet libtard and a member of the coastal elite.

Bo eked out a primary victory, complete with rumors of election fraud. Nothing was ever proved. Nicolaus saw to that.

Bo became a rising star in the party. He appeared on approved news shows and held lightly-attended rallies with c-list entertainers. In a memorable endorsement, the President called him his attack dog, but seemed to have him confused with Bo Jackson, the famous football player.

Bo was sure the general election would be a cakewalk. He was stunned when Nicolaus resigned as his campaign advisor.

Nicolaus ignored Bo’s frantic phone calls except for the final one.

“You can’t quit!” yelled Bo. “We got us a contract!”

“We do have a contract,” said Nicolaus. “You wanted to win the primary. You won the primary. You would need a new contract for the general election, but I already own your soul. You don’t have anything to offer me.”

“But . . .” spluttered Bo.

“No buts. Let me give you a little taste of what to expect for your afterlife,” said Nicolaus.

He liked this part. Gloating was petty, but then he was a demon.

Bo saw himself being eaten by maggots, then a demon ripped out his spine, and he was cast into the Pit. Unknown horrors awaited him, and it lasted for eternity. It was pain beyond measure.

The telephone went dead as Bo collapsed.

Life became hellish for Bo. He was humiliated in the general election. All his secrets were revealed. His wife left him and took the children. He was no longer an attack dog. No one would hire him, and he was reduced to homelessness, dependent on a meager Social Security check, which he usually drank away. He was plagued with nightmares about what awaited him after his death.

Finally, Bo died. No one claimed his body and he was buried at the County’s expense. His body smelled strongly of sulfur.

Bo's body may have been committed to the earth, but his soul went straight to Hell. He could feel the maggots eating him and he began screaming in pain.  Forever.

swirlsofpurple

Elodie stares up at the sky. Nothing yet. Her fingers press hard against the coin, digging it into her hand. She imagines it breaking the skin, sinking down into flesh of her palm. She sees the women who held it before her.

The one in a court room lit by oil lamps, dressed in clothes made by her own calloused hands, the coin against her breast, tied to a piece of cheap string which looped around her neck. She’s accused of killing a man. The jurors are likely to dismiss her as a whore. But the coin sits warm against her chest, as she sits on the stand and convinces them of the truth: she was attacked, the killing was self-defence.

The one who was a spy in The Great War, every word, every movement, every breath a performance behind enemy lines. Until the final interrogation. The coin cold in her shoe as she’s lead to execution.

The one who was a CEO, the coin warm in her pocket in every negotiation.

Elodie comes back to herself, the space ships are close enough to see now, like stars in the daytime. The entire world in the balance. She wonders if the coin will let her wield it.

“Good luck,” someone whispers.

Deep breath in, and out. Her fist clenched tight around the coin. She swallows. “You are entering the territory of the planet Earth. Turn away now or you will be destroyed.”

Her heart sinks. The coin is cold.

The ships draw closer, undeterred by any of the worlds defences.

The mothership lands, too close, not even fifty feet away.

Elodie stands completely still as an alien approaches.

“You have a coin. We want it.”

She looks it right in the eyes. “I don’t have a coin.”

The alien blinks, once, twice, three times.

The coin is warm. “You should leave.”

alycewilson

This is my entry for Week 5 of LJ Idol: Wheel of Fortune. The topic is "Toi toi toi," which is an actor's alternative to saying, "Good luck."

My swim bag on my back, I'm about to step out the door to teach an aqua fitness class when I notice my husband at the computer, stepping into some sort of virtual fracas involving multiple players in armor, several monsters, and a towering dragon, jaws spewing fire.

"Have fun storming the castle!" I chirp as I step through the apartment door.

My husband responds, grimly, "Thanks." I can hear his fingers clacking furiously on the keys as the door closes behind me. It's part of our love language to quote "The Princess Bride."

While I haven't technically performed onstage since my last improv class about 17 years ago, I've spent enough time with actors and stage folk over the years to have adopted their prohibition towards saying "Good luck." In fact, even writing the phrase in this essay feels a little sketchy. Excuse me while I knock vigorously on our wooden coffee table to negate the bad juju.

Of course, being part of a nerdy family -- with parents who were proud to watch the original "Star Trek" when it first aired -- and having married a fellow geek, we often draw our felicitations from our shared culture.

"May the Force be with you!" I tell our teenage son. Slathered in sunscreen and bug spray and wearing his wide-brimmed "Australian outback" hat, he exits the car to join the other youth counselors, or "Green Shirts," for the first day of Cub Scout summer day camp. Given the large intersection between geeks and those involved in Scouting, I wouldn't be surprised if other Green Shirts are sent off similarly. I think it's safe to say that many of the Green Shirts -- and the campers alike -- have seen at least one film in the "Star Wars" series.

I'm not much of a "Hunger Games" fan, but I've seen the first movie, and my son has read the first book. So, I could envision an instance where I would wish him, “May the odds be ever in your favor.” That does, however, seem a bit dark, given the sorts of conditions and challenges faced by the young tributes in the series. I'm not sending him off to kill other teens in the hopes of being the sole survivor, after all.

If our son had turned out to be sports-minded, we might have found ourselves encouraging him to "Leave it all on the field" or "Knock it out of the park!" Or even -- gasp -- the mathematically questionable phrase, "Give it a hundred and ten percent!" But our son followed in his parents' geeky footsteps and, instead of joining the baseball team, became a proud member of the high school robotics team. At their matches, they shout in unison, "L-O-V-E, we love our drive team!" Love triumphs over luck any day.

A much more likely send-off for my son would be "Don't forget your towel!" The most appropriate time to use this benediction, of course, would have been while he was leaving for his weeklong overnight summer Scout camp. Of course, as fans of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" know, this phrase implies much more than the ability to take a shower, because in that universe, there's nothing that ensures survival quite as effectively as knowing where your towel is.

If anyone in our immediate family had taken Latin instead of French, we might have gravitated towards the pseudo-Latin phrase “Fortunatus Maximus!” Apparently, that phrase is especially amusing to Latin students, because it doesn't exist in classic Latin. But of course, any English-speaking person will grok it as meaning "great fortune." It's one of those geek jokes that only make sense to an exclusive sub-group (and anyone who's had it explained to them).

Along the same lines would be chemistry jokes, preferred by chemists, science teachers, and pretty much all dads everywhere. Such a person might see me off to teach an after-school science club by wishing me, "May you always find the SOLUTION to your problems." I could see my husband, a former chemist, saying this and then fixing me with a broad smile as he awaited my reaction. (See what I did there?)

But the most often-used geeky phrase conveying good wishes originated with "Star Trek." The Vulcan phrase "Live long and prosper" has become the go-to phrase for a multitude of uses and has been so prevalent in popular culture that the Vulcan salute can be immediately understood to convey that wish. I'd certainly rather hear "Live long and prosper" than have someone tell me to "break a leg" or "knock 'em dead."

And while we're still several years away from seeing our son off to college, I can imagine myself leaving our son in front of his dorm room and bidding him adieu with a Vulcan salute, which, as the child of geeks, he would know conveyed every good wish that I could muster.

KFP in his "Australian outback" hat and wearing a "Star Wars" t-shirt. This photo is two years old, so the shirt no longer fits and he's now taller than me! He's still rocking the hat, however.

hafnia

I got the title to my car in the mail, so that's that, it is officially paid off and now it's mine.

Weird.

I had to take it in to get it serviced yesterday, and at the dealership, after all the back and forth about what was being done (and don't even get me started, I was supposed to get a recall taken care of and I didn't and I'm still peeved), it came up somehow that is is paid off, and I got a faint look of surprise from the woman behind the counter, perhaps because I do not look like someone who should have been able to pay off a $15k loan in 3 years and change.

In her defense, I suppose, I was wearing my favorite jeans (holes in the pockets and left leg), one of my favorite shirts (HOLES), the sort-of-ugly sneakers I got online because they don't kill my feet when I have to stand on the concrete in the lab, and I had the (broken zipper, but still serviceable) messenger bag with me, my hair swept up in the sort of bun we call "I need to wash this and I'm going to do that tonight but until then perhaps this will hide the worst of the sins".

It makes me laugh when I think about how I am doing, financially (pretty well) vs how I am perceived (as a horrible goblin who must be horribly broke). Clothes get destroyed in the lab even with a lab coat (don't even get me started, truly), and so at some point you give up and there are "lab clothes" and "home clothes". Lab clothes are the ones with mysterious bleach stains. Home clothes haven't been wrecked yet.

I do have some shirts that are "home shirts", in the sense that they don't have anything horribly wrong with them yet. "Home pants" for the summer are shorts, because I cannot wear them in the lab, and "home shoes" are the wedge sandals I have come to be fond of, for the same reason.

I think sometimes about dressing better, making more of an effort, and then it's like — well. I'm comfortable, and reasonably happy; I have outfits that I wear for Fancy Stuff when needed (including, yes, actual formalwear), and anyway, I'm Old and Very Married and Max is also a horrible goblin, so.

(Besides, it's fun to make someone squirm after they're shitty to me for assumptions they made about my class and disposable income based on how I was dressed.)

This week at work was another that's not worth talking about, but the gist of it is that my cofounder realized that if something didn't change I was probably going to walk away, permanently, and so I am on a different project for the time being. Thank God.

I didn't get to bed until almost 2am last night, and I was up until 2:30 with the sort of nebulous, ill-formed anxiety that gnaws at me a few times a year. What if...

Lately it's been what if the people you love are actually tired of you but are too kind to say so, which is certainly — mmm. A THOUGHT.

This was more or less assuaged when Maximo woke up, about an hour after I did (because despite falling asleep around 2:30AM, I was still awake by 8:30AM), and immediately rolled over to show me something silly he'd meant to share before he fell asleep the night before. At least one person loves me and is not tired of me, and that's enough to pop the anxiety bubble, mostly.

His mom called around 9:30 to talk about logistics. She and his sister are planning to come out for the first part of August — probably the 7th (arriving that evening) through the 12th. This should be fun, minus the part where I have two tabletop games I would rather not move in that same span of time. Alas, alack, etc, etc.

(It'll be fine; this trip is short-notice and I don't think I'm expected to entertain anyone or do anything at all.)

After he got off the phone, got up, went to the farm stand (for fun, mostly), then did annoying Car Stuff (getting gas, etc), ran to the grocery store...

It was a bunch of tiny fiddly errands, most of which were fine, but which all together were a lot. The Nebulous Anxiety started coming back around that time, too, which was just — eugh.

Came home, put everything away, and laid down on the sofa for about an hour. During that time, Max's cat came and loafed upon me and drooled, purring. It's hard to feel like you are full of nebulous anxiety when you have a large fat white cat drooling upon you, so.

Got up, did some various and sundry small things, and — well, yeah.

Texted Amanda and Sharon, asked if they wanted to hang out. Got the affirmative, went ahead and picked up Chinese and drove to meet them. Two episodes of DS9, one episode of Game Changer, and that was that. I did get ribbed a bit about "being on the phone" during DS9, but I am —

I can say this here, because neither of them pay attention to my Dreamwidth (genuinely, I don't know that they know I have one), but: God, I am so tired of "Star Trek".

I pay enough attention to the plots, anyway, that when I inevitably get asked if I saw [x], I can go, "yes, and then [y] happened", and that's enough. If they want perfect, flawless engagement, they're going to have to pick something else. :P

(I have pointed this out; Sharon is mildly bothered, I think, because DS9 was her pick and she loves it and wants me to love it too, and I am just — I have seen most of it and I know I am not the target audience, and rewatching it is a bit like, "welp.")

Anyway, the night ended on a high note, me banging on my chest and declaring wholeheartedly how much I love [CHARACTER] from [PODCAST], he is One Of My Blorbos Okay, and people laughing because I do not usually talk about fandom — or at least, when I do talk about it, it's pretty — not that? Sedate, maybe, is the better way to put it.

(I'm excited to talk to them about this, something that I think also came as a surprise to them both, but oh, well, I contain multitudes? Ha.)

I posted fic to AO3 for the first time ever! Well, not counting the thing that got auto-picked up when another archive shut down and shared there.

It's origfic, the weird iddy thing I've been working on. I am not...not-proud of it? Just. Ha. It's difficult to go, oh yes I should share this with people when I'm also like, "right, so, how cool are all of us with [long list of topics goes here]?"

At any rate!

I got one (1) comment tonight. I was like, "dang, already?" (because I mean...) —

It was spam.

Apparently the same scams I get in my work inbox re: "you've been selected for [imaginary magazine that's supposedly about Inspiring Women Leaders]" have hit AO3. I thought I had comment moderation turned on, but evidently not, so I got the blandest — well, yeah.

The richness and creativity of your story genuinely stand out — it holds exceptional promise as a comic. As a paid illustrator specializing in narrative art, I work on commission and would love to collaborate if you’re ever interested in visualizing your work. You can connect with me via Discord at [REDACTED BECAUSE FUCK 'EM]

On the one hand, deep sigh, this sort of stuff is insidious and there are probably people who do genuinely message them going, "oh my gosh, yes, draw my thing!" — but on the other hand...

The first chapter has a very graphic "we have to fake consummating our marriage" scene.

The second chapter of this work immediately hits on some pretty intense kink.

So, you know. Holds exceptional promise as a comic — uh...huh. Sure. :)

I deleted it and turned comment moderation on. Am now laughing because, well. That would be my luck, wouldn't it, with how this week has gone.

adore

I've got a sore throat and sniffles, boo. It rained pretty much nonstop for a few days so it's the weather's impact. On the upside, the sun finally showed up today, so I was able to do laundry, I have plenty of warm drinks to brew. I don't feel upto following storylines, so I'm watching random YouTube videos and a good chunk of Korean variety shows instead.

Alok V. Menon's comedy special is on YouTube and it's excellent:

Watch on YouTube

I've also been watching a bunch of CIX content, which is perfect for a sick day watch, whether the sickness is physical or mental or both.

Here's a series in which a fan's parent meets their child's idol. In this episode it was CIX's Hyunsuk meeting his fan's mother. His fan loves his cover dance of EXO's The Eve, and it was funny to see Hyunsuk and the fan's mother have a mutual breakdown: Hyunsuk too embarrassed to dance to The Eve given the quantity and ubiquity of body waves, and the fan's mother being too embarrassed to watch him attempt it.

Watch on YouTube

And here's a vlog by a FIX, that is, a CIX fan, attending their recent concert with her fellow fan friends. She's clearly Hyunsuk biased and I'm hoping I can find similar fan vlogs by someone who is Yonghee biased (Yonghee, I adore you!). I envy her having IRL friends to fangirl over CIX with, and IRL means to see CIX live! I've set the video to start at 5:09 which is when Yonghee and Hyunsuk are demonstrating the choreo for their duet performance, the one that made me ship the hell out of them and fangirl over them, for the other two members, Seunghun and BX, to try. It's my favourite bit :) I enjoyed this vlog, although it made me wistful, like everything does these days.

Watch on YouTube

My plans for the rest of Sunday include watching more CIX and k-variety content, drinking warm drinks, and napping.

Current Mood: sick

hafnia

( beneath the jump. )

roina_arwen

Toi, Toi, Toi

When you take the bull by the horns
you could face an unfavorable dilemma--
do you beat around the proverbial bush
or stick firmly to your smoking guns?

When you shoot for the stars
you might just steal someone's thunder--
but if you proudly weather the storm
will it leave your head in the clouds?

When you throw your hat in the ring
you hope to have your act together--
yet the devil is always in the details
and no stone should remain unturned.

When you let the good times roll
you might let sleeping dogs lie in wait--
but if once bitten means twice shy,
why did curiosity kill the fat cat?

When you knock 'em dead or blow them away
you hope not to pay an arm and a leg--
yet setting the court record straight
might add extra fuel to the uncontrolled fire.

Whatever you do, don't wish me good luck.
I don't want to break a leg or make a splash--
it only takes two to tango when pigs fly.
I'm snowed under with idioms and idiots.

Toi toi toi!

Current Mood: silly

author_by_night

Journaling: Life in fandom goes through ups and downs. Reminisce about the "wild ride" of your time in fandom or in other online communities.

Creative: Create an image or a photo with the theme "let's go for a ride".

Well, I was in the wizards we don't talk about fandom. That fandom was bonkers. In fact, while I definitely knew it was... out there at the time, it's only recently that I've realized just how out there it was, compared to other fandoms. People have talked about how fandoms used to be nice, and that was not my experience. But it wasn't all bad; I made lifelong friends, after all. And the enthusiasm. I don't think I've been part of a group of fans quite as enthused as those fans, although Firefly and Our Flag Means Death fans came close.

The second of my first two fandom was ostensibly one website. There were a few others, but this was the one that lasted longest. It was for the Earth's Children book series. The admin founded in in 1996. The website/forum was interesting because while it was technically a fandom, it was really its own thing, a one-of-a-kind community. We talked about the books, we wrote fanfic (not just for the series, but other fandoms as well), however there were threads for gardening and discussing politics and all this other stuff. We talked about our lives. I felt close to those people. The site's still around, though not nearly as active as it once was.

I'm currently in the Schitt's Creek fandom, and I've also dabbled in 911, Heartstopper and Our Flag Means Death in recent years (among other fandoms). Let's be honest, SC was a gateway to 911, Heartstopper and OFMD. :) I've enjoyed them, too, even if current fandom works differently. Actually, most of my Heartstopper activity is one group, in a way harkening back to my days on the aforementioned website.

A lot of wild things have happened in my years of being in fandoms. I've seen friendships form, people fall in love, getting through traumatic situations; I've even seen lives saved. I also remember how we came together during bad global events, in some cases taking headcounts to make sure we were all okay.

It's really a rollercoaster, for better or for worse.