#[yes let her build an army of people who will fight her ex-husband and like her daughter]

[hcreath]

Are you Tamar's type? // @rake-rake

"Eh? Now I need to know what you have against hand-holding."

It's pure, it's sincere, but she's not going to attempt it because she believes that's the stupidest way she could lose a hand.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

TATMILB, CHAPTER 4

Penelope spent her life writing love letters, which didn’t seem like a terrible idea until the letters were mailed out and Schneider received one of them. Hoping to fool their exes, they agree to fake a relationship. But are they lying to everyone around them, or to themselves? aka my To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before-inspired AU.

Penelope x Schneider, ODAAT. available on ao3 with extra author’s notes.

Chapter 4: Ben comes to Penelope’s door bearing a letter. Penelope explains the situation to Schneider over ice cream. She scoffs at his proposal but can’t wave it away so easily once she’s alone with her thoughts.

Dear Ben,

It’s been a really long time since I felt the way I did when I was with you--I know talking about it makes me sound like a giddy teenager. 

But in so many ways, that’s how you made me feel. I was full of lighthearted happiness, hormones and that need to know everything about somebody that only happens at the beginning of a relationship.

The story of how we met sounds like a movie: I poured my heart out to you, thinking you were gay and couldn’t possibly be interested in me, and you turned the tables by asking me out. A night full of self-loathing and guilt led to a moment where I felt really attractive. And considering how hard life had been lately, especially in the romance department, it meant a lot that you looked at me in my emotional half-drunk state and saw someone worth getting to know. 

All of that makes how we ended worse. I’m sorry for what happened with Victor, for how easily and how quickly I became a cliche--the ex-wife who takes back her apologetic husband, who believes and trusts when she shouldn’t...who gives up a good man for a familiar one. 

We had fun while it lasted, didn’t we? It’s the what-ifs that haunt me now. The possibilities. Maybe you would have gotten along well with my family, when it was time for you to meet them. Maybe you would have been a good husband someday.

I know I don’t have the right to hold on to you, to the idea of us, when there was barely an us in the first place. Some nights, though, I pull out that mental picture and let myself live inside for it a little while. I still feel happy there. I wonder if you do, too.

Love, Penelope

****

“Ben!”

Penelope steadied herself by gripping Schneider’s arm, which also helped to steady him as they wobbled in the doorway after their near-collision.

She saw the letter Ben was holding, on yellow paper she remembered too well, and offered him an overly-bright smile, aiming it like a shield. “We’re actually just on our way out. Gotta go get dessert for the family before there’s chaos, y’know?”

Her laugh was as forced as her smile, but she ignored the look Schneider gave her and hoped Ben would buy it. He didn’t know her nearly as well; not everyone had Schneider’s keen eye for her tells. 

“This is Schneider,” she added, shutting the door behind the two of them. She kept her grip on his arm, pulling him past Ben. 

“Yeah, hi,” Schneider said, with a facial expression that could best be described as ‘trying to do calculus in his head.’ Great, Penelope thought, now she would have even more to explain to him once they made it free of the building. And Ben.

“Listen, I don’t want to hold you up,” her ex said, lifting the letter to her eyeline. “I just wanted you to know that I got it, but that I’m actually--well, I’m engaged now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Congratulations,” she said, shaking his hand and trying to hurry along as though that would be the end of that.

“Penelope.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I really enjoyed the time we spent together too. And I did think about you--about us. For a while. That was such a long time ago, though, and where my life is at these days...I’m really happy. I hope you will be soon.”

The hint of pity she detected got her attitude up, but if she made a scene it might bring the family out into the hall, which was the last thing she needed to add to this insanity. She exhaled through her clenched teeth instead.

“Thanks Ben, I appreciate that. I’m glad things are going well for you.”

“Anyway, I wanted to give you this back. It doesn’t feel right keeping it, while I’m planning my wedding to somebody else.”

“Alright. We really gotta go, but I hope the wedding goes great and it doesn’t rain. Best of luck to you both!” she half-shouted as she sped down the stairwell, not bothering to look behind her. Schneider would catch up, and she needed Ben to stop treating her like a crazy woman who was still nursing a crush on him years after they went on a handful of dates.

Not that her behavior in the hall was likely to make her seem more sane. 

Her cheeks were burning as she exited the building, and she wished the air outside were cool enough to settle her racing heart. There was no denying it now--all of her letters must have been sent, every single mortifying one of them. Her innermost thoughts and feelings, directed at men who were never supposed to read them. This was beyond terrible. This was a catastrophe. This was--

“Pen! Wait up!” Schneider let the exit door slam shut behind him, making short work of the distance between them on the way to her car. “You know, I can’t go with you to get ice cream if you leave without me.”

“I know. Sorry.”

The scoop shop was only a five minute drive from their building, but it was a deeply uncomfortable five minutes, with Schneider watching her from the passenger seat and Penelope stuck on the image of Ben and his pretty, sympathetic face handing her back old dreams on paper. 

She hoped he really was blissfully happy with his new fiancée. She hoped they had a long and happy marriage. 

She hoped she never had to see him again.

****

Schneider managed to hold back as they waited in line at the shop, but he was restless next to her, filled with anxiety and questions. Penelope wasn't exactly in a hurry to explain; her nerves mirrored his.

“Let’s just order ours, okay?” She said before they approached the counter. “We can talk while we eat it, then get the rest to go after.”

Schneider nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He ordered an oversized monstrosity, filled with a jumble of flavors and toppings that Penelope eyed with suspicion. 

She got cherry gelato and frowned when he paid for them both, but didn’t bother arguing. She was the one who caused this whole mess--there wasn’t much point to starting a fight on top of it.

Schneider sat down across a corner table from her and made no move to touch his dessert. “Listen, Penelope, I’ve tried not to push. I kept quiet through dinner, I didn’t corner you in a moving vehicle, but I’m kinda out of patience now. What was that back there?”

“At...the hospital?”

It was stupid to try and buy herself more time. She wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous to talk to him--this was Schneider. He always understood even her craziest moments. Yet there she was, still stalling. Keep on digging that hole, Penelope.

“Yes, at the hospital, when you kissed me!” The last part came out louder than he’d intended, and Schneider looked around like they might be under surveillance, before continuing. 

“What was that about?” he pressed. “I thought that I was pretty clear about where I stood, and then you kissed me anyway. No means no, Penelope!”

“Yes...you’re right.” 

When he put it like that, she felt even worse than just embarrassed. If she found out Alex was going around kissing girls who told him they weren’t interested, she would be so pissed at him. She would read him the riot act. What could she possibly say to defend herself to the one man who understood that better than anybody-- who knew her behavior totally contradicted what she believed in?

“Sorry.” She watched her gelato melting in its little cup, swirling it with her spoon. “You’re right, there’s no excuse.”

“I don’t want an excuse--though the apology’s appreciated. I want an explanation. It doesn’t make any sense, what you did. And you always make sense. Come on, talk to me.”

“I don’t have a good explanation.” She sighed, trying her gelato before it was completely liquid. It didn’t taste as good as it would on a day when her life wasn’t unraveling. “It was out of character. No argument there. It just sort of happened.”

“But why?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she warned him, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t avoid this forever. He practically lived in their pockets--she couldn’t avoid him in general.

“You just made out with me,” he shot back. “I already know you’re crazy.”

“It was one kiss! I did not make out with you.” She dug into her gelato more emphatically, letting him sit with his own melting dish for a minute, almost as annoyed at Schneider as she was at herself for ending up here. 

“That letter that you got from me, it wasn’t the only one I wrote.”

“Okay.” He blinked, taking that in. “You’re in love with people besides me?”

“I’m not in love with anybody, you dope. And I didn’t send you that letter.”

“I’m confused.”

“I write letters. I always have. To process stuff, get my thoughts out. I didn’t have therapy, you know, before the last few years. And between my mom, and the Army, and Victor...I had a lot of stuff to deal with. I’ve never been a diary person, but when things got really intense, I would write...”

“Love letters.” 

“Yeah.”

He nodded as he dug into his ice cream, listening intently now. Schneider was good at that, even when he was visibly baffled--like he seemed now. 

“I used to write other letters too, when I was a kid, letters to my parents when I was upset or frustrated with them. But I never held on to those ones--I had this feeling that no matter how well I hid them, Mami would find them, so I always trashed those. It helped enough, writing them.”

“When it comes to Lydia, I think your paranoia was probably well-founded.” 

There was a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth now, fondness not just for her mom but for Penelope. The wave of relief that flooded her settled some of her anxiety. Kissing him had been dumb and desperate, but she didn’t want it to ruin their friendship. 

One kiss couldn’t do that, right?

He pointed his spoon at her gelato, a silent request. She nodded, passing him her spoon for a taste. She hadn’t really been in the mood for ice cream to begin with; she’d just wanted a place away from home for this confession.

“So, yeah, I write letters sometimes. Not all that often, because I was with Victor for most of my life. There haven’t been that many guys. But when I needed to put those feelings somewhere, I wrote them down and tucked them in my favorite duffel.”

She took her spoon back and gestured with it. “Over the years, I wrote five letters, including yours. And somehow they disappeared along with my duffel bag. The letters got sent out. I realized it when I saw you and Max.”

“And Ben,” Schneider added, putting the pieces together. “So, if that makes three, is the fourth Victor?”

“Oh, god.” She knew, of course she knew, exactly who she’d written her letters to. But she was so busy fighting the initial panic, she hadn’t thought about Victor yet. “Yes, I wrote to Victor. A couple of times. Ay dios mío, I hope that one gets shredded in the mail. I cannot deal with that right now.”

Schneider was lost in thought for a while, long enough that she took her cup to the trash. “Who’s the last one?” he asked when she sat back down. 

“Huh?”

“I’ve known you since you and Victor separated. After Victor, there was Ben, then Max, then I guess you wrote my letter, since it was after Lydia’s hospital stay. I can’t think of anybody else you dated. Did you have a secret lover?”

He looked intrigued by the possibility. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be so dramatic. You sound like my mom. The other letter was my first big crush, back in high school, a boy named Joe.”

She reached for his spoon and Schneider let her, bemused. He knew she usually hated his topping combinations. She just needed a second to gather her nerve again. 

“I really am sorry,” she tried to explain, more carefully this time. “For kissing you like that. And for you ever seeing that letter. I was busy trying to figure out how it was possible, and then I saw Max coming, with a letter in his hand too, and I knew what it had to mean. I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up, my head was reeling--I couldn’t imagine explaining to him why he was getting a love letter from me a year later. I panicked.”

Risking a look at him before pinning her gaze back to the table, she continued. “It hit me that if he saw us kiss, he might assume we were a couple and be thrown off enough that I would have time to regroup. We could pretend the letters never happened.”

Schneider’s face was unreadable now. When she gave his spoon back, he didn’t go back to eating, just kept watching her.

“It’s not logical, I get that, but like I said, I panicked. And I know it was wrong of me to pull you into this, but I really would like to pretend the letters never happened, if we could. Especially yours.”

“Yeah?” 

She ran the risk of offending him--she was aware of that--but their friendship was too important for her not to fight for it. She couldn’t tell what Schneider was thinking, though. That same perfectly blank expression stayed in place. At least he hadn’t left the shop yet, Penelope reminded herself. He was still giving her a chance.

“Yes. I was in a terrible place when I wrote your letter, Schneider. It was a few months after Mami’s stroke, after giving up Max had me convinced I’d lost my chance at love, and I was so lonely and scared and sad. About all of that. 

“And there you were, so present and kind...and, well, loving. All the time. You were the one person I knew I could count on and we spent all those nights together. No matter how rough the day had been with the kids or at the hospital, you would find a way to make me laugh. Remember?”

“Of course.” His face was still guarded, but his voice had that comforting softness to it. That tone that meant he was ready to help. The voice of her best friend. 

“I was vulnerable then, and I wrote it all down, because it had to go somewhere. It took me a while to step back from that place, to get back to feeling stable on my own even when you weren’t around. And once I had that distance, that balance back, I could see clearly again. I was never in love with you, not really. I mixed up how much I care about you as part of my family, as my best friend, with love. I mixed up how good you were to me with the idea that we would be good together. 

“Once everything was okay again I felt like an idiot about it, and I was so glad I never said anything. I don’t want to lose you. And I never would’ve sent that letter as some attempt to awkwardly hit on you. I’m mortified to even be talking about it now. So, could we just move on? Like this was a weird day but we both agree it was a fluke and laugh it off?”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Schneider agreed, clearing his throat. “But what about the other letters?”

“What about them?”

“If Max’s letter is like mine, a love letter with no extra context, then are you going to have to do this all over again? Tell him you’re not still in love with him?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m really hoping it won’t come to that.”

“Because he saw us kiss and that’s a magic barrier to all future confrontation...or because you can’t honestly tell him that?”

He knew her too well, Penelope thought. And she’d had to share enough deep emotional truths for one day. 

“Wow, look at the time,” she said, standing and nodding toward to the front counter. “If we don’t get the rest of the treats and head back, they’re gonna think we lied about the whole dessert run.”

She put in the requests that she knew her Mami and Alex would want and moved down to the other end of the counter. Schneider followed, clearing his throat again. 

“What is it?”

“Speaking of lying, I just got a text from Nikki about our kiss.”

“What? How does Nikki know?”

“One of her friends saw us in the parking lot, I guess. Nikki’s super pissed.”

“Have fun with that.” She shook her head. “Luckily for me, I only have to see Nikki at school functions and some of Alex’s games. You’re the one who decided to hook up with her.”

“She’s pissed in a jealous way,” Schneider added thoughtfully.

“I’m shocked.”

“Hey, Pen. Hear me out: what if we kept up the lie for a while?”

“As in, the lie where I kissed you and you freaked out about it?”

“My freakout was in response to your freakout. Glass houses, Penelope. But yeah, the kissing. The public display of affection, emphasis on public. It got Nikki’s attention, and I wasn’t even trying to do that. If seeing me with you makes her realize she misses what we had, maybe we could stop this vicious cycle of breaking up all the time.” 

“You want to pretend to be into each other just so you can get back with Nikki? Gross. No way I’m volunteering to be used for that.”

“Hey, you used me first--and I didn’t volunteer.”

An aproned employee passed her the sack of ice cream and Penelope walked out ahead of him. 

“It would solve your problem too,” Schneider suggested. “Isn’t that why you kissed me in the first place, to make it seem like you were taken?”

“I was temporarily insane,” she insisted. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m just saying we could both get what we want. Think about it,” Schneider added before mercifully dropping the subject as they made it home.

She ignored Schneider for the rest of the evening, as best she could, until he headed back to his own apartment. If her mom or Alex wondered what took them so long--or why they ate their dessert on the way--neither of them asked. 

****

Penelope was in her bedroom, finally able to take a moment to decompress from the chaos of her life, before it occurred to her to check her phone. She fought so hard to keep Alex off his at the dinner table; it helped a little when she set a good example. 

“Three missed calls,” she told her empty room, staring down at the name next to all three of them. 

“Yep, and you didn’t pick up even once.”

The day had clearly been too much for her, if her imagination was so easily manifesting Max there next to her bed. She closed her eyes for a moment and reopened them, only to find the illusion of him still watching her.

“You can’t call a guy back anymore? Especially after you ditch him in a public place? That’s not like you, Penelope.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” 

Okay, so she was hallucinating. Not a big deal. She was stressed out and had him on the brain, especially now.

“Got your letter,” Max said, smiling down at her where she sat. “Of course, you know that already. It’s why you’re avoiding me. How long do you think you can keep that up?”

“I have no idea. How long do you think you’ll keep trying to confront me with it?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m in your head--what do I know. If you want real answers, you should give me a call.”

“Can’t say I like that idea very much.”

“Yeah. If we talk, you’re going to have to answer my questions. Why did you send the letter, why did you write the letter, did you mean what you said.” 

She swallowed hard, staring into Max’s warm eyes. What would she say, when she had to explain it all to him?

“Do you still...love me. That’s the million dollar follow up, right? That’s the one that counts.”

“I’m not ready to explain any of it,” she admitted. “I’m not ready to tell you how I feel. I’m not sure I know, myself.”

“Then you know what you have to do,” Schneider told her, popping up in the dark space where Max had been standing moments before. “Get your cover story on, chica.”

“God, don’t call me that. Don’t call anybody that.”

“All I’m saying is, you can’t avoid Max forever, right? There’s a solution staring you right in the face. What are best friends for, if not to act as a human wall between you and your relationship issues?”

Penelope frowned, trying to find a counterargument. 

“Hey, if you’ve got a better idea, then go ahead...tell me no. A backup plan? Anything?”

“I’m thinking.”

“No, you’re stalling. And the clock is ticking on that strategy. But my plan, it can last as long as we need it to. Until you figure out what you want to do--with Max, Victor, all of them. We can be each other’s wingman and cover story at the same time, Pen. You help me, I help you...everybody wins.”

“Aaagh.” Penelope groaned, gripping hold of her hair for a second. When she lifted her head back up from her hands, she was alone in her room. 

She didn’t know if Schneider’s idea was a brilliant one, or a terrible one. But at this point, it might be her best chance to save her sanity.

That was reason enough to consider it.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 10

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

Thursday lunchtime found Hiccup sitting on the same bench in the park he’d spent the majority of his Sunday on. That day seemed so long ago already, although not even a week had passed since he’d seen Astrid again, after eighteen months. Now, after only two days (and most of two nights) of texting with her, he felt like he’d known her his entire life. There was something about talking to her that just came natural to him, like breathing and rolling his eyes at Snotlout.

He glanced nervously at his watch, the big hand running a few minutes ahead. There were twenty minutes left on his break and he needed five to get back to the building. Three if he sprinted. Tapping his finger rapidly on the chipped green paint of the wood he was sitting on, his eyes kept scanning his surroundings over and over again.

Maybe she wasn’t coming after all, for whatever reason. Perhaps she decided that a good book in the hammock in her parents’ garden that she told him about was more worth her time. Spending approximately fifteen minutes with him on a park bench in the middle of the day couldn’t be the most exciting thing she could do on her day off. But in-between their work schedules, seeing each other was harder than he’d anticipated.

He perked up when he suddenly heard someone call his name. And there she was, coming his way down an uneven path on a bicycle, waving at him with a smile on her face. Her hair was barely held back by a headband, flying freely in the airflow.

With a gravel-splattering brake, she came to a stop and leaned her bike against the back of the bench. Out of breath and wiping her hair out of her face, she flopped down next to him.

“Hey,” she panted, taking out her headband, shaking her head and combing through her long golden locks with her fingers. “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to take the bike so I don’t have to search for a parking spot. But the front tire was flat and we only had a hand pump.” She was done with her hair and put the headband back in before finally turning to him with a bright smile that left him speechless for a moment.

“It- It’s okay,” he stammered, momentarily at a loss about how conversations worked. “Now you’re here.”

“Now I’m here.” Her smile and eyes were so captivating, Hiccup could only smile back and stare, his brain wiped clean until she cleared her throat. “Nice weather, right?”

“Ah hmm, yes.” They simultaneously looked the other way, suddenly very interested in the municipal worker emptying a trash can a few benches over. “Very warm. And… dry. Not great for agriculture. Hopefully, it will rain soon, can’t have a bad harvest. Farmers need their money and my dad needs his potatoes. And it’s… kind of muggy?” He was stuck. And he knew that if he didn’t get a grip on himself, he’d keep talking about the weather and his father’s food preferences for the remaining time of his break, even longer if nobody stopped him. After a beat of silence, the awkwardness of the situation released itself in the disbelieving laughter bubbling out of him.

“What?”

He grinned at her, shaking his head and counting on his fingers. “In the past two days we’ve had deep conversations about ghosts, mortality, the difference between the souls of dogs and cats, the possibilities of a fish army, and whether or not dragons could survive in Florida these days. And now all we can talk about is the weather?”

“Well, if you put it like that…” she chuckled.

“Let’s start over, shall we.” He lifted his hand in greeting. “Hello, Astrid. It’s nice to see you. How are you feeling today?”

To his surprise, she high-fived the hand he was still holding up. “Hello, Hiccup. I’m doing fine, thank you very much.” She socked him on the arm.

“Hey, what was that for?!”

She shrugged while he rubbed his sore biceps. “Emphasis. Communication. Affection without words.”

His cheeks felt warm and he hoped it didn’t show. “Do you do that to everyone?”

“No, only to the people I like. And also to those I don’t like, but that’s a whole different angle and intensity. Trust me, you’d know the difference if I didn’t like you.”

“Note to self, don’t get on Astrid’s bad side.” His heart wouldn’t calm down. Why wouldn’t it just calm down? All she did was say that she liked him… Oh, boy. He gulped and changed the topic by voicing the first thought that came to him. “So, how’s married life going?”

For the tiniest fraction of a second, there was a shadow that briefly fell over her cheery demeanor, but it was gone so quickly, he could only wonder if he’d imagined it.

“Oh, you know, it’s very comfortable. There’s always someone there if you need to talk, someone to lean on and spend most of your time with. And, of course, it’s only your turn to clean the bathroom every other week.”

“Sounds like paradise,” he quipped.

“Yeah, not always, though.” When he frowned in question, she quickly added, “Eret’s allergic to dogs. I’ve always wanted a dog since I was a kid, but my parents aren’t big fans of pets. And my husband is allergic, so I have to get my fair share of dog from work.”

“Then what do you do on days you don’t have to work?”

“Suffer.” She pulled up a serious face but the twitching corners of her mouth betrayed her.

“Oh, I know all about that kind of suffering. Toothless, my cat, I’ve had him since I was fifteen. My ex-girlfriend – Heather, you remember Heather? Dagur’s sister? – she didn’t want cat hair all over the couch so he had to stay with my parents. After we broke up, I couldn’t find a good apartment that allowed cats so fast and I didn’t want to move back in with my parents.”

“Totally. I haven’t been here for two weeks and they’re already driving me nuts, especially my mom.” She rolled her eyes.

“Exactly, that’s why I kept looking for a better apartment and eventually, I found a nice one where I could finally live with my best bud again. And another plus is that I’m no longer living at the edge of the world.”

A sigh escaped her. “I wish I could live on my own again, just for the sake of getting a dog.”

“Really?” He watched her carefully. “Does having a dog really trump spending the rest of your life with the person you love most?”

She averted her face for the few long seconds it took her to answer. “Of course not.” Then, before he could dig deeper, her cheery smile was back. “You never showed me the cat pictures you promised.”

“Oh, right.” He decided to go with the change of topic, although he knew there was something bothering her, something she didn’t want to talk about. Instead, he pulled out his phone and opened a series of pictures of a large black housecat with huge green eyes and a very short tail.

Astrid leaned closer to him in order to look at his phone, her face so close to his that he could count the small freckles on her cheeks. Her hair smelled of something fresh and fruity and he had to concentrate hard to not bury his nose in her hair.

“He’s so cute!” she exclaimed and he shook his head to clear his mind of any inappropriate thoughts.

“Don’t be fooled, he can be the devil himself when he gets cranky.”

“He doesn’t look like it at all! But I personally know that the cutest of them are usually the worst… Hey, he almost has the same eyes as you!” She looked up and he only had half a second to prepare himself before he was once again captured by her gaze. Her eyes were so blue, and he could see his reflection in them in this light. An electric spark crept up his spine, flowed down his arms into his fingers, making them twitch and long to touch her.

He didn’t realize he wasn’t breathing until she coughed and looked back at his phone, cheeks dusted pink.

“What happened to his tail?”

“Huh?”

“His tail, it’s super short.”

“Oh.” He finally regained his focus. “It was bitten off when he was still a kitten, in a fight with the neighbor’s dog.”

“What kind of dog?”

“Hunting dog, I don’t know if I remember… I think it was a Germain short-something, a big white one with a brown head and spots.”

Her face lit up, still so, so close. “German shorthaired pointer. I’m helping train one of those at the moment. Her name is Kira, she’s very energetic, but also super adorable and loves to be pet and cuddled. When she sees people, familiar and new ones, she always comes up to them, puts her paw on their shoe, leans against their leg and looks up at them with big brown eyes.”

While she kept gushing about the dogs she’s working with, her eyes grew bigger, the love for her job and the animals evident in every line of her face, in the way she sat upright and tall like a flower growing towards the sun, the passion for what she did for a living extending from her in a radiant light. Right then and there, he fell in love with her a little bit more.

But then his phone started vibrating in his hand, the alarm he’d set for the end of his break cutting her short.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, I have to get back to work.” For a moment, he considered quitting his job just to be able to listen to her talk about “her” dogs for a while longer. But she was already standing up and he followed her lead.

“It’s okay, we can talk later.” That alone lifted his heart. “I can walk with you to your building, if you want.”

“Yeah, that– I’d like that.”

Chatting comfortably the whole time, he led the way back to his workplace, with her pushing her bike in-between them. At the entrance, they met Fishlegs who’d been waiting for him like he always did when he started his shift after Hiccup’s lunch break.

Upon spotting a pretty girl with Hiccup who was laughing at something he said, Fishlegs’ face lit up with morbid curiosity. When Hiccup introduced the two with each other and mentioned Astrid’s name, he grinned and said, “I figured.”

“Why?” Astrid asked but before his friend could say anything embarrassing or too telling, Hiccup spoke up.

“So, yeah, now you two have met. But Fish and I, we really need to get going.” He started pushing the other man inside the building, looking back at Astrid over his shoulder. “It was nice seeing you.”

“You, too. Talk to you later?”

He couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling if he had tried. “Of course!” In front of him, still guided backwards by Hiccup, Fishlegs waved goodbye.

“Nice to meet you, Fishlegs!” was the last thing they heard from her before they were inside and the doors closed behind them.

The short walk to the elevator was quiet, but Hiccup could feel the curious questions waft through the air like smoke from a fire of inquisitiveness before they ultimately broke out in a darting flame.

“So how’s it going? You haven’t told me a lot yet, what are you guys talking about? Is Heather’s plan working? Are your feelings morphing into friendship? Or is it getting worse? What’s she like now that you know her better? Or do you not talk that much? Did you just meet her on purpose or coincidentally? And has she told you anything about her current relationship? Do you think you have a chance, romantically speaking?”

Five floors later, just in time with the ding of the elevator, Hiccup finally got a word in. “Will you please breathe?” He had a feeling he wouldn’t get back to his work so soon.

The rest of the way to their office, down a long hallway and around a corner, he didn’t say a word. The last thing he wanted was a new wave of gossip from nosy, eavesdropping colleagues. It had taken them several months to get over the spilled tea incident where Sabrina from down the hall had accidentally poured a whole cup all over her white blouse. Fortunately, the tea had already been cold. Unfortunately, that day she’d worn her thinnest white bra.

When they were back behind closed doors, they sat at their respective workspaces. Hiccup regarded the mess of sketches and manuscript excerpts on his desk, the drawing tablet buried underneath the paper chaos ready to be worked with again. But Fishlegs’ stare was louder than the call of his tasks.

“We’ve been talking a lot over text,” he finally shared, defeated and well aware of how he wouldn’t get out of this conversation until he had it. His friends were way too invested in his love life. “Not awkward talks, though, as I’d originally feared. It’s like talking to someone you’ve known your entire life, with the difference that the inside jokes are only now coming to be. Today during lunch, she asked if I wanted some company and came to the park. And no, she hasn’t said much about Eret or anything regarding her home life, and I didn’t pry.”

Fishlegs scratched his chin. “Sounds like you’re becoming fast friends.”

“Friends, yeah.” He sighed. He was already feeling so much closer to her, but still she was so far out of reach. Like there was a wall that she’d built, for reasons he didn’t understand. Someday, he hoped, he’d gain the trust needed for her to open up. To feel like she could talk to him about what kept her awake until five in the morning, because it couldn’t just be to answer his texts about whether or not his cat had a soul.

“Have your feelings changed about her? If so, I can be the one to tell Heather so you don’t have to hear her say I told you so.”

“I appreciate that, but that’s not necessary. They have changed, kind of, but not in that way. They just grew stronger.” Absentmindedly, he took a pencil and started doodling on a blank piece of paper.

Fishlegs watched him for a few minutes before he pondered, “Maybe she has a dark secret or a really nasty side of her that you don’t know yet.”

Hiccup added shades and details to his sketch. “Last night, she told me about a fight she had with her father about something unimportant, and honestly, her dad was in the right. She was just too stubborn to admit her mistake. Which, if you ask me, is a quality you could call bad, depending on the situation.”

He almost didn’t catch Fishlegs’ mumbled, “Well, at least that makes two of you.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m just saying, you can be quite stubborn as well. Either you’ve found your match, or you’re going to drive each other absolutely mad.” He rolled over on his chair. “What are you drawing there, anyway?”

Hiccup slid the piece of paper back under the mess and pulled out the one he should actually work on. “I’m doing my job, what do you think?” Fishlegs slowly rolled back to his computer. “Now can we switch topics, please?” He grabbed a book from a pile on a desk behind him. “Because I’ve thought a lot about the stats we’ve come up with for the monsters in this book and I have a few new ideas.”

His friend rolled over once more, already full of enthusiasm for one of his favorite topics. The sketch of the exact shape and shades of Astrid’s eyes remained hidden until Hiccup put it in the folder with his other personal sketches once his shift was over. He felt like he could still improve the drawing, but he needed a reference to study rather than relying on his memories and imagination. Would it be weird to ask for a photo of her? It would be solely for artistic purposes, after all.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Fishlegs said when they parted in the parking lot.

“I do,” Hiccup assured, although when it came to Astrid, he felt like he didn’t know anything at all. On his way home, he called her anyway.

[alexsmitposts]

The Nasty Truth About America’s Love Affair with Narcissism and Self Pity

Column: Society Region: USA in the World

📷There is a saying, “the crazy people have taken over the asylum.” They did that in the United States in 2016, a nation ruled by grifters, petty criminals and the delusional.The sane and decent became the “silent majority” as the not just America but the world learned that the darkness of the American soul depicted so often by Hollywood is not fiction at all and that a reality TV actor had tapped into a cesspit of sewage that has seeped into every American community.Then came 2020.By sheer luck along and, yes, the votes of 81 million Americans lucky enough to survive voter suppression and intimidation financed by a worldwide organized crime cartel, the insane are now out of power.The new “captain’’ of America’s “ship of state” may well, however, have something on his hands worse than the Titanic. The Titanic had the courtesy to actually sink while America, under this analogy, drifts lifelessly along.Extremism is big money in America, climate denialism, race hatred, social discord and civil war, hate is both a product and an addiction.It is also one of America’s biggest businesses. There would be no social media, no Google, no news organizations, no underbelly of device driven ecstasy, without fear and hate being marketed like cigarettes and CBD gummies.Roots of America’s Politics of Fear and Hate 2.0American extremism is not the result of poverty or oppression. It originates among the privileged, the “haves” who adhere to insane beliefs driven by boredom and generalized dissatisfaction at lives the rest of the word would envy, overpaid jobs, gas guzzling cars and trucks and fast food laden with fats and poisonous additives.If you asked many millions of Americans to define “reality,” their brains would grind to a halt. Reality is based, not on experience or observation but on “beliefs” and strongly held “opinions” which are invariably those scripted for them.Beliefs and opinions untested by the feedback loop of life has created a generation of Americans who are, essentially, living in a video game. This makes Qanon a AI program.Collective delusion has become the norm for many, and by “many” we mean up to 150 million lost souls, caught in an RPG game or, for some, a “first person shooter.”What does it make those who play? But then we have seen all this before, just without a population softened up to this degree by chaos theory conditioning. Some background:The Roots of Fascist AmericaIn 1940, Adolf Hitler was Time Magazine’s man of the year. The parents and grandparents of Trump’s supporters, following Huey Long, Gerald L.K. Smith, Father Coughlin and Charles Lindbergh sought to establish a “whites only” America based on the German model with carefully selected military leaders run by Wall Street pulling the strings.There is something magical, even today, about being “white folks.” That magic originated in the 18th and 19th centuries with the “Sturm and Drang” movement. Extremes of emotion and subjectivity were exalted above rationalism.Childish temper tantrums became a philosophy and eventually a political movement.The movement, which failed in Europe, found fertile ground in the United States in a society that increasingly defined itself though ritualized slavery and degradation and oppression of “coloured races.”This was a society built on the genocide that wiped out millions of indigenous peoples with the survivors now living on “reservations.”Imagine land where nothing grows, and no one could live. This is an “Indian reservation.” From time-to-time oil is found or minerals or there is a need to build a pipeline. Then even the worst land on earth is taken away.This was done in South Africa. It was done in Rhodesia. It used to be called “colonialism.”By the 20th century there were no indigenous people left to imprison. America then turned to warring against the freed slaves and millions of “undesirable” European immigrants, Catholics and Jews in particular.Curiously, this war was centered on banking issues, blocking trade unions, sustaining child labor and controlling farm prices. This created the alignments that

exist today, the strong tie between Wall Street and homegrown extremism built of bigotry and race hatred.You see, too many of the undesirables that fled autocratic Europe found that the long hand of international banking that maintained serfdom for millions, even in supposedly advanced Western Europe, had institutionalized the same in the United States under the guise of representative democracy.Leading the way was the resurgent Ku Klux Klan.By the 1920s national membership was estimated at over 8 million. Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania and a dozen other northern and western states were governed by Klan controlled politicians who used the state militias and National Guard as a private army and local police as armed enforcers.Behind it all, the banks that brought Hitler to power and the American corporations that made millions financing Nazi Germany’s war machine, General Motors, Dupont-Remington, Lockheed, Alcoa and General Motors.Even Hitler Would Cringe…The new American revolution, driven by Donald Trump and his televangelist backers, is the result of as social anthropologists note, generations being allowed to live the life of spoiled children, steeped in narcissism and self-pity.The events of January 6, 2020 and how it tied to many American religious leaders has emptied churches across the US, with millions finding themselves humiliated with having followed “false prophets” in support of hatred and tyranny. From Salon:“…these religious figures (Trump’s powerful televangelist backers) and the institutions they led (have become) hyper-political, the outward mission (has)seemed to be almost exclusively in service of oppressing others. The religious right is not nearly as interested in feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless as much as using religion as an all-purpose excuse to abuse women and LGBTQ people. In an age of growing wealth inequalities, with more and more Americans living hand-to-mouth, many visible religious authorities were using their power to support politicians and laws to take health care access from women and fight against marriage between same-sex couples. And then Donald Trump happened.Trump was a thrice-married chronic adulterer who routinely exposed how ignorant he was of religion, and who reportedly — and let’s face it, obviously — made fun of religious leaders behind their backs. But religious right leaders did not care. They continually pumped Trump up like he was the second coming, showily praying over him and extorting their followers to have faith in a man who literally could not have better conformed to the prophecies of the Antichrist. It was comically over the top, how extensively Christian right leaders exposed themselves as motivated by power, not faith.”Jerry Falwell Jr., who introduced Donald Trump to America’s evangelical Christians, is himself an enigmatic figure.Falwell is typical of America’s religious leaders and stories such as this, from Fox News, are daily fodder for Americans:“Jerry Falwell Jr. allegedly played games with his wife Becki where they’d rank Liberty University students, they most wanted to have sex with, according to one pupil who claimed to have been intimate with Becki.The ex-student — who claims Becki initiated oral sex with him 10 years ago — told Politico that she bragged about playing the sex-ranking game while walking around the Virginia campus with her evangelical-leader husband.‘Her and Jerry would eye people down on campus,’ the former student of the conservative school told the outlet.Social Engineering Through PandemicAnyone who really lives in America will make this perfectly clear, this country has turned into a lunatic asylum. Our previous president told us COVID was a hoax, allowed over 40,000 from China enter the US while the threat of COVID was well known and turned his back while, today’s figure, 570,264 Americans died. Experts now cite that Trump was personally responsible for over 400,000 of those deaths. He is quite simply a mass murderer.Do remember that only 900 died in Australia. Canada lost 23,000. 35 died in Vietnam. 440 died in

Cuba.One might wonder how a Hitleresque figure such as Donald Trump could have millions of followers while the legal mechanisms in the US are amassing evidence for both criminal and civil prosecutions which quite probably will never come to bear.Groundhog Day, an Unending NightmareLet me tell you how I began my morning. As a journalist and intelligence briefer, I review incoming material, both open source and private intel. The big story overnight involves a revelation on a religious talk show involving theories on COVID 19 and vaccines.The show is by Jim Bakker, an important religious leader and political advisor. In 1989, Bakker was sentenced to 45 years in prison for mail and wire fraud but served on 5 of those years. He has stolen tens of million of dollars from his congregation to support a wild and lavish lifestyle of utter debauchery.In this area, he is typical of America’s evangelical Christian leaders.The guest on Bakker’s show was Steve Quayle. I know Quayle as an advisor to President George ‘W’ Bush on Middle East affairs. I know of no qualifications for this post.I do know of Quayle. After 9/11 he approached my staff in Amman, Jordan offering them generous payments to “launder” otherwise sourceless intelligence on Iraq into the Bush White House to justify an American invasion of that nation.Two million people died, maybe many more, due to fake US intelligence on Iraq. No weapons of mass destruction were ever found.Groundhog Day TwoLet us take the clock back a few years. I remember traveling to Kentucky, then and still a very backward area of the country, in 1956 to visit relatives. This was a presidential election year, and my father was working for Adlai Stevenson, the Democratic candidate that was opposing Dwight Eisenhower.Even I, at a fairly young age, was flabbergasted at the dinner table discussion that day as my “hillbilly” relatives expounded on their political opinions and version of historical fact. This is how they laid it out:We should support “Ike” because he killed Hitler personally after storming Berlin. They described a sword fight. What they described reminded me of the death of the Sheriff of Nottingham played by Basil Rathbone in the 1938 film Robin Hood starring Errol Flynn. They then went out to describe how the US beat both Russia and Germany who were at war with the US. It seems Russia did not fight Hitler at all but was actually Germany’s ally. My father, a reasonably educated person and longtime friend of Russia, found this somewhat disturbing. Next, we heard about how “godless communists” were going to take away our freedoms and destroy our standard of living. I might remind you that my relatives in Hazard, Kentucky had no electricity or plumbing. One of my cousins lived in an abandoned car parked in a slag field.During that trip, we visited my grandfather, a retired coal miner. He lived in a shack covered with tar paper along a railroad track. I loved my grandfather.Life Lessons Do not Come Over the InternetOver the next 60 plus years, I had shared tea with farmers in Vietnam, military veterans living in a small shack in the Khyber Pass and everything from heads of state to struggling farmers all over Africa and the Middle East. None would have guessed that there are Americans that live in not just utter poverty but steeped not only in delusional ignorance but far worse than that.A current obsession with American “conservatives” is the fear of being overrun with transexuals, who, according to many, represent a threat to our freedoms. I have never met a transsexual. From what I understand, up to 10,000 currently serve in America’s armed forces.Back during the 1960s when I served with a Marine combat unit in Vietnam, we probably had no transexuals, only gay or “homosexual” Marines and Navy. Absolutely nothing was thought of it as these individuals invariably served with honor and courage.They existed in significant numbers.Today aging “conservatives” who avoided military service in Vietnam continually harp about saving the rest of us from “homosexuals in the military.”Voting and

“Jim Crow”Let us take another look at efforts by the Hitleresque racists and bigots to save the rest of us from ourselves, against our will of course. In Georgia, the legislature recently passed a law that makes it a felony to offer water to someone waiting in line to vote.Water is an issue because, in Georgia and many GOP (Trump’s party) run states, polling places in areas where people of color vote have been closed causing day long lines. In 2020, volunteers offered food and water to those who would otherwise have either collapsed or left without voting. Now offering food and water can lead to being executed by racist police, quite literally, or spending 5 years in prison.In 2020, voters in many key urban areas were threatened by armed neo-Nazi militias or openly threated in emails from Proud Boys and Oath Keepers, organizations deemed terrorist in Canada and now citied by the US Department of Justice as trying to overthrow the US government.In January, during a US Senate runoff election in Georgia, 364,000 voters were challenged by the GOP in Georgia as “illegal.” All of them were African American. All 364,000 were qualified to vote and their votes were eventually counted, giving Georgia two Democratic US Senators.The Federal Elections Commission is now investigating that this effort to rig the Georgia senate elections was secretly financed by illegal contributions from members of organized crime.Groundhog Day ThreeI live in a rural and primarily Republican area. I parked my car less than 30 feet from the door of a polling place, a local church, and voted in less than 3 minutes with no lines or ID check.In order to limit mail voting, Trump ordered mail sorting machines destroyed with sledgehammers and over 40,000 mailboxes picked up and junked as scrap metal. Mail service in many cities simply ended. One letter I sent to Washington DC from Michigan took 45 days to arrive.Hundreds of millions of pieces of mail, starting in late September 2020 simply disappeared, not just votes but government checks, Christmas presents and medications from pharmacies sent to Veterans.All of this was not just publicly known, things are far worse than that. Those who so many decades ago believed the United States fought Russia in World War Two, would raise children and grandchildren with no respect for human rights, no understanding of democracy, no ethical norms nor any remote understanding of right or wrong.This is the reality for those living in America, a reality that those who watch America from afar through the distorted lens of Google Corporation and the press, can never fathom.Ah, but things are so much worse than that. It is not just having spent 4 years with a president who told us you could cure covid by drinking bleach or eating flashlights. It gets worse.Groundhog Day FourA few days ago, former Trump advisor Cirsten Welcon claimed that President Biden had been paid billions of dollars by China to let them test their newest “weather weapons” on Texas. Power outages there, now attributed to corrupt backroom deals by Republican politicians, led to many deaths and considerable suffering.Little did any of us know of the role of the magic Chinese weather machines.In another vignette, it has been a years since Trump advisor and televangelist Kenneth Copeland stood before a television audience raving like a lunatic. He then pursed his lips and blew at the television camera, the “wind of god” which he claimed destroyed COVID forever.This effort by Reverend Copeland, who has millions of followers and a vast financial empire, led President Trump to announce that COVID 19 was going to disappear.ConclusionSome would like to believe that the institutionalized insanity of America’s right is restricted to the “Untermensch” substrata of rural poor whites. However, for decades now, the most radicalized and extremist elements of America’s society, the most ignorant, the most warlike yet cowardly, have gained control of the US military through service academies which espouse their conspiracy theories.With the onset of Trump, they gained much

more than a foothold in American politics, they now control many states “lock, stock and barrel,” and are involved in not just voter suppression but a general quashing of human rights and free speech.The door to this turn of events began well into the 19th century. Laws, still on the books, are now being employed against Donald Trump, from CNN:The Democratic chairman of the House Homeland Security Committee has filed a lawsuit against former President Donald Trump that cites a little-known federal statute that was first passed after the Civil War.The complaint, filed Tuesday by Democratic Rep. Bennie Thompson of Mississippi, accuses Trump, his attorney Rudy Giuliani, the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers of violating the 1871 Ku Klux Klan Act. The lawsuit accuses them of inciting the Jan. 6 Capitol riot to prevent the certification of the 2020 presidential election.These same extremist elements and calling them “extremist” insults al Qaeda and ISIS (banned in Russia) who are moderate in their beliefs and practices in comparison. These statements might sound extreme in themselves were it not for so many Americans, religious and military leaders, members of government and business leaders calling for wholesale murder of their political opponents citing their personal communication with a non-corporeal authority they said is “god.”Americans hear this all day every day, the emails are unending, TV networks like Fox, OAN or Newsmax say little else, and that message is carried not just through media but lawn signs dotting the countryside.Hundreds of thousands of American homes are festooned with paraphernalia espousing murder of public officials and their families. Americans see it every day driving to work. What they ask themselves when they see things like this is how many others hold these beliefs but keep it to themselves?What if academics wrote papers on the issues, we discuss here? What if the BBC produced a documentary? Would things get better? The problem dates back not just generations but centuries.It is not a moral problem; it is not a political problem. It is one of degeneracy. At some point we may be required to reassess our definition of sentience.

[virtual-lara]

FHM - Rhona Mitra Interview

Interview appeared in the November 1997 issue of FHM magazine. Article was written up on fansite 'The Tomb Raider Archive'. VL Note: This interview is long and it is full of awful non-gaming questions with some cringey answers, but it was conducted in 1997 for a mens magazine.

Sex and videogames don't usually mix too well. Indeed, the popular view is that men who play them have such poor complexions and social skills that they've been forced to replace the pleasures of the flesh with bashing the hell out of pixellated monsters. In short, successful users of the chat-up line "I've top scored on Story Of Thor 2" are few and far between.

However, there is one exception to the rule. In November 1996, Tomb Raider appeared, featuring the adventures of Lara Croft. The premise of the game was that Lara, the daughter of an English aristocrat, had decided to forego her inheritance in favour of travelling around the world in search of ancient artefacts. As with most adventure games, this involved plenty of running, jumping, swimming and shooting. But unlike other games, its central character became the computer world's first sex symbol, and Lara Croft quickly catapulted Tomb Raider to the top of the games charts. With her ample chest and powerful thighs, Lara was created as the gamer's ultimate fantasy figure and the strategy worked.

Now, for the imminent release of the sequel, Tomb Raider 2, Lara is made flesh. And fortunately for us, it's in the form of 22-year-old actress Rhona Mitra, a woman sexy enough to equal the charms of the video character. As well as appearing in the press campaign for Tomb Raider 2, Rhona has recorded an album as Lara (produced by ex-Eurythmics guitarist Dave Stewart), from which the single, Getting Naked, is to be released next month. There is even talk of a Tomb Raider movie, for which Rhona ought to be a shoe-in for the lead role - a heady jump from her last big part, playing a teenage seductress in Jilly Cooper's The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous.

So, to celebrate the arrival of the new sexiest woman in Britain, what did we do? Take lots of fantastic pictures of her? Of course. Ask her a shed-load of questions about what it's like to play a character invented to satisfy the libido if a twenty-something programmer? Certainly. But first we took her to London's Trocadero centre to see if she could cut the mustard in the original gaming arena - an amusement arcade.

The truth is, she's pretty adept. She powers past three (male) opponents on an arm wrestling machine, gives a credible display at dynamo-hockey and is equally at ease bombing about on the virtual skate-boards. Her strongest suit, though, is the bowling range. After a slow start, three spares in a row see her powering into the lead as FHM skew another ball into the gutter.Only two consecutive(and highly suspicious) zero scores in the last two rounds barred the way to victory. And perhaps not surprising for a woman who's beaten stiff competition to play the most lusted after computer game character of all time, she doesn't accept second place for long. "I let you win, you know," she smiles triumphantly.

FHM:

Games fans are notoriously obsessive. Are you ready to be pursued by blokes thinking that you really are Lara Croft?

Rhona Mitra:

After The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous I had a lot of bizarre fan mail. I remember receiving a beautifully-typed letter from twelve boys in Exeter asking if I'd marry them all. Apparently I was supposed to be shared on some kind of weekly rota system. I was thinking, "Hmm, two a day. How am I supposed to manage that?" And I've already had people post notes on the Lara Croft website thanking me for improving their sex-lives.

FHM:

And how exactly have they done that?

Rhona Mitra:

They get their girlfriends to dress up as Lara, like I do. Apparently, it works wonders for them - maybe it's the rubber outfit.

FHM:

Do you think it's scary that there are men out there fantasising over a computer-generated character?

Rhona Mitra:

No, because men will fantasise about anything. Compared to a sheep or whatever, I think Lara's quite a healthy fantasy. What's wrong with wanting to sleep with a computer-generated character? She's got a perfect figure after all.

FHM:

Talking of perfect figures, there was a story in the tabloids about you having a breast enlargement operation performed by your dad...

Rhona Mitra:

That was rubbish. My dad is a surgeon and he does do cosmetic surgery, but he doesn't perform breast operations. I don't think he was too bothered about it, though - apparently a load of people phoned up the hospital where he works, the next day asking for tits like Rhona Mitra.

FHM:

But you have had your breasts enlarged.

Rhona Mitra:

Yes, but my dad had nothing to do with it.

FHM:

Where does the name Mitra come from?

Rhona Mitra:

It's Indian - my dad is from Calcutta. But I'm also part Irish. It's a confusing heritage. I never know if want to be running across fields with no clothes on or sitting in the pub drinking Guinness.

FHM:

The Lara Croft single is called Getting Naked. When was the last time you were naked in a public place?

Rhona Mitra:

I don't think going starkers in a public place is especially commendable. You can go to Stringfellow's for that. Although they don't get it all off there, do they? The song is really about one night stands and a woman saying that she'll go so far but not the whole hog. Why does all frolicking have to end in penetration?

FHM:

Does Lara have sex, then?

Rhona Mitra:

I should bloody well hope so. I'm sure she wouldn't be the woman she is unless she did.

FHM:

You recorded half the album sailing down the Amazon in Dave Stewert's boat. If the boat had run aground, would you have been prepared to eat him in order to survive?

Rhona Mitra:

Hmm, he hasn't really got enough fat on him...

FHM:

That beard might have been a bit tough to chew as well. Maybe you could have stuck it on your face when you'd finished eating the rest of him.

Rhona Mitra:

I would have worn the beard proudly. It's a fine feature.

FHM:

You were expelled from two boarding schools. Naughty girl, were you?

Rhona Mitra:

No, I just had a problem with complying with the rules. I went to convent school and it was totally ridiculous. We weren't even allowed to go into town at the weekend. So we used to nick holy wine from the church and drink it in the potato patch at the back of the school. I remember one time me and a few girls ended up dancing in the garden at four in the morning, wearing nothing but wellington boots.

FHM:

Is that why they kicked you out?

Rhona Mitra:

No, that was for taking a sixth former's car and driving it down to the local boys' school. I was only about fourteen. I'd left stuffing under my bedsheets but one of my friends told on me and the headmistress tracked me down. They put me in this room with bars on the windows to punish me. I was stuck in there for a whole week with just a rosary for comfort, having my dinner brought in on trays. The only time I got out was to say confession to the school priest. After that, they booted me out. Then at the next school the other girls used to blame me whenever they got caught for something, so all the parents wrote in and said they didn't want me at the school. I crammed my exams in London and did fine.

FHM:

You recently said that Lara represents the woman of the future. So what is the woman of the future going to be like?

Rhona Mitra:

She'll be more robust. In order to be strong in the mind, women are going to have to build up their bodies. Having a big arse will be alright, having a big pair of breasts will be alright, as long as they exercise as well.

FHM:

We had a discussion in the office about men of the future, and we reckon that evolution will make their heads and penises bigger.

Rhona Mitra:

Sounds good to me.

FHM:

Okay. Let's test your credentials for playing Lara Croft. To start with, when was the last time you raided a tomb?

Rhona Mitra:

Er, I haven't. I only raid my friends' wardrobes. And my dad's drinks cabinet when I was a kid.

FHM:

Would you take on a bear unarmed?

Rhona Mitra:

I'd probably try and cuddle and sweet-talk it. I've charmed men worse than bears.

FHM:

Can you handle yourself in a fight?

Rhona Mitra:

Absolutely. I had the whole Swiss army after me once. I was skiing with friends and we were getting hassled by some guys who wanted us to dance. They ended up calling us dykes and then turned nasty. I kicked one in the ribcage. It turned out that he was with a load of Swiss army guys and they chased us up the road. We ran faster than them, though.

FHM:

Some Tomb Raider websites feature a nude Lara Croft. Would you ever emulate them and do Playboy?

Rhona Mitra:

I'd never say never. But not right now. It's not even negotiable.

FHM:

What about the orgasmic noises Lara makes when she bumps into walls? Have you been perfecting those?

Rhona Mitra:

Oh yes, of course. Listen. [Makes weird orgasmic noise not unlike "Uuh!"]

FHM:

Lara spends most of her time in caves full of gun-wielding nutters. What's the most dangerous situation you've been in?

Rhona Mitra:

I got buried under sand in Tunisia. I've just shot a film there called A Kid In The Arabian Knights. We were supposed to be mocking up this sandstorm and I was buried right up past my head, but I couldn't breathe because the sand was so heavy. I had to breath through a bamboo straw for about twenty minutes. The crew were getting their cameras up and I was screaming "Hurry the fuck up, I'm dying under here."

FHM:

Did you used to play computer games when you were growing up? I remember getting hooked Jet Set Willy on the ZX Spectrum.

Rhona Mitra:

I had an Atari. I used to play that tennis game where you had two bats at either end of the screen and had to try and keep the ball in play.

FHM:

You mean Pong!

Rhona Mitra:

That's the one. But I used to do a lot of things to entertain myself. Do you remember those portable tape recorders that had flat speakers on the top? I used to put a piece of cellophane on top of the speaker and crumble biscuits on top of it. I'd then play Super Trooper by Abba at full volume and watch the crumbs jump up and down with the vibrations.

FHM:

Blimey. You were easily pleased.

Rhona Mitra:

That's not all. I loved pouring yoghurt all over my dog and watching him lick it off himself. And when my parents had dinner parties I'd chop up his dog food into chunks, put cocktail sticks in it and then walk around the living room in a sari asking if anyone wanted hors d'oeuvres.

FHM:

The guests must have loved you. Have you carried any bizarre habits or phobias into adulthood?

Rhona Mitra:

I can't sit still. That's why I'm very difficult in a relationship. Men get jealous of me travelling - they don't understand that just because I disappear on my own doesn't mean I'm going to shag someone else.

FHM:

Have you always been faithful?

Rhona Mitra:

Always. But I can appreciate why people wouldn't be. It's like ice-cream - you can really love vanilla, but you still want to try some other flavours just to make sure that you really do love vanilla best. I haven;t actually been out with that many men. I've been in two relationships which have taken up five years of my life. The second one of those recently ended and since then I've concentrated on my work.

FHM:

What kind of man do you go for?

Rhona Mitra:

I like healthy-looking guys with good, clean skin. And I like men who have brains but are still very childish. Immature guys.

FHM:

Are you actually any good at Tomb Raider?

Rhona Mitra:

Yeah. I finished it in about two weeks.

FHM:

I heard that Bruce Willis has bought the rights to the Tomb Raider movie and that Demi Moore is pencilled in to play Lara. Could you have her?

Rhona Mitra:

Oh yeah, of course.

FHM:

Be careful. After filming GI Jane, she's quite buff these days.

Rhona Mitra:

So am I. And I'm younger than her. The idea of her playing Lara is sacrilege. She has to be a posh English girl with a stiff upper lip.

FHM:

Finally, elsewhere in this issue we discuss the phenomenon of lesbianism. Have you ever been tempted by the charms of another girl?

Rhona Mitra:

Any woman who says she hasn't isn't truly a woman. Even if you don't go as far as doing something physical, you should be able to appreciate the female form. Men are beautiful too, though.

All rights belong to FHM and/or their affiliated companies. I only intend to introduce people to old articles and preserve them before they are lost.

[daughter-of-the-prophet]

Aveline Vallen (TV Tropes)

Action Girl: Hell yes!

Amazonian Beauty: So far, she's the most muscular woman in the Dragon Age franchise (or any other BioWare franchise) to date, but that's not to say she doesn't have a feminine figure. It's really only seen in the prologue, however.

Babies Ever After: Hints that she regrets never having children with Wesley. After she marries Donnic, separate conversations with Isabela and Fenris reveal that they are considering starting a family in the near future.

Aveline and Donnic eventually have a daughter whom they named after Areida Hawke, Aveline's dear friend who brought her and Donnic.

Badass Normal: Deserves special mention; see Establishing Character Moment below.

Battle Couple: With Wesley and later, Donnic. She definitely prefers someone with whom she can be Back-to-Back Badasses.

Beauty, Brains and Brawn: In a trio with Areida and Bethany, Aveline is the Brawn. She's tall and muscular, skilled with sword and shield, and works as a city guard. The others sometimes make jokes about her being able to lift a cow.

Berserk Button: As mentioned below, do NOT question her loyalty or accuse her of coddling her guards.

Big Good: To Kirkwall in Inquisition, after Areida is forced to leave town. Varric notes that "Kirkwall would probably fall into the sea if she ever quit her job."

Big Sister Mentor: Has some shades of this for Areida and Bethany especially. Some cut-dialogues refer to her cornering most of the party and getting them to practice swordsmanship with her (including the mages) and criticizing their techniques.

Breast Plate: Initially played straight during the prologue sequence, in which she sports form-fitting leather armor. Averted for the rest of the story - the metal plate the guards wear is the same general shape for both men and women, giving Aveline no more chances to show off her assets.

Cannot Spit It Out: Towards Donnic. She tries courting him in more subtle ways, but her methods seem to make sense only to her. One of Aveline's ways of trying to court Donnic causes him to mistakenly conclude that Areida is the one awkwardly hitting on him.

Insane Troll Logic: Eventually, Aveline's efforts to woo Donnic get so bad that even when she does explain the reasoning behind her actions, Areida can't argue directly with them because they make no sense.

The Captain: Served as an officer in the Fereldan Army at Ostagar, and later becomes Captain of the Kirkwall City Guard.

The Champion: To the Hawke family during their first year in Kirkwall. She claims it's just to keep Areida out of trouble.

City Guards: Joins the Kirkwall guard after fleeing Ferelden and is promoted to Captain of the Guard after a mission where she investigates her superior's corruption.

Clear My Name: In Act 3, Cullen alerts Areida that Aveline is accused of coddling her men, and urges her to speak with Aveline and clear up the issue. Aveline takes the accusation extremely personally and goes on a bit of a rampage to settle the matter. See Cowboy Cop, below.

Comically Serious: Especially when paired with Varric and Isabela.

Cowboy Cop: Even as Da Chief, she has no problem telling authority where to shove it and will bend the rules for the sake of her friends.

However, do not ever question whether she is going soft on the men under her command and coddling certain individuals (Donnic). When the Templars force Areida to investigate her on this in Act 3, they set out to prove that Donnic is doing the same routes as the other men, if not more dangerous, and most of her men are fighting for their lives twice a week to keep Kirkwall safe.

Da Chief: Eventually reaches this position on the Guard.

Defector from Decadence: Aveline's mysterious father. "Orlais has a game. He wouldn't play it. I never cared to ask further."

Depending on the Artist: Her official art is... considerably more mannish when compared to her in-story model.

Did We Just Have Tea with Cthulhu?: During the Prologue and on Sundermount in Act 1, Aveline appears to be the only person in the group who actually recognises that talking to the Witch of the Wilds is not something any sane person would want to do.

Drill Sergeant Nasty: Borderline; she trains with each guard individually and makes certain that they know what they are doing. They certainly think that it's Training from Hell. She bonds with each of the guards as well, which takes the edge off of it.

She also asks Areida to allow her to have her dog, Maximus, help her train, to see if her people can handle a "good old-fashioned Mabari charge." Brings about a Pet the Dog moment (almost literally) later, as she rewards Maximus with some contraband mutton that was seized

Establishing Character Moment: One of the first things she does is tackle a darkspawn that severely wounded Wesley and punch it into submission before lever-cutting its head off with its own sword. She proceeds to fight the rest of the horde with the intention of saving her husband or dying with him.

Expose the Villain, Get His Job: Her personal quest in Act 1.

Failure Knight: Her sometimes obsessive need to protect everyone seems to be the reason she latches onto looking after the Hawke family. It is implied to have largely stemmed from her guilt at being unable to save Wesley. 

Fantastic Racism: A much more subtle and realistic (and likely unintentional) example than most, but she doesn't see any issue with elves being segregated into impoverished ghettos, nor elves being forced to sleep in stables and out-buildings (just like farm animals) in towns too small to fit an alienage, and seems mildly surprised when Merrill (an elven companion) gets upset to hear it.

She also takes her time looking to the "rumors" of one of her guards raping an elven woman, but immediately cracks down on the brothers of the alleged rape victim (also the ones who accused him) when they got tired of waiting for her to do anything about it and killed him.  

Femininity Failure: She gets teased about being "mannish" by hard-drinking, hard-fucking, foul-mouthed Isabela. That's how badly she fails at femininity. That said, it doesn't usually bother or cause any trouble for her, but it does prompt her personal quest in the second act where she needs help getting the guy she's interested in to even realise that she's a woman.

Fire-Forged Friends: At the start of the story, she bonds with the Hawke family when they fight their way out of Lothering together.

Good People Have Good Sex: After Aveline marries Donnic, Isabela offers some tips on how they can spice up their sex life. Aveline lets her know Donnic needs no help in that department.

Hair-Trigger Temper: At least where card games are concerned, according to Fenris and Donnic.

Happily Married: With Wesley before the beginning of the story. Later with Donnic.

Heterosexual Life-Partners: With Areida.

Hollywood Atheist: Averted; Aveline has no issue with the Chantry or those who believe in the Maker (she even married a Templar), but she doesn't seem to believe herself. She says that she thinks the Chant is lovely, but perhaps that is all it needs to be.

Honorary Aunt: Like Isabela, Aveline becomes an Aunt like figure towards Anders and Areida's children. They call her "Aunt Aveline".

Hypocrite: The reason she gives for pursuing the elven vigilantes is "they took the law into their own hands," yet she tolerates Areida taking the law into her own hands every day, and potentially does it herself when she joins Areida on missions.

I Let Gwen Stacy Die: Wesley's death remains a sore spot for her for a good half of the story, partially because she feels she should have been able to prevent it. Her fear of losing anything else drives many of her actions throughout the story.

Idiot Ball: Played for Laughs. She's a bright, talented, and quick-thinking guardswoman... but her intelligence plummets when it comes to dealing with Donnic. Case in point? While trying to be romantic with him, she turns it into a conversation about the sharpness of swords.

Played for Drama when she refuses to look into the cases of kidnapped Hightown women, which contributes to Leandra being kidnapping and murdered by the same serial killer, something she denies any responsibility for afterward.

Jerk with a Heart of Gold: As strict as she can be and as cold as she can be to the other companions, she's fiercely loyal to those she cares about and always attempts to do what she considers to be right.

Lantern Jaw of Justice: Rare female example.

Married to the Job: Apparently the reason she's having such difficulty with romancing Donnic. Even though she was once married, she's thrown herself into her work so much, she's forgotten how not to be a guard for a while.

Matchmaker Quest: Her personal quest in Act 2 involves her attempting to court Guardsman Donnic. They eventually get married.

A Mother To Her Men: Particularly seen in Act 3. The men and women of the city guard revere her, to the point that they unanimously refuse to join ex-Captain Jeven in his smear campaign to have her removed. Donnic says that there's not a single member of the guard who would hesitate to follow her across the Void itself if she asked.

My Beloved Smother: She's not their mother but she definitely acts this way towards the others during party banters, especially Areida and Bethany.

Foreshadowed slightly in Act 1 party banter with Bethany, who asks her why she and Wesley never had children; Aveline explains that their respective careers forced them to put the prospect on hold. When Bethany asks if she regrets it now that Wesley is gone, Aveline replies, not unkindly, that the question is too personal. It's possible that she sees her companions as surrogates for the children she never had. She does however, have a daughter with Donnic.

Named After Somebody Famous: An In-Universe example; Aveline was the name of the first female Chevalier.

She actually doesn't seem fond of the symbolism, (though it fits her perfectly), calling the name "a wish [her] father made," and expressing relief that Fenris doesn't know the story of Ser Aveline. By the end of the story, though, she seems much more sure of herself and has come to terms with it.

Never My Fault: When it comes to being a City Guard, Aveline is always convinced she's right.

She straight-up denies any responsibility for Leandra being kidnapped and murdered, even after Areida asked her to look into the disappearances of Hightown women, which Avline had refused to do despite it being her job as Captain of the City Guard.

No Guy Wants an Amazon: Ser Wesley and Guardsman Donnic are the exceptions that prove the rule; almost everyone else finds her intimidating and off-putting, as other party members point out. According to Isabela, she's a "woman-shaped battering ram."

Non-Answer: When Aveline and Areida go to confront the Arishok, the elven converts claim that one of her guards raped their sister and they tried to report him many times, but got turned away each time. When Areida asks Aveline if this is true, she responds, "There are rumors. I'll look into them."

No Social Skills: Most noticeable during her bizarre efforts to romance Guardsman Donnic.

Not So Above It All: In Act 3, she has evolved an Odd Friendship with Isabela. Any time Aveline deadpan snarks at her, Isabela warmly says, "That's my girl!" At one point, Aveline has apparently invited Isabela to a family dinner, but she didn't show up because she didn't think she'd fit in; Aveline disagrees.

                Isabela: "How's marriage been treating you, big girl?"

               Aveline: "It's been good. No, great. I'd forgotten what it was like to..."

                Isabela: "Be flipped ass over tits and hammered like a bent nail?"

                Aveline: "To. Be. Loved."

                Isabela: "Oh. Right, of course."

               Aveline: (coyly) "Not that I'm complaining about the other thing."

Odd Friendship: With Fenris and Isabela.

The Only One Allowed to Defeat You: Aveline invokes this when Arishok says he must take Isabela back along with the book she stole: "Oh, no. If anyone's going to kick her ass, it's me."

Reasonable Authority Figure: As Captain of the Guard. Under her command, the guard is the most efficient and respected it's been in generations, though once Meredith takes over, some of the Templars seem to be making it a point to limit her influence and try to oust her from her position.

Despite her late husband having been a Templar, she refuses to turn Bethany in to the Templars, since she at least tries to do good. She also makes no efforts to turn in Merrill or Anders, and does her best to keep the patrolling guards from taking notice of Fenris squatting in the Hightown mansion.

Replacement Goldfish: Though never outright stated, Aveline maintains her strong bond with Areida likely because she's the closest thing Aveline has to family. Bethany will even question why Aveline continues to follow Areida, and Aveline skirts the answer.

Secular Hero: Aveline is the closest to agnosticism on team Hawke. She married a Templar and sometimes refers to the Maker, but doesn't generally worry about religion and is skeptical of the Chantry's stance that "the less [he] does, the more he's proven".

                    Aveline: "Wesley's at the Maker's side, or he's not."

Significant Green-Eyed Redhead: The first companion Areida meets, as well as one of the most important ones after becoming captain of the guard.

Slut-Shaming: Does this to Isabela on an extremely regular basis. Isabela takes it in stride.

Skewed Priorities: When a group of elven brothers formally reported that one of her guards raped their sister, she dismisses it as "rumors" that she'll look into eventually. When those same elven brothers killed the guard they reported, Aveline dropped what she was doing to arrest them first thing.

When tentions between the Qunari and Kirkwall are reaching their breaking point, Aveline decides to antagonize the Arishok even further by demanding he hand over the elven converts whose sister she put off seeking justice for, becoming the last straw that breaks his patience and plunging the city into open warfare.

Socially Awkward Hero:

"Yes, and it's a real nice night for an evening."

One of her gifts to Donnic is a copper engraving of marigolds. Odd enough to get a man (and specifically a watchman, who'd you think would be a practical type) a picture of flowers, but in traditional floriography, marigolds represent grief and cruelty. Whoops. Her reasoning behind the gift borders on Insane Troll Logic: "Metal is strong, flowers are soft, copper ages well. I thought it was clear."

Stone Wall: Her specialization focuses on defense and protecting party members. Thanks to her Indomitable ability, she's the only party member with a built-in immunity to the final boss's "stun you all so I can monologue" move. Should she be knocked out, the others' reactions are equal parts concern and astonishment that it actually happened.

                    Varric: "Sweet mother of green cheeses, how'd they take that woman down?!"

                    Merrill: "By the Creators, Aveline has fallen!"

                    Fenris: "Aveline has fallen?"

Straight Man and Wise Guy: The Straight Man to Varric and Isabela's Wise Guy.

Take Up My Sword: Upon first encounter, she wields a two-handed greatsword. After Wesley loses the use of his sword arm, and later dies, she takes up a Sword & Shield style like him. Her starting shield in Act 1 is Wesley's.

Taking Up the Mantle: By the time of Inquisition, Aveline is still leading the guard, and Bran's letter all but calls her Areida's successor as Kirkwall's protector.

Team Dad: Gender-flipped, alongside Varric's Team Mom. Most of her conversations with the party involve her providing some form of advice or critiquing their lifestyle choices. It's also said that she has people spying on most of the others and bends the rules a bit if necessary in hopes of keeping them out of trouble.

She's particularly protective of Areida, and the only person besides Anders who really takes time to console a devastated Areida after her mother's murder. Notably, she's the only companion to whom Areida seems to feel comfortable admitting that "My heart's broken" about the whole thing - even Varric, who is Areida's best friend, doesn't have this conversation.

Made especially clear by a line she says when she drinks a health potion:

                            Aveline: “I hope no one else needs this!”

To Be Lawful or Good: Establishes herself as being on the "Good" side of things at all times early in Act 1, despite having only just taken the job. She remains lawful only so long as it is useful in her quest to do good. When the two conflict, there is never a moment's hesitation in her mind.

Tragic Keepsake: Wesley's shield. She later clarifies it's less about Wesley and more just holding onto the last pieces of her old life.

Tsundere: A Type A, especially towards Isabela. Wesley and Donnic both seem to be the only people who constantly get her softer side.

Vitriolic Best Buds: With Isabela towards the end of the story. She eventually starts barking "Shut up, whore" with an obvious twinge of affection.

Widow Woman: Ser Wesley, her Templar husband, dies shortly after meeting the Hawke family due to darkspawn taint. Aveline Mercy Kill him. She eventually remarries, though.

Workaholic: The Codex notes that her life revolves around guarding others; when she's not on-duty as a city guard, she's guarding Areida and her friends. After her personal quests are completed, she starts to relax a little bit. Discussed by Varric in some dialogue in Act 1, when he asks what she does.

                 Aveline: "You know I'm a guard, why are you asking?"

                 Varric: "I mean in your off-duty hours? For fun? You've heard of it, I hope?"

                 Aveline: "These are my off-duty hours."

                 Varric: "And the trend of you scaring the piss out of me continues..."

You Can't Go Home Again: Discussed. "That's supposed to be about maturity. It's not the same if you don't have the option."

[cavaliant]

On Fred and being “ordinary”

//Aka, a ~1000 word character analysis on Fred that I started back in August and recently got motivated to finally finish thanks to Allison and Xav waking up Fred’s muse ;3c

~

Like many characters in Thracia, Fred doesn't get a lot of lines/screen time, so there's not really a lot to go on to establish his character. In fact, the most notable thing about him that his ending deems to mention (other than him helping to rebuild Friege) is the marriage of his younger commander. This commander is heavily implied to be Olwen, whose ending states that her husband was "surprisingly ordinary".

(It also states that this is somehow related to her hatred of Reinhardt, which is like...??? Her older brother made her disillusioned her with "remarkable" guys in general forever, so she settled for marrying an average one? What.)

Anyway, FE5 itself is a game that focuses on the struggle of the common people, the average, "nobody-special" individuals in the war. It's hard! You struggle a lot! Leif has minor holy blood, but it doesn't make him overpowered or infallible. He fucks up! He sucks! And this has real, deadly consequences! But he learns and grows over the course of the story, and despite his feelings of inferiority, you see for yourself all the people he does help throughout the game.

Fred and Olwen themselves start on the enemy side. But they realize that what their country is doing is wrong, and make the choice to leave. And that's tough! They leave behind their ranks, their stability, and their home because they couldn't stand for the betrayal of their morals and ideals anymore. Unlike Reinhardt, someone who is highly praised and lauded as the second coming of a Crusader, they join Leif and explicitly fight against their own country and the Empire's oppressive regime because they believe it's the right thing to do. They are "nobody special", but they're the ones who are confirmed to take action and actually do something onscreen about all the injustices that the Empire is committing.

This kind of connects to a point I wanted to make--Fred serves someone (Olwen), but he isn't completely deferent to her without any agency of his own. In the chapter where Olwen is imprisoned, if Fred reaches her before Leif she expresses her uncertainty about the cause and Empire they've been fighting for all this time. Fred responds with "...What I can say is that your place is no longer in the Empire. Lady Olwen, let's join Prince Leif's army." When Olwen expresses hesitation at joining those who had once been the enemy, Fred says, "I know Prince Leif personally. Our ideals are much closer to his than the Empire's. Let's go, Lady Olwen. We can find what you have lost sight of in his army!"

If Leif reaches her first, she will tell Fred she has joined Leif and that he is free to go, and he will deliver a (still touching but more generic) "I will always be your loyal servant no matter what" kind of line ("Nonsense, Lady Olwen! I am your lieutenant. I will always respect and follow your judgment.").

I prefer the first scenario, because in it, Fred proves himself to be more than just a blindly loyal follower. He responds to Olwen's crisis with a decisive statement and immediately gives a solution to her dilemma. He doesn't wait for Olwen (or anyone) to tell him what to do, nor is he afraid of challenging the status quo or leaving everything they've ever known behind. He is quite sure of himself when he speaks of Olwen's place and ideals ("our ideals"), suggesting that he knows her well, and that they spoke of what they valued to each other at least once before (or that he inferred her values through her past actions). Either way, she trusts him, trusts his judgment enough to desert her country and join the army of someone who'd been their enemy up until now.

Now, when Fred says he "knows Prince Leif personally", what he really means is that they kind of...met outside for like 5 minutes, complained about Kempf's dirty tactics, and then agreed that they have bigger priorities than fighting each other. While this is probably just a case of his Main Character charisma pulling all the allies in, I like to take this as evidence that Fred is a bit reckless and trusts too easily, taking a chance on someone he just met like this. Imo his recklessness is also shown in him storming into the heavily guarded fortress (guarded by his former allies) armed with a sword, a vulnerary, a key, and a metric fuckton of determination to free his Lady or die trying. (He becomes part of Leif's army in this chapter, yes, but from his POV he does still enter alone without any assurance that they would directly help him out.)

As for the trusting too easily part...this time it was fine, because Leif actually IS a decent guy, but I have no doubt that if either Olwen or Fred himself started to feel enough discontent with his morals and his actions, then Fred wouldn't hesitate to suggest they leave again. After all...he's already done it once before. It's not a decision he'd make lightly, but he's also not the type of person to tolerate or support immoral conduct, no matter if it's by his superiors (ex. Kempf) or not.

Ultimately, Fred's role in the story is unimportant. You can let him die, and the plot will progress almost the same. But part of the fun of writing side characters is getting to let them have a life beyond what little screentime they received, and getting to extrapolate and build up a dynamic, believable person based on what little source material you have. You take something interesting from canon that drew you to them, expand upon it, and introduce other people to them and hopefully get others to see why you were so taken with that “unimportant” character to begin with. It's why I ended up becoming a multimuse, and I hope that my blog has managed to get people to notice characters that they might not have considered before ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

So, thanks for reading this, especially if you didn't know much about Fred! He and I appreciate it a lot ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

[yuki7900archive]

(Movie) Garmadon x Misako Pt. 2

PART 1

Hope you guys enjoy ^^

"Hey, mom." Lloyd gripped his mother's hand in his, scooting his chair closer to where she lay. Her eyes were closed and she was as still as a statue, it was so weird to see. She was the happy one, the positive one, the one always on the go. Now she was in a hospital bed. A mask was fitted on her face and a blue gown on her body. She was tucked neatly under the blankets with both arms by her side. She didn't respond to anything. Not a single thing.

"Sorry, I'm late. Wu wanted to do some extra training. He's worried that Garmadon might strike soon. It's weird. We haven't heard anything from him in weeks, not since the accident. I think that's maybe why Uncle is worried." No response. Lloyd carried on.

"The other ninja say hi! Kai also said that when you wake up, he's gonna give you the biggest hug ever, ha-ha, his hugs are the best mom, don't you think?" He asked, rhetorically of course. He knew she wouldn't answer him.

A few more seconds passed with nothing more than the beeping sound of the heart monitor by his mother's bedside. Lloyd squeezed Misako's hand tightly and took a deep breath in.

"Ya' know what I don't get Mom?" His voice wavered. "Why did you...you pushed Garmadon out of the way. You ran under that collapsing building, to save the person who-"

He stopped. Took another deep breath.

"He ruined our lives, mom. He hurts innocent people, he hurt you, and he loves you! So...why?" Of course, no noise came from the woman's mouth. She continued to lay motionless as she slept seemingly peacefully. She was fighting a battle that no one could see, in the eyes of everyone else she looked so relaxed and calm but Lloyd knew that really wasn't the case. She'd fought before, but it was the relentlessness of Garmadon rather than life and death.

Lloyd had so much more he wanted to say to her, loads of things. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, missed her and her amazing dumplings, that she was the greatest mom in the world and he was the worst son ever. He wanted to spend more time with her and do stuff with her, stuff they hadn't been able to do because they were both so busy all of the time. He wanted to away with her somewhere, or just go out for dinner or something. Anything! But more than that, he just wanted her back. Wanted her to be awake and happy. He wanted his mom. He already spent his life fighting against his dad, he didn't want to have to lose another parent.

Lloyd gasped when he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying, but now he couldn't seem to stop. He hiccuped and sobbed as he let his head fall onto the bed and snuggle beside his mother's shoulder. Snot started to run from his nose and his throat clogged up as he tried to breathe and calm himself, however, nothing was working. It just kept pouring out of him. All the emotions he'd kept locked up inside came out in one giant pool of fear, sadness, anger, and regret. He hadn't cried in such a long time. He hadn't let his emotions out in a long time.

He clutched onto his mother's hand even tighter and wept as his thumb stroked her skin. The heart monitor continued to beep in the background, a constant reminder and reassurance that his mother was still alive and okay. That there was still a chance she would make it through all of this. She would heal and recover and, yes, she wouldn't be able to walk for a while...but he'd help her! He'd take care of her and give back all the love and affection she gave him over the years.

It was growing rapidly dark outside as the minutes passed by. Lloyd didn't move from his spot though. If he could he would've spent the entire night with his mom. He would've just lay on the bed next to her, clung to her and stayed with her until she woke up again. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He still had responsibilities and duties as the green ninja, then he also had school to go to as well. He stayed sniffing and sobbing until a nurse came and told him he needed to go home. He said goodbye to Misako, finding it hard to let go of his mother's hand as he slowly walked backward out of the room and left the hospital.

Another hour or so passed, everything in the hospital quiet and still as a majority of the patients slept soundly in their beds. The staff continued their night shifts and got on with their assigned jobs. They were all so busy that they didn't notice what was creeping around in the shadows.

Garmadon.

He used the dark spots to his advantage, creeping along the corridors and stairs to try and find that one room he was looking for. It took him a while to reach it, especially since he was carrying another large bouquet of flowers, but when he did he had a small feeling of dread in his throat. He knew that Misako wouldn't be in the best condition, and he was right. He stopped in his place briefly when he caught the first glimpse of Koko. Despite the room's light having been switched off, the light shining through the window gave a clear enough image for him to see the bruises that littered parts of her body. The cuts had been dressed with plasters and bandages so he couldn't see how bad they were. But presuming by how big some of the plasters were, she'd been hurt pretty badly.

The man tiptoed over to the seat by her bed and sat himself down, checking one last time that no one had seen him come in before saying his ex-wife's name.

"Koko," He paused and coughed. "Listen, I...I uh...I know that if you were awake right now, you'd punch me in the face. I shouldn't really be visiting you, being a criminal and stuff. But I just...I just couldn't, not, see you! You know?" Garmadon shuffled himself a little closer to the ginger-haired woman. He wasn't really sure what to say next, which was odd; he'd planned out everything he was going to say to her before he left. This happened every time he saw her now that he thought about it. His heart would beat louder and all his thoughts would be thrown straight out of the window. He couldn't help it. There was so much about her to love. She was just as awesome as he was, beautiful too. So much so that he couldn't think straight.

"I...I..."He stuttered and looked down in his hands, his eyes widening as he shoved the bouquet towards her. "I got you some more flowers! You seemed to like the last ones, I mean, you never gave them back so, ha-ha..."

He waited for her to take them from his lower pair of arms before remembering that she couldn't, that's when he saw the vase sat on the bedside table near her bed and placed them neatly in there. He made sure all of the flowers stood proudly and to attention, just for her. Her own little army of plants, he chuckled as he thought to himself.

Looking back at his ex-wife, he couldn't seem to understand why his heart hurt as much as it did. They weren't together anymore, they weren't husband and wife, lord and lady, Garmadon and Koko. So...why was he so sad? She'd made it quite clear to him that she wasn't ever going to accept his advances, no matter what he did to try and sweep her off her feet again. If that was the case though, then why was he even here? He loved her? No, Garmadon didn't love things. However when it came to Koko...he would gladly make an exception to the 'not loving things' rule of his.

"Thank you for what you did Koko. I don't know why you did what you did, especially after all I've done, but I promise you...I will repay you someday." His voice slowly decreased to a whisper as he uttered those five words to her. He could feel the burning heat of his flame tears start to collect in his eyes. He wiped his eyes quickly and sniffed before giving a few forced and awkward coughs. Awake or asleep he would never allow Misako to see him cry. He would never live it down.

"I apologize for being so brief but as an evil warlord I have some, uh, evil warlord-ing stuff to do. Very tight schedule and all." The man stood there with two arms behind his back and the other two crosses in front of him. He glanced down at the floor as he said goodbye and started to exit. Just as he was about to leave through the door, he took one final look at Koko with a frown on his face.

He hoped. He prayed. He wished she would wake up soon.

---

The day that Misako woke up again was a joyous occasion for everyone. Kai had given her one of the biggest hugs imaginable, just like he said he would. The rest of the ninja joined in too so it became one big group hug. She was touched, but was also struggling to breathe so they had to cut it short. Lloyd sat beside her on the bed, she rested her head on his shoulder and reached for his hand to squeeze and hold. She was still quite weak and frail but that didn't stop her from beaming a smile and being the most cheerful one in the room.

She was going to be in crutches for a while, the doctor had told her. He said it was most definitely a miracle that her legs hadn't been completely crushed, everyone agreed.

That afternoon Lloyd had stayed with Misako. She didn't want to talk about how she felt or what it was like in that coma, she just wanted to hear about her son. A lot of the questions she'd asked were already answered in previous times where Lloyd had visited her. But she simply had to ask the same question again, just to make sure she'd heard him correctly.

"Yeah mom. We haven't seen Garmadon is ages. Everything's been really peaceful and quiet, not that anyone is really complaining!" She couldn't believe it. He hadn't done anything? At all? That couldn't be true. Garmadon knew how much her son loved her, this accident had got him at his weakest moment. He could've easily attacked, and possibly even succeeded in what he'd been so desperate to achieve. So...why?

---

Thanks to the help of some of Wu's tea, her legs healed a lot quicker than what was originally anticipated. It was amazing how fast the process was, she was sure she'd be out of commission for at least two months, but thanks to his tea she was up and running again in just over two weeks. She wasn't sure what was in that tea but she wasn't going to question it. She was better, and now that she was better, she had some important business to attend to.

She started the day as she usually did, got Lloyd up and ready for school. The second he was out of the door she gathered all of her things, her phone, her purse, all of that stuff and placed it in her handbag. She'd also brought a change of clothes, as she was going to need it later, and shoved them into a large backpack. She'd packed herself an apple for the road too. Then she got her keys, locked the door and took off down to the nearest bus stop.

She hopped on a bus and made her way down to the beach, hiring a jet ski for the day to get to where she needed to be when she got down there. Whilst the bus journey was only 5 minutes, the journey across the ocean would take at least twenty minutes. She went into a changing room, and started to dress into her alternative clothes. She hadn't worn this uniform in years. Whether the head armour was necessary or not she wasn't sure, but it looked weird to wear her old warrior clothes without it.

She quickly consumed her apple in between packing her other clothes into her backpack. She asked the man at the rental place to look after her bag for her, which he did but not without staring in awe at her. Granted, it was rather weird for her to be wearing those clothes on a hot day, so she didn't think too much of it. Making her way down to the pier she jumped onto the nearest vehicle available and drove out into the sea.

The ocean air was refreshing in a weird way. It helped to soothe and relax her. She took deep breaths as she sped along the waves, the water sprayed in her face a little but she didn't care. Nor did she care that her fringe was flapping about in the wind in all different directions. It made her feel alive. She didn't have many opportunities to do things like this, so she was going to make the most of it. And she did, up until she approached the edge of the island where Garmadon's volcano lair stood.

She parked up and slid off the jet ski, parking herself down and beginning to stroll up the beach to the front door. It was quite a trek, more so than she remembered. Her legs started to ache a bit after a few minutes but she brushed off the urge to stop, refusing to accept defeat and take a break when she was only halfway to her goal. That would make her seem weak! She did, however, pause momentarily when she reached the huge metal door that was the entrance to the Volcano. She put her arms on her hips and looked at the lock by the door. It was code activated, irritatingly it seemed there was also no way of getting in other than guessing the code. What would happen if she got it wrong though? It could end horrifically.

"Can I help you," Misako jumped from shock and swiveled herself around to see a woman in a dark navy uniform. Her raven black hair was swept over one side of her face and she had a thin layer of red lipsticks on her lips. Her expression was one of neutrality. She didn't look angry or un-interested just...meh? Was that the appropriate word? How else would you describe a straight face? "Misako?"

The girl in uniform strode over to the door with her arms by her side, her gloved fingers rising up and jabbing against the small keypad on the rectangular box.

"Yes, actually. I've come to see-" Before she could say anything else, an alarmingly loud clunk was heard just as the door began to slowly open. The woman waited patiently until the door had ascended high enough for her to walk under, then she motioned for Misako to follow behind.

The warrior took the chance to look around the lair to see if anything had changed in the past few years she'd been away. She was quite surprised when she saw nothing had changed. She thought for sure he would've made some upgrades or improvements but apparently she was wrong. The corridor was long and had many different paths ways branching off of it. They got about a quarter of the way in before the leader turned a corner and went down a new hallway. Misako trailed behind. She didn't bother with trying to make conversation; she didn't seem like the type who enjoyed small talk.

"Stand there." She pointed to the middle of the floor, just opposite another locked, metal door. Koko cautiously walked in front and stood where she was told, her arms folded across her chest.

"Another code?"

"Yep." Was all she replied with as she typed away at the keypad just a few centimetres away from where the ginger haired warrior stood.

"Does it open the door?"

"Not the one your thinking of, no." Not the-...what did she mean by that? Just as Misako was about to ask, the floor opened up beneath her and she dropped down into a chute. She screamed as she felt herself travel through what was essentially a giant slide. A giant slide that was so steep it was more like she was falling. Soon enough though it started to curve gradually until eventually she was sat down when she finally shot out the other end of the tunnel. She was thrown across the floor, tumbling along as she came to a slow halt on the cold tiled ground.

For a few seconds she just lay there and groaned as she adjusted. She dragged herself up and off the floor, now kneeling on the ground as she rubbed her forehead. She'd just gotten out of hospital, she didn't want to go back in.

"Koko? What are you doing here?" The woman looked up from where she sat and saw her ex-husband stand up from his chair and stare at her in puzzlement. For a good few seconds the pair just looked at each other, and continued to do so as Misako got up from her position on the floor and patted herself down.

"I came here to see you."

"...Why?"

Koko strolled over to him, nervousness suddenly building up in her stomach as she approached him. His expression didn't falter, and neither did his gaze or pose. He remained as he was.

"I was informed you've been pretty quiet recently. Any particular reason?" The warlord shrugged and sat himself back down in his chair.

"I've been busy with warlord stuff." He mumbled and twisted his chair around to face his work desk. As he'd said that, the warrior peered around him and saw nothing but blank pieces of paper. Not a single drawing or sentence had been plotted down. Yes, clearly he'd been very productive.

"Too busy to take down our own son?" Garmadon scoffed, clicking his tongue and tapping a pencil against the table edge.

"What, destroy him whilst his mom was in the hospital? Please. You know that's not my style." Hah, not his style. What a load of trash. He was definitely the kind of person who would completely obliterate something in their weakest moment. Rather than laugh and argue against it, she just went along with the whole charade and nodded.

"You know what is strange though? None of your guards attacked me upon arrival. I would've assumed you'd have men keeping watch." The man shook his head.

"Nah, I ordered my generals to give all their men extra training. I'm preparing for another large scale attack."

"I see. Well...I look forward to seeing you. Things have been boring without you around." This caught the warlord's attention as he peered down at his ex-wife. She said nothing more, giving him one of her smiles. Those smiles he loved so much. He hadn't seen one of those smiles in a very long time. He'd missed them so much. That's when something seemed to snap inside of him and suddenly all these emotions came flooding in.

"Well then, guess I should be going." Just as Koko was about to leave, she felt a strong hand grab her arm and pull her back. She was suddenly caught in a tight embrace, four arms wrapped around her body tightly and a face buried in her orange locks. She gave off a petite laugh and hugged him back. She'd forgotten how nice his hugs were.

"I'm sorry." He choked out. "I'm sorry about the accident. Truly I-"

"Woah, woah, woah! What's this? Garmadon, you're apologizing?"

"It's my fault you ended up in hospital. And when I had to dig you out of that mess I just...it hurt me Koko. In an emotional way." That's when they pulled away from each other's embrace and looked at one another again. Garmadon kept two hands on Misako's back and another two gripping her hands. He wanted to keep her close. This was the closest they gotten to each other (without fighting) in a very long time and he was going to make the most of it.

"It hurt because I saw you and you were so weak. Unable to do anything. I've never seen you that way before. It's truly terrifying. And that's why I owe you. Because you did something for me, something so utterly careless and reckless, despite everything." He had a certain gleam in his eyes as he spoke. One of passion and the upmost seriousness. He wasn't lying. He was being truthful with her. Today was just choc-a-block with surprises.

"If you really feel this way...then..." she paused and cleared her throat a little as she found her voice getting caught. She was getting all emotional now, ugh. That's the last thing she needed. "What did you have in mind?"

Garmadon grinned down at her.

"How does dumplings sound? For dinner I mean." A few seconds passed as Koko laughed and shook her head. Really? He was going to make her dinner? Was this his secret way of getting a date out of her? She was quite sure that's what it was. But this time she wouldn't deny him. This time she'd accept. And she was so glad she did.

He kept to his word and didn't attack Ninjago, they both sat and chatted to one another as they chowed down on dumplings. They threw them in to each other's mouth and chucked them in the air and tried to catch them in their own mouths. They failed horribly but they still had fun, so who cared? Misako told Garmadon all about Lloyd and his childhood, the stuff he had missed, and he listened in fascination. His son may have been his sworn enemy but he couldn't deny, the kid had done well. He was quite proud. He would've made a great warlord but oh well, things don't always work out how you want them too.

The pair sat there for hours and hours as they talked and laughed and relaxed. This was the most fun they'd had around one another in a very long time. It felt nice. Really, really nice. Neither wanted the night to end so Koko ended up staying way later than she had originally thought she was going to. Lloyd was going to be asking her questions non-stop when she got home, for sure. But she didn't care, she'd spent the evening with her ex-husband and had the most fun she's had in years. Maybe one day things could go back to how they were.

She secretly hoped, with a smile on her face at the very thought.

[dj-syrup]

The Unnamed, Episode 01x05: The Bachelorina

"Thank you for calling SJSF, this is Rhiannon speaking, how can I help you?"

It was just another day at the reception desk. Rhi was on their third cup of tea and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

"Hi, Rhiannon. I'm Angela. I was hoping to speak to The Unnamed."

That was a new request. Most of the calls that Rhiannon took were fan calls for Mr. Stewart, which she redirected to his massive PR team, headquartered a few miles away.

"Hmmm... I could redirect you to Ms. Port. She runs the show around here."

"That works. What are her pronouns?"

"She, her and hers."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind if I ask what this about?"

"Not at all. I'm single, and I don't want to be single anymore. I read about The Unnamed in the papers and I thought they might be able to help."

"She wants us to do what?" Ling was not enthused by this idea.

"You heard me, Ling," said Port. "She wants us to find her a date. More specifically, she wants us to find her a significant other."

"Why? Why can't she just do that herself?" Ling was not interested.

"Well, she's pansexual."

"Doesn't that mean that she has twice as many options?" asked Thomas.

"No, it doesn't," said Port. "At least, not twice as many options.She's looking at men who are into women, women who are into women, and a wide array of nonbinary people. Most certainly not twice as many options."

"So why would we do this?" Donnelly was weighing in.

"Do you have anything better to do?" asked Port.

"Not really," Donnelly replied. "I just finished sharpening every pencil in the Nest, and before that, I was categorizing the dishes in the break room by color, size, and microwavability."

Port looked around the room. No-one looked back at her. No-one was willing to say it, but they were bored. The hubbub of their success against the Knights had worn off in the last couple of weeks, and everyone was looking for their next big project.

"We can do it, from a technical perspective," said Winn. "We've proven to be fairly skillful at finding people. It would be nice to look for a nice person for once, instead of a murderer or a drug dealer."

"I agree," said Donnelly. "Let's get started."

Angela showed up at SJSF the next day, after school. She was about 17 years old, dirty blond, with a purple streak in her hair running from the part in her ear-length hair across to her left eyebrow. Her blue eyes shone out from beneath hair that was constantly in the way.

Angela sat, sitting up perfectly straight, in her chair. Ms. Port was facing her, cutting an imposing figure, in a perfectly ironed floral print dress and solid knit top. The effect was a bit overwhelming; she was the queen in this castle.

"So... what are you looking for?" asked Winn.

"Well, I'm pansexual," she replied, "so I'm looking for a gay woman, or a straight man, or some non-binary person. I've never been very comfortable with the idea of dating non-binary people, though, and I've never been able to put a finger on why. I might just not be romantically interested in them generally. I don't know"

"That's okay. This is about what you want, what you're comfortable with. Don't worry about that. We'll find you someone. Are you picky about looks?"

"No, not really. I'm partial to chocolate brown hair, on both men and women. The effect of chocolate hair framing green eyes is really striking, too, so that would be nice. I would want a woman about my height, but a man a bit taller than I. Not a lot, mind you, otherwise kissing is tricky, but an inch or two."

"K. I get that. I remember when my husband was still around..." and Port lost her focus for a second, before regaining it. "But that was a while ago. Anyway. What do you like between the ears?"

"Between the ears?"

"In their brains. How they talk, what they say, how they act. Do you like cocky guys? Shy?"

What Port had said finally registered with Angela. "I like people who are kind. There are far too many people out there who just don't think about what they say, what they do, and they don't ever understand the damage they do."

"K. What else?"

"I like people who are smart, but who aren't cocky. Some people... geez. You work with smart people. You know how it is sometimes." Port nodded. "Otherwise... I don't know. There are some people I just click with. I need someone that I click with."

Ms. Port was talking to herself as she took notes. "Clicks... with. K. Anything else?"

"Nope. Not really."

Angela thanked Ms. Port and went home. What she didn't know was that by the time she got back to her house, the information that Ms. Port had gathered would be spread across the Social Justice Special Forces Headquarters. The physical descriptions were on their way to a sketch artist, the psychological stuff was on the way to a psychologist, and the whole set was getting passed to Winn, Thomas, and their crews. This girl was going to get a date.

"We got you a date." Port was calling Angela to give her the good news.

"Really? When?"

"Well, it would be more accurate to say that we found you someone to go on a date with. You still have to call him and set it up. It looks weird if we do it."

"Yeah, I guess it would. How did you find this guy?"

"He goes to the same school as my son. My son doesn't get along with him too well, but he's a match for what you gave us, so we'll help set you up."

"That makes it sound like you found me an organ donor."

"Believe me, I could find you a kidney much easier than I can find you a boyfriend or a girlfriend for that matter. There are lists and registries for stuff like that. Anyway. I'm sending you an email with the information you need. Let me know what you end up planning and I'll have my team there to back you up."

"And... that makes me sound like an operative on a dangerous mission to a gala or something." She paused. "I'm sorry. Having a bit of a rough day. I really do appreciate all the help."

"You're welcome. Don't make me sorry, alright?"

"I won't."

With Port's help, Angela set up a date with Charlie. They found a coffee shop that did wood-fired pizza and stand-up comedy on Friday nights. Of course, the coffee shop did beers on tap, but both Angela and Charlie were too young for that sort of thing, so they were just going to watch all the adults get drunk and do stupid stuff.

The coffee shop had a building under construction next door, which meant that having a utility truck parked next door wouldn't have looked out of place, and it didn't. Thomas, Port, and Donnelly stayed in the truck, while Winn monitored from headquarters. Ling was on the roof of the building with a pair of binoculars and a sniper rifle that she insisted she needed. Kira and Sergeant Foster were in the building itself, having a daddy-daughter date that neither of them was quite comfortable with.

"I'm telling you, Ling, you don't need that rifle." Donnelly was trying to talk down Ling.

"Can you conclusively prove that I will not need my rifle?"

"You know how hard it is to prove a negative."

"Well, that's your problem, not mine, isn't it?"

Donnelly sighed and gave up. As long as Ling didn't shoot anyone everything should be fine.

"Foster, how are things looking?" Port was checking in on everyone, making sure that they were all in place.

"Things are fine here, for the most part. Have you seen the prices they're charging for food? I haven't paid nine bucks for a slice of pizza since I went to the Yankees versus the Red Sox last year."

"We're covering your expenses, remember?"

"Still."

"Ling, how are things looking?" Port moved on.

"Things are looking good up here. The construction workers seemed a little surprised to see me, but with the size of rifle I'm carrying, I think they decided to leave me alone."

Port shook her head sadly. "We told you, you don't need that rifle. Besides, it will make people nervous."

"Nonsense. I have permission to be here, I have permission to carry this gun. Where's the issue?"

Winn cut in from headquarters. "Hey, guys, can we cut the chit-chat, please? We can fight about Ling's rifle later."

There was silence for a minute, until Ling chimed back in. "Angela's Porsche just pulled in."

Donnelly turned to Thomas. "Where did she get a Porsche from?"

"Mr. Stewart's personal lot," said Thomas. "It was his idea."

"Any sign of the boy yet?" asked Foster.

"No, no sign. Angela is a few minutes early."

"Can you guys hear me alright?" Angela was in the loop now.

"Yes, you're coming through loud and clear," Thomas replied. "You're go for entry, whenever you're ready."

"You guys make it sound so formal. You all need to loosen up a bit. Port, are you sure my microphone won't show?"

"Are you wearing the outfit we discussed?" asked Port.

"Yes."

"Then you're fine. Just don't make out with him too hard and you'll be fine."

"On a first date? I don't think that will be an issue." She paused. "Any tips, from any of you, about how to stop my heart racing? I haven't been on a date in a long time."

"Just breathe deeply," suggested Port, "and keep in mind that this guy is probably nervous too."

"And keep your finger off of the trigger until you're ready to fire." added Ling.

"There's not a gun involved here," said Port.

"Oh, right." There was an embarrassed silence. "Sorry."

"I'm going in," said Angela. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," said Port. "We don't plan on needing it though."

Angela went in.

The appointed time for her date to arrive came and went.

And he didn't show up.

There was a sniper in the building next door. There was a retired Army sergeant in the building, an ex-Navy SEAL across the street, and a battery of analysts watching video feeds.

And the whole thing didn't work.

Because the boy didn't show up.

"Angela?" Mr. Stewart was looking for Angela. He found her, crying in his Porsche 911 GT3.

"I'm sorry for messing up the seats in here," said Angela. "I know this is a really expensive car."

"No, you're fine," said Mr. Stewart. "If you're going to cry in a car, a Porsche is a nice car to cry in. I was going to have my car detailed tomorrow anyway." It was a lie, and they both knew it, but it was a kind thing to say, and so Angela didn't call him on it.

Mr. Stewart climbed in on the passenger side.

"I heard that your date stood you up."

"Yeah, he did."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I mean, why? Why would someone do something like that? I go out of my way, out on a limb, to see if this person is worth having around me, and he can't even be bothered to show up."

"Sometimes, people are cruel, and sometimes people make mistakes. It happens."

"But why does it keep happening to me? Why does no-one want me?"

"Can I present a different point of view?"

"Sure."

"If you already had somebody, someone special in your life, would you keep looking for someone better?"

"Not really."

"Even if he wasn't what you wanted? Would your fear of being alone, of being lonely, keep you from moving on because something bad is better than nothing?"

"I might look at better people with longing, and if it got bad enough, of course, I would leave."

"But trading up would be tricky, right?"

"Yeah, it would be. Messy too."

"And that's the thing with dating a lot of people until you find the right one. Trading up is easier. And I know that it's hard, feeling like you're not wanted, but the day will come when you find the right person, and all of this will be worth it."

"Jean-Luc-" Angela cut herself short, and her cheeks flushed a bright red. "Sorry. I'm a huge Star Trek fan."

"No need to worry, I know many of your kind."

"Do you remember when you recited love poetry, to try and get Lwaxana Troi back?"

"Yes. I've never forgotten the time that the show's creator told me to hit on his wife."

"That was his wife?"

"Yup."

"I always thought it was funny." She laughed an awkward, coughing kind of laugh, and then wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I thought it was funny too, a gay man hitting on his boss's wife at his insistence. Lwaxana never found love, did she?"

"No, and I thought it was one of the saddest parts of Star Trek."

"Don't worry, Angela. If there's someone for you, we'll find him. Or her."

And pulling the pocket square from his suit pocket, he wiped the tears from her cheek, handed her the pocket square, and stepped out of his car.

The pocket square was monogrammed.

A week later, Angela was on another date, and Donnelly was sitting in the truck listening in horror.

"Did she really just say that?" asked Donnelly.

"Yes, Angela's stupid date did just say that," retorted Ling. "Why do you ask?"

"Sorry, Winn, forgot I had my mic on," said Donnelly. "At what point do we pull her out of there, gracefully or otherwise?"

"There's a key phrase, and we'll pull her out once she uses it," replied Winn.

"Or if her life is in danger," added Ling.

"I don't think her life will be in danger," stated Port. "This is a coffee shop, and we have Foster and Kira in there again if something goes wrong."

The team had decided, as a group, to use the same mission format for all of the dates that they were assisting Angela with. Mr. Stewart had tried, unsuccessfully, to talk Ling out of her sniper rifle. He ended up bowing to her superior tactical knowledge.

"That's it," said Donnelly. "I'm not going to listen to some punk treat Angela like this. I'm going in."

"Sit down, Donnelly," said Port. "She hasn't asked us to pull her out, so we're not going to."

They waited. Finally, with a hint of animosity, Angela bid her date a good night and fairly ran for the door.

"Why didn't you ask us to pull you out of there?" asked Port. "We had people who could have done it without making a huge deal out of it. What was up?"

"I didn't want to make a scene," she replied, "and that girl was really hot. I didn't want to piss her off."

"I don't care how hot she is," stated Ling. "That doesn't give her a reason to walk on you."

Angela ignored Ling. "Do we have another date lined up?"

"I've got someone else for you to try," said Winn. "I'm texting you his name and number."

Angela's phone went off. She unlocked it, read the text, and put her phone back in the back pocket of her jeans. "Let's get going," she said. "I want to be far away from here when that girl finds the sign I put on her back."

Donnelly had gotten bored in the truck during the third date, and so he had started making video logs.

"Date three," he started. "Things are going well, but Angela's date is an entitled piece of snot instead of the obscene piece of snot we dealt with last time."

Donnelly's radio squawked in the background, and he picked it up. "Say again?"

Winn's voice was distinct this time. "You were getting a rare apology from me," she said. "The line 'if you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best' should have been a red flag when we were vetting this girl."

Donnelly paused his video log and turned to Port. "How are things going with our friend?"

Winn shook her head sadly and handed Donnelly a headset. Angela's mic was picking up her voice fine, but her date's voice was a bit fainter.

"You know I'm a ballerina," said Angela. "I was one of the principal dancers in my company's production of Swan Lake."

Christina's voice was faint but distinct. Donnelly didn't need to look at the video feed to see the sneer on Christina's voice. "I was cast in the lead role when my company did it last year," she asserted. "We're getting ready for The Nutcracker this Christmas, and I've already been cast as Clara. The boy playing the Nutcracker is so dreamy... I might actually kiss him at the end. I haven't decided yet."

Donnelly turned towards Port again. "And she hasn't asked us to get her out of there?"

"Not yet," replied Port.

Winn's voice squawked from the radio again. "She said the key phrase. Kira, Foster, move now. And Ling, hold your fire. She's not in danger."

Kira walked over to Angela, with her father walking behind her and a bit to her right.

Angela fixed Christina with her gaze. "You have done an excellent job convincing me that you are better than me in every conceivable way. I see no reason to continue this date. Have a nice night."

Christina looked up in shock as Angela stood up. "And what about your bill?"

"Well," said Angela, "as you are better than me in every way, I assume that included being better off than me financially. You can cover it."

"You can't-" Christina had spotted Foster staring her down. Angela walked away.

Christina shouted across the coffee house. "Hey, blondie!"

Kira turned around.

"Yes, you. You single?"

Kira considered what to do for a second.

"Nope," she said. "Got a boyfriend." And Kira flipped her off.

That was the end of that.

There were a number of other dates that Angela went on. Every time, something went wrong. She was stood up twice more. One of her dates was obsessed with anime and spent the entire time talking about it. One of the guys wouldn't stop flirting with the waitress.

But every time the team failed, they learned something. Winn and Thomas honed their research skills and algorithms. Donnelly got really good at sitting in the truck and doing nothing. Kira and Sergeant Foster grew closer to each other, and Ling finally traded her sniper rifle for a shotgun mic.

There was a slight hiccup with Kira, Zach, and Christina, but that was solved with a staged, but very loud and public, breakup.

Time passed.

Donnelly, with nothing else to do, was making video logs again. "Date number 13," he started yet again. "We still haven't succeeded in finding a guy or a girl for Angela. Things are starting to get tense."

"Would you shut up, Donnelly?" asked Port. "You're really not helping anything."

Donnelly turned back to the webcam on his laptop. "Like I said, things are a little tense. For what it's worth, though, this date is going well. The guy is kind, sensitive, a bit funny; if I were a bit older, and not currently dating someone, I would date him."

"Sorry to interrupt, Donnelly," said Ling, "but we have a problem. You know how this building is supposed to be empty?"

"Yes?"

"And you know how there's a bank across the street from me, to the west of the coffee shop?"

"What are you saying, Zhi?"

"Well, I think I finally figured out what's going on. There's a bank robbery in progress right now. A couple of guys just took a case of gelignite into the basement of the building. I think all of the dirt that they've been trucking out of here has been for a tunnel under the bank."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. You know what I really wish I had right now? A sniper rifle. I could have dropped those guys before this became an issue. But no, I didn't need one, did I?"

Ling had been talking on the main radio loop, which meant that everyone, including both Fosters and Angela, had heard the news. Port stepped in to do damage control.

"Angela, stay put. Don't say anything. You're safe. Kira, Foster, that goes for you too. Donnelly. Take a pair of assault rifles and sidearms -- whatever you want -- from the truck's armory and meet Ling on the ground floor. Investigate those robbers."

Angela nodded, and Kira passed on her agreement to the rest of the team. Donnelly grabbed the weapons and ran into the building, finally glad to be doing something useful.

While Ling and Donnelly entered the tunnel to stop the bank robbery, Angela was struggling to maintain appearances with her date.

"So... funny bit of weather we've been having," she said.

Dale laughed. "Yes, it is a funny bit of weather we've been having." He paused. "You don't get out much, do you?"

Angela laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah... I don't like the sun. It's too bright. Makes me sweaty."

"You're sure you're not a vampire?"

She laughed again. "Yes, I'm sure. I can see myself in mirrors, even though I don't want to sometimes."

"You know," he said, looking right into her eyes, "You're awkward. You're kind of a clutz. You've obviously cleaned yourself up for this date, but this doesn't seem like your normal state."

"Thanks."

"No, no, hear me out." He continued. "But at the same time, you're real. I'm so tired of fake people. I ask a customer at work how their day is going, and every time, it's the same answer. 'It's going fine,' they say. The nice ones ask me about my day. And every time, because this is how it works, I say the same thing.

"But you... You're different. If I asked you, you would actually tell me. You would say, 'Oh, today has kind of sucked. My mom got mad at me.' Or you would say 'My friend's goldfish died today, and she's really sad, but I don't really care even though I should.'

"You are beautiful, Angela, both in body and in heart. Shall I compare you to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely, and more temperate..."

Angela, looking both nervous and excited, looked back at Dale. "Shakespeare? I had no idea you were so well read."

"Uh, no, not Shakespeare. Star Trek."

And Angela's expression melted. She had found the right one.

And then it was Kira, at her side again. "I hate to break this up," she said, "but we need to get this place empty. Can you give me a hand?"

The robbers were on the ground, clutching the knees where they had been shot by the rifles of Donnelly and Ling. Donnelly walked over to the bottom of the concrete pad that the vault was sitting on and looked at the explosives so carefully laid across it.

Something wasn't right.

He took a look at the labels. The explosives were labeled as gelignite, just like Ling had said, but they smelled wrong.

He smelled it again.

"Ling, we need to evacuate the coffee shop. These idiots used the wrong explosives."

"I thought that was gelignite."

"That's what it's labeled as, but it's actually C-4. We need to go. Now."

"Can't you disarm it? Can't I disarm it?"

"No. There's not time. These people are idiots. We need to get out of here. Take one of the robbers, I'll take the other one. Winn?"

"Heard you. How much TNT?" asked Winn.

"Probably several hundred pounds. And this tunnel is unstable as is."

"Okay. Get them out. I'll have Kira and Foster evacuate the place."

Everyone was in a mad rush to get out of the coffee shop. Saying there was a bomb next door, while not the most tactful approach, certainly worked.

"Go! Go! GO!!" shouted Kira, trying to push everyone out.

Angela and Dale were in the back of the line to get out of the door. The panic spurred by Sergeant Foster's announcement was making exiting the building difficult.

And then there was a boom and a roar, and the building quivered and shook.

Pieces of the ceiling started falling in.

And then, with a great rush, the rest of the crowd got outside just as the building started to collapse. The tunnel had gone under the coffee house and had collapsed when the explosives went off.

Angela and Dale hit the ground, knocked over by the force of the blast.

"You know," gasped Angela, as they lay on the ground with their breaths knocked out of them, "I think I like you."

"I think I like you too," replied Dale. "The next time we go out, though, can we leave the bank robbers out of it?"

They both laughed.

"So... mission accomplished?" Port asked Angela after she had taken Dale home for the night.

"Yep. He's a really nice guy. I will let you know if things don't work out, though."

"Please do. This was fun."

"Do you have anyone in your life right now, Ms. Port?"

"Not really. It's been a low priority. I have to take care of my kid."

"Fair enough." Angela paused. "Thank you, again, for the help. Send my regards to Mr. Stewart?"

"Will do."

As Angela got out of the car, she was elated. She and Dale had planned another date, this time to a ballet performance of Swan Lake. Donnelly had agreed to run security, and she was borrowing Mr. Stewart's Porsche again.

Tonight was a good night. All was well.