#dark road I think… had less of an effect on me because it didnt have good payoff. I would forgive the messy pacing and uneven attention | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

animalkingdom-an0nymous · 4 years

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Cruel Summer

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: It’s a smutty, filthy, NSFW Tom Holland AU and he just can’t seem to keep his hands off his best friend’s sister. No. Really. It’s a problem for both of them.

Subject: Tom X Y/N

"Why can't you watch the beach house, Jordan?" I asked my brother with my phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, wet dishes in between my palms.

"Because you live closer, you don't have a toddler running around, and you got out of doing it last time."

"Bringing JJ into this is low, even for you. Scumbag." I laughed, not serious in the slightest.

Jordan was two years younger than me but was probably more put together than I'd ever be. He ran his own construction company, had a beautiful wife, and had given me the greatest gift I'd ever known; my nephew, JJ.

Staying at the beach house was far from a hardship, but there was a storm coming and based on the news reports it was going to get ugly. Mom and dad wanted someone there to keep an eye on things and they were getting a bit too old to handle the responsibility of tending to the beach house on their own. I didn't blame them, and I didnt blame Jordan, he was right. I did live closer, but I was also looking forward to spending this weekend's storm curled up in bed watching old Audrey Hepburn movies and eating my weight in Pizzeria Regina. My phone was gonna be on airplane mode, absolutely no disturbances. Maybe a few orgasms, a little porn.

But even as I was scrubbing dishes and getting ready for my relaxing weekend, I knew I'd soon be packing a bag and getting in my car to head to the beach. Shit. “Fine. Fine. I’ll head out soon, but if this storm turns out to be nothing I am returning your birthday present and you’re responsible for mom and dad’s anniversary dinner.”

“If you really want to trust your dear brother in the kitchen then that’s your fault.”

I laughed, drying my hands with a towel before grabbing the phone. “Jordan, can you promise me one thing?”

“What’s that, Y/N?”

“Promise to give that kid the biggest kiss for me. Leila, too.”

“Thank you for not stealing him away!” My sister-in-law’s voice traveled through the phone like a song, her Japanese accent soft.

“Love you both. Stay safe tonight.”

“Text me when you get there.”

I ended the call, tossing my phone on the bed and quickly rummaging through my closet. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the tv could be heard faintly from the living room, alerting me to the weather report. Sixty mile per hour winds, flash floods, possibility of power outages, and a storm warning was already in effect.

I quickly yanked on a pair of denim shorts and an old UMass hoodie, the maroon material worn and comfortable, and definitely not mine. There may have been a storm rolling in but the summer air was thick with humidity, so all I grabbed as alternatives were a bathing suit, another pair of shorts, and a t-shirt, tucking the materials into my backpack along with my toothbrush and phone charger.

Within minutes I was packed and ready to go, pulling the hood over my head and catching the familiar scent of someone I hadn’t seen in a while. Or, maybe it was less of a scent and more of a memory. Shrugging it away, I locked the door and bounded to my car just as the first few drops of rain began to fall.

Music flowed through the speakers as I took back roads towards the coast, something tugging at my heart a bit as I thought of the last time I’d been at the beach house. My parents, Jordan, Leila, JJ.

Tom.

I rolled my shoulders, trying to relax as an old song came on.

Fuck this. I turned the radio down, alone with my thoughts. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about Tom since the last time I saw him, since I said too much. It wasn’t a hookup, it was nothing more than a conversation. Which was fine, Tom and I were friends. Sort of. Not really. He was my brother’s friend, his best friend. And that was it.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t sitting there suddenly drowning in thoughts about our last encounter, both of us out on the back deck long after everyone had gone to sleep, the first real conversation we’d ever had in our adult lives. I hadn’t seen him in nearly two years when we were both still in college, Tom at UMass Amherst while I attended USC. He’d moved from London to the States with his family when he was thirteen, making fast friends with Jordan and becoming like a part of the family. He was around on holidays, weekends, he practically lived at our house during the summer. He would drink my orange juice and bother me while I tried to read. I’d known him when he was annoying and pimple faced, when he was an absolute dick to anyone who wasn’t JJ, when he was going off to college. Tom had been a major part of my childhood, my formative years.

He was also the biggest player I had ever met.

From an early age he knew that girls were drawn to the accent. He used it to his advantage, had girls hanging off his every word. I’d seen his social media, saw him shirtless on beaches with different girls, in clubs with different girls, in dorm rooms with different girls. I wasn’t jealous, but only because I’d known him for years. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the hype.

From the day I met him, I knew Tom Holland was trouble.

But that night, long after everyone had gone to sleep and we were two bottles of wine deep, something shifted. Maybe it was the topic of conversation, maybe it was the way the late June breeze wrapped around us, maybe it was the fucking wine. But something changed that night.

But that was two months ago.

We hadn’t spoken since.

I shook my head, telling myself to stay focused on the road, on the drive. I could still have the peaceful weekend I wanted, if only I could turn my brain off for just a bit.

I was pulling into the driveway of the beach house forty five minutes later and the rain was coming down in buckets. It was flying sideways, splashing against the car hard enough that I couldn’t see out the windshield. Thunder boomed overhead and it felt as though it was straight out of a movie.

I yanked my hood up once more and killed the engine, gripping my backpack and holding it against my chest as I looked at the house. The two story, wood shingled home was every bit the beach cottage. It was located right on a dead end, a path leading straight down to the beach.

The lights were off, the furniture on the porch scattered from the wind. I knew I’d have my work cut out for me if I needed to make sure everything was secure, so without thinking twice, I threw open the driver’s side door and jumped out, the broken shells in the driveway crunching under my sneakers. I made a beeline for the side door, running up the steps and throwing open the storm door as the wind howled around me, A regular thunderstorm was bad enough. A summer storm? It could leave the house flooded.

Unlocking the door, I threw myself inside and slammed it behind me, leaning back and catching my breath as the silent stillness of the house settled around me. Thanks to modern technology, I turned the central air on before I got there, so the air was cool against my bare legs.

I went through the motions and turned some lights on, made sure the basement was shut with bags of sand by every entrance to soak up any flood water or other leaks. The fridge was empty, but I wasn’t hungry anyway. I knew I’d disappear up to my room with a bottle of wine and Netflix on my mind soon enough, I just needed to make-

Headlights bounced off the living room walls, a sign that someone had just pulled into the driveway. Surely it wasn’t my parents, they both hated driving in the rain, and it couldn’t have been Jordan, unless he was so concerned by the weather that he felt compelled to drive over an hour to check on me.

I quickly pulled my phone out of my back pocket. No missed calls or texts. Oh, so you’re saying it’s a murderer? My mind was quickly going into overdrive, covering all the possibilities of who would be there to murder me and what I could use as a weapon to defend myself. But hey, could you blame me? Twenty five years old and alone during a storm, 20/20 basically already had that episode mapped out for me.

A car door slammed shut.

Shells were being crunched under shoes.

Pounding footsteps up the side stairs. A shadow appeared on the other side of the door and my heart leaped into my chest. I was more than prepared to call the police when I heard the familiar sound of a key being inserted into a lock. I was standing in the doorway of the living room when the side door swung open, revealing someone I most certainly wasn’t expecting to see.

“I… Tom?”

He was squinting, his face and hair soaked by the onslaught of rain outside. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

It was evident that he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Tom’s accent seemed to thicken when he was angry or confused, and right now he seemed to be a mix of both.

I took in his appearance, trying not to be too obvious. He was wearing dark washed jeans and a pair of black Nikes, a simple black hoodie over a plain white t-shirt. Completely fucking effortless and still the most good looking guy in a fifty mile radius. His brown curls were matted to his forehead and he pushed them back, running his fingers through the thick trusses.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out accusatory and I cleared my throat. Relax. You’ve been in this house with him plenty of times before. “Are you... is there a girl in your car or something?”

“What?” Tom scrubbed a hand over his face, still clearly shocked and confused. “What do you- Jesus, no. You think I’d bring a girl back to your parents’ beach house, Y/N?” He finally looked at me, drops of water still catching on his long lashes. “You think I’d- hey, my jumper.”

“What?” I responded before looking down. Fuck. Me. Sideways. I was still wearing the UMass hoodie, the same UMass hoodie he’d given me last time I saw him. “Oh! Yeah, I… I brought it back to my place with me. And then Jordan called me and asked me to come here and it was right by the door, so I figured I’d… you know, bring it back here and… leave it… for you?” I was making it sound like a question.

Why was I making it sound like a question?

Are you having a fucking stroke? I asked myself as Tom blinked at me a few times, saying nothing. Lightning struck outside, momentarily blinding me as the lights flickered. Damn, losing power meant no Netflix. No Netflix meant Y/N’s chill weekend was about to go to shit. Technically, it already did because I 1) wasn’t even in my own home and 2) no longer feeling chill thanks to one british Tom.

“Jordan asked you to come?”

“Yeah, why?”

He looked around, peeking out the window. “Your parents called me and asked if I’d come make sure the house was secure.”

My parents? I was confused. Jordan specifically called me and asked me to go because he couldn’t. Why would my parents call Tom? Questions were flying through my head and I was already shrugging out of the hoodie, suddenly feeling like the material was too heavy, like I was drowning in it.

I held it out to him as he turned to face me again. “He probably didn’t call them to let them know I was coming, you know how he is.”

Tom smiled then, revealing straight white teeth. “Your brother’s a space cadet.”

That smile had my stomach doing backflips and I ached to calm down. It never used to be like this with him. He was cute, yes. Very. He was charming. He had nice looking hands. But he was Tom. He was Jordan’s Tom. He was the same Tom who fucked Missy Turner under the bleachers at the Homecoming game and the same Tom who let Rochelle Adams suck him off in the janitor’s closet during school. He was that Tom.

So why was I looking at him like he was Netflix and I’d had a long ass day?

I realized I was still staring, not saying anything. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here. We can kill Jordan, if you want. I feel like that’s good payback?”

Tom nodded, still smiling and playing along. “Yeah, we could. But then Leila would do away with us and I’m far too handsome to die this young.”

“True.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and jerked his chin at me. “And you… you have more of my jumpers to steal.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I didn’t steal it. If I remember correctly, you offered it to me.”

“I did.”

I was still holding the hoodie out to him. “Here.”

He made no move to grab it, hands still in his pockets. “Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”

My stomach dropped and I found myself speechless. “I… you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah, no worries.”

I nodded my head, heat flooding my face as I looked down. What the fuck was going on with me? I didn’t act shy, not around other guys and definitely not around Tom. During college, I finally found my confidence sexually and I took hold of that. I was not the shy girl.

“Do you want to head out before the weather gets really bad?” I asked him

.As if on cue, thunder cracked loudly overhead, releasing a loud boom followed by flashes of lightning. The lights flickered again and Tom met my eyes across the room, blinking those chocolate pools at me. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere, darling.”

His voice was quiet, almost too quiet. I could have sworn I could hear the waves crashing against the shore, or maybe it was the blood rushing in my ears. We stood, staring at each other for a moment, and I opened my mouth to speak when there was a loud crash at the back of the house.

I jumped with a yelp, my heart slamming against my ribcage. “What the fuck was that?”

Tom moved past me, absentmindedly reaching out to touch my arm as he went. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Um, that’s what people say right before they murdered. Even though I had come to terms with the fact that I was irrational, I wasn’t going to take any risks. Turning, I followed close behind him, catching the earthy, musky scent of his soap. Or, was it his laundry detergent? I didn’t know, but I enjoyed it. He smelled woodsy, warm. Safe.

Back the fuck up I cleared my throat, telling myself not to look at the way the material of his jacket stretched across his shoulders. There was a small crash again as we made our way to the back door.

“It’s a shutter.” He laughed and opened the window, screaming wind filling my ears as he grabbed the shutter and slammed it, closing the window. Turning, he had a smug smirk on his face. “You’re a big baby.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “No, I’m not.”

He started to laugh, tilting his head back. “You screamed like a banshee.”

I flipped him off before turning my back on him, retreating as his laughter followed. “You’re a dick.”

My response only made him laugh harder.

Everything in the house seemed to be in order. The windows were shut and locked, the basement was set. The only thing that needed to be brought in was the outdoor furniture, but we needed the rain to let up a bit first.

When I walked back down the stairs after checking the second floor, Tom was rummaging through the kitchen. Seeing him there immediately brought me back to that night, the intimate conversation, the almost.

TWO MONTHS AGO

My parents had gone to bed nearly an hour ago and I was in my room listening to an old Rolling Stones record. Jordan was somewhere, possibly in his room with Leila and JJ, or possibly drinking down on the beach with Tom. It was one of the first weekends at the beach house, one of the first weekends of summer, and the air wasn’t thick yet. There was a breeze floating through the open windows and everything felt warm. New. The summer solstice was upon us and I lived for family weekends at the beach.

Funny thing about family weekends? Tom was there almost every single time.

“You’re still up?” I asked his back as I entered the kitchen, watching as he struggled to uncork a bottle of wine. He was wearing black basketball shorts and his old UMass hoodie, somehow still looking like an ad for an Abercrombie summer collection.

Tom sighed in defeat, slamming the bottle down on the granite countertop before answering me with a huff. “First weekend here and your brother’s already in bed.”

“Dad life.” I said with a laugh.

Tom smiled at the mention of our godchild. The day Jordan and Leila asked us to be godparents I’d been so emotional I cried for nearly an hour and, though I knew he wouldn't admit it if pressed, Tom was emotional about it, too.

“I love that little monster.”

I reached out, taking the bottle and finessing the cork for a moment before it finally released with a soft pop. “Jesus, Tom, you need to be slow with her. Gentle.” I chided as I reached into the cabinet, producing two glasses.

He took the bottle in a wide palm, tilting it to fill a glass before passing it to me. “I don’t know, she doesn’t like it too gentle.”

I rolled my eyes even as I felt my heart speed up. “Are we still talking about wine, or has the conversation moved to your latest conquest?”

Tom put a hand over his heart and threw his head back as if he’d been shot. “For your information, there hasn’t been a so called conquest in over a month.”

I feigned shock. “Over a month? Tommy, are you feeling alright?”

I was still laughing, but Tom paused to glare at me for using his little nickname. He hated being called Tommy and always had, but for whatever reason he never corrected me, never told me not to call him that. He’d glare, sure, but he never told me to stop.

“Feeling just fine, love.” He took a sip of the cool white wine, his brown eyes looking at me over the delicate crystal glass he held. “Fancy going outside for a bit?”

We were the only two left awake. I could faintly hear the pitter patter of feet upstairs as Jordan or Leila hushed a crying JJ, and then looked at Tom. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And that’s how we ended up on the back porch, the sound of the sea crashing against the shoreline as a soundtrack for our conversation. The wind had picked up but other than that the world was silent. It was just the two of us, and after not seeing each other for so long it felt like there was a million things to catch up on, yet I didn’t know where to start. I could ask him about graduation or what it was like to live in a big city, but in the grand scheme of things did those questions really matter? Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the atmosphere. But I wanted to know about Tom, about how he was doing, how his life was. If he was happy.

If he was single.

The thought was fleeting yet it caught me off guard nonetheless. I had no reason for caring if Tom was single, but there I was wondering if he was. He had changed over the two years I was away, his eyes sharper, his jaw more defined and making him look older. Still five eight but no longer the skinny boy he used to be. There was more definition to his arms, his chest a bit more puffed up. I took in the breadth of his shoulders and the slope of his neck, too caught up in staring at him to notice that he was actually speaking to me.

“What did you say?”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Daydreamer. Are you listening to me at all?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry!” I laughed, draining my glass and then reaching for the bottle. “This wine goes right to my head. I’m all ears, what were you saying?”

He grabbed the bottle from me, refilling his own glass. “I was asking you about being home. Are you and… Bryan… Bobby… doing the long distance thing?”

“His name is Ben, and no.”

Tom snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Ben! That’s right, Boring Ben.”

I wanted to defend my newest ex, but I couldn’t. He truly was one of the most boring, insufferable people I’d ever been around. We dated for the last two years of college, maybe out of convenience, or maybe because it was because I’d gotten comfortable. People assumed we would get married, but the thought of walking down the aisle to him made me sick to my stomach. We literally had nothing to talk about, his friends didn’t like me, and the sex was mediocre at best, leaving me disappointed with myself for getting so comfortable that I was settling for bad sex.

I took a sip of my wine, looking down at the glass for a moment.

“I… what did you just say, love?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused.

“Did you just say that you settled for bad sex with Boring Ben?”

What? What? It was quite possibly the biggest mistake I’d ever made, saying those words aloud. But it all honesty I didn’t think I’d said anything. I wasn’t drunk, definitely not drunk enough to make that sort of slip.

I was mortified.

My eyes widened as I looked at Tom. My face and ears felt hot and I tried to sputter out an apology. “Holy shit. Tom, listen, I didn’t mean to say any of that out loud. I-”

“Stop.”

I paused, my heart hammering in my chest. He leaned forward slightly, placing his glass on the table as he regarded me seriously. “You didn’t mean to say any of it out loud. But you were thinking about the bad sex you settled for?”

I took in his words and felt my face heat even more. It sounded pathetic, embarrassing, but I was so focused on school that the relationship had taken more of a backseat. It was nice to have someone at the holidays and during family and university events. It was nice to not feel so alone in California while my friends and family were three thousand miles away. It was all… nice. Convenient. Words that shouldn’t always be associated when regarding a relationship.

But it was my truth. Ben was boring, I was settling, we got stuck.

“Can we pretend this never happened?” I blurted the words out, hoping Tom would be agreeable. If he told Jordan they would rag on me for the rest of my life and having to suffer through it now was bad enough.

“I don’t think I can do that, darling.” He was already shaking his head and my stomach was sinking. “Because it breaks my heart that you settled for less.”

I didn’t know what to say, caught off guard by Tom’s soft tone and sweet words. I shouldn’t have zeroed in on him calling me darling, but I couldn’t help it. He’d never done that before.

Ever.

I shivered, not knowing if it was from the breeze or the way he was looking at me, but he noticed. Quirking that one, whacky eyebrow at me, Tom asked, “Are you cold?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, the wind is picking up.” I rubbed my hands over my arms.

Tom stood, reaching a hand behind his back in between his shoulder blades, pulling his hoodie off. I tried to avert my eyes as the front of his shirt rose, revealing a strip of skin above his shorts. I couldn’t help but stare at the defined V of his hips or notice the way his ab muscles contracted with every movement.

He handed me the sweatshirt with a boyish smile on his face. “Take it. I’m hot anyway.”

You have no idea, I mused silently, thanking him and slipping the material over my head. It was soft, worn, the inside of it felt warm from his body heat. I could feel his eyes on me as I adjusted the material, pulling the hood up so that it framed my face.

“Looks good,” he quipped.

I smiled, taking a very large sip of my wine, thinking I was out of the clear.

“So how bad was it?”

I nearly spit the wine out at the question. “Excuse me?”

“The sex.” He deadpanned. “How bad was it?”

If I was the fainting type I would have been on the deck floor. “Tom, I’m not fucking telling you about my sex life.”

“Sounds like a LACK of a sex life, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

He smiled, but it quickly faded as he regarded me seriously. “Really, Y/N, how bad was it?”

I wanted to blame my honesty on the alcohol or the late hour, but really I think I just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to confide in. Tom may have been an asshole playboy to some, but never to me. Thinking back on it, he may have even been a gentleman to me. Sure, he would annoy me when we were kids and barge into my room without knocking, or he’d go through my purse looking for gum, and there was the time he accidentally ate my birth control thinking it was a mint.

But Tom was also the guy who punched my high school boyfriend in the teeth for dumping me the night before Homecoming. He was also the guy who made an obnoxiously huge sign with Jordan for my graduation. He was that guy.

“It wasn’t… bad.” I found myself starting to open up a bit, pulling at a thread that was sure to unravel if I didn’t stop soon. “It was just routine. It was always the same thing, Ben wasn’t very adventurous. He didn’t like to try things, he hated anything new. He was just…” I took a breath, trying to choose my words carefully. “Set in his ways, I suppose. And that didn’t work for me anymore.”

“So, you ended it?”

I nodded, draining my glass once again. “Yeah, and that was when he showed his true colors.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I thought back to the breakup. We’d been in Ben’s truck and it was raining. We were parked at a diner that was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. “He confronted me. He knew I was acting weird and he refused to drop it until I told him. I tried to explain that it wasn’t him, that I felt we just weren’t compatible. Ben lost his fucking mind. He was screaming at me about how he had all these plans for us, how I was fucking things up.” I paused, thinking back on the way he looked at me, like I was trash. “He called me a cunt, told me to get out of his car, and then I walked two miles back to my apartment.”

Tom’s eyes widened at my admission. His cheeks were tinted pink and I assumed it was from the booze, but when his mouth pulled into a tight line I realized it was because he was angry. I’d even say he was pissed. “He what?”

“I know, I know, it was a shitty thing for him to do. But the thing is, I’m not even all that upset about it anymore. I finally got to see who he really was and, oddly enough, the only thing I felt on that two mile walk was relief. It was finally over, it was like Ben was my last attachment to California. I could finally come home.”

He was silent for a moment, taking a sip of his wine before speaking. “Do your parents know about what happened with Ben? Does Jordan?”

I shook my head.

“Then why tell me?”

Our eyes met, held. Tom’s face held a look of concern, confusion, and something else. Something I couldn’t quite place. He was leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees as we stared each other down.

“Because honesty comes easier when it’s dark out, Tommy.”

He swallowed, not looking away from me. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears, the wine making my lips tingle with the familiar buzz. Everything suddenly felt hot, burning hot, like it was on fire. Like the whole world was about to go up in flames.

Maybe mine was.

“I won’t tell them.”

“I know you won’t.” I reached out, gripping his hand. “You’re a good guy, Tommy.” I gave his hand a quick squeeze, meaning to let go, but then his long digits were wrapping around the back of my hand and it suddenly felt like we were magnets. I couldn’t let him go. His skin was warm, somewhat calloused against the soft skin of my knuckles.

His voice was so soft and quiet when he finally broke the silence, I had to lean in to hear him. “Y/N, what were those things you wanted to try?”

“Huh?” I felt as though I was in a trance.

“You said Boring Ben never wanted to try new things. What were they? He raised his eyebrows expectantly, fingers still stroking over the back of my hand.

It felt like a distraction, a very chaotic, overstimulating distraction. It was the smallest, simplest of movements, but feeling his fingers dance across my skin was hypnotic, and it was only my HAND. But I couldn’t ignore the question and it made my stomach turn. I didn’t want to tell him the things I wanted to do with Ben, the different versions of sex I wanted to explore more of. Sure, I tried things with different people before Ben and I got together, but it had been so long. So long since I got the attention I was craving.

So long since I’d done something reckless and new.

So long since I’d been touched by hands that were actually interested in making me feel more than a grip.“Tom…” I breathed out his name, suddenly overwhelmed. The scent of him was on the sweatshirt I wore and I could feel his knee bump mine as he moved closer.

“Tell me. I can keep a secret, love.” His words were hushed, quiet as he leaned just a little closer, our faces mere inches apart.

“I…” I started, my eyes flickering down to his lips before moving back up. Tom saw the movement, his lips curling slightly. “I wanted… something new.”

“Something new or someone new?” Tom responded.

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly, feeling his fingers tighten around mine.

“I think you do. I think you know exactly what you want, Y/N, you just need to say it.” He leaned even closer, his nose brushing mine, and when I went to back up he brought his free hand around and reached into the sweatshirt, knocking the hood off and cupping the back of my neck, his hand gentle but firm, kneading the soft skin where my neck met my shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” I gasped, suddenly struggling to breathe, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events.

“Then tell me what you want. Say it.”

I was so wrapped up in Tom, in the moment, that I didn’t care about anything. Fuck the neighbors, fuck Boring Ben, fuck my family that was literally sleeping only feet away in the house. I wanted Tom. I wanted new. I wanted him to touch me the way he touched the girls who told stories about him. I wanted him to kiss me like he’d die if couldn’t.

“I want y-”

“Y/N? Tom?” a soft, sleepy voice came from just inside the house.

We sprang apart like we’d been electrocuted, Tom standing and walking to the edge of the porch while I pulled the hood back up, trying to look nonchalant and failing beautifully just as Jordan poked his head out from the screen door. “What are you two doing up?”

Tom didn’t answer, still looking out towards the path that led to the beach. “We couldn’t sleep, figured we’d devour a bottle of wine and then crash.” I laughed even though I felt anything but amused, standing up and heading over to the door. “I’m gonna try to sleep, though. I’ll see you both in the morning?” I brushed past Jordan, standing up on my tiptoes to hug him before turning to Tom, who had finally turned around. The look on his face was strained and frustrated, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

God, he was so far from the boy I used to know.

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

PRESENT

“Earth to Y/N.” Tom waved a hand in front of my face, laughing. “You with me?”

I shook my head, pulled out of that very intimate memory. “What? Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long week.” I laughed and tried to play it off like I was fine, but my stomach was turning in knots. We’d both slept under the same roof before, hundreds of times, but now things felt different. Heavy. It was like I’d spilled something last time and there was still a stain that wouldn’t come up no matter how hard I scrubbed.

“You have your pick of bedrooms.” I said casually. “Jordan’s, my parents’, the guest room. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want. It was an unintentional double entendre, but I noticed the way his eyes darkened slightly.

“Where are you sleeping?”

“My room.” I clarified.

He nodded his head, moving around the center island as he shrugged out of his jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch. “Y/N, can I ask you a question?”I shrugged my shoulders.

“Go for it.”

He looked at me then, his jaw clenched as he braced his hands on the back of the sofa, fingers spread in a way that looked almost vulgar. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like you’re scared I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

“I’m not.” I started to defend myself, straightening my spine. “I’m just freaked out because of the rain.”

“Bollocks. You’ve loved the rain since we were kids.”

I shook my head, sensing the anger in his tone. “Don’t do this whole angry british thing tonight, Tom. I’m in a mood.”

“Clearly.”I narrowed my eyes at him, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” He huffed at me, his cheeks flushed. “You’re the one who can barely look me in the eye, Y/N. So, you tell me what the problem is.”

“I don’t have a problem.” It was a lie. A blatant lie. But I wanted to move past whatever this was with him. I had to move past it. I couldn’t crush on my brother’s best friend. I read those books. I saw those movies. It would ruin everything.I had finally come home, had finally gotten my old life back. No matter how much I wanted Tom- and believe me, I fucking craved him- I could never have him. He would always be just out of my grasp.Which was a good thing.

“Okay, you don’t have a problem. That means we can discuss what happened last time we were here, yeah?”

I froze, no words coming out of my mouth. He said the words so casually it was as though he was talking about the weather. “I... “ I was struggling, slipping, losing my composure. “I don’t know-”

Tom was shaking his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Don’t even fuckin’ say it, Y/N. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Tom looked at me, eyes blazing. “You wanted it, I know you did. I felt it.”

My breathing was labored as I blinked at him. I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t want to acknowledge what happened, I wanted us to forget it and move on. It was a moment of weakness, it was late.

“It was the wine.” I said quietly. “We were drinking. W-we weren’t thinking straight.”

“It was the wine.” He repeated my words, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at me. “It was the wine.. That’s a joke, innit?” When I didn’t respond, Tom walked over to me, the tips of his sneakers touching the tips of my bare toes. “The truth is, Y/N, you didn’t drink that much. Neither did I. I knew exactly what I was saying to you and I was sober enough to see your reaction.”

“Tom-”

“Why won’t you be honest with me?” Tom’s voice was so soft it felt like a blanket.

The question felt like a knife to the gut? He was right to be confused. I never had any issue speaking my mind with Tom, with Ben, with anyone. I was opinionated, I said what was on my mind. But I was completely frozen with him. I just couldn’t push the words out of my mouth, couldn’t tell him that all of this was killing me, draining me. I couldn’t be open and honest and tell him that I’d spent the last two months thinking about him. That it never stopped. That the smell of him was haunting me, the feeling of his fingers on my skin was a memory I wanted to drown it. Tom had been in my life for over a decade.

Why now?

As if God was finally on my side for once, we were interrupted by the sound of furniture scraping across both the front and back decks. “My parents are gonna kill me if we lose any of those deck chairs.”

He stared at me for a moment and said nothing, his eyes searching my face. Eventually, he took one step back, seemingly giving up

.I hated the relief that went through me. But more than that, I loathed the disappointment that tugged at my heartstrings. I felt his eyes on me as I walked to the front door, pulling open the door and bursting outside with a deep breath, appreciating the way the rain hit my skin. I needed to cool down.

We were both silent as we got the stuff from the front and put it in the living room, turning the normally spacious room into nothing more than a cramped closet. Then came the back of the house, something that would be more difficult. The furniture was heavier, we had to walk up and down stairs, the thunder was clapping so loud I feared I’d go deaf.

I glanced up at Tom as he bounded down the porch steps. His shirt was completely soaked, the white material now stuck to his skin, nearly transparent. I could make out the tight muscles of his shoulders and the way his back tapered down to a lean waist.

Stop, stop, stop. I was screaming at myself, my feet slipping in my flip flops. I angrily kicked them off and then stormed down the stairs, suddenly furious about the rain and having to come to the beach house, and I was angry at Tom for not leaving well enough alone. More than that though, I was angry at myself for letting any of it happen in the first place.

He was dragging chairs by me when I stopped and wheeled around, facing him. “Why would you go and do this now?” I had to shout to be heard over the rain. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

Tom paused for a moment, his jaw clenched, rain dripping down his face. Releasing the chairs, he slicked his hair back. “I… I don’t know. Okay, I don’t bloody know, Y/N. I saw you here for the first time in two fucking years, and I missed you. I missed you so fucking much and I didn’t even know it. And then you were here and I couldn’t get enough of you. I wanted to catch up, I wanted to talk. I wasn’t even going to try anything, not that night, but then you mentioned Ben and everything you didn’t do with him, and I just couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, alright? I am. But I’m not gonna sit here and play this bullshit game with you. You let me in that night and you can’t take it back.”

You let me in that night and you can’t take it back.

His admission left me stunned. He looked vulnerable and honest, the words heartfelt. I knew he meant all of it, that he didn’t mean for anything to happen that night. Not that anything really happened, but it felt as though that conversation changed everything. There was a shift, one that neither of us could stop.

“It doesn’t matter.” I finally responded, my voice laced with disappointment. “We can’t do this, Tom. Whatever that night was, whatever that conversation was, it has to stay there. It has to stay in that night.”

“I can’t fucking do that!” He shouted, the rain still pouring down around us. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend I didn’t feel something, Y/N.”

I was aching for him to stop. I knew he meant all of it, that he wasn’t trying to play me or hurt me. Tom would never risk saying the things he said if they weren’t at least party true.

I was beyond frustrated as I turned, grabbing more things to bring inside. Tom was huffing and puffing ahead of me, mumbling to himself. He was clearly angry, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. We were both soaked from head to toe, my feet bare against the deck as we lifted the glass table, maneuvering it up the stairs to the back of the house.Tom’s eyes were on me the whole time and I was too cowardly to look in his direction. Carrying that heavy glass table while thunder roared and lightning flashed was stressful, to say the least. But I didn’t even care about the storm, I cared about the absolute hurricane that was my situation with Tom. I wanted to fix it, needed to.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

His question caught me off guard. We’d put the rest of the furniture away and I was outside searching for one missing flip flop, rain hitting me sideways as I turned to stare at him. He was leaned against the door frame, arms crossed with that white shirt sticking to him like a second skin. I could make out the line of the chain he wore, could see where it fell against his chest. Tom looked like the cover of a romance novel, a few stray curls falling around his forehead. Even in my terrified, angry confusion, my attraction to him was undeniable.

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m being smart. What, you want me to admit that I’m attracted to you? Fine, Tom. I am. But attraction doesn’t change things. We can’t cross that line, now will you please help me find my other flip flop?”

“Jesus.” He stormed past me, pointing a finger in my direction as he went. “This conversation’s not done.”

I shouted his name as he walked back down the stairs in no urgency because he was already soaked. His jeans sat low on his hips, probably weighed down by the water as he bent down, pulling something from one of the hedges at the end of the property. My flip flop. Turning, Tom walked back up the stairs slowly, purposefully, his stance all man and making me feel very, very small. I was waiting at the top when he finally stepped up, crowding me, holding my shoe in his right hand. Our chests were touching, just slightly, and I could feel my nipples harden from the slight contact.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, reaching to grab it from him.

Only to have Tom pull it towards him, away from me. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

“What?”

“Have you thought about me touching you?”

“Tom…” I backed up three steps with him following my movements, keeping us close, chest to chest.

“Those things you wanted to try, have you thought about trying them with me? Because, fuck, I’ve thought about you.”

His admission made me weak, my breath catching in my throat. We were getting close, so dangerously close to something we couldn’t turn back from.

“I’ve thought about you every day. I’ve thought about your eyes and your mouth and the way you look in my fucking jumper.” Tom’s hands grabbed my face roughly, cupping my cheeks, fingers tangling in my hair.

He was holding me there as my breathing went ragged, our eyes finally meeting. His pupils were blown out, water dripping down the bridge of his nose

.It was all so intense. It was overwhelming. I wanted him so bad it was physically starting to hurt, my hands going up and gripping his wrists, prepared to pull his hands away. “You are… so fucking infuriating.” I was breathless, weak, but I still noticed the smile that pulled at his lips.

“Darling, I’m a fucking devil.”

I knew what was coming, knew I should pull away, but as soon as his lips came down on mine in a bruising, hard kiss, I knew I was gone.

Tom’s lips were hard, demanding, his tongue eagerly licking at the seam of my mouth and begging for entry. His hands still held my face hard enough to prevent me from backing up, but even if he let go I knew I’d stay, the brief taste of his lips so intoxicating it felt like I was in a trance.

He pulled back, his eyes opening. Our noses still touched and I could feel his breath fan across my lips. Our eyes met and for the briefest moment I thought he was going to pull away, but he spoke instead.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

I paused, my throat dry and my breathing ragged. I couldn’t lie anymore, to Tom or myself, so I opted for honesty instead. “You, Tom. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear before his mouth was on mine again. He slanted his lips over mine, tilting my head back. When our tongues touched I felt like my body was on fire and I couldn’t help but wonder why we hadn’t done it sooner. Tom tasted like mint, like a secret, like my deepest, darkest fucking fantasy.

All of a sudden he was pushing us, walking forward while I stumbled back, our mouths still fused together as he let out a soft groan. I wanted so badly to memorize the sound, to hear it again, but I was too focused on not falling over. Something sharp dug into my back and I winced, gasping into Tom’s mouth.

“What the fuck was that?” I gripped my side and turned. The doorknob.

“Shit,” he muttered, reaching to lift at the edge of my shirt. “Is it going to leave a bruise? Let me kiss it better.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed, opening the door and ushering him inside. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No.” Tom’s hands gripped my hips. He was looking at me with mischief in his eyes and it made my stomach do a backflip. “Really, love, let me kiss it better.” I felt his fingers skim over my bare flesh as he dragged the wet material of my shirt up and over my head, dropping it to the ground.

My chest was heaving as he looked me over, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. I was wearing a simple black lace bra, nothing fancy. But Tom was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and my heart swooned.I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead he sank to his knees and my breath caught in my throat as he looked up at me. I was wearing my shorts, my underwear, and a barely there bra while Tom was still fully dressed. I felt vulnerable, small, but in that moment I fucking loved it.

Tom’s breath fanned over my hip as he kissed the spot where the doorknob had jammed into me. “Better?” he asked, looking up at me through thick, dark lashes. All I could do was nod, and his smug smile told me everything I needed to know; Tom knew exactly what he was doing.

His hands skimmed over the backs of my thighs, traveling down. When his fingers touched the backs of my knees they wobbled, and I knew he felt it. “This alright?”

I nodded my head, reaching one hand out and tangling my fingers in his wet hair, feeling his head nudge into my touch. “Use your words, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” I managed to gasp out. He’d barely touched me, barely kissed me and I was still completely breathless.

“Do you want more?”

"Fuck." I gritted my teeth, suddenly frustrated he was moving so slow. "Yes."

He smiled, soft lips trailing over my hip, his teeth biting at the denim that hugged my skin. "How about we play a game?"

I huffed, my fingers stilling in his hair. "I'm not in the mood for games, Tom."

He stood then, nails lightly scraping up the sides of my legs and making my skin break out in goosebumps. Every single part of me was ignited and I was on sensory overload. "What if I promised you win this game?" He kissed my shoulder, one hand trailing over my side and traveling up my back, tracing my vertebra. "What if I told you that you win quite a few times?"

I gasped, drunk on his words as he leaned in, kissing me again just as he reached up and unclasped my bra. The straps fell down my shoulders slowly and as his lips grazed mine I reached bed between us, tugging the rest of the material down.

Like any straight, hot blooded male, Tom leaned back and looked down, taking in my naked breasts. "Shit," he breathed, leaning down and sliding his tongue over the curve of one globe, mouth warm and tongue wet. I was already arching into his touch when his mouth closed over my nipple. I thought he’d be gentle, thought he’d start slow, but he sucked HARD, yanking my nipple to the roof of his mouth until I yelped.

Tom groaned against my skin, releasing me with a pop. “Mhm, I liked that sound. Didn’t picture you as a screamer.” He smirked at me, his mouth red and his lips swollen.

I laughed and leaned in, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as we stumbled through the dining room. “Yeah? You’ve been thinking about the sounds I make?” I licked a fat stripe up Tom’s neck, feeling him shiver against me.

“I’ve thought about much more than that.” He grabbed me by my hips, now in the kitchen, and lifted me, my ass landing on the counter as the wind howled outside.I watched, mesmerized as Tom lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest. His abs were hard, tight, and I wanted to leave hickies scattered across his collarbones.

“I’ve thought about you. Here.” He tapped one finger against the countertop. “And I thought about what it would be like to fuck you while everyone slept upstairs.” He took a step forward, his hands going to his jeans, fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper. “Me, telling you to be quiet, putting my hand over your mouth.”

Tom’s long fingers reached out, sliding over my chin, across my cheek. When they traveled over my lips I couldn’t help but poke my tongue out, tasting the tips of his fingers. He stopped for a moment, leaving them there, eyes glued to my mouth as I repeated the motion, this time holding eye contact as I tipped my head back, letting his index and middle fingers dip into my mouth, my tongue wrapping around them and sucking softly.

His hand twitched slightly, I felt it, and I smiled around his fingers, groaning softly when he pulled back. The truth was, I wanted them deeper. So much deeper.

“Fuckin’ minx.” Tom’s voice was rough and his hands were the same, gripping my thighs hard and pulling me to the edge of the counter. My legs hugged his slim waist, my hands settling on his chest. “You want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I nodded my head. Consequences be damned.“Fine. I’ll fuck you any way you want. But you have to tell me one of those things you wanted to try first.”

“Tom…”

“C’mon.” His voice was soft, smooth. Charming. When he spoke again his accent was thicker and I physically throbbed for him. “Give me a little bit, love.”

“I…” I started, suddenly very self conscious of my own sexual desires. It was different when I was having sex with Ben because it was always the same thing, and it was different sleeping with a stranger because I’d never have to see them again. But I would have to face Tom in the morning and every day after that. I didn’t want his opinion of me to change. “I want to suck your fingers while you fuck me.”

The words were so soft I wasn’t even sure he heard me. He was silent, eyes staring at my mouth before looking up, meeting my gaze. “That’s it? That’s what you were so nervous to tell me?”

I shook my head, unable to help myself from laughing. “Oh, man. No, you have no idea how many things I want to try. We’re just not there yet.”

Yet.

Why was I implying that it was going to happen again?

Tom’s hands were sliding up and down my thighs while my ankles were locked at his waist, his fingers eventually popping the button and zipper while I waited for his response. “You like hands?” When I nodded he continued. “You like my hands?” As if to emphasize, he slapped one hand roughly over the side of my thigh and I jumped.

He shushed me, pursing his lips softly. “Relax, darling. We’re about to have fun.”

Without another word he unwound my legs and pushed his hands against my shoulders until I was laying flat against the cold quartz counter, arching my back and gasping. Tom hooked his fingers into my shorts and underwear, pulling both down and leaving me completely naked in one swift move. I felt vulnerable and open, but he quickly forced me to move past that as he spread my legs, his fingers splayed across my thighs.

His groan sent shivers through me.

“You’re like a fucking dream.” His words were hushed even though we were the only two in the house. “Oh, shit, did I just see you clench up for me?” His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as I threw my hands over my face, mortified and turned on all at once. He could see every part of me.

“Tom!” I practically shouted. If he didn’t touch me soon I was going to-

My body tensed up and every coherent through flew from my mind as Tom licked a fat stripe all the way from my ass to my clit, groaning and sending vibrations through me. My legs twitched and he repeated the motion, my nerve endings on fire.

Tom Holland’s head was between my fucking thighs.

His lips closed over my clit, sucking at the same time as he pressed his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves, and my hips pretty much lifted off the counter.

“Tommy!” I gasped, the sound ending on a choked moan as he looked up at me, brown eyes nearly black.

He pulled back for a moment and I could see his lips, glistening and wet from my arousal. “You know, you’re the only one allowed to call me that?”

My head lolled slightly and I looked at him, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair. “Why?”

“Because I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

His admission did something to my insides, made me just a little weaker for him. I was the only one allowed to call him Tommy, the only one to have that little nickname. Something possessive soared through my veins and I quickly sat up, seeing his shocked expression as the fingers that were in his hair traveled down, grabbing the back of his neck and tugging him towards me, our lips attaching. I couldn’t stop fucking kissing him and when I tasted myself on his tongue I wanted him even more, sliding my tongue into his mouth and dominating the kiss.

“I wasn’t fucking done with you yet.” He spoke against my mouth.

“But you said this was about me trying things. There’s something I want to try, Tommy.”

His eyes shut briefly, his jaw clenched, concentrated. He was coming undone for me in the same way I was for him. “What’s that?”

I ran my fingers over his collarbones, tracing the delicate bones with my fingers. I was nervous, forcing myself to push the words out anyway. “You know how when you were in high school being sneaky and fucking in a girl’s parents house was fun? And, sometimes, when the parents weren’t around you and the girl would sneak up to her parents’ room?”

His laps traveled over my jaw, down my neck, and I felt him smile against my skin. “You want me to fuck you in your parents’ bed?”

My face heated and I nodded, burying my face in his shoulder.

Tom laughed softly, pulling back and helping me off the counter. I was acutely aware of the fact that I was completely naked while he still wore jeans and black Calvin’s but I no longer cared. In fact, there may have been a part of me that enjoyed the way I felt knowing I was the only one who was naked. It made me feel small, soft.

“What are ya’ waitin’ for then?” He arched a brow and nodded towards the stairs. “Move your ass.”

I practically sprinted past him, moving before he even finished speaking. His eyes were on me as I moved, my hips swaying a little more than usual. Tom was hot on my heels as I bounded up the stairs, one of his hands reaching out and giving my ass a swift, harsh slap. I welcomed the sting, pausing on the stairs and turning to look at him as a gasp escaped.

“I fuckin’ knew it.” He marveled, a smirk playing at his lips. “I knew you liked it a little rough.”

I began backing slowly down the hall, facing him. “Oh, you have no idea.”

He arched a brow, molten brown eyes looking me up and down. “Is that right? You feel like telling me any of those deep, dark fantasies, or are we not there yet?”

I couldn’t help but laugh as he threw my words back at me. “Not yet. I like surprising you.”

I stepped into my parents’ room and Tom followed suit, looking around as the wind rattled the glass windows.

The air suddenly felt thick. The king sized bed loomed behind me and it all felt real. Terrifyingly, brutally real. I was about to get into that bed with Tom, I was about to take a huge step off a very large cliff. Whether it was good or bad- although I prayed it would be good- didn’t matter. We would never be able to come back from this.

“Believe me, you’ve done nothing but surprise me tonight, Y/N.”

“I actually think it’s your turn.” I said with a small smile as I crawled onto the bed, looking at him over my shoulder.

Tom was too busy taking in the view of my naked backside to comprehend my question. “What?”

I sprawled out across the bed and rested my chin on my hand, looking at him. His jeans were undone and his hardened cock pressed almost painfully against the denim material. “It’s your turn. I’ve been very honest about what I want to try, but what about you, Tommy? What do you want?”

His eyes locked on mine and my breath caught as he moved forward. “I want you. I want you to say my name while you come, I want you to wrap those beautiful legs around me and squeeze whenever I go just a little too deep. I want to fuck you the way I’ve dreamed about fucking you since I was fifteen years old.”

His candid admission left a pang in my heart and I quickly tried to stifle it, leaning up as he leaned down, our mouths fusing together once again. It seemed that I couldn’t keep my mouth off his. Maybe it was because I had been fantasizing about that mouth for so long, maybe it was because Tom was just that good of a kisser, but either way I didn’t care.

“Fuck me. Now.” The words were mumbled against his lips.

Tom’s lips traveled down my jaw to my neck and he bit the skin where my shoulder and neck connected. His sopping wet jeans pressed against me and I hissed out a breath as he pulled back, laughing down at me. His brown hair had begun to curl at the sides and he looked boyish, young. His cheeks were flushed and I couldn’t even remember why I’d tried to fight my attraction in the first place.

He jumped off the bed and began the painstaking effort of removing wet denim.

“God… fucking… dammit!” I watched him struggle, biting back a laugh as he hopped around the room, kicking one leg free and then the other. When he looked back up at me his eyes narrowed and he glared. “Are you laughing?”I shook my head, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth.“You’re laughing at me right now.”

I shook my head, backing up on the bed as Tom came forward. “No, no I’m not. I’m-” I shrieked as his hand wrapped around my ankle and he dragged me down the matress.

I struggled against him as he leaned over me, covering his body with mine as his hands tickled at my sides. I gasped and laughed, nearly headbutting him at one point. “Tom, please, I was-wasn’t laughing.” I was trying to explain myself when his hips settled between my thighs, his hard cock pressing against my clit, right where I was aching for any kind of attention, or friction, I could find.

“You’re not laughing anymore,” he whispered against my mouth.

“Not really finding anything to laugh at right now.” My response was just as quiet, my fingers linking behind his neck as he braced a hand on either side of my head. Our eyes met as he ground his hips against me, my mouth falling open in a quiet moan as Tom settled on a good rhythm. He wasn’t even inside me yet and I was already on the edge, my thighs trembling as they squeezed his trim waist.

Tom seemed just as eager as I was, his arms wrapping around me and then unwrapping, hands trailing up and down my sides, over my breasts, gripping my thighs. My own nails scratched lightly over his shoulders and I reveled in the way he shivered on top of me. His breathing was heavy, chest heaving as I lifted my hips, grinding harder, needing more.

“I…I don’t…” Tom trailed off and I stopped my movements.

My heart sank at his tone. He was about to tell me he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t sleep with his best friend’s sister. I, of course, would be mortified and naked and ashamed as he got dressed to inevitably leave, where he would get into a car accident and die because there was a storm raging outside. And then I would have to explain to my parents and Jordan that I killed Tom because I-

“I don’t have a condom.”

What?

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom.”It was a split decision, and normally I would argue with myself about practicing the art of safe sex, but I had waited too fucking long for this and I was thankful that he wasn’t about to leave me naked in the middle of my parents’ bed.

“I’m on the pill.”

He arched a brow. “You’re cool with…”

I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t seen him bashful very often, but I had to admit I found it completely adorable. “Tommy, I’m cool with anything that involves you being inside me.”

“Thank fucking god.” He sat back on his knees between my splayed thighs and I watched as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his briefs, shoving them down so that his cock sprang free, slapping up against his abdomen. My eyes widened as I finally got the first glimpse of what had been grinding against me for the last thirty minutes, of what I’d been dreaming about all summer. His cock was long, a pulsating vein across his shaft.

My mouth watered at the sight of the pre-come that gathered at his crown and I reached forward with every intention of wrapping my fingers around him. But Tom’s hand snapped forward and he grabbed my wrist, halting my movements.

“I want this to last longer than fifteen seconds and, honestly, if you touch me right now I’m going to fucking explode all over you like a fifteen year old .I don’t want to ruin this.”

I looked up at him. He was panting, his cheeks tinted pink. He looked rumpled, worked up, his eyes dark, and I’d never wanted him more. Leaning up, I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, darting my tongue out to taste his quickly. “Get on with it then.”

Tom smiled against my mouth and then he was pushing me down again, covering his body with mine. His skin was warm and the hair on his legs tickled my thighs, but all I could really focus on was the deep, intense throbbing that had settled low in my stomach. I actually feared that I would die or combust if he didn’t fuck me so-

Too wrapped up in my aching body, I didn’t notice that Tom had reached between us and lined himself up at my entrance. When I felt his knuckles brush against my swollen clit I stiffened, a weak whine leaving my mouth.“I want to hear that fuckin’ noice on repeat for the rest of my life,” he whispered against the damp skin at my temple.

I was about to open my mouth and give a half assed witty response when I felt his body surge forward, his cock sinking into me in one long, swift, nearly painful because it was so good move. I gasped, my thighs squeezing Tom’s hips and my nails digging into his sides.

His groan in my ear sent vibrations through me and I shook underneath him, trying to find my breath, trying to acknowledge the fact that it was Tom inside me. Tom Holland. My brother’s best friend. But at that moment in time someone could tell me I didn’t actually have a brother and I would have believed them. I would have believed the moon was actually made of cheese. I would have believed anything… because none of it mattered.

In that moment the only two people who existed were Tom and me. Just us and the storm. “Tommy.” My voice shook as he pulled nearly all the way out, just holding the tip of his cock inside me.

Tom looked down at me with his eyebrows furrowed, mouth hanging open. He looked serious albeit desperate and I could completely understand why. It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room as soon as he pushed inside me. “You good? You need a minute?”

I shook my head. “You feel so good.”

Something snapped in him then. I watched it happen. His eyebrows relaxed, the hands that were on either side of my head clenched into fists, and his hips snapped forward as he pushed in to the hilt, repeating the motion twice more before a rough grunt escaped his lips.

I slammed my head back against the pillows as a moan tore from my throat. He’d barely been inside me two minutes and I already felt like I was on the verge of an earth shattering orgasm. But it was true. Tom had kept me riled up so long, far longer than just this messy afternoon. My body had been waiting for this for so fucking long.

Tom’s teeth sank into my shoulder. Hard. He didn’t let up until I yelped, and then he pulled back with a devilish smirk. “Look at you,” he said, breathing heavily as he lowered his head, our noses brushing. “Screaming underneath me whilst I fuck you in your mum and dad’s bed. So, so naughty.”

He was taunting me, teasing me, and his words spurred me on. My hips lifted, another rough moan leaving my mouth at the new angle.

Tom must have liked it too, because soon enough he was thrusting so hard it nearly hurt, so hard I swore I could feel him in my stomach.“You’re. So. Fucking. Perfect.” His voice was gruff, the words barely audible. Our moans and breaths mingled, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. It may have been pornographic, may have been downright filthy, but I was too far gone to care.

I was fucking drowning in Tom.

So close to coming harder than I had in my entire life.

When he reached between us to rub his thumb over my clit it felt like too much, my back arching as I shook my head. “Tom, Tommy… no. I-”

“Shhh.” Tom’s focus was between us as he looked down, sliding his now soaking wet digit over my clit again, reveling in the way I shook under him. “Been dreaming of this for years. For years, Y/N.” He was so transfixed on looking down at where we were joined, I truly didn’t know if he realized he was speaking. “Do you want to come on my cock, love?”

He looked up at me then, our eyes meeting. His pupils were so blown out there was barely any brown left. No longer able to form a coherent sentence all I could do was nod.

“Good.” He pressed his thumb against my clit, harder than before, and watched my face as a scream erupted from me.

“Tom!” I went to grab his hand and he quickly grabbed hold of it with his free one, slamming it down against the mattress near my head, resting his full weight on me.

“You’re going to come for me just like this. My cock inside you, my hands all over you.” He released the hand he was holding and grabbed a hold of my hair, yanking my head back in a move that shocked me. I hadn’t expected him to be so rough, but the move sent pleasurable shockwaves through my scalp and down my back. I felt him everywhere.

I was close, so fucking close, words and moans and broken pleas leaving my mouth. I wanted it so bad I could cry, my desperation palpable as Tom trailed rough, wet kisses down my neck, never once letting up on my clit as his hips pistoned forward in short, quick strokes. He was close too, I could feel it in the way his pace began to stutter, in the way his breath was hitting my neck.

I ran my fingers through his thick hair and his pace quickened. “Come, Y/N, please.” Tom’s voice was raspy and I knew he was serious. He was waiting for me, holding back for me, wanting to please me… and somehow that was everything I needed to finally let go.

My orgasm hit me like a freight train, knocking the wind out of me. I came with a silent scream, my mouth falling open with no sound coming out, my breath stuck in my throat as Tom’s grip on my hair tightened. Vaguely, I could hear his name coming out of my mouth on repeat, my entire body tensing up underneath him. It was like nothing I’d ever felt, like every nerve in my body was on fire.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck.” Tom’s back muscles tensed under my hands, his entire body going still as he held himself deep inside me. The feeling of his pulsating cock sent delicious aftershocks through me and I clenched around him, loving the small groan that erupted from him as he slowly relaxed, resting his full weight on me with a long, heavy sigh.

We lay like that for a few minutes, the thunder and wind having calmed at some point during our tryst. Tom was resting his sweaty forehead on my chest and I ran my fingers through his hair as I stared up at the ceiling. Everything would be different now, everything would change. But I was too lost in my post orgasm glow to care much about anything.

“Was that too rough?” Tom’s voice was soft, the question catching me off guard.

“What?”

He lifted his head to look at me, shifting his body weight as he examined my face. “Was I too rough? I get carried away sometimes, don’t always know my own strength.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. If he only knew half the things I wanted to do to him, or what I wanted him to do to me. Shit. He’d probably have me arrested. “No, Tom, no. Believe me, it was perfect.”

He arched in eyebrow in a cocky way that only Tom fucking Holland could do. “Perfect?” His accent was thick. “Just wait for round two.”

I was about to respond when he leaned in for a kiss, capturing my lips and holding me right there in that moment with him. It was crazy, it was stupid, it was reckless. And I didn’t give a flying fuck.

A noise from downstairs startled us and I jumped. “It was probably just the wind.” Tom reassured me.

I nodded my head, but when I heard the telltale sign of keys hitting the countertop my heart leapt into my throat. “Tom? Y/N? You guys here?”

Tom’s eyes met mine and in unison, we said, “Jordan.”

Oh, fuck.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland au #au #spiderman #avengers #peter parker #i feel like im gonna throw up #why am i so nervous about this

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mallowbees · 4 years

Note

i dont know much about TMA but ,, could you tell me a bit about avatars? I want to make a sona really bad because they look so cool haha

Oh heck YEAH I can!!

Right so!! Avatars are people who have had experiences with or behavior that aligned with one of the 14(15 kinda?) fear entities and end up serving them!! Throwing people to their, for lack of better words, god, to feed off of their fears and occasionally try to kick of rituals to make their god strong and getting some sweet powers as a reward!

!! It’s gonna be kinda hard to avoid spoilers with explaining this, so I’ll try to keep it to the minimum but some spoilers for avatar people’s stuff :’D !!

The 14 are as follows (I’m just gonna snag most of this from the wiki but anything not in italics is me):

The Burried :

Also called The Center, Choke, Too Close I Cannot Breathe.

The fear of claustrophobia, small spaces, of being unable to breathe and the underground and dust. Being at the centre of everything and it is all pushing down. Fear of being trapped without enough space.

Notable avatar person I can think of is 18th centry guy who worked in a grave yard and would nap in the graves cause it was quiet and when they installed bells incase someone was actually alive when they burried them they could ring it, so someone rang it and he cut the line because he thought they were nice and deserved to sleep, also early episode lost johns cave is a good example but doesnt have an avatar in it so hfgh

The Corruption :

Also called Filth, The Crawling Rot, or The Hive.

This entity is linked closely to our feelings of disgust, of feeling revulsion and fear of corruption, disease, filth. Manifests as mould, bugs, rot, decay, infection. The feeling of your skin crawling.

Jane Prentiss, she wanted to be loved and found love in a bunch of worms in a wasp nest in her attic, so she became their hive, she loves her worms and her worms love her, they sing

Also other guy I genuinely don't know his name he just made everyone sick at that retirement home with disease and hung out at hill top road a few times, got sealed in concrete and he always looked like he was skin and slightly rotting

The Dark :

Also called Mr. Pitch, The Forever Blind, The Sandman

A manifestation of our very primal fear of the dark, of what lies beyond what we can sense. What might be in it?

One of the oldest of the Entities.

Uhh cult kidnapped that one kid i think that was them, i dont know who the dark avatar is actually

The Desolation :

Also called The Lightless Flame, The Torturing Flame, The Devastation, Blackened Earth.

This entity deals in fear of pain, of loss, burning, fear of unthinking or cruel destruction.

Acolytes are enriched by destroying the lives of people who had things to live for, destroying things before their potential is realised. In exchange, the cult members can create heat--but not fire--and gain the ability to make their skin run like wax.

They burn from the inside and consume everything in flames, Jude Perry and Agnes Montague are the two i know, Agnes was born into it and died because of forbidden love and Jude set her girlfriends flat on fire so hgfhfg

The End :

Also called Death, Terminus, The Coming End That Waits For All And Cannot Be Ignored.

This entity deals in the fear of death itself, uncaring and unstoppable.

No known attempts at a ritual, presumably because it sees no need to, as Death claims all in the end.

Oliver Banks!! Had dreams of strings that tied people to their deaths, actual rational avatar, also didnt ask for this but he does pretty well. Also commited identity fraud

The Eye :

Also called Beholding, The Watcher, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You.

This entity is fear of being watched, exposed, followed, of having secrets known, but also the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you. Fear that you’re suffering for the sake of something watching.

Elias!! Horrible man!! Can body hop! Just wants to watch the drama unfold and get more power. Knows lots of things and compulsion ! Also Jon because he reckless curiosity kinda screwed him over there and yeah. And that one security guy who got consumed by a watcher lietner watching other people via security camera, rip that guy

The Flesh :

Also called Viscera.

Born from the fear of animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones.

Manifests as strange bodies being twisted, reshaped, and butchered.

Thought to be the newest of the 14, born around the time of the Industrial Revolution

Jared Hopworth! Got a Lietner, runs a gym to change bodies into what people want until they're practically not human anymore, likes most bones if they're good bones

The Hunt :

Hunting and chase and violence, this is an animalistic fear, very old and primal. Fear of being hunted, being prey.

Less able to affect people due to our self-removal from the food chain. Self-proclaimed monster hunters (and those who do the same without referring to themselves as such) run a strong chance of becoming Hunters and then having a need to hunt and kill monsters.

Daisy! Things get kinda messed up when you combine non-human impulses with a person so! Murder! violence!

The Lonely :

Also called Forsaken, The One Alone The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone. Fear of being disconnected.

Peter lukas, Martin, grew up lonely and shunned idk what you expected, can literally vanish, cool aethetic- Also that one girl who married one of the lukas’, nayomi? But she wasnt an avatar just with one

The Slaughter :

This entity feeds off of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. Strong ties to war. Fear of not knowing, where, when, how or if pain will come but that it will. Can be violent like a frenzied killer or calm and regimented like soldiers firing on the battlefield.

Melanie! Anger! Murder! Stabby stab! Justificated feeling that your anger is right!

The Spiral :

Also called Es Mentiras, It Is Lies, The Twisting Deceit, It Is Not What It Is.

This entity is fear of madness, of being lost, that your world is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. It deals with deception, lying, deceiving the mind and senses.

Michael! Helen! I don’t,, really know what to say on this one hgfhfg

The Stranger :

Also called I Do Not Know You.

Fear of the unknown. That creeping sense that something isn’t right. Also of unfamiliar people. Manifests as objects pretending to be humans, like mannequins and taxidermied people.

Theyre not people they arent who they arE

The Vast :

Also called The Falling Titan.

This entity deals in our fear of our own insignificance in this universe, of losing yourself in too much space. Its effects involve void, vertigo, and falling, but also anything to do with openness and open spaces, fears like Agoraphobia, fear of deep water.

Simon fairchild is honest to god just vibing hes having so much fun also reeeally long lifespan he likes watching people fall off this and falling off himelf, also mike crew who didnt ask for this but just kinda ended up there anyway cause he got struck by lightning on a hill and got a book

The Web :

Also called The Spider, Mother of Puppets.

Deals with fear of being controlled, entrapped, being trapped and not knowing it, and your will not being your own, of being manipulated. Manifests as spiders and spider webs and patterns like spider webs.

The Extiction :

Also called The Terrible Change, The Future Without Us, The World Is Always Ending

The 15th Entity hypothesized by Adelard Dekker to be currently emerging.

It is not yet confirmed to actually exist, if it is yet to be officially born, or if it is a combination of other powers and their overlap. It deals with the fear of catastrophic change, the destruction of humanity and its replacement by something different, especially via mankind's own causing.

Man-made elements are one of its hallmarks.

Avatars of other Entities would like to prevent it from emerging if possible.

Nobody on this one yet but yeah!!

So!! Usually it’s either the thing you are scared of embraces you and flips your behavior on its head, (Scared of being alone? Make other people alone! Scared of falling? Make other people fall!) Or something you like vibe with embraces and justifies you even if it scares you (Want to know?? Huh?? Buddy? Wanna Know? Or you just want some love? Get u some worms) Like if your experiences fall under one of the categories you probably go there if you’re not afraid of it, or if something happens and you’re terrified of it but not dead you’ll probably end up there hfhghgfh

Oh also here’s a what entity are you quiz if that helps ghfhfgh: https://uquiz.com/quiz/zxE9GQ/which-tma-entity-are-you-aligned-with?embed=False

Basically, does it scare you a little? Does it vibe with you a bit? There you go! You have an entity now! Have fun! HFGhfh

#the asks #tma #tma entities

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eorzeasntm · 6 years

Photo

Hi everyone! Last week our models battled to the death with the primals. Our intrepid Warriors of Light risked life and limb for some of the best battle shots we’ve seen in the history of the competition.

The ever present threat against Eorzea, primals are our primary foe. How are you keeping Eorzea (or Doma or Yanxia) safe from these menaces?

However, even though everyone did a great job this week (and gave the judges and the community absolute fits - the rankings were all over the place), only one model emerged from the pile of corpses with the best overall score by a mere third of a point:

Rymmrael Bhaldraelwyn

Congratulations! Not even Ramuh’s beard can stand up to your fierce display of paladin strength. Time for a shave and a haircut, primal!

The next round of ENTM Tumblr Cycle 10 will hopefully be posted sometime before midnight EST on Friday, October 12th - assuming Michael stays far, far away.

Please check below for feedback from our judges.

A note from Kat: Models, please know that if you have any questions or want clarification from a judge on a critique, you are welcome to DM them from the Discord channel. Often when the round is this excellent the decisions come down to tiny nit picks, so a suggestion for how a shot could have been improved is not always the same thing as a low vote in the ranks. You could be a judge’s favorite that week and they’ll still have something to say that could have made it even more amazing.

Judge Kusuh

Hey all! Just as a note: these critiques are being written on the road due to a major life move! These may be a bit shorter, but as always, feel free to reach out me with any clarifications!

Ni’ko: Colored marker is an *amazing* color choice for this picture! Everything about this picture adds to it in an amazing way: the dark sun in the back center drawing the shot together, the line connecting you and Ifrit, the ice shards adding sharp edges to the frame of the shot; everything adds something! Here’s my caution though: this picture walks that very thin line between enough and *too much*. While everything in a shot can have a purpose, there is such a thing as overloading a frame, even if you believe it’s all necessary! I want you to keep an eye on that in the coming weeks, making sure to really keep an editorial eye on what you do.

Cowbot: The deadly slice of Odin gives me some maaajor flashbacks to the DPS checks of that fight when it came out, so I’m glad you were able to catch it in a much more showy and epic light! I believe the cinema frame here was a good choice, it’s like the climax of a movie! Now, here’s something I’ve noticed in a few of your shots, including this one: you are a lalafell, and therefore you are shorter then most of your fellow models. This is going to produce unique challenges, mostly in terms of visibility. In this shot, while the look and effect is great, I’m having a hard time seeing you! For the future, I want you to try zooming in a lot more! See what you can get from a different perspective.

Ysildor: I very much appreciate the choice of color and use of the tools available to you in gpose, you’ve clearly put a lot of thought into what you need to do to make the shots as aesthetically pleasing as possible. Here’s what I’m noticing this week: the shot feels a little crowded to me. This mostly comes from the fact that while you are clearly engaged in combat with Odin, the fact that you two overlap on different planes makes me wonder exactly where you are looking and aiming your attacks. Whereas I commonly ask others to zoom in, I’d like to see what you can do with a wider shot in the weeks to come! Let’s see how you do with much more room to work with.

Judge Vederah

Azalea: Stylistically there's some pretty neat things happening here. I love how you put some thought into the glamour you wore for this particular shoot- helps your character fit in with the shot and helps with the narrative. I also like how both you and the primal are super imposed over one another. His might may be looming over you, but the ferocity in the characters expression shows where the true power lies. However, the picture is so over saturated with blue and green hues that you lose a large portion of the primal's shape and a lot of the details on the floor for that mechanic. Perhaps a different filter, or less direct lighting would've helped. Lily: I love how crisp and clear this image is- like almost to the point where it looks like a screenshot from a cut scene. How your character is positioned in relation to the primal makes it feel like they're actively engaged in battle. I also really like the contrast between your character's blue hued armor against the warmer toned backdrop and Ifrit. It's a really well composed shot- and the only thing I could point out as maybe something to change would be to scoot the shot a touch more to the left so it's more centered.

Rymm: I love the pink and deep blue tones of this shot- and how you matched your glamour to it. It's always important that your character fits into the settings. I also really like the angle of the shot and how it directs the eye over to Ramuh who is just being completely surrounded by that amazing lightning graphic. I think the only con to this image is that it's a little dark around the edges. So much so that it almost makes the image as a whole too muted. If the lighting was a touch brighter, those amazing colors would've popped even more- making this image mindblowingly good.

Judge M’Telihgo

Wren: I want to start by saying how much I absolutely adored your picture from last week. You were front and center and in the irrefutable focus of your picture. That picture was you and everyone knew it. Why? Partly you are in the center part of your picture, we always start there when looking at an image. You are the only thing that is blue. We can see your beautiful face, you should show it to us much more often, you are very pretty! I’m sorry Wren, I cannot say the same things for this week. It helps that you are the only thing in white, it really does so +1 for you. I’m kinda sad that I cannot see your face this week. I also have pink hair and thanks to a request by my bf, I am using the same hairstyle right now. I would love to see how your face looks with it too. A slightly different camera angle to focus on you a little more and show your face could be just what you need! Shiva commands much more of the area of this picture than you do. Neither one of you are facing the camera and that would help your image too. I can tell you are trying, and you do get credit from me. This next round is for a close up, please, let me see how awesome you look in that!!

Ona: Your picture also suffers from your face being obscured. Taken from the opposite side, much more of your face would be visible since the hairstyle is asymmetrical. I like the effect, it does look like you are fighting Garuda, you lined it up well. Unfortunately, it leaves you in a weird pose that I feel detracts from your image. I do think a different outfit may have helped you some too. You skin tone doesn’t pop against the blue background, it makes you blend a little bit and since your armor is light and has a low coverage it takes some focus away from you. I like the lighting on Garuda, it makes her look like she has some depth to her and that is also something that you lack because of the pose the action left you in. Again, it’s a nice pose and it works well for the action part, just not so much for the you part. Keep at it, I know you will get there.

Judge Rongi

Adam: This week you really used contrasting colors to your advantage. I love the colors in this shot! This pencil filter was a genius choice because not only does it make the background look fantastic, it also made you look like youre straight out of a comic book. You look amazing in this shot, but one of the hard things about taking screenshots with mobs is getting them to also look good. Garuda has a lot of appendages, and as such, if she isnt in the right position, she can become a confusing mess. If Garuda had looked like she does in Ona's shot in your shot, I think this picture would have been much stronger.

James: Normally I do not like these portrait style shots, but both you and Haila really pulled out some great shots with it. While you both pulled it off very well here, I think where you faltered in comparison is by not doing a back shot. In the shot you submitted it looks like you are summoning the Pheonix yourself, a lot like Azalea did as well, but I think it would have been stronger if you had been facing the Phoenix. Many models this week are facing away from the primals, but the way they are positioned makes them still seem engaged with them in battle. The Pheonix's wings are also cut off at the tips, which I dont think a horizontal shot would have fixed because then we couldn't have seen you either. I didnt rank you low, but I wanted to explain why I didn't rank you super high.

Nadede: Wow! This shot is amazing. I love the color contrast, the pose of both of you, the way you fit like a puzzle piece into the silhouette of Leviathan, everything. I feel like you went for something less flashy, and it totally paid off. I wish we could see more of a weapon, where your hand is being cut off at a strange place, but not focusing on that, only looking between you and Leviathan, i think this shot is great. Wonderful job.

Judge Kai

Chee: Good job with the setup of this image. I love that you’re dominant, and I can see you clearly! Also, you were very smart to wear lighter clothes, seeing that the ground and sky are much darker. It makes you pop without needing to force it. The lighting is also lovely, and I love how dramatic it looks on your face. Concept wise, I see what you were going for but it seems more like you’re getting ready to flee than actually face this menace. Also, the outfit you chose to wear, while great color-wise, is a bit off where it pops out with the knee. Unfortunately, SE didn’t map these outfits to fall naturally when turning and having such a pose, so it ends up just popping straight out and leaves my eye wondering what exactly your body is doing. Overall, love the lighting and I see what you were going for but I don’t think it quite got there. As for the outfit, kudos on picking a color that makes you stand out, but from the waist down it’s just not working for me.

Haila: First off I will say this… that is a beautiful shot, and I love that you made it a long shot and not a wide. It really gives you the height to show how massive this creature really is! That said, concept-wise I’m not sure if it comes off as facing a foe. It seems more like you’re summoning it, and you’re the for about to lay waste to a bunch of innocent people (which hey, I’m not against this because it’s awesome looking). Nice job on the lighting, and on picking an outfit that makes you pop. As for the back to the camera, I’ve always said I'm not fond of it unless it really adds something to the image, and I’m not sure if this really adds to it. Overall it’s an awesome picture, you pop and have nice lighting. Seeing Levi fly out of the water like that is amazing… but I’m just not sure it really follows the concept, as well as some of the others, did.

Lantis: This looks like a battle shot, and I love how you have yourself leaping into the air to meet your foe head-on. Concept wise, I’ll say you hit it pretty much dead on. I’ll also say that it was smart for you to use the glowing weapons and that arc of light under you to attract the eye. If you didn’t have those bright color to pull the eye to you, I don’t think this would have worked as well as it does. The image does come off very dark, and your clothes almost blend into the background without the help of the light around you. If you’d somehow made this image a bit lighter, or have worn something that popped a bit more I think it would have helped your character become more dominant in the image. Overall I think this is a great setup, and the concept is spot on, but the darkness of the image leaves you dependent on bright pops of color to attract the eye instead of your character.

#entm tumblr cycle 10 #ffxiv #entm

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well--i-dont-know · 6 years

Text

I wrote a radio drama for class

The Script is in the a read more Its called Excuses, and isnt in the right format but its there, this was actually really fun to do.

Excuses

By:Meghan Murphy

SCENE 1.

Opens with dramatic music, mimicking a hero's monologue

CHARACTER 1: My name is Mari Nara. Im short and out of shape, more often than not it looks like I just rolled out of bed. My mother says that I’m the smartest in my family, and I guess my grades from school reflect that in a way, but if i’m truly as smart as my mother says I am, then why am I sitting across from one of the most wanted men in the world.

Scene 2

Music shift to more homely noises and a radio in the background

CHARACTER 2: What are you writing a young adults novel as an excuse to get out of class? 1) that’s not your name and 2) Your teacher will see through your bullshit in a second.

CHARACTER 1: Maybe so but at least they would get a strong female character and a dramatic parallel to a dystopia compared our nation's current state in the process.

CHARACTER 3: And you still get marked as late.

CHARACTER 1: (sigh) Fine what would you say.

CHARACTER 2: Oo Say you fought a bear but add more pizazz . Like, Its was a dark and dreary night when you found yourself alone in the woods.

CH 1: Why would I-

Forest noises, with footsteps and rain as the radio music almost fades out completely

CH 2: No interrupting. Alone in the woods when the heavens opened up above. As the rain poured down above you crashing upon every leaf on its way to the ground you looked around for a shelter. Having watched enough youtube tutorials you were of course prepared.

CH 1: More credit than I deserve but thank you.

CH 2: Knowing how to build a shelter with your bare hands you go to work looking for the proper sticks.

CH 1: What are we getting a play by play?

CH 2: You’re subtly teaching your teacher during the story how to build a proper wilderness shelter so your excuse is more practical and educational than the class would have been.

CH 3: Ok but can we get back to the forest Im dying to know how Megivver here makes a shelter.

CH 2: That's the thing as she was on her search for the perfect branch she stumbles upon a cave. Knowing that her chances are greater with less energy spent she decides to venture farther into the cavern for optimal living area.

CH 3: Naturally.

CH 2: So, as she ventures farther it gets darker and darker.

CH 3: Ah yes totally out of the ordinary for a natural cave, where is the room service and indoor lighting .

CH 2: Smartass, But our valiant Meg she didn't bring a light source with her, forced to feel around for the wall of the cavern. Dark and damp, or well that's what she expected the wall to be. What she didn’t expect was a soft and warm mass to touch her hand.

CH1: Im guessing thats the bear.

CH3: No spoilers

CH2: It was (pause) a bear.

A roar and music gets intense

CH3: (Gasp)

CH2: As the bear acknowledges the new touch it arises from its slumber, turns around, and swings.

Music picks up with a suspense song

CH2: Blows are being traded and both you and the bear are in what seems to resemble a bar fight.

Fighting sounds and bear roars continually

CH1: Yeah cuz both I and the bear know how to bar brawl

CH2: The secret life of bears man who knows. As you and the bear fight it seems as though our hero is coming out on top, and with one final blow the bear is down. Sleeping once more.

CH3: No bears were harmed in the making of this excuse.

CH2: I mean the bears pride maybe. Any way you have done it it seems as though the cave is yours.

Bear fight effects stop and music dies down

CH1: That seems too easy.

CH2: That is. . .

CH1: There it is.

CH2: Until another bear appears out of the darkness of the cave. Its mamma bear and this time she’s pissed. You just beat up her kid and she’s ready to fight.

Bear fight effects come back

CH3: OOOO I don't think Meg can take the momma bear.

CH2: Neither does she. That coward clearly being able to forsee the outcome of the match turns and begins to run out of the cave. That’s when. . .

Footsteps added

CH1: Oh god what now?

CH2: That’s when the momma bear pulls out a flare gun

CH3: That’s one hardcore bear.

CH1: And impossible but go on

CH2: The takes the flare gun and aims it in the direction of \

CH2(cont): her cubs assailant, and she fires. She fires as many shots as she can and Meg the hero that she is does her best to dodge every-single-one. She manages to dodge most but one catches her. And that's why she has a scar on her thumb. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Fade back to radio

CH1: There are so many things wrong with this story,

CH3: Name one thing

CH1: The fact of a bear had a flare gun or what about the fact of this wasn't about explaining the scar on my thumb, I got from cooking I’ll just add, but how will this get me out of class.

CH2: I don't know about you but I wouldn't mess with anyone who I know fought a bear

CH3: Yeah your not thinking about it the right way, but I still see your point. What if you tell the teacher that the dog ate your ability to get out of bed early in the morning.

CH1: that would probably work better than the bear story

CH2: It was gold and you’re just too much of a coward too see it.

CH3: Ok ok ok I have the perfect excuse for you. How about you tell her that you got kidnapped.

Scene 3

CH2: On a dark and dreary night

Action music begins

CH3: Oh god no no no, So this is what you tell her. That you

CH3(cont): Were walking down the street after class yesterday, when some random person comes up to you wanting you to buy drugs off them. But you told them no cuz your a good christian girl.

CH1: ah yes as the jesus told me say i'm too broke to have fun habits so why would I want those kinds of habits, to drugs. And more importantly why is a drug dealer kidnapping me because I didn't buy from them?

CH3: I wasn't finished. So you say no cuz your boring, and then next thing you know there is a bag over your head and you’re being pulled into a van.

CH2: hope you only tipped your uber a dollar.

CH1: Hope they didnt drop my purse, that where I keep my pokemon cards.

CH3: You’re getting theoretically kidnapped and your worried about your Charizard

CH1: Limited edition one yeah

CH3: Anyway , your kidnappers take special care as to not bend your mint edition Charizard holo card

CH1: Now this story is realistic

CH3: And they put a bag over your head and knock you out.

Thud

Ch2: What was it like to have the best sleep of your life be because you were being kidnapped.

CH1: Yeah I’m jealous of this “me” in your story. Can I get that kind of sleep.

CH3: So your in the back of their van. Totally knocked out when a bump in the road wakes you up.

Ch2: is that even possible?

CH3: In this story it is so shush. When you awaken you start to struggle hoping to get out of the bondage the they have trapped you in. As you struggle the driver seemed to be obvious to the fact that you woke up.

CH1: If i'm not becoming an action hero in this one I feel lied too.

CH3: Hero is a relative term, lets just say that the van ended up at the bottom of the ocean.

CH2: The nearest one is over one hundred miles away. How.

Car effects

CH3: And you and you Charizard card rode off into the sunset to live happily ever after.

CH1: And that's why I didn't go to class???

CH3: Fine ok how about you try to come up with an excuse if your gonna be so picky about it.

CH1: Maybe I will.

CH2: This is going to be the worst story ever.

Scene 4

Presidential music and an eagle in the background

CH1: It all started when the president of the United States

CH2: (disgust) ew

CH1: When he make the first good decision in his life and decided to name me President.

CH3: How Democratic of him, so your our president why does that mean you get out of class??

Ch1: Normally it wouldn’t, If I haven't used my new found power of being the President Of the United States to say the The President doesn't have to go to school.

Ch3: Smart

Ch2: Tactical I like it

Ch3: But can you make it so the president friends don't have to go to class either?

Ch1: (hisses through teeth) OOoo sorry now that I’m President I have to start taking things seriously, and making a law just for my friends would be selfish and not very presidential like. So sorry but I can’t.

CH2: Wow not even a full hour and she’s already forgotten where she came from

Ch3: I will say that she seems to have a stronger moral compass then the current Prez.

Ch1: So I can count on you for reelection right?

CH3: You got my Vote

CH2: I’m gonna need a little more lobbying for you to sway me.

Music fades back out to radio

CH3: Ok I have it the ultimate end all. Crazy idea here so don't just shoot me down immediately

CH1: (sigh) Your gonna tell me tpo just got to class aren't ya.

CH3: absolutely.

CH2: buzzkill, but she’s right

CH1: I know, I just don't wanna say it.

CH3: Go learn things ya nerd.

End

#Radio Drama #Writing #student work #excuses #My Work #If you guys want more plz liike and reblog so i know

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xiaolongpunch · 6 years

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Aeldria: A Skyrim Story

Journal entry number twelve

I decided to attend a lecture that was given today before leaving. It was about restoration and its impact on how good of a school of magic it is. While it is an overlooked school, restoration does have its place as one of the major school of magic. I also talked a bit with the teacher so she could teach me a few restoration tricks. And immediately after I felt more powerful. I can cast restoration spells more easily and my magicka seems to regenerate faster in combat.

(Restoration mastery: cast restoration soells for 50% less magicka, and restoration soells are 0.5% more powerful per level of restoration. Descending light: when you enter combat, regenerate points of magicka equal to half your restoration skill level per second. This effect gradually diminishes over the course of 15 seconds. The regeneration does not stop while casting(restoration for both))

Due to me waking up almost an hour into the afternoon, I arrived in windhelm around the evening. So I decided to simply continue and enjoy skyrim's nature. There wasn't any world ending threats to deal with so I took my time, I decided that I would stop at midnight, wether or not I had reached riften by then or not.

The reach of skyrim is probably my favourite of the holds, the weather is nice and warm, it reminds me of Morrowingmd at times, and the nature around the mountains is breathtaking. Maybe I'll try to see what it takes to get a house here.

I reached riften about two hours before midnight, the guards tried to tax me to enter the city but I quickly saw their scam and they let me go inside without problem. Someone stopped me after entering the city, they noticed my rather unusual gem and told me i should join the thieves guild to find its worth, im not much of a thief, ill just use it as a decoration really.

I entered the inn, and a priest of Mara was rambling about people's dark emotions and what not. He told me I could get married since Mara is the godess of love . while I do not accept the Aedra, perhaps one day i will find true love, he gave an amulet of mara so I can show my interest in someone. I wont wear it now, as to not draw the unwanted eye, I will wear it when the times comes. The innkeeper also told me I would find this face changer in the sewers, and so that is what my goal for tomorrow will be.

I woke up rather early. All because I wanted to meet this face changer before travelling down to meet the dawnguard. The sewers, as I expected were full of bandits whom fell to my magic like flies.

I found the face changer in a underground bar called the ragged flagoon. It was costly but I finally mamanged to change, well everything about me, I look like a totally new person now! Now it was time to head down to fort dawnguard, luckily it wasnt far from riften, so I was able to get there early afternoon. The weather however was horid, it was pouring rain ever since I left the city.

However, when I saw vigilants of stendarr in the halls of the fort, I felt anger rising through me, I kept my anger at bay, I was easily outnumbered and I left as soon as they told me to investigate dimhollow crypt. I will try to see if I can join these vampires, only to kill these bastards of Deadra hunters.

Normally I write these entries every night, but I wanted to go from fort dawnguard to dimhollow crypt without stopping, and so I did. It was a place near dawnstar, so it took a while to get there, in fact, I arrived the next morning after a night of riding, luckily I did manage to find some sleep on the main roads on my horse. However It wasnt good sleep, so I build my tent and a fire outside the crypt, and rested for a few hours before going in, around until mid afternoon. At least thats what I thought, I overslept until early night, it didn't matter, I had sleep, thats what counted.

The vampires were weak but I did contract their 'disease' from one of them, something I dont intend to cure. I activated some sort of tomb puzzle with my blood, well not willingly, there was a button and when I pressed it, a spike went through right my hand and activated the puzzle.

And what I unlocked, what I unlocked truly took my breath away. I..I already knew I didnt want to join the vigilants of stendarr and the dawnguard but after freeing this beautiful woman out, I definitely knew I wanted to join her. Her name is Serena, she needs me to bring her to her family home near solitude, and that is what I intend to do. I never thought I would say this but, I think I might have fallen for a human, an imperial of all things.

But she is quite older then I, when I asked her how long she had been trapped, she was shocked to hear Cyrodiil was seat of an empire, meaning she is from beyond four eras ago, before the rise of men in Tamriel. I didnt expect a vampire to be young but this definitely surprised me.

And while leaving the crypt, I found out she is a mage like me, already have things in common it seems. She proposed that we camp until sunrise, she is hungry so I shared some of my food with her while talking of our lives, to at least get to know each other. I can tell in her voice its hard for her to open up to me, maybe something happened to her in her life that made her untrusting of others.

We made it to castle Volkithar by mid afternoon. The reunion between Serana and her father was..awkward to say the least, I can see why she told me to keep quiet and let her lead the way onc ein the castle. Lord Harkon 'rewarded' me of saving his daughter by making me a vampire, of course this is what I wanted, but I despise how he treated her like an object.

He explained to me the powers while being in lord vampire form. He then gave me the first ask as a vampire. I need to fill a chalice with from a warerfall of some sort. I accepted the quest. But I decided to set up camp as soon as I went ashore once more. The den is near riften, and it is getting late. I will try to get to the den tomorrow, I will wake up early for this effect.

Aeldria, 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th of hearthfire, 4th era, 201

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shadedrose01 · 4 years

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Summer Night Bliss

Ship: Parkner (Harley Keener/Peter Parker)

Summary: Peter wonders if Harley likes him, then they go out for a drive

Tags: Febufluff, Day 18, Friday Night Ride, Date Night, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Driving around town in the summer with windows down, music on bust and screaming at the top of your lungs, Bisexual Peter Parker, Gay Harley Keener, Kissing, Sunsets, Love

Day 18 of Febufluff: "Friday Night Ride"!

Peter glances at himself in the mirror, picking at the sleeves of his red flannel and picking at his light wash jeans before running a hand through his hair, trying to make sure he looked perfect.

Peter checks his phone again, seeing no new notifications (again) before going back to picking at himself. In a new moments, Harley is going to be here to pick him up, and he wants to look his best, as good as he possibly can.

Harley and Peter's relationship (if he can even call it that) is still a pretty new thing, something that sparked at the beginning of the summer, when Mr. Stark introduced them to each other, and had fanned into a big roaring fire so quickly it left Peter's head spinning. They hadnt even kissed, or asked each other out or anything, hadn't confirmed what they are in any way, but everyone around the tower knew. Everybody knew that Peter Parker and Harley Keener were more than just friends, even if they hadnt admitted it to each other (and themselves) quite yet.

It wasn't like they were avoiding the pull under their skin. They cuddled each other all the time, held hands a bunch, and called each other sickly sweet pet names that had everyone around them gagging in mock disgust. They acted like a couple, they both knew there was something there, something more, they just... hadn't brought it up yet. They hadnt found the need to, just revelling in each others company, giving what they want to give and getting what they want to get in return, but with no expectations, no strings attached.

It was nice that way, no worries, no problems. At least, for a while. But then, Peter caught feelings, and when Peter falls, he falls hard. And now, because of this weird 'lovers but not really' thing they've got going on, Peter doesnt know what Harley truly wants. He can't tell if Harley really likes him that way, or if he just wants a really close friend, really close little-more-than-a-friend. A friends with benefits. Which is definitely not what Peter wants.

Which is something he is planning on clearing up tonight at some point. Which is why he's anxious as shit for this 'date'.

Peter phone buzzes in his hand, making him flinch out of his thoughts and look down at the screen.

'here, cant wait to see you, cutie ;)'

Peter puffs out a breath, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks and stupid butterflies forming in his stomach, before he squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and makes his way outside, grabbing his apartment key on the way out.

Though, he almost drops it as soon as he gets outside. Harley is packed on the side of the road (illegally, Peter thinks), leaning against his older truck with his arms crossed and a cheeky grin on his face like he know's exactly what hes doing to Peter. He probably does, because holy shit how can someone look this effortlessly beautiful (and hot, like shit) and not know it?

He's wearing a gray wife beater shirt with a logo on it that Peter cant read, cant bother to want to read over Harleys bulging biceps, a pair of loose shorts that have no reason for looking as good on him as they do, and a blue baseball cap on backwards, pushing the blond strands back except for one stray curl that is falling in front of his bright, ocean blue eyes. His grin pushes up his cheeks, accentuating his dimples and the scattered freckles all over his face, showing off his pearly white teeth and god, when did his throat get so dry?

Peter swallows, trying to calm down his racing heart and forcing himself to keep moving towards the car, towards the god of a man stood in front of him, trying to seem nowhere near as effected as he was. By the looks of Harleys twinkling eyes that run up and down his body quickly (which really, really doesnt help), Peter fails by a long shot.

"Hey Darlin'," Harley finally uncrosses his arms, opening then open for their usual hug that Peter quickly melts into. "You're looking gorgeous today, as usual." He murmurs as he kisses a light kiss to Peter's flushed cheek, pulling away with a smirk.

Peter just rolls his eyes at him, even as his heart starts to hammer in his chest, even as a deep pang a longing and a thought of 'god I hope he means it' flows through his mind. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He goes to walk to the door before pausing, glancing away from Harley. "...you look good today too."

"I sure hope so. I had someone to impress." Harley winks at him, but before Peter can think too much about that one, he reaches forward and holds the door open for Peter, his gaze softening slightly as Peter steps in with a bashful smile and a quiet "thank you."

Harley gets in the other side and turns the truck back on, the machine coming to life with a loud roar, a gentle hum replacing it soon after. "Soo, where are we going?" Peter asks, shifting to look over at Harley who is looking over his shoulder, pulling off the side of the road with a smooth turn on the wheel and pressure on the gas.

He only glances over to Peter for a second, his baby blues soft and warm. "I figured we could just go for a drive around town, listen to some music, put down the windows, you know, the whole works. Sound okay with you?"

He glances over again, and Peter makes sure to give him a big smile, relaxing back into the leather passenger seat before staring out of the window and watching the buildings go by. "Yeah, that sounds perfect."

Peter sees Harley fumble with the radio in his peripheral vision, before the heavy drums of rock start to play, blaring out of the speaker. The older boy starts to tap the rhythm on the steering wheel, just as Peter starts to tap along with his foot, noting that it's an ACDC song he's heard play in the lab quite a few times, and when the lead singer starts, Harley sings along, voice starting low and quiet but growing louder, more confident. Peter joins in at the chorus, the only part of the song he truly knows, and by the end of it, the two boys are shouting at the top of their lungs, windows open and heads banging, laughter in their tones.

And the rest of the afternoon is spent this way, blaring different songs and singing aloud to each other (and themselves), only stopping once to get food at McDonalds before going on their way again, shouting lyrics to the rooftops until the sun starts to set, the ball of fire setting the sky ablaze, yellows and oranges, blues and purples streaking across the sky.

Harley drives for a little while longer, before pulling into a less populated area with a perfect view of the sky, keeping the car on but lowering the volume down almost all the way, the quiet notes a stark contrast to the pulsating beats from earlier. Harley doesnt say anything, just sinking back into his seat, seeming happy enough to just sit here, by Peter's side, and watch the sun slowly fall victim to the darkness of the horizon. And Peter would be, too, if he didnt have another, much more beautiful sight capturing all of his attention.

The sun's dying rays give off a yellow hue, that makes Harley's eyes gleam, practically glowing, and accentuating all of his best features while softening the rest. He has a gentle, tired but carefree smile on his face, looking younger, more youthful than Peter's ever seen, looking ethereal, angelic, so unbelievably perfect and beautiful in every way that Perer cant even blame himself when he blurts out, soft and full of a caring that cant be mistaken for anything other than love, "I really like you."

Harley turns his head, features scrunching up in confusion, and a shot of panic shoots through Peter, but he pushes through it, knowing he has to say this. He has to. "I-I have for a while now. And," Peter looks away, then, the intensity in Harleys eyes becoming too much for him, "I mean that in a more-than-friends kind of way. I- I get if you dont like me the same way, and just want to stay friends, close friends, I get it, but I just had to let you know, and-"

A faint chuckle interrupts Peter's beginning of a ramble, before soft lips are pressing against his. He freezes, but soon melts into it, eyes closing automatically as a hand lightly cradles his cheek, their lips moving together once, twice, three times in a gentle motion before Harley pulls away again. He leans back just enough to breath, rubbing his nose against Peter's, his expression full of adoration. "I like you too." He whispers simply, quietly, not willing to break the fragile moment they've found themselves in, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, until Harley slowly pulls away, leaning back into his seat.

They dont say anything else, but they dont have to, Harley's hand finding Peter's and intertwining their fingers, giving one last soft squeeze as they both stare off into the sunset, content, heart's full of love.

#febufluff #Febufluff #day 18 #friday night ride #parkner #parley #spiderlad #whatever ship name ya wanna use #harley keener/peter parker #harley keener #peter parker #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #mcu #marvel mcu

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arplis · 4 years

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Arplis - News: When Your Rape Doesnt Count

Something about the knock at the front door made Mary-Scott Hunter think a neighbor was in trouble. She had just arrived home from her job at a corporate training company, and she was mulling over an earlier fight with her girlfriend, but the sound jolted her out of it: five loud, fast raps. She could see two men looming through the window, dressed in oddly formal clothing. When she cracked the door, they identified themselves: a Minneapolis police officer and an FBI agent.

Oh shit, Hunter thought. What have I done wrong? She wasnt sure if she should open the door. She didnt trust cops all that much. She let them in but remained standing, uncertain, as they settled into her living room.

The men asked Hunter if she had been raped in 1987. Yes, she said.

You can also listen to Madison Paulys story read aloud:

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They told her they had identified the stranger whod broken into her house when she was 21 years old and attacked her in the hallway outside her bedroom. The suspects name was Darrell Rea. After 31 years, he was in custody.

First came the shock. Then reliefand, finally, happiness.

Seriously? she asked.

Sergeant Chris Karakostas, a homicide investigator at the Minneapolis Police Department, assured her it was true. He asked her if she wanted to sit down, so she did, and she listened.

From the perspective of police, Hunter had done everything right back in 1987. Shed immediately called the cops, allowed a nurse to collect a rape kit, and recounted the attack in painful detail during multiple police interviews. But the rape had taken place four years before the state forensics lab began testing DNA, and other leads went nowhere. For decades, Hunter lived with the uncertainty of whether her rapist was still out there.

Yet while Hunters case went dormant, Rea came under suspicion for a slew of other crimes. Police came to believe that the former apartment building caretaker could be linked to a number of sexual assault, physical assault, murder, and missing person cases, according to a criminal complaint. But he was never convicted of serious charges.

Theres a lot of women out there that really dont have some justice for what happened to them, says Sergeant Chris Karakostas.

Then, in 2013, the state crime lab matched DNA from Rea, by then in his late 50s, to the 1983 murder of a 17-year-old, Lorri Mesedahl, who appeared to have been raped before she was beaten to death near railroad tracks in north Minneapolis. But because the crime was so old, many witnesses were dead, and prosecutors wanted more than the DNA match from the victims body to charge Rea. So investigators ramped up their testing of the citys old rape kits. Thats when a hit came back for Hunters 1987 attack.

By the time the investigators told Hunter about Rea in March 2018, she had given up hope the case would ever be solved. I stopped fantasizing about this guy getting caught a long, long time ago, she tells me.

Today, Hunters experiencethe knock at the door, the detective bearing unexpected newsis becoming less of an extraordinary occurrence. After decades of shelving untested rape kits and otherwise mishandling many reports of sexual assault, police departments are now making progress on long-unsolved rape investigationsdue to unprecedented political will, new investigative techniques, and increased funding for DNA analysis.

In Michigan, for instance, an effort to test about 10,000 rape kits since 2009 led to the identification of at least 833 suspects who could be linked to multiple sex crimes. A state-funded effort to test old rape kits and hire new investigators and prosecutors in Cleveland has produced about 370 convictions since 2013. And a $38 million program created by the Manhattan district attorneys office paid for the testing of 55,000 rape kits across the country from 2015 to 2018nearly eliminating the pileup of untested kits in seven states. More than 20 states have recently passed laws requiring rape kit testing, audits of untested evidence, or systems for survivors to keep track of their kits, according to the Joyful Heart Foundation, an organization that advocates for sexual assault survivors. Meanwhile, police departments are rapidly adopting new approaches to solve sexual assaults, including genetic genealogya technique that identifies offenders by comparing crime scene DNA to consumer genetic profiles stored in public, online databases.

Even when these cold cases are solved, the legal system still prevents some survivors from getting justice. As Karakostas explained to Hunter as he sat on her couch, the window for prosecutors to press charges against Rea for her rape had long passed. At the time the attack occurred in 1987, Minnesotas statute of limitations for criminal sexual offenses involving adult victims was just three years.

Statutes of limitations are meant to protect defendants from false charges based on faded memory or degraded evidence. But they can also be a way for rapiststo remain free in a criminal justice system that convicts assailants of a felony in just 5 out of every 1,000 rapes, according to estimates from the antisexual violence organization RAINN. Over the past couple of decades, often following cultural upheavals like the Catholic child abuse scandal and the #MeToo movement, activists have fought to abolish or lengthen statutes of limitations, with mixed success.

Currently, at least seven states have no statute of limitations for any felony sexual offense. Dozens, including Minnesota, have lengthened the time given to prosecutors to bring charges, or added exemptions for cases with DNA evidence. Still, these reforms dont help survivors like Hunter, whose case expired before thenew lawstook effect.

The statute of limitations basically says, after X amount of years, the crime and its impact dont matter anymore.

But, as in most states, there is no statute of limitations for murder in Minnesota. So after Hennepin County prosecutors charged Rea with killing Lorri Mesedahl, they hoped Hunter would play a role in putting him away. Similarities between the attacks might bolster the prosecutors case. Before he left Hunters living room that evening in March, Karakostas asked if she would help.

Hunter instantly agreed. Taking part in the murder trial could be a way to recover some of the feeling of control wrested from her three decades prior. Shed never really forgiven herself for giving up that control, even though there was nothing to forgive; even though she knew, intellectually, that the rape was not her fault. The idea of being able to prosecuteor be involved in a prosecutionwas part of that want to be able to do something positive, to enact a result, Hunter, whos now 54, tellsme.

She pauses for a moment. Dude should pay, she adds.

The investigation that led officers to Hunters front door was long and circuitous. Minneapolis police had been looking into Darrell Rea for more than 40 years, slowly uncovering a series of women and girls they believe suffered at his hands: a terrified child, a troubled teenager, a marginalized sex worker. Each case proceeded in fits and starts, hindered by problems common to sexual violence investigationswitnesses dropping out, police bias against certain types of victims, and expiring statutes of limitations. (Through his lawyer, Rea broadly denied the criminal accusations against him and declined to answer specific questions or comment further on the allegations detailed in this article.)

In 1990, the Minneapolis Police Department got the call that would eventually prove crucial in bringing Rea to justice. Seventeen-year-old Victoria Owczynskyor Vicky O, as police investigators have long called herwas reported missing after disappearing on August 26, 1990. In a photograph circulated in a missing person bulletin, she smiles broadly, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and big earrings; permed, dark hair frames her face in a cloud.

According to retired Minneapolis Police Sergeant Tim Opdyke, who later picked up the investigation, the first sergeant assigned to Owczynskys case believed maybe she disappeared voluntarily on her own, he says. You know, 17 years old. She just ran away. But it was hard to square that with the fact that Owczynsky had left behind her money and cigarettesan unlikely choice for a teenager planning to skip town.

Naomie Rondo, 45, says her stepfather Darrell Rea abused her when she was a child.

At the time she disappeared, shed been staying with a friend, Naomie Rondo, in northeast Minneapolis. Rondo was one of Reas two stepdaughters. A neighbor told a police officer he had seen Owczynsky sitting in Reas pickup truck on the day she vanished.

By this point, Rea was not a stranger to police. In 1977, he had been accused of raping a woman after picking her up along Minneapolis Lake Street. Police found the woman covered in blood, crawling back toward the road; she later told them she had escaped by fighting off her attacker, who had a large knife, with a glass Coke bottle she found on the car floor. Rea was identified and tried for first-degree criminal sexual conduct and aggravated assault. But after he argued that the intercourse was consensual, a jury acquitted him of those charges and convicted him only for simple assault, landing him in jail for a short time.

About 11 years later, police got a report that Rea was abusing his stepdaughters. Rondo,now 45,says Rea would fondle her while washing her or tickling her, or put a hand down her pants while she was sleeping. At least once, he locked her out of the room and assaulted her older sister, Monique Stevens, while Rondo pounded on the door, crying. Stevens, now 48, has a vivid memory of looking at her second grade teacher and wondering if she should tell her how Rea pressed his body onto hers. I better not, she thought. She didnt tell anyone for years while Rea was entering her room at night, progressing from fondling her to raping her, punching, choking, and hitting her head against the bed frame. She would drink coffee at night to stay awake. Stevens says she believed that if she let the abuse happen, Rea wouldnt hurt her mother or siblings; that if she was quiet, her family could stay together. Only when Rondo reported the abuse to her school in the late 1980s did police get involved.

But after investigators questioned the girls, the family stopped cooperating with law enforcement, according to Karakostas. While prosecutors can press child sex abuse charges without the consent of a parent or guardian, they must believe they can meet the legal burden of proof to move forward. Once the family pulled out, neither of the two Hennepin County prosecutors who reviewed the case would bring charges.

Stevens says she used to babysit Owczynsky, who was a few years younger and often stayed at their house. She says Owczynsky was the only person who directly witnessed Rea raping her. Police working the Vicky O missing person case searched Reas home and car in 1990. When officers interviewed Rea, he denied that Owczynsky had gotten in the truck with him, Karakostas says. They never found enough evidence to arrest him for the girls disappearance.

But over the years, the Vicky O case would bring Rea under the police departments scrutiny time and time again. More than a year after her disappearance, Sergeant Opdyke and his partner, Sergeant Phil Hogquist, picked up the Owczynsky file from a box of unsolved cases. They, too, became fixated on Rea, who was by then in his late 30s, living and working as a caretaker in a shabby northeast Minneapolis apartment building. When they brought him in for questioning, Opdyke remembers thinking Rea was unnaturally calm under stress, and that he was using the interview to get information from the investigators. By the time the interview was over, I was flat-out accusing him of the murder of Vicky O, and he never reacted, Opdyke says. Never once got upset. He was there to find out what we knew.

Karakostas, a homicide investigator at the Minneapolis Police Department, spent years gathering evidence in Reas case.

While Opdyke was convinced that Rea was guilty, prosecutors werent. Opdyke says he was told that without a body, or more concrete evidence, they could not press charges.

But there was, possibly, another way to get to Rea. Given the 1977 assault case and the report regarding his stepdaughters, it seemed likely that they were dealing with a repeat offender. To that end, Opdyke and Hogquist learned from a fellow investigator of yet another caseRea might be involved in. In 1988, a 23-year-old homeless sex worker named Barbara, who asked that we use only her first name, had been attacked under circumstances similar to the details alleged in Reas 1977 trial, including the location. Barbaras case had gone cold, but it had one crucial difference from the other incidents: There was DNA evidence.

Barbara was walking to a White Castle near Lake Street one early morning in June 1988 when a man flashed money at her from a silver station wagon. They drove to a parking lot near some railroad tracks and had sex, and then, she tells me, he wouldnt stop. Barbara fought backscrapping and scrapping, just kicking and fighting and punching and kicking, she says. One of her hits must have drawn his blood; it dripped onto her shirt. Then the man jammed a tool resembling an ice pick into the hollow at the top of her neck.

The blow, somehow, didnt kill her. Barbara, her face pressed against the floor of the passenger seat, played dead as the man drove north into a quiet, leafy neighborhood. I just didnt know how bad I was feeling, but my mind was still working, she says. When she felt the car turn a corner, she leaped to open the door and rolled out of the station wagon. Struggling to grab her, the man crashed the car into a tree. He fled the scene as lights began turning on in the surrounding houses.

Karakostas reviews evidence in the Rea case.

Police later tested the bloodstain left on Barbaras shirt for protein and blood typeDNA testing was not yet availableand ruled out the first person they arrested for the attack, according to the Hennepin County Attorneys Office. Then they let the case fade away. It sat on somebodys desk, or got passed around, says Hogquist, who recalls feeling frustrated that there was a broad tendency to neglect sexual assault cases in the department. It was even worse for sex workers, anotherinvestigator tells me. Society was like that back then, says Barbara, who is now 54 and works as a nurse. She doesnt think attitudes have changed. Put yourself in harms way? Thats what you get.

But by 1993, five years after the attack on Barbara and three years after the disappearance of Owczynsky, the state crime lab had started testing DNA evidence. Working with Opdyke and Hogquist, the Minneapolis police lieutenant who had investigated Barbaras rape years earlier drafted a search warrant for Reas DNA. They obtained a sample and compared it to the bloodstain from Barbaras shirt. It matched.

Yet when the investigators brought the case to prosecutors, they were rebuffed: The three-year statute of limitations for both rape and attempted murder was already up. While a 1991 law extended the prosecution window to seven years for most criminal sexual offenses, it only applied to new cases, or cases in which the statute of limitations had not already run out. Barbaras case had expired less than seven weeks before that law was enacted.

Not until a couple of years ago did anyone tell Barbara about Rea. At first, she says, she was gladbut then I thought, There aint nothing I can do about it. Its just one more way in which she feels like the legal system failed her. As violent as a crime like that, they should never have a statute of limitations. Its ridiculous.

For Opdyke, Hogquist, and the other investigators, the dead end in Barbaras case deflated their hopes of catching Rea. Thats where all our investigation ended, says Hogquist. We got shot down. The Owczynsky investigation, too, went quiet.

When Opdyke retired in 2006, he made a copy of the Vicky O files to take with him to Florida. That was a case we carried with us when we left, he says. Thinking about Rea still gives him goosebumps.

It was like the one who got away. I always thought we had the right person, but wemeaning [Hogquist] and I, and the police department at the timewere never able to do anything about it.

Barbara Raped and stabbed in 1988 On escaping the station wagon where she was raped: The whole car just got fuming, sweaty, windows forming sweat and fog, and he wouldnt stop, and it was going on and on and onI was just hoping somebody would hear, somebody would see, and instead, I felt like I had to give upBut I felt a stab in my back and my neck. I found out later it was an ice pick. So I played dead. That was not easy to do. And I dont know if he saw somebody coming or whatIm just still trying to figure that out[but] he put a piece of carpet over me to hide meI felt the car start up, and he started moving. I just didnt know how bad I was feeling, but my mind was still working, and I could peek out through this hole of this carpet and see the lock and the door handleSure enough I felt the turn with the car. So thats when I did itjumped, got one hand on the lock, one hand on the handle and did them both at the same timeI got out, I just slid my body out and clumsily started running upThank God he did leave, because he wouldve got me again. Listen to Barbara tell her story: https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Barbara.mp3

It would be almost 20 years before the Minneapolis Police Department would make significant progress in their investigations of Rea. Again itd be because of Victoria Owczynsky, the 17-year-old who had been friends with his younger stepdaughter.

Owczynsky, or her body, still had not been found, but in late 2007, Sergeant Gerry Wehr came across her missing person file. He was on light duty at the time, recovering from hip surgery, with an assignment to look for cold cases that showed promise. Wehr says he liked reading files from the crammed archives stashed in the clock tower of Minneapolis City Hall, retracing the steps of old investigations. Its dusty, dirty, its kind of dark, and there are just boxes everywhere, Wehr says. Of course, nothings in order.

His interest had been piqued after policegot a call that a relative of Owczynskys was using her information to get welfare benefits. So box by box up in the clock tower, Wehr continued working the case for years, learning about the teenagers disappearance, and about Rea, and, eventually, Barbara. With the help of the FBI, he started developing a criminal profile of Rea, uncovering several other attacks, mostly on sex workers, that seemed to fit his modus operandi. Over and over, those cases had been dropped, or not charged in time. Sometimes there was simply not enough evidence. But other times the reason was bad police work, Wehr admits; in particular, cases that involved victims who did sex work languished.

The haphazardly stored, jumbled archives made progress slow. It took nearly five years of investigating before Wehr pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of a box: the search warrant for Reas DNA from Barbaras case. Wehr had long been hoping for DNA evidence to help his search and he knew that Reas DNA sample, as well as the blood from Barbaras shirt, could still be in evidence. I just knew there would be something that would come up if we entered it in the system.

Both samples were still in storage. In 2013, the state crime lab reanalyzed the sample from Barbaras shirt and Reas DNA, confirming the match using more advanced testing. Then the lab uploaded its new DNA profile from the bloodstain into a database for crime scene evidence. Thats when the system returned another, unexpected hit: semen recovered from the autopsy of Lorri Mesedahl, the 17-year-oldkilled 30 years earlier. Wehr tells me he was surprised there was only one match for Rea in the database.

Mesedahls murder was not one of the cases Wehr had pegged to Rea. One Friday night in early spring 1983, after returning home from a party, Mesedahl had snuck out to go see her boyfriend. When she arrived at her boyfriends grandparents house close to 3 a.m., his grandmother refused to let her in. The next morning, Mesedahls body was found, facedown, surrounded by a pool of blood, next to railroad tracks. Semen was found in her vagina and rectum, as well as on the legs and seat of her pants. Not until 2008 would the samples be tested and uploaded to the system.

In 1983, Lorri Mesedahls body was found near these railroad tracks in north Minneapolis; the 17 year old appeared to have been raped and then beaten to death.

The Mesedahl hit blew the entire Rea investigation wide open: There was DNA and the statute of limitations on murder never expires. Finally, police had discovered evidence with a real chance of convincing prosecutors to bring charges.

Wehr was on the cusp of retirement. Before he left, he handed off the case to Karakostas, who once patrolled Lake Street as a young beat cop and had since become the departments cold-case homicide specialist. When you arrest [Rea], you got to make sure hes getting charged, Wehr remembers telling Karakostas. Because people have been doing this to him for 20 years. He gets called in on a rape, he gives them a story, and they threaten him and yell at him theyre going to charge him, hes going to prison. But nobody ever does. He walks away.

In part to see if they could bolster their case by finding more attacks linked to Rea, investigators ramped up their testing of old, neglected rape kits. In 2014, they found another victim: Mary-Scott Hunter, a young legal assistant who was raped in 1987.

By March 2015, Karakostas believed he finally had enough evidence and arrested Rea. But even then, it wasnt enough. Karakostas says prosecutors got cold feet and declined to charge him. Chuck Laszewski, the Hennepin County Attorneys Office spokesperson, says the county attorneys office felt it needed more evidence to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Rea had murdered Mesedahl. Key witnesses had died, including the medical examiner who inspected her body. As Wehr had predicted, Rea denied everything and was released.

It would take another two and a half years and follow-up testing on Mesedahls clothes before prosecutors decided they were confident enough to pursue the case, Karakostas says. In September 2017, Rea was taken into custody again, and charged with second-degree murder.

Monique Stevens Sexually abused starting in the late 1970s On growing up in Reas house: He would watch me take a shower. I didnt even want to take showers. I got teased at school because I smelled sometimes. I mean, we were poor, so I got teased for my clothes even though we had uniforms, cause I have holes in my shoes. So I was traumatized at school, too. I was ashamed of my body, of myself, who I was. I didnt want people to look at me. I just wanted to stay covered all the time. Listen to Monique describe growing up: https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/stevens_growingup.mp3

On trying to defend herself against Rea: I slept with a knife under my pillow. He would run upstairs. I would jump up on my bed, and scream and scream and scream, and my mom would come up and get him out of the room. And then there were nights she wasnt there, so hed rape me. And when she was there, Id do the same thing all over again. Scream and scream and scream, and shed come running up there. I would not sleep. I would drink coffee sometimes, Naomie would too, so we could stay awake. Listen to Monique describe defending herself:

https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/stevens_defend.mp3

Mary-Scott Hunter was always a light sleeper, even on the nights she had been drinking. In 1987, she was 21 years old, working at a law firm and sharing a split-level duplex with three friends from Carleton College. We were all incredibly close, says Nina Levine, who lived upstairs. They bonded over the Grateful Dead and played softball together. (Hunters story first came to our attention through Mother Jones Editor-in-Chief Clara Jeffery, who became friends with Hunter in the years following the attack.)

Hunters housemates were somewhat worried about her; she was somewhat worried about herself. She had recently dropped out of school and was struggling. Maybe not eating enough, Hunter says. Drinking too much. She was trying to change those parts of her life. One Thursday night in March, she relapsed, going out to a bar, bingeing and purging, then falling asleep in her bedroom on the bottom floor of the duplex.

Around 4:30 in the morning, a noise woke her up. Then she heard it again, louder. She rolled out of bed and left her room to check on her friends. Thats when she saw theman at the top of the staircase. He wore a dark sweatshirt, the hood pulled tight around his face. In his right hand, he held a screwdriver.

Dont freak out, he said, according to her police report from that night. I just want to fuck you. If you freak out, Im going to stab you.

He forced her to the lower-level landing. Then he raped her for more than 30 minutes.

I was convinced, at one point, that somebody in the house would hear it, and the cops were going to come, Hunter says. But they didnt. As the man grew frustrated, she thought, Im going to die. She was stunned when he finished and left without killing her.

She immediately woke up Levine, who helped her call the police. When officers arrived, it just got surreal, Hunter tells me. It was a relief that they were there, but they were very nonchalant about the whole thing. Levine remembers watching an officer question Hunter and sensing he didnt believe her, as if she had invited the man to her house after going out drinking that night. She was shaking a lot, Levine remembers. She would start to talk, then get a little silent, then go back.

Mary-Scott Hunter (right) was living with Nina Levine in the mid-1980s when Rea broke into their home and raped Hunter.

Hunter recalls the lingering surprise that she hadnt been murdered. She remembers cracking jokes in the back of the police cruiser with Levine and another friend who accompanied her to the hospital. During her rape kit exam, a nurse wrote that Hunter was quiet, cooperative.

Only later, as she waited in the hospital lobby for a ride back to the house, did Hunter allow any darker emotions to hit her. She leaned forward in her chair and stared at the floor. I cant believe this happened, she recalls saying out loud. Levine put a hand on her back.

Im not typically somebody who kind of breaks down, so it wasnt that, Hunter recalls. I think it was the first time that I started to just be a little bit more in my body. And that was the startshe pauses, searchingof not wanting to be in my body.

A few days later, when Hunter sat down with a Minneapolis police sergeant for an interview, he asked her what she was wearing when she was raped, according to a transcript of their conversation. She answered his questions simply and completely. She wanted to help. When the sergeant identified a suspect and put together a lineup, she was frustrated with herself when she couldnt identify him. (Forensic testing eventually ruled that suspect out.) After the lineup, Hunter remembers, the investigation seemed to fizzle.

At the same time, she and her housemates were struggling to cope with what had happened. In the following weeks, Hunter slept on a mattress in their living room. She read and re-read feminist literature, and signed up for self-defense classes. The landlord fixed the window locks, installed an alarm system, and offered the housemates free therapy sessions with her husband, a psychologist.

As months passed, then years, Hunters struggles with mental health got worse, and, eventually, better. She got sober; she came out. I got to know myself, she says.

With time, she thought less and less about the attack and the still-open investigation. But she continued to question whether she had done enough to stop the rape. Those doubts still nag her: Why the hell didnt Ido more to fight? she asks. Is that some deficiency in me, that I clam up when Im in flight or fight? Why did I do the things I personally did? Did I not think I was worth fighting?

She knows its not her fault she was raped, knows its never any survivors fault. But knowing is a different thing than feeling it.

Only after Karakostas knocked on her door last year, after prosecutors finally decided to charge Rea, did Hunter come to a kind of peace with her doubts. Rea had killed before, she knows now. On the night hed attacked her, the same could have happened to her. Maybe I actually did have the right instincts, she says. If she had fought back, she might not have survived. Its let me off the hook a little.

Mary-Scott Hunter Raped in 1987 On night terrors in the years after her rape: Ill just get stuck in a loop of auditory hallucinations, of being sure that I hear somebody inside the house, and theyre coming up the stairsI had even tried tricks, like I would imagineI have cats, and I know that if theres any sound in the house, the cats just run away. So for a while I was like, look at the cats. If the cats are not running away, and you think you see the cats sleeping, its not happening. But then my brain would catch up to me and make the cats jumpOnce I finally would break the loop, and Id wake up, and now I was actually awake Id see the cats are sound asleep, or had just run off, because usually what breaks this cycle is, I wake myself up screaming. Listen to Mary-Scott tell her story: https://www.motherjones.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/hunter.mp3

On a sunny morning in late June, Hunter pulled on a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words nasty woman and biked to the Hennepin County Government Center in the heart of downtown Minneapolis to see Rea receive his sentence for the murder of Lorri Mesedahl. By the time Hunter arrived at a meeting with a victim advocate on the 22nd floor, Barbara was already there, seated at a small round table.

It had been almost two months since the women had learned that Darrell Rea had been convicted of second-degree murder with intent, after waiving his right to a jury trial. Explaining her ruling, Hennepin County Judge Tamara Garcia wrote that the DNA evidence in this case is compelling and that a guilty verdict was the only possible conclusion. While Reas public defender had tried to propose other potential perpetrators, none of the alternate theories added up.

Garcia had considered evidence not just from the killing of Mesedahl, but also from the 1988 attack on Barbara, which the judge determined was similar enough to Mesedahls case that it could corroborate the facts of the murder. But Hunters rape, Garcia decided, couldnt factor in to her verdict. While some elements of Hunters case were similar to Mesedahlsboth were young women, attacked with a weapon just a few miles apartthe assault had taken place in her house, not Reas car, and did not leave her with serious visible injuries. The allegations of sexual abuse against Monique Stevens and Naomie Rondo also were not considered. None of those crimes, Garcia ruled, shared enough details in common with the murder to be included in her deliberation.

Hunter had been crushed by that decision. Shed been holding out hope that the trial would give her a chance to finally do something, to act after years of stasis. She says she wouldnt have been afraid to take the stand. I would love nothing more than to be able to stand in front of [him], she says, to be like, Yep. Guess what. Im here. Giving you a little bit of payback.

The closest she could get would be to see Rea sentenced to prison. She wanted to be there, to put a face to the figure who had persisted in her nightmares for 32 years, but whose features had grown fuzzy in her memory. And she was curious about the other survivors. But what do you say to a stranger brought into your life through trauma that is somehow both shared and separate? In the meeting room high above the city, Barbara and Hunter greeted each other politely. Then they fell into a nervous silence.

Barbaras mind was racing. That morning, shed woken up early to dress for court, taming her long, curly brown hair and applying makeup, which she did rarely. Then she smoked a cigarette beside a heart-shaped pond shed built herself in her backyard, her space for peace and reflection. She knew she would be disappointed by the sentencing, but she wanted to see the criminal proceedings through to the end.

I just hope this turns out okay, she told Hunter in her quiet rasp.

Yup, Hunter answered.

A cardigan-clad victim advocate arrived to prepare them for the hearing. Rea, the advocate said, would not be taking responsibility for his crimes. He would not show remorse. He had family members supporting him in the courtroom. And neither Hunter nor Barbara would be allowed to deliver a victim impact statement in person. They could only submit a written copy to the judge.

I was ready to just die, you know. I was letting go because I was exhausted. But I think the good Lord wanted me to survive. To press charges for Lorri Mesedahl, says Barbara.

Barbara could no longer keep from breaking down. She had spent hours practicing her statement in front of a mirror, imagining telling the judge how she was still scared, and angry that her case was never prosecuted: I have come to the conclusion I will never see justice. Welling up, she told the advocate about surviving other abuse and violence, before Rea, and how it had changed her, affecting all her relationships.

As Barbara spoke, Hunter sat very still except for her hands, which she was kneading. Suddenly she jerked in her seat. Goddamn these men, she said, turning toward the window.

Barbara caught her breath. Then, seeming to notice something, she turned to Hunter, whose short graying hair was tucked behind her ears. Were you brunette too?

Yeah, Hunter said.

A screwdriver?

Yeah.

Mine was a dull-ass ice pick. Barbara used a tissue to dab at the heavy mascara lining her eyelids. Do I got makeup all over my face?

You look great, Hunter said. Fierce. They rode the elevator down to the 13th-floor courtroom together.

Stevens and Rondo were there. Stevens, dressed in black, fought hard to stay composed; beside her, Rondos slight, tense frame betrayed her anger. They gripped each others hands as they waited first for the judge to appear, and then for their stepfather to be escorted to the defendants table. By the time Rea entered the roomnow 64, heavyset and pale, with a thick white goatee and mustachetears were streaming down Stevens cheeks. It wasnt that she was afraid of him; she had seen him once as an adult, at her grandmothers funeral a few years ago. Its that there were so many waysPTSD, struggles with intimacythat her childhood experiences still remain with her. I was held captive by him, and there was nothing I could do, she tells me. I would like to see him have to stay in there until he dies. Because Ive been in prison for almost my whole life.

The only statement permitted in the courtroom was from Lorri Mesedahls half brother. Darrell won the game, Del Young said, tearing up as he stood in front of the judge. To ever allow this man to walk these streets again puts the public at such an extreme danger.

A few minutes later, Garcia sentenced Rea to 10 years and one month in prison, the maximum permitted under Minnesotas sentencing guidelines at the time of the 1983 murder. With supervised release and the time he had already served while awaiting a verdict, Rea would likely get out in just under five years. If the statutes of limitations on Hunters and Barbaras rapes had not expired, and Rea was also found guilty for those crimes, his recommended sentence could have been more than 20 years, calculates Mike Brandt, a Minnesota criminal defense attorney who is not involved in the case.

Barbara admits it scares her that Rea will be out of prison so soon. But she also believes her role in convicting him is the reason why she survived his attack all those years ago; on the night he tried to kill her, she tells me, I was ready to just die, you know. I was letting go because I was exhausted. But I think the good Lord wanted me to survive. To press charges for Lorri Mesedahl. Mesedahl is buried a few blocks from Barbaras home. She visits the gravesite often.

The Rea case, says one veteran investigator, is a wake-up call to make a better system.

In the current system, the only person were protecting is Darrell Rea, Sergeant Chris Karakostas tells me. The way the case unfolded is the result of bad policy, bad police work, bad county attorneys, the failures of the system to take care of people like him, Sergeant Gerry Wehr says. Its a wake-up call to make a better system. There is some hope things will change, and that this generation of sexual violence survivors will be the last to face the obstacles presented by narrow statutes of limitations. Minnesota long ago eliminated the ticking clock for any sexual assault where there is DNA evidence, but its prosecution window for other sexual assaults of adults now expires after nine years. In the past two legislative sessions, state lawmakers have rejected proposals, including one from former state Rep. Ilhan Omar (now a member of Congress), to completely abolish the statute of limitations on all sexual assault cases.

Hunter is still living with that impact. Some nights, she hallucinates the sound of someone coming up the stairs in her house. The night terror loops until she wakes up screaming. Closure, she says, is kind of a tricky word. Part of her is glad that Rea refused to accept responsibility in court. If he had apologized, she says, theres a burden on me. To process forgiveness.Barbara, Hunter, and Stevens told me they wish the law treated rape the same as murder, leaving cases open for as long as it takes for police to solve the crime. Having statutes of limitations for these sexually violent crimes is belittling and demeaning, Nina Levine, Hunters friend and former housemate, wrote to me recently. The law basically says, after X amount of years, the crime and its impact dont matter anymore.

Karakostas still isnt done with the case. He believes Hunters rape indicates there could be more crimes to uncover. I think any investigator who worked, even touched, this case, or knows anything about it, would agree that the probability that there are other victims out there, either living or dead, is probably pretty good, he says. After Rea was convicted of murder, he was legally obligated to hand over a new DNA sample. And unlike the bloodstain from Barbaras shirt, this one has been uploaded to the FBIs national database. From now on, it will be automatically compared to unknown DNA from crime scenes across the country and to results from the roughly 1,700 rape kits that Minneapolis Police have neglected to test since the 1990s. One day, Karakostas speculates, there could be another prosecution. In that future case, a judge could rule that the experiences of Hunter and Stevens count as corroborating evidence. Maybe they could still get their day in court. Theres a lot of women out there that really dont have some justice for what happened to them, Karakostas says.

Theres also still the big unanswered question: What happened to Vicky O? Over the years, rumors of where she may be have circulated through the police department. According to multiple investigators, the apartment building where Rea lived when Owczynsky disappeared in 1990 had an underground level, and at least one witness told the cops that he used to spend time down there. Its become the stuff of legend among certain Minneapolis cops that Owczynskys body might be buried underneath the building. One problem: The city condemned the building and tore it down in 1992. In its place stands the headquarters of the Minneapolis Police Departments 2nd Precinct.

Its a chilling prospectthat the body theyve spent decades looking for could be literally underneath the polices feet. Theoretically, Karakostas muses, youd have to take [the building] down. That seems unlikely, but like the investigators before him, hes still driven by the search for Vicky O, and Rea is still his number-one suspect. No matter what it took, he says, nothing would please me more than to find Vicky.

Darrell Reas stepdaughters, Monique Stevens (left) and Naomi Rondo (center), with their friend Victoria Owczynsky, who disappeared in 1990.

A previous version of this story was published online in June. The story, included in the November/December 2018 print edition, has been updated to reflected the sentencing of Darrell Rea.

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/when-your-rape-doesnt-count

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'A total blast': our writers pick their favorite summer blockbusters ever

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'A total blast': our writers pick their favorite summer blockbusters ever

As the season heats up on the big screen, Guardian writers look back on their picks from the past with killer sharks, mournful crime-fighters and time-traveling teens

Face/Off (1997)

Photograph: Allstar/Cinetext/PARAMOUNT

Madman bomber Nicolas Cage stole John Travoltas dead sons life. So gloomy FBI agent Travolta steals Cages face. When Cage steals his face and his wife and freedom John Woos Face/Off becomes the biggest, wackiest and most operatic summer blockbuster in history, a gonzo combustion that flings everything from pigeons to peaches at the screen.

Hong Kong cineastes might applaud a script with roots in the ancient Sichuan opera genre Bian Lian, where performers swap masks like magic. Popcorn-munchers, of which I am front row center, are here to watch whack job Cage and soulful Travolta, two actors who love to go full-ham, play each other and go deep inside their iconographies. Call it hamception. Or just call it a crazy swing that hits a home run as Cavolta and Trage battling it out in a warehouse, a speedboat and, of course, a church. As Cage-as-Travolta gloats to Travolta-as-Cage, Isnt this religious? The eternal battle between good and evil, saint and sinners but youre still not having any fun! Maybe hes not, but we sure are. Bravo, bravo. AN

Edge of Tomorrow (2014)

Photograph: David James/Publicity image from film company

Theres been an increasing sense of desperation clinging to the majority of roles picked by Tom Cruise in recent years. Outside of the still shockingly entertaining Mission: Impossible series, he was miscast in the barely serviceable Jack Reacher and its maddeningly unnecessary sequel, his awards-aiming American Made was throwaway and his franchise-starting The Mummy was a franchise-killer. But four summers ago, he picked the right horse just maybe at the wrong time.

Because despite how deliriously fun Edge of Tomorrow was in the summer of 2014, audiences didnt show the requisite enthusiasm. It was a moderate success (enough to warrant a long-gestating sequel) but it should have packed them in, its combination of charm, invention and sheer thrills making it one of the most objectively successful blockbuster experiences in memory. The nifty plot device (Cruise must relive a day of dying while battling aliens over and over again) allowed for some dark gallows humor and a frenetic pace that kept us all giddily on edge while it also contained a dazzling action star turn from Emily Blunt whose fearless Full Metal Bitch wrestled the film away from Cruise. Blame its relative failure on the bland title? Cruise fatigue? Blockbuster over-saturation? Then find a digital copy to watch and rewatch and repeat. BL

Back to the Future (1985)

Photograph: Allstar/UNIVERSAL/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar

Back to the Future very nearly wasnt a summer blockbuster. The reshoots required after Eric Stoltz was booted off, then the fact Michael J Foxs Family Ties commitments meant he could only shoot at night all meant filming didnt wrap until late April. Robert Zemeckis and Steven Spielberg duly pencilled in an August / September release.

But then people started seeing it. Test scores were off the scale. Said producer Frank Marshall: Id never seen a preview like that. The audience went up to the ceiling. So they bagsied the best spot the year had to offer 3 July hired a squad of sound editors to work round the clock and two print editors with instructions to get properly choppy. They did, and those big trims tightened yet further one of the tautest screenplays (by Bob Gale) cinema has ever seen. The only bit of fat they left was the Johnny B Goode scene: sure, it didnt advance the story, but the kids at those test screenings knew we were gonna love it. Back to the Future is a pure shot of summer cinema: grand, ambitious, insanely entertaining. Deadpool, Avengers, take note: a blockbuster can be smart as hell so long as it wears it lightly. In the end, by the way, the film spent 11 weeks at number 1 at the US box office. Thats essentially the whole summer. CS

Teminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

Photograph: Allstar/TRISTAR/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar

The first film I ever saw at the cinema was The Rocketeer. We drove into Bradford city centre, bought our tickets at the Odeon and sat through the 1991 tale which followed the fortunes of a stunt pilot, a rocket pack and a Nazi agent played by Timothy Dalton who sounded like he was from Bury rather than Berlin. The way into the multiplex there was a huge poster for Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Arnie sat on a Harley with a shotgun cocked and ready. My dad was a huge fan of the original but he still couldnt swing taking a seven-year-old to see it. It wasnt until I borrowed a VHS copy that I finally got to see what was behind that image. Skynet, dipshits, T-1000s, a nuclear holocaust and a motorbike chases on the LA river.

Blockbusters dont usually have that edge: theres a more brazen mainstream appeal. But Judgment Day was and still is an exception. It did huge numbers at the box office (more than $500m), was a rare sequel that was arguably better than the original and introduced really odd bits of Spanish idiom into the Bradford schoolyard lexicon. I probably would have been scarred for life watching it as a seven-year-old, but as a teenager it gave me a story I doubt Ill ever get tired of revisiting. LB

The Dark Knight (2008)

Photograph: Allstar/WARNER BROS.

The summer of 2008 was a busy one: Barack Obama emerged from a contentious democratic primary to become the first ever black presidential nominee of a major party. The dam fortifying the entire global financial system was about to burst. China hosted its first ever Summer Olympics. But somehow, and not exactly to my credit, what I remember most from that summer is the uncanny, ridiculously over-the-top publicity blitzkrieg that preceded the release of The Dark Knight, which has since emerged as not just an all-time great summer blockbuster, but an all-time great American film, period.

There were faux-political billboards that read I believe in Harvey Dent; a weirdly nondescript website of the same name; Joker playing cards dispersed throughout comic book stores, which led fans to another website where the DA was defaced with clown makeup. Dentmobiles, Gotham City voter registration cards, a pop-up local news channel: the marketing campaign might have seemed excessive had the movie not so convincingly topped it. Ten years later, as films like Deadpool and Avengers: Infinity War try to reach those same heights of virality, The Dark Knight remains the measuring stick by which every superhero movie, and superhero villain, is measured. JN

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

Photograph: Jasin Boland/AP

In many ways, Fury Road is summer: arid, scorching, bright enough to be squinted at. The driving force behind all the high-impact driving is scarcity of water, the essence of life in a desert where death practically rises up from the burning sand. Even in the air-conditioned comfort of a multiplex auditorium in Washington DCs Chinatown, watching George Millers psychotic motor opera left this critic sweaty and parched. My world is fire and blood, warns the weary Max Rockatansky (Tom Hardy) in the scripts opening lines. Staggering out of a theater into the oppressive rays of the sun, it sure can feel that way.

Millers masterpiece fits into the summer blockbuster canon in a less literal capacity as well, striking its ideal balance of dazzling technical spectacle and massively-scaled emotional catharsis. There was plenty of breathless praise to go around upon this films 2015 release, much of it for the feats of practical-effects daring, but the hysterical extremes of feeling cemented its status as a modern classic. I cant deny that Ive watched the polecat sequence upwards of a dozen times, but Millers film truly comes alive in Furiosas howl of desperation, and in Maxs noble disappearance into the throng. CB

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Its the music, its the giant boulder, its the Old Testament mysticism, its the whip, its the Cairo Swordsman, its Harrison Fords crooked smile, its the bad dates, its Karen Allen drinking a sherpa under the table, its the melted faces and exploding heads. Its all these things plus having the good fortune of seeing this at the cinema at a very young age, therefore watching most of it through my terrified fingers. (Indy tells Marion to keep her eyes shut during the cosmic spooky ending; way ahead of you there!)

The modern blockbuster as we know it was created by Steven Spielberg with Jaws and George Lucas with Star Wars, so the hype was unmatched when the two collaborated in 1981 with Raiders of the Lost Ark. As a kid I had no idea this was a loving homage to cliffhanger serials from the 30s and 40s, I took it as pure adventure. The seven-and-a-half minute desert truck chase (I dont know, Im making thus up as I go) is probably the best action sequence in all of cinema (John Woos Hard Boiled does not have a horse, sorry), but watching as an adult one notices a lot of sophisticated humor, too. (Indy being too exhausted to make love to Marion, for example, is something that didnt connect when I was six.)

Its strange to think I watched these cartoon Nazis on VHS with my grandparents who had escaped the Holocaust, and no one benefits when you do the math to figure out how young Marion was when, as Indy puts it, you knew what you were doing. But for thrills, laughs and propulsive camerawork (though a little mild Orientalism), nothing tops this one. JH

Independence Day (1996)

Photograph: Everett/REX/Shutterstock

Short of actually calling their film Summer Blockbuster, rarely can a films height-of-summer release date been so central to a films raison detre. This being the mid-90s, when po-mo and self-referentiality was all the rage, brazenly hooking your tentpole film to 4 July was seen as a pretty smart idea.

Fortunately, all the ducks did line up in a row for ID4: a game-changing performance from Will Smith, Jeff Goldblum at (arguably) his funniest, a rousingly Clintoneque president in Bill Pullman and most importantly in that run-up to the millennium physical destruction on a gigantic scale. Much comment at the time was expended on the laser obliteration of the White House (an early shot from the Tea Party/Maga crowd?), but I personally cherish director Roland Emmerichs signature move of detonating cars in somersault formation. Like many other huge-budget films then and since, Independence Day was basically a tooled-up retread of cheap-as-chips format of earlier decades though who these days would roll such expensive dice on what is essentially an original script, with no comic book or toy branding as a forerunner? We shall never see its like again. AP

Aliens (1986)

Photograph: Allstar/20 CENTURY FOX/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar

An Aliens summer is one for moviegoers who prefer to sit in in darkened rooms when the sun is shining; the brutal confines of the fiery power plant make an excellent subliminal ad for air conditioning. In 1986, James Cameron took Ridley Scotts elegant, iconic horror template and turned it into an all-out action blockbuster, forcing Ripley once again to face down her nemeses in a breathless fug of claustrophobia, sweat and fear. Its relentlessly stressful and unbelievably thrilling.

I first saw Aliens many years after its initial release. Owing to its sizeable and long-lasting legacy, it was at once immediately familiar, yet also brisk and brutally fresh. I understood that it was a classic, but I wasnt prepared for just how good it is, for the pitch-perfect management of tension, the pace that never really lets up, the emotional pull. The maternal undertow of Ripleys protection of Newt, and the alien mirror of that, adds a level of heart unusual in most blockbusters, and her frustration at being a woman whose authority must be earned again and again, and then proven again and again, remains grimly relevant, 30 years on. Its also a total blast. Now get away from her, you bitch. RN

Jaws (1975)

Photograph: Fotos International/Getty Images

It is the great summer blockbuster ancestor the film that in 1975 more or less invented the concept of the event movie. And unlike all those other summer blockbusters, Steven Spielbergs Jaws is actually about the summer; it is explicitly about the institution of the summer vacation, into which the movie was being sold as part of the seasonal entertainment. It is about the sun, the sand, the beach, the ocean and the entirely justified fear of being eaten alive by an enormous shark with the appetite of a serial killer and the cunning of a U-boat commander. And more than that: it is about that most contemporary of political phenomena: the coverup, the town authorities at a seaside resort putting vacationers at risk by not warning them about the shark. The Jaws mayor has become comic shorthand for the craven and pusillanimous politician.

A blockbuster nowadays means spectacular digital effects, but this film is from an analogue world. It bust the block through brilliant film-making and an inspired score from John Williams, summoning up the shark with a simple two-note theme which became the most famous musical expression of evil since Bernard Herrmanns shrieking violin stabs in Psycho took the place of actual knife-slashing. I still remember the excitement of the summer of 1975, and the queues around the block at the Empire, in Watford, round the corner from the football ground. The inspired brevity of the title meant the word was repeated over and over again to fill the marquee display: JAWS JAWS JAWS as if they were screaming it! PB

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

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themoneybuff-blog · 6 years

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The death of Anthony Bourdain: Thoughts on productivity, pleasure, and depression

Shares 141 Warning: This is a rare GRS post that contains salty language. If you dont like salty language, dont read this article. Anthony Bourdain killed himself Friday morning. So what? you might be thinking. Hes just another fucking celebrity who didnt know how good he had it. Maybe youre right. But his death has weighed heavy on me all weekend. On Friday morning, as I wrote the weekly Get Rich Slowly email, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. On Friday afternoon, as Kim and I worked in the yard, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. On Friday evening, as we soaked in our new hot tub with a friend, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Yesterday, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Today, I thought about Anthony Bourdain. Now Im writing this article as an act of catharsis. Maybe itll help me to stop thinking about Anthony Bourdain. The Depression Trap I believe Anthony Bourdains death touched me deeply for a couple of reasons. I was a huge fan. Since listening him read the audio version of Kitchen Confidential a decade ago, Ive loved his work. Parts Unknown was probably my favorite travel show: raw and real and filled with food. Bourdain connected with everyone he met. His joy for life was contagious and his mind was sharp.Like Bourdain did, I struggle with depression. All my life, Ive experienced periodic descents into darkness. The first time this happened, I missed five weeks of sixth grade. In the nearly forty years since then, Ive developed a variety of coping mechanisms but they dont always work. In recent months since the middle of March the darkness has deepened and I dont know why. (And just as I missed five weeks of school back then, Ive been unable to get my work done in the present.) Let me make it clear that I am not suicidal. Right now, the biggest symptom of my depression is my inability to get shit done. But whereas suicide seems strange and senseless to most everyone else, depressives understand the appeal even if wed never consider it personally. One of the many stupid things about depression is that the condition doesnt care how awesome your life is. It doesnt care how successful you are. It doesnt care how much money you have. Depression is not rational. If it were, itd be easy to think your way out of it. Paula Froelich, one of Bourdains ex-girlfriends, put it like this:

Bourdains death didnt just make me introspective. It also led to a couple of interesting conversations about pleasure and productivity and about what really matters in life. The Productivity Trap Friday afternoon, I received email from a GRS reader well call Michael: Im sure you saw Anthony Bourdain killed himself. This to me was a telling quote: When asked during a recent interview with The Wall Street Journal whether he ever thought about stepping back from the breakneck pace of a job that kept him on the road 250 days a year, he replied, Too late for that. I think about it. I aspired to it. I feel guilty about it. I yearn for it. Balance? I fucking wish.' Obviously I didnt know Bourdain personally, or even know much about him as a public figure, but I think that mentality is common: Once youve become successful, the thought of ever ratcheting back seems unthinkable. Obviously, suicide is rare, but I think this mentality is common among successful people they stay in an unhappy status quo simply because they have so much invested in their self-image and public perception of themselves as successful people. I think Michael is onto something. Ive seen this in my own life, in the lives of friends and family, and the lives of colleagues. They fall into what you might call the productivity trap. (Heres an article I almost linked to the other day about the productivity trap: If youre so successful, why are you still working 70 hours a week?) I have one friend, for instance, with an enormously successful career. He has a popular blog, a popular podcast, best-selling books, and even an annual conference that attracts attendees from across the planet. Yet hes never satisfied not with himself nor with anybody else. Hes always looking for ways to make things bigger and better. He seems unhappy with who he is and what he has. Hes written publicly about his struggles with mental illness, but he hasnt revealed its full effects. Its not just my friend. Its me too. I see this pattern in my own life, and its something Ive deliberately decided to approach more mindfully. Why do I want to have a hot tub or travel to Ecuador? Why did I repurchase Get Rich Slowly and how often should I publish here? Why do I keep agreeing to public speaking gigs? Do I really want these things? Are they aligned with my personal mission statement? Will they really make me happy? (Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the answer is no.) In his email, Michael continued: I think this is really the key to personal finance and early retirement actually stepping back and figure out what is important to you, and doing it, even if it seems like youre turning your back on a great career, or a nice house or whatever. That is the hardest part, which keeps most people in a life they dont want. They think I went to school X or work at company Y, so therefore I must live in this city or have that job or have that wardrobe and never ask themselves what, as individuals, makes them happy. The Pleasure Trap As our email conversation continued, Michael brought up another interesting point. He noted that our culture and this is especially true in the world of financial independence blogs is obsessed with experiences, such as travel. Yet in many ways, collecting experiences is no better (nor any different) than collecting things. Heres Michael again: [Bourdain] had the ne plus ultra of modern life: rich, famous, a job that 99% of the population would kill for, saw everything he wanted to see, ate everything he wanted to eat, Im sure slept with tons of women if that is what he wanted, took all the drugs he wanted. You name it, he had it. And, he hung himself in a hotel room in France, a twice-divorced man a continent away from his daughter and girlfriend. Im not bagging on him. I just think he illustrates something: A meaningful life doesnt consist of a series of cool experiences, or traveling or eating cool stuff. Bourdain did that stuff to an incredible degree, and it still didnt make him happy. I think that is what our society has forgotten. I feel like were always being told we should move a lot, travel a lot, be vaguely or overtly dismissive of the town or state we were born in, move for college and never move back homein short, basically be a free agent with fewer and fewer personal connections, or weaker connections. And, we get this [higher suicide rates]. [] I think this relates to personal finance. There is always this thought that thrift requires these huge sacrifices less travel, fewer new experiences, fewer new restaurants. But what if [these arent sacrifices]? What if irrespective of cost, that stuff isnt really a source of happiness? I mean, people accept that with respect to possessions nobody says a Cadillac or a 5000-square-foot home is the key to happiness but many, many people in our culture think new experiences are crucial to a happy life. It may be the opposite the continuity and free-time to invest in loving relationships may actually be the key to happiness. I told Kim about my conversation with Michael. Its the pleasure trap, she said. People fall for the lie that momentary pleasure equals happiness. But pleasure isnt the same as happiness. Shes right, of course. Happiness is like planting a garden, watching it grow, then enjoying the harvest. Pleasure is simply eating the fruit. Happiness is deeper and richer and longer lasting. Pleasure is fleeting; happiness is not. But happiness involves time and work and patience. Now, Ill admit: Im guilty as anyone else of falling into the pleasure trap, and in oh-so-many ways! I have to make a deliberate effort to look past immediate pleasure in order to consider long-term happiness. This often requires enduring unpleasant activities. Do I really want to go out in the cold and the rain to dig in the mud and plant my garden? No, not in this moment. Id rather sit in the hot tub. But if I dont plant the garden, Im sacrificing greater happiness in the future. Final Thoughts While I think that Kim and Michael are onto something the productivity trap and the pleasure trap are both real and both problematic I keep coming back to Anthony Bourdains battle with depression. During my recent road trip through the southeastern U.S., I talked with two friends who are fighting depression in their own lives. One friend has a spouse who cannot shake the condition despite counseling, despite exercise, despite a loving family. The other friend fights the condition himself and its led to weight gain and addictive tendencies. Therapy has helped some but its not a cure-all. As for myself, I havent yet returned to therapy although Im considering it. (Not so long ago, I spent a year working with a therapist to find ways to cope with anxiety and depression. It helped.) I want to stress again that I am not suicidal. But the depression has most definitely affected my daily existence, including my relationships, my health, and my work here at Get Rich Slowly. It sucks. It sucks. It sucks. But I know that itll get better someday. Shares 141 https://www.getrichslowly.org/death-of-anthony-bourdain/

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classycollectorartisanposts-blog · 6 years

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Bellmawr New Jersey Cheap car insurance quotes zip 8099

"Bellmawr New Jersey Cheap car insurance quotes zip 8099

Bellmawr New Jersey Cheap car insurance quotes zip 8099

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Toronto

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https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-do-i-get-affordable-health-insurance-my-son-juan-weaver/"

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allofbeercom · 6 years

Text

The brave new world of the xx, pop’s brooding perfectionists

Solo success, confronting grief, sobering up the feted London trio talk frankly about how the events of the past four years informed their new album, I See You

The three members of the xx cross from Poland into Lithuania overnight, trying to sleep inside a bus that judders and lurches along an uneven border road. It is December, an unforgiving time to be touring eastern Europe, and snow that was coming in committedly when they left Warsaw still falls when they arrive in Vilnius, the Lithuanian capital. Its cold here, beer-jacket weather, hot-toddy weather, get-messed-up-after-the-gig-to-distract-from-the-bite weather. But the band Oliver Sim, Romy Madley Croft, Jamie Smith travel in good, sober order. They toured their first album, in 2010, blinkingly, greenly, through a fog of personal tragedy. Two years later they got through a second-album tour mostly by partying wherever they went. (Moving from encore to after-show chasing the night, as the band phrase it in a new song, Replica.) When we meet, the release of album number three, I See You, is looming. For various reasons they expect to take this one around the world in steadier, less emotionally hectic fashion.

Arriving in central Vilnius at 10am, the trio alight from the tour bus and teeter over icy pavement, straight to their hotel rooms for some extra sleep. Im in the lobby waiting for them when they emerge, one by one, at midday. Sim (27 years old, bassist and co-vocalist) appears in a splendid fur-lapelled coat. His enormous green eyes lend him at once a striking handsomeness as well as the perpetual suggestion of worry. More so than Sim, Madley Croft (27, lead guitar and vocals) is dressed for her terrain: leather boots, hoodie, black-camo raincoat, a hat over her dark shoulder-length hair. A stitched image on the hat is faded and hard to distinguish and when I ask her what it is she answers in a soft, whistling voice: Three babies dancing. She says she found the hat in a skate shop somewhere. Smith (28, percussion and production) might have found his entire outfit in a Sports Direct somewhere. He comes down in Nike T-shirt, Adidas trackies, his copper curls sprouting over the strap of a backwards-turned cap.

Theres something drastic and strange about Smiths appearance that takes a moment for me to identify. Hes smiling. I find this hard to reconcile with our last encounter.

In the hotel lobby, the band and I reminisce about meeting last time, more than four years ago, when I shadowed them for a couple of days as they toured through Los Angeles. They were about to debut Coexist, their second album, high in the British and American charts. Their first album, xx, had won the Mercury prize in the UK and gone gold in the US. Its sound sexily gnomic lyrics sung huskily over precise and chilly synths was exerting a blatant influence on the music industry, imitators of the xx springing up all over the place. Now Baz Luhrmann was courting them for one of his soundtracks, and he showed up one night in Hollywood to buy rounds of drinks. The band went to after-parties backstage at the Ford theatre, by the pool at the Chateau Marmont, on the roof of a downtown hotel.

Watch the video for the xxs single On Hold.

I remember the experience for the hilarious difficulty of interviewing Smith, who was then emerging as the silent genius of the group, an unfeasibly talented engine-room operator who was responsible for so much of their musics distinctive and influential texture. At the time he betrayed none of the weight or assurance of someone with great and growing industry clout. Instead he seemed to trust that if he stayed quiet enough during our encounters I might forget he was there.

These days Smith tells stories, tells jokes. While he speaks he taps his fingers in time to some imagined and apparently buoyant interior music. If theres a reticence to him, still, it transmits as a cooler and more grown-up nonchalance. Life, is his deadpan explanation for the transformation. I went from being 23 to 28. It happens to everyone. Perhaps theres a little more to say. Under his solo stage name, Jamie xx has long tended a fertile sideline as a DJ and a producer of other artists work. In summer 2015 he released an album of his own, In Colour, that was enough of a hit to fuel a substantial world tour. He was nominated for the Mercury and Grammy awards. Its easy to see how much Jamies changed, says Madley Croft. Its obvious, because of his personal career hes more confident.

Sim and Madley Croft made guest appearances on their friends solo record. But this was very much Smiths project, one that had been building up for quite a while, and its gestation contributed directly to the years-long wait between the xxs second and third albums. The band started writing material for I See You as long ago as 2014. But the finish line, as Sim describes it, kept getting pushed further away into the future. He is diplomatic about the difficulty of Jamie just not being available. Even though he was really pushing himself, and not giving himself time off, getting face-time with him was tricky. Smith is apologetic. I was busy doing my thing. It was going well. I was happy in that way. But I was also anxious about finishing our [group] record. I definitely felt bad, coming and going. And I did understand that Romy and Oliver were really anxious to finish it. Because they didnt have They obviously had things going on. But they didnt have a creative outlet.

The band get ready to leave the hotel for an afternoon of rehearsals. Before we spill out into taxis I take Sim out of earshot of the other two, and ask: What about jealousy? We cant always rely on ourselves, as humans, to be perfectly delighted by our friends achievements. What did you and Romy really feel while Jamie was flying solo?

There were moments when I felt jealous of his time, Sim says.

And of his success?

Sim speaks carefully. I think of jealousy as: I dont want you to have this. And I felt proud of Jamie. I felt pleased for him that he had all of this going on. But, at the same time, I wanted this. Me and Romy wanted this. We wanted to be back up there, on stage, with a fire lit underneath us.

The trio strongly believe the hiatus has been beneficial to their music. I agree. After his secondment in a more dancefloor-orientated world, Smith has brought back with him to the xx a sense of pace and playfulness, obvious from the very first hands-in-the-air bars of the new record. Across its length the album has a brewed, stewy, experience-enriched quality, subtly but importantly different from the older stuff, which always had terrific clarity but which could lack human warmth.

From a bald commercial perspective the bands absence does not seem to have unduly alienated the fanbase. All tickets for seven nights at Londons Brixton Academy in March recently sold out. Still, there have been some surreal moments for Sim and Madley Croft during their semi-enforced sabbatical. They describe to me how bizarre it felt, trotting along to watch Smith play alone at Brixton, a spiritual home of sorts for the xx and a place they had played many times together. Only now two-thirds of the band were stood among the audience craning like everyone else to see over the next head.

Rehearsals are taking place at the venue for tonights show, a mid-sized arena on the outskirts of Vilnius. I ride there in a cab with Madley Croft, who has a digital camera and takes occasional pictures of the bleak winter landscape. Touring, she says, means seeing countries through the windows of cars. Tomorrow the band will fly to Japan. After that Australia, then Scandinavia, and eventually back for those Brixton dates and four other UK shows. They were on a killer tour the last time we met too. Then, they spoke to me about how strange an existence it was, their every need taken care of while they moseyed from encore to after-party. They made it sound cloying but also comforting, cocoon-ing, in Madley Crofts phrase. At the time I wondered what the effects might be, of the long tour finishing and all the machinery of the band falling away, leaving them to their own devices again.

It took an adjustment, Madley Croft says, of varying degrees for the three of them. She thinks Sim probably found it the hardest. Oliver, to me, is the natural performer of the band. I know he gets a lot of confidence from performing. And I sensed he might not be quite sure what his place was, for a while, when we were off stage. For herself, Madley Croft used the time away to address private matters shed ignored for some time. Stuff from the past. Losses Ive had. It all kind of hit me.

Smith, AKA Jamie xx, playing Londons Hyde Park last summer. Because of his personal career, hes more confident, says bandmate Photograph: RMV/Rex/Shutterstock

Wed touched lightly on this in Los Angeles her difficult backstory, intimately and pretty cruelly interwoven with the backstory of her band. She was only 11, in 2001, when her mother died. (This was a few years before she started writing music with Sim a friend from school in Putney, London as a form of escapism.) Her father died in early 2010 when she was 20. (By now, with Smith, another schoolfriend, the three were established as the xx. They were performing an early show in Paris when the news about Madley Crofts father reached them.) Towards the end of 2010 a close friend of hers, a cousin, died too. (The band had just won the Mercury and were becoming quite famous.) By the time I met them all in Los Angeles, Madley Croft was 22. Shed barely stopped touring or recording since her double bereavement in 2010, and I got the sense of a young woman putting a lot on hold.

The last few years have been, for me, about facing all of it, she explains. At the time I just went for it. Encore, after-party, encore, after-party. Its only on reflection I think how intense everything must have been, and how I just pushed it down. But everything comes up. Ive learned that everything comes up.

When we met before she was in the first months of a relationship with a designer, Hannah Marshall, who was then travelling with the band. They were sweet together, newly and sorely inked with matching tattoos patently in deep, even though Madley Croft seemed a little awkward in a public setting, as if she was getting used to her band-life and love-life intermingling. When we first got together Hannah was always so much better in social situations than me. I felt so shy. But through being with her I feel so much more at ease. Ive noticed thats happened in a different way with me than it has with the boys. And I know its because Ive been with someone.

The couple recently got engaged. It was the stability of the relationship, Madley Croft says, that gave her the grounding she needed to look squarely at her past. She went from pushing down thoughts about her parents to actually kind of craving going to therapy and dealing with it… Its an ongoing thing, she says. I feel like Ive dealt with a chunk. With a hell of a lot more than I ever did before. And the self-examination has borne creative fruit. Right in the middle of the xxs new album comes its tenderest and most nakedly spiritual track, Brave for You, a song that Madley Croft wrote about drawing strength from the memory of her parents.

We pull into the car park of the venue, sure weve got the right place because we can see the steaming figure of Sim, shivering in his coat, smoking a cigarette. Together he and Madley Croft clomp inside, shed their layers, and walk to the stage. She takes up her Les Paul guitar, he his Fender, and behind them on an elevated platform Smith finds his place among an array of mixers and synthesisers. Performing for an empty arena, they play a few old songs and a couple of newer ones, including Brave for You. Smith taps out a high rhythmic pulse. Sim waits for his moment to apply some bass. Madley Croft closes her eyes and sings: When Im scared/ I imagine you there/ Telling me to be brave

Madley Croft with her fiancee, designer Hannah Marshall. Photograph: David M Benett/Getty Images for Equipment

The rehearsal lasts a long time: hours. I perch with Smith in his mixing station and watch over his shoulder as the trio pick through 20-odd songs. Sometimes the noise, ringing off the exposed concrete of the arena, is tremendous. During uptempo songs Smith starts dancing, big-stepping in time like a cowboy at a line dance, thrashing his head like a metalhead in a mosh pit. Impossible to imagine, Madley Croft says, the old Jamie doing this.

Sim, frowning, the least at ease on stage today, unsticks a printed set list from the floor. He thinks back to the previous gig in Poland and says: Oh. I spoke in the wrong place last night. After a lifetime trying to maintain belief in the spontaneity of artist-to-audience banter, its a little shattering for me to learn that the xx arrange their chatty interludes in advance. But these guys are precision workers, broody perfectionists; and theyre rusty in their stagecraft after so long apart. When they rehearse a mid-gig spectacular of mashed-up songs, the music builds and builds, smoke machines gushing, some glorious climax imminent until at the clinching moment Smith slaps a button on his mixer and a deafening error-sound hums around the arena.

Everyone flinches. Argggh, shouts Smith. The mixer is unplugged and hauled away in machine-disgrace. The band take a break. Smith consults a roadie about a replacement. Sim drifts off stage. Madley Croft picks up her phone and taps out a message to someone.

Im starting to see that these three took very different paths away from their last album. Madley Croft into domestic stability and a worked-for interior peace. Smith into self-affirming solo work. Sims route took him where? He has always been the xxs most elliptical member, a charming if skittish, ambiguous interviewee. Unlike Madley Croft he has resisted overt statements about his sexuality. And the particulars of his family background, apparently as troubled as hers, remain much more opaque. When the New Yorker published a deep-digging profile of the band in 2014, the reporter was obliged to include a vague line about Sims early life, which was scarred by family dysfunction that he declines to discuss. Madley Croft has grown over time into openness, Smith into sureness. Sim seems still on his way somewhere.

Maybe theres a clue in the new music. I See You has a couple of tracks that come over as more direct and less cryptic than anything else in the bands back catalogue. A Violent Noise, for example, seems to be about partying too much, overdoing it (Youve been staying out late/ Trying your best to escape). In a subsequent track, Replica, chiefly written and sung by Sim, it sounds as if an unnamed parent is being addressed: Ive turned out just like you They all say I will become a replica/ [That] your mistakes were only chemical 25 and youre just like me Is it in my nature to be stuck on repeat?

Photograph: Suki Dhanda for the Observer

Away from the rehearsal I sit down with Sim and tell him the lyrics to Replica register, to me at least, as a kind of confession. A child of addiction, growing up to worry he has become an addict himself, wondering if the problem is unavoidable and hereditary or whether he can go down a different path. Does that sound accurate?

Sim, his large eyes open to their fullest extent, stares over my head for a while. Then he clears his throat and says: Um. Well. Thats kind of bang on, your reading.

He takes a breath. Yeah. Just kind of That was a big thing to deal with, over the past couple of years. Just kind of dealing with my relationship with using [drugs]. With drinking. And, um. And also my parents. Yeah. He says its a shock to realise that the private matters underlying this song have come over so plainly. This conversation is a bit of an eye-opener.

He started writing Replica, he says, a couple of years ago. Before I was taking any action. Or saying anything out loud. The bands 2012 tour had finished. The pace we were moving at stopped, suddenly. It was a pretty flaky existence Yknow, I left school thinking I wanted to live my life like a nomad, free-floating. Turns out I absolutely need some kind of structure. Living back in London again, structure-less, he thought of his drinking and drug-taking as blowing off steam. Later, I started to wonder if it was still charming to be the drunkest person in a room.

His decision to seek help took a while. A long, drawn-out decision. Smith was away gigging. Madley Croft was travelling the US with her girlfriend. I felt a bit lost. The schoolfriends all describe this period end of 2014, start of 2015 as the farthest apart theyd been from one another, geographically but emotionally too. As Madley Croft puts it: We werent in tune. Jamie was on tour. Oliver wasnt being entirely truthful with me about what he was going through. Walls were up.

When they did regather, Sim brought them the lyrics to Replica. Madley Croft recalls the moment. I thought: This is very real. Even though everything we do is real, this felt more transparent? It felt brave. And I loved that he let me in, to discuss it.

Sim makes it sound inevitable it should be writing, rather than talking, that helped bring down the walls between the band. Im a lot better and braver in songwriting than I am in conversation.

He says he has noticed, of course, how much his two friends have evolved in recent years. Theyve come on in leaps and bounds. He says he feels more sluggish in his own progress, a bit stunted People are like, So Jamies done his record and toured the world. What have you done? To be honest, Ive just been at home, figuring stuff out. He doesnt seem to realise that hes made the most progress of everyone. I ask him how long hes been sober.

Watch the video for the xxs Say Something Loving.

Eleven months, he says.

And?

And lifes been transitional, he says, smiling shyly. Quite a shift. Tonights show in Vilnius, for instance, the fifth of the current tour, will be the fifth show hes done in his career without drink. Its why I dont maybe feel so confident here. I dont have that support. I dont have my booze blanket. Everything feels more raw.

Are you happier?

Im. He stops and considers. Im Yes, I am happy. Im sort of adjusting to a different pace of life. But yeah, Im good. I feel anxious. About the next year [of touring], and being away from home. I wonder how its going to play out. But Im excited too. He might be about to experience the beginnings of a music career for a second time. I realise I was never entirely present before. Booze took away the nerves. But it also, like, definitely capped the highs. If hes sacrificed some self-confidence, he says, at least hes gained some self-understanding. Madley Croft agrees. I think hes getting to know himself. Who he is, as a 27-year-old, not as a performer on stage, but in life. Im really proud of him.

Soon enough their rehearsal resumes. Theres not long to go until the show now, and fans are beginning to appear in the snow outside. The band practise what will be the nights final run of songs. They try Intro, one of the first things they ever wrote together, as well as a new track, a happy-sad doozy called On Hold, which explores the ways in which life can seem to move at different speeds for different people. Transitioning from the old song to the new, Smith turns a dial on his mixer. Madley Croft steps forward and sings her half of the shared lyrics, Sim his. Then they sway, gently, by their mic stands.

At the end of the song the two guitarists lay down their instruments. Smith tidies his things. Madley Croft walks around taking a few photographs of the arena before it fills with people. Sim, before he leaves the stage, attaches a small light to his microphone stand. So that hell be able to find his way back to it, later, in the dark.

I See You is out now on Young Turks. The xx play UK shows from 4-17 March

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-brave-new-world-of-the-xx-pops-brooding-perfectionists/

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topsolarpanels · 6 years

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Al Gore: ‘The riches have subverted all reason’

With the sequel to his blockbuster documentary An Inconvenient Truth about to be released, Al Gore tells Carole Cadwalladr how his role at the forefront of the fight against climate change eats his life

In the ballroom of a conference centre in Denver, Colorado, 972 people from 42 countries have come together to talk about climate change. It is March 2017, six weeks since Trumps inauguration; eight weeks before Trump will announce to the world that he is withdrawing America from the Paris Climate Agreement.

These are the early dark days of the new America and yet, in the conference centre, the crowd is upbeat. Theyve all paid out of their own pockets to travel to Denver. They have taken time off work. And they are here, in the presence of their master, Al Gore. Because Al Gore is to climate change well, what Donald Trump is to climate change denial.

Disaster zone: extermination in the wake of Superstorm Sandy in New Jersey. Photograph: Mike Groll/ AP

Its 10 years since the reason for this, the documentary An Inconvenient Truth , was released into cinema. It was an improbable project on almost every level: a film about what was then practically a non-subject, starring “the mens” best known for not winning the 2000 US election, its beating heart and the engine of its narrative drive a PowerPoint presentation.

When the filmmakers approached him, he explains to the room, I thought they were nuts. A movie of a slideshow, delivered by Al Gore, what doesnt scream blockbuster about it? Except it was a blockbuster. In documentary words, anyway. The careful accretion of facts and figures genuinely shocked people. And its a measure of the impact it had, and still continues to have, that Gore delivers this vignette to a rapt crowd who, over the course of three days, are learning how to be Climate Reality Leaders.

Its the reason why we are all here his foundation, the Climate Reality Project, an initiative that grew out of the film, provides intensive training in talking about climate change, combating climate change denial and the tone might be described as activist upbeat. This is a crisis that is solvable, were told. Trump is just another hitch, another impediment to overcome. And it will be overcome. Only occasionally does a sliver of desperation leak around the edges. You have to stay positive, a man called David Ellenberger tells the audience. Though sometimes, he acknowledges: Theres not sufficient Prozac to get through the day.

Its almost a relief to hear person acknowledge this. Because before there was FAKE NEWS !!! and the FAILING New York Times ! Trump was tweeting about GLOBAL WARMING hoaxsters! and GLOBAL WARMING bullshit! The war on the mainstream media may capture the headlines currently, but the war against climate change science has been in play for years. And its this that is one of the most fascinating aspects of Gores new cinema, An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth to Power . Because if the US had a subtitle at the moment, it might be that, too, and the struggle to overcome fake facts and false narrations shall be financed by corporate interests and politically motivated billionaires is one that Gore has been at the frontline of for more than a decade.

Breaking phase: a huge fissure in the Larsen C ice shelf in the Antarctica. Photograph: Nasa/ John Sonntag/ EPA

The film runs through a host of facts that 14 of the 15 hottest years on record have passed since 2001 is just one. And the accompanying footage is biblical, frightening: tornadoes, deluges, rainfall bombs, exploding glaciers. We find roads falling into rivers and fish swimming through the street of Miami.

The nightly news, Gore says, has become a nature hike through the Book of Revelations. But what his run has shown and continues to show is that evidence is sufficient to. The film opens with clips from Fox News ridiculing global warming. In recent weeks, the New York Times has started describing the Trump administration as waging a war on science, a full-on assault against evidence-based science that runs in parallel with his attacks on evidence-based reporting. And Gore is in something of a unique position to understand this. What becomes clear over the course of several conversations is how entwined he believes it all is climate change refusal, the interests of big capital, dark money, billionaire political funders, the dominance of Trump and what he calls( hes written a volume on it) the assault against reason. They are all pieces of the same puzzle; a puzzle that Gore has been tracking for years, because it turns out that climate change denial was the canary in the coal mine.

In order to fix the climate crisis, we need to first fix the government crisis, he says. Big money has so much influence now. And he says a phrase that is as dramatic as it is multilayered: Our democracy has been hacked. Its something I hear him recur to the audience in the ballroom, in a room backstage, a few a few weeks later in London, and finally on the phone earlier this month.

Popular backlash: protesters demonstrate against the Koch brothers, funders of climate change denial. Photo: Nicholas Kamm/ AFP/ Getty Images

What do you entail by it exactly? I mean that those with access to large amounts of fund and raw power, says Gore, have been able to subvert all reason and fact in collective decision making. The Koch friends are the largest funders of climate change refusal. And ExxonMobil claims it has stopped, but it genuinely hasnt. It has given a one-quarter of a billion dollars in donations to climate denial groups. Its clear they attempt to cripple our ability to respond to this existential threat.

One of Trumps first acts after his inauguration was to remove all mentions of climate change from federal websites. More overlooked is that one of Theresa Mays first actions on becoming prime minister within 24 hours of taking office was to close the Department for Energy and Climate Change; subsequently gifts from oil and gas companies to the Conservative party continued to roll in. And what is increasingly apparent is that the same think tank that operate in the Nations are also at work in Britain, and climate change denial operating the a bridgehead: unifying the right and providing an entry road for other tenets of Alt-Right notion. And, its this network of power that Gore has had to try to understand, in order to find a way to combat it.

In Tennessee we have an expression: If you consider a turtle on top of a fence post, you can be pretty sure it didnt get there by itself. And if you watch these levels of climate denial, you can be pretty sure it didnt merely spread itself. The big carbon polluters have expended between$ 1bn and$ 2bn spreading false doubt. Do you know the book, Merchants of Doubt ? It documents how the tobacco industry discredited the consensus on cigarette smoking and cancer by creating doubt, and shows how its linked to the climate denial movement. They hired many of the same PR firms and some of the same think tanks. And, in fact, some of those who work on climate change refusal actually still dispute the connection between cigarette smoking and lung cancer.

End of the road: the Gave de Pau river overflows after unseasonal storms in France. Photo: Laurent Dard/ AFP/ Getty Images

The big change between our first dialogue in Denver and our last, on the phone this month, is the news that Gore had been desperately hoping wouldnt happen: Trumps announcement on 1 June that he was pulling America out of the Paris Agreement. The negotiations in Paris are right at the heart of the new movie, its emotional centre, and when I watch it in March, the ending still find Gore carrying guarded optimism.

So , what happened? I was wrong, he says on the phone from Australia, where hes been promoting the film. Based on what he told me, I definitely supposed there was a better than even chance he might choose to stay in. But I was wrong. I was fearful that other countries for whom it was a close call would follow his result, but Im thrilled the reaction has been exactly the opposite. The other 19 members of the G20 have reiterated that Paris is irreversible. And governors and mayors all over the country have been saying we are all still in and, in fact, its just going to stimulate us redouble our commitments.

The film “mustve been” recut, the ending changed, the gloves are now off. What changed Trumps mind? I suppose Steve Bannon and his crowd set a big push on Trump and persuaded him that he needed to give this to his base advocates. He had blood in his eyes. Its instructive because Bannon, Trumps chief strategist, is also the ideologue behind Trumps assault on the media. And Bannons understanding of the news and information space, and make further efforts to manipulate it via Breitbart News and Cambridge Analytica, both funded by another key climate change denier, Robert Mercer, are at the heart of the Trump agenda.

And what becomes clear if you Google climate change is how effective the right has been in owning the subject. YouTubes results are dominated by nothing but climate change denial videos. This isnt news for Gore. He has multiple high-level links to Silicon Valley. Hes on the board of Apple and used to be an adviser for Google. We are fully aware of their own problems, he says with what sounds like resigned understatement. Gore has had more than a decade fighting climate change refusal, and in some respects, the problem has simply worsened and deepened.

On the other hand, two-thirds of the American people are convinced that its an extremely serious crisis and we have to take it on, he says. And there is a law of physics that every action makes an equal and opposite reaction. And I do think there is a reaction to the Trump/ Brexit/ Alt-Right populist authoritarianism around the world. People who took liberal democracy more or less for granted are now awakening to a sense that it can only be defended by the people themselves.

Man on a mission: Al Gore in An Inconvenient Truth. Photo: Paramount Pictures

And its in this, his belief in social progress against all odds, that he takes his result from the civil rights motion. The cut of the cinema I see compares the climate change movement to the other great social movements that eventually won out: the abolition of slavery, womens suffrage, civil right. Something profound and disturbing is happening right now, though, he admits. The information system is in such a chaotic transition and people are deluged with so much noise that it devotes an opening for Trump and his forces to wage war against facts and reason.

Is it, as some people describe, an info war? Absolutely, he says. Theres no question about it.

What there isnt much of, in the film, is Al Gore, “the mens”. In 2010, he split from Tipper, his wife of 40 years and the mother of his two grown-up daughters, and what becomes clear is just how much of his life the fight takes up. When I catch up with him next, hes in London for a board meeting of his green-focused investment firm, Generation Investment Management, and I ask him to tell me about his recent travels.

Two weeks ago, I had three red-eyes in five days. Ive been in Sweden, the Netherlands, Sharjah, then lets insure, San Francisco, New York, Los Angeles. Where else? he asks his assistant.

Vegas, she says. We did CinemaCon.

Vegas, we did that. And then, lets ensure, Nashville, on my farm.

Focus on facts: Al Gore in An Inconvenient Sequel. Photo: Courtesy of the Sundance Institute

I assume this sum of travelling is connected to the release of the film, but no. Ive been at this level for the past 10 years and longer. He hesitates to use the word mission, he says, and then use it. When you feel a sense of purpose that seems to justify pouring everything you can into it, it induces it easier to get up in the morning.

He does tell me a bit about his parents though. He describes his father, Al Gore Sr, who grew up poor then became a lawyer and a legislator, as a hero to me. And it was at the family farm in Carthage, Tennessee, that he held the first Climate Reality training, an informal get-together of 50 people that has morphed into the event I witnessed in Denver. Theres no type or demographic, I shared a table with a disparate group including a consultant for the aerospace industry, a French lawyer and an American cook. And they seemed to have almost nothing in common aside from their passion to do something about climate change. Im a gardener so Im assuring whats happening with my own eyes, the cook, Susan Kutner, told me. You cant ignore it.

In light of Trumps fixation with fake news, its fascinating to find. Gore has been fighting disinformation for more than a decade. And, hes developed his educate program counter to the predominating ideology. The answer is not online. Social media will not save us. We will not click climate change away. The answer hes come up with is low-tech, old-fashioned, human. He takes the time to talk to people immediately, one to one, in the hope they will speak to other people who will speak to other people.

The course is run by Gore. He is on stage virtually the entire time over three intensive days. And the heart of it is still the slideshow. One of his aides tells me how he was up until 2am the night before. Hes preoccupied with his slides, he has 30,000 of them and he switches them around all the time.

Tinder dry: changing climate has find an upturn in woodland flames around the world. Photo: Jae C Hong/ AP

In the movie, you consider him perpetually hustling, calling world leaders, rounding up solar energy entrepreneurs, developing activists. Hearing information from people you know is at the heart of his strategy. You need people who will look you in the eye and say: Look, this is what Ive learned, this is what you need to know. It works. Ive watched it run. It is working. And its just getting started. Weve get 12,000 trained leaders now.

How many people do you think its impacted?

Millions. Honestly, millions. And a non- trivial percentage of them have gone on to become pastors in their countries governments or take leadership roles in international organisations. Theyve had an outsized impact. Christiana Figueres[ the UN climate chief ], who operated the Paris meeting, she was in the second training session I did in Tennessee. And, right now, people are get really fired up.

Al Gore shared the Nobel Prize in 2007 for his efforts in combating climate change, but in some way it feels like hes just getting started. The rest of the world is only now cottoning on to the enlightenment battle thats at the heart of it a battle royal to defend facts and reason against people and forces-out for whom its a truth too inconvenient to permit. For Gore, the US oil companies are the ultimate culprits, but its only just becoming apparent that Russia has also played a role, amplifying messages around climate change as it did around the other issues at the heart of Trumps agenda, and we segue into his visits to Russia in the early 90 s, during one of which he fulfilled Putin for the first time.

What did you induce of him? I would not have thought of him as the future chairperson of Russia. I once did a televised town hall event to the whole of Russia and Putin was the one who was in charge of inducing sure all the cables were connected and whatnot.

Revenge is tweet: an image of Trump is projected by Greenpeace on to the US Embassy in Berlin after he declared that America was pulling out of the Paris Climate Agreement. Photo: Michael Sohn/ AP

What does he construct of the investigations into Russian interference? I guess the investigation of the Trump campaigns collusions with the Russians and the existence of fiscal levers of Putin over Trump is proceeding with its own rhythm beneath the news cycle, and may well ten-strike pay dirt. Its also worth pointing out that when someone passed his campaign stolen information about George W Bushs debate research, he handed it to the FBI.

And then he astounds me by pulling out a reference to an interview I conducted with Arron Bank, the Bristol businessman who funded Nigel Farages Leave campaign. Hes been reading up about the links between Brexit and Trump, and Bankss and Farages support of Putin and Russia. He told you: Russia needs a strong man, didnt he? And you hear that in the US, and I dont think its fair to the Russians. I am a true disciple in the superiority of representative republic where there is a healthy ecosystem characterised by free speech and an informed citizenry. I genuinely defy the slur against any nation that theyre incapable of governing themselves.

Brexit, Trump, climate change, oil producers, dark fund, Russian influence, a full- frontal assault on facts, evidence, journalism, science, its all connected. Ask Al Gore. You may want to watch Wonder Woman the summer months, but to understand the new reality were living in, you really should watch An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth to Power . Because, scaring because this is, in some ways the times of typhoons and exploding glaciers are just the start of it.

Al Gore Live in Conversation followed by a screening of An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth to Power , for one night merely Friday 11 August in cinemas everywhere. Book your tickets at po.st/ aninconvenientsequel An Inconvenient Sequel: Truth to Power is in cinema everywhere from 18 August. The cinema also opens the Film4 Summer Screen at Somerset House, 10 -2 3 August, somersethouse.org.uk

The Observer Ethical Awardings: how to enter

To vote, going to see theguardian.com/ environment/ 2017/ jul/ 25/ vote-in-the-observer-ethical-awards-2 017 or email ethical.awards @observer. co.uk with the category title in the subject header. Then tell us in no more than 200 words why you, or your nominee, deserves to be recognised. Feel free to attach paintings, a short movie or relevant connections. The closing date is 15 September. For more information, going to see observer.co.uk/ ethical-awards