#I know the gloves on the wrong hand but I’m a righty and wanted to be on my phone 😂

[godlikegallagher]

Peak at my try at Izzy Hands for Halloween

Where my Izzy apologists at?

[solliewriter]

Archery for Writers

In this post, I'll basically tell you the small stuff: e.g., what your archer will complain about to other archers, how different bows sound, what it's like shooting in the rain or snow, finding the goddamn arrows, etc. I’m also going into technical details and will discuss the legendary Robin Hood shot.

If you want a good basic primer, T.S. Strange on Instagram did a pretty good job https://www.instagram.com/p/COat-W1rQ7o/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

But, if you're ready for beyond the basics, I've got you covered.

To be clear, my knowledge of archery is primarily Western traditional archery. PLEASE research the history of the type of bow you choose as they’re all unique. There’s a reason why Mongolian bows are so different than English longbows.

I have primarily shot in thick, brushy forest (not parks, actual wilderness), so when you read, that I'm talking about that setting unless specified. My favored bow is a reflex/deflex, which is basically a recurve/longbow hybrid. I have also been doing archery for as long as I can remember, so yes I know how to shoot.

SOUNDS

Different bows make different sounds. Recurve bows are loud. They make this twangy sound when you use them, unless you put a silencer on the string. This silencer is usually a fluff-type thing that is woven around and through the string. The silencer doesn't make them perfectly silent. It's more of a muffler than a silencer.

Longbows are quieter, but they still make noise. It's short, grunt-like hum that usually only the archer and their immediate compatriots can hear.

For Your Character (FYC): a recurve archer and a longbow archer will very likely pester each other about noise.

SIGHT, pt1

You can shoot blind. Sorta. No, you can't put on a blindfold and still hit your target, but you can and will extrapolate what you see. As mentioned, I've done almost all of my shooting in the forest, in the mountains. Visibility is  less than perfect. You have to aim through hundreds of branches, and the likelihood of hitting a branch and sending your arrow flying into No Man's Land is very likely as a beginner and amateur. Shooting through the forest isn't like in Lord of the Rings or Hunger Games, unless that forest is a well maintained park with marked trails made by things other than deer and bear. (FYI, bear trails are perfect for humans.) Half the time, if you move an inch the wrong way, your arrow will be way off target. Missing by an inch means missing by several feet, which is really far in archery.

More than once, you see your target at one angle, but can't shoot it at another. I've experienced this frequently because my Viking sized dad will pick targets that I, his 5'2" daughter, am too short to see. I have to stand on tip toes to see his target, then lower myself into almost a crouch to shoot. I still hit the target.

FYC: Besides the obvious banter that comes from discussing height differences, there are a few other things to note. In the forest, it can be hard to find two good angles to shoot something. This can lead to frustration, complaining, attempts to get the other archer out of the way, and etc.

SIGHT, pt 2

I’m talking about recurve/longbows, so there are no actual sights to look through. 

This is where things are controversial. There’s a gap shooting and an instinctive shooting. Gap shooters guess the distance, then aim. Instinctive shooters just sorta ... wing it.

I’m not going to throw shade at either method. But here’s a key reason why one would use one style or another: gap shooting is largely ineffective in mountainous, forested terrain when you can’t really see much. So, if you have an archer from a prairie and an archer from the mountains, it’s likely they use different aiming styles.

Side note: Flu-flu shots are unique and fun shots that use big feathery arrows. You shoot nearly straight up in hopes of getting your arrow on top of the target rather than straight toward it. When doing this, you can either look at the target or look at your arrow angle, but you can't do both at the same time. You have to shoot blind. Flu-flu shots aren't good for killing creatures, but they are pure fun. This is a good example of using instinctive shooting rather than gap shooting. Also, flu-flu shots are prone to being highly effective by the wind, and it’s very easy to get them stuck in a tree for all eternity. There’s a shooting area my roving family calls “The Valley of Lost Flu-Flu’s.” It’s called this for very good reason.

SMELLS

Bows don't smell, unless you've just added beeswax to the string (strings fray, wax stops that). Arrows smell for about a day after you paint them and glue them.

Leather, however, smells and remains smelly forever. I personally like the smell (though I suppose I'm actually smelling the oil, not the leather). It's very hard to describe, partially because I have so many memories involved. Unfortunately, I have to leave this to you. Just note, leather from armguards, quivers, and pouches don't smell the same as couches and your typical urbanite materials. Find your hippie friend and ask them to make you a leather bracelet or something. That'll teach you the smell.

FYC: Your archer will have very strong memories associated with the smell of leather and beeswax. They will be warm fuzzy memories.

TOUCH, aka shooting in the cold weather

All right, it's cold, and your character is wearing a big coat. Big, puffy sleeves to fit all those layers beneath. No biggie, just nock the arrow, draw, and shoot ...

FWAP!

The string hits the character's coat sleeve. The arrow goes about ten feet before falling limp to the ground like a sad puppy.

To fix this, you need to tie a thick band around your character's sleeve. Easy peasy.

Now, your OC tries shooting again. Unfortunately, it’s been raining, so to their dismay, they've noticed that their turkey fletchings (standard in the western US states) have flattened and shrunk. It looks like there is barely any fletching at all. Fear not, the arrow will still fly. It'll just make aiming a bit harder, but not terribly worse. Those fletchings are just stabilizers.

Your OC goes home. When they take off their shooting glove/tab, they notice their fingers are yellow. Oh no! Don't worry, your OC is not sick, the dye has just come off the leather in the rain. It'll wash off, but it'll probably happen every time the leather gets wet for the next few months unless your OC makes a new glove/tab that isn't dyed.

LEFTIE VS RIGHTIE

It is extremely uncommon to find a left-handed archer. This is because even if someone’s right-handed doing their day-to-day things, it doesn’t mean they’re going to be right-handed for archery.

In archery, whether you shoot left or right handed is determined by your eye dominance. Most people are right-eyed dominant, so much so it’s very hard for a left-eye dominant archer (such as myself) to find new bows. And I mean really hard. Go anywhere and there’s a severe shortage of left-dominant archery gear simply because it’s that rare (hah I’m special- jk).

BOWS

There are manufactured bows (lame), and there are good bows. Yes, there’s a huge difference.

I’m not sure of the technical terms, but here’s my experience.

Manufactured bows, i.e., the cheap bows you find at a renaissance fair, are typically made from a type of plastic. Good traditional bows, from almost any country, are custom-made from wood that the bowyer (bow-maker) has shaped, treated, and glued.

Bows are a lot like musical instruments. Essentially, manufactured bows (or guitars, violins, etc.) are poor quality because they’re made of cheap materials which make the shooting quality less than superb (more on that later), and because they aren’t given the attention they need, which makes them of lesser quality because they’re just ... eh. Special treatment makes for a better bow.

Like musical instruments, there are a lot of different types. Most websites say there are only four (recurve, longbow, compound, and crossbow), but that’s not quite true. These acknowledge the four general shapes of a bow, but not the subtypes. For example, Mongolian bows are recurves, but tend to be shorter than Western recurves because Mongolian recurves are meant to be shot on horseback.

SHOOTING QUALITY 

So, what is it like shooting a good bow?

Again, I’m speaking from experience with recurves, longbows, and reflexes.

A good bow has good speed. It moves the arrow faster than slower. This is a relative scale because recurves shoot arrows faster than longbows, and reflex/deflex tend to shoot faster than longbows but slower than recurves.

WEIGHT

Is it possible for people to have pulled 100 pounds of weight in a bow back in the olden days, or are people just confused?

Yes, it’s possible.

My dad, who used to do archery once or twice a week, had a 100 pound bow that he shot fairly regularly. That was before his shoulder injuries and, y’know, age. 

Also note that he’s practically a Viking.

I pulled 50 pounds at 28 inches when I was doing it regularly, although now I probably have to go back to 45 pounds.

BASIC SHOOTING FORM

This is going to be heavily effected by your character’s culture, bow, and upbringing.

There’s the English, upright stance for shooting a longbow. The archer stands very straight, and their pull hand goes to anywhere between the lip and the ear.

There’s the forest stance, which is my own, and that’s slightly bent over to avoid string-slaps, finger to cheekbone. Also, I made up the forest stance, so don’t Google it.

Then there’s Walt Wilhem, who, due to physical disability, had to shoot from the hip and was still one of the best archers in the world. Watch the video of him and his brother:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np8u69YfSA8

THE ROBIN HOOD SHOT

This is actually very attainable. I’ve done it six times. My dad has done it about 30 times. I have a friend who did it about 25 times.

In order for this situation to realistically happen (if you’re writing something unrealistic, you really shouldn’t bother reading all of this), the character needs to prep a few things.

1. Years of experience. At least six, and that’s assuming your archer shoots at least seven hours a week, without missing an hour.

 2. At six years the archer might get a few Robin Hood shots. Very likely, it’ll be at a shorter distance and the arrow they’re shooting will be cross-wise instead of straight down the shaft.

3. At ten years, it’s quite likely your Robin Hood has shot straight down the shaft a few times.

4. Your Robin Hood must seek to improve every week.

SOME QUICK TIPS

unless you’re Walt Wilhem, you always pull from your back, not your arm

you never fire an arrow

back quivers are quieter and more mobile than hip quivers (suck it hipsters)

it takes practice and long fingers, but it’s quite doable to hold both a bow and an arrow in one hand while shooting

there is a system for very fast nocking 

beginners have no clue what this system is and so take several minutes to nock their arrow.

contrast, it takes a second for an experienced archer.

someone who doesn’t take long to aim is often called a snap shooter, and this isn’t exactly complimentary.

This ought to take you far in your journey of writing an archer. I’ve been sitting on this post for about a year now, but still need to add to it. PLEASE google the following in case I don’t get to sharing the info.

arrow breakage

bow breaking

materials for arrows

types of wood for bows

types of wood for arrows

arrow spine weight

bow tuning

bow shelfs

different forms

holding a bow

stringing a bow

bow at rest

temperatures + bows

fletching types

aerodynamics 

quivers

moving around

how to find the goddamn arrows

[shattered-mirror-fanfic]

This isn’t even my final form! *laughs in angst*

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32206135/chapters/83214115

Chapter below cut for non-Ao3 readers: 

“It’s not that bad…” Reginald said softly, gripping his right arm to cover up the fresh cut. Right frowned more before sighing. 

“It is, ya have to put an end to this before he aims to kill ya!” Right practically shouted. He grabbed a bandage wrap and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the medkit. "Now give me your arm." 

"Righty, I'm fine, this isn't the worst pain I've felt, you know that." The brunette extended his cut arm to his friend. Right poured some of the rubbing alcohol on a rag, then ran it against the fresh wound. Reginald let out a quiet hiss at the stinging and gripped his right arm with his left. 

"Y'know, kind of tempted to teach ya self defense since this keeps happenin'" The Aussie chuckled as he set down the rag and started to wrap the bandage around the disinfected cut. 

"I know self defense! You were there!" Reginald said, defending himself. 

"Sure, then how come you got this cut in the first place?" Right teased. Reginald puffed his cheeks and shoved the ginger with about the force of a teddy bear. "Okay kitten, I got your point now." 

Right laughed a bit while Reginald sat there, cheeks puffed and red and crossing his arms. "Y'know Reg, you're cute when you're mad." With this comment Reginald turned bright red and shot his hands up to cover his face. Right laughed more and closed the kit, standing up to set it on the wooden desk next to the bed. Reginald grabbed his gloves from beside him and put them back on, avoiding any and all eye contact with his companion. “Reg, y’know that just because I gave you a compliment that doesn’t mean ya get to hide from me now.��� Right said, calming his tone. He sat back on the bed next to the brunette, placing a hand on the other's back and rubbing it thoughtfully. Reginald nodded and smiled, before yawning and stretching his arms. “Actually I really want to tell you that-”

“Oh goodness! It’s so late, I hadn’t realised! I’m so sorry Right but you’re going to have to hold that thought! I have some more paperwork to do before tomorrow and it’s already 10:30, oh dear.” Reginald interrupted, letting his anxiety build up the more he rambled on. 

“No, no, it’s fine, it wasn’t that important anyways. I’ll just head off and leave you to work then.” Right responded with a bit of despair in his voice. He got up and walked over to Reginald’s bedroom door, turning back to look at his friend. “Don’t burn yourself out again.”

~~~

Right regretted that day so much. It had been 14 years and he could never let that day go, and now all that regret he felt came right back at him, much harder than ever. The one thing he regretted about that day was not being able to say what he wanted to. But he couldn’t focus on that right now, right now, he had to panic over the fact that a stupid fucking flower tried to kill Reginald for the second time. 

He had collapsed on the ground grabbing the broken soul from the glass shards and holding it close to his chest. 

“Oh lord! I am so sorry! Shit, shit, shit, I’ll think of something.” Flowey spoke in a panic. He flipped through the book, trying to find an alternative to save the soul. Right just sat there paralyzed with despair. Tears started forming at the corners of his cyan eyes. He couldn’t say a single word, he knew Reginald would fade soon, there was nothing he could say. 

Flowey continued looking through the book when he spotted something he didn’t recognise. 

“Hey big guy, do you know what a soul bond is? It says here it’s the two human equivalent of monsters absorbing human souls.” The flower asked. Right had only a vague idea of soul bonds from hearing Henry talking to himself about them. But, there was one thing he knew for sure, it would be Reginald’s last resort.

“Tell me what to do.” Flowey glanced over the pages before clearing his throat.

“Ok, apparently this is going to be easier if you’re a DETERMINATION soul. What you need to do is channel your DETERMINATION to his soul, get the soul rebooted with that, then you’re going to try and get his soul bound to you in some way, it’s not very descriptive at this part.” He instructed. Right didn’t fully understand, but he knew he would still have to try his best. 

Cradling his best friend’s soul in his hands, he focused on it, he felt as though he would be able to fix it. He didn’t pay attention to anything else, not even to his own soul that had been drawn out. He needed to fix Reginald. He was DETERMINED.

Right felt his soul grow heavier and saw out of the corner of his sight, it glowing brighter. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, then he was hit with a wave of pain that made him feel like his skin was being torn off. 

“Oi flower boy! Get the doc!” The man shouted as he bent over more in pain. Flowey managed to tilt his pot enough to fall over, he pulled himself out of the pot with the table ledge as a stable support then proceeding to fall onto the ground before sinking in. 

The Right Hand Man gripped his chest with his left hand, still using his right to hold his chief’s soul. His own soul was glowing bright, blindingly so. Right had to close his eyes from how bright his soul got.

“Reg! You have to work with me here! I need you to be strong right now! Please! I…” He paused, letting more tears fall down his face. “I love you!” 

 And then…

He opened his eyes again, the bright glow stopped, the shards that had chipped off of Reginald’s soul stayed in place. A stream of red DETERMINATION flowed from Right’s soul to the other, filling the break like it was glue. The shards reversed, attaching themselves to the soul once more. 

He was fixed.

~~~

Flowey re-emerged from the ground in a panic, looking around for anyone, to only see Frisk, the white-haired human, and their once sibling. He sighed and burrowed down again to get closer. 

“Listen Frisk I’m just saying…..what are you doing here?” Chara started before addressing the appearance of the flower. Flowey couldn’t choke this time, he knew what he had to do.

“Where’s the doctor?!” He shouted. The two humans and the ghost were a bit startled at this.

“Why? Is something wrong?” Henry asked. 

“Um...god, what was his name again? Why can’t I remember it?! I only remember how stupid it was!” Flowey panicked to himself. Henry immediately knew what was going on.

“Right Hand Man! Is he in danger?!” Flowey nodded in response.

“He’s in the medical tent! And the souls in trouble too!” With the mention of something having gone wrong with Reginald’s soul, Henry shot up. 

“I’ll go get the doctor, you kids stay here!” He explained, focusing attention to Frisk and Chara. He ran off in the direction of where everyone else was, leaving Flowey, Frisk and Chara alone.

“So, um, how are you doing Flowey?” Frisk asked nervously. Chara glared at the Flower.

“It was your fault wasn’t it? That’s all you do.” They said. 

“No, I was just helping.” Flowey argued. 

“And you helped the underground by stealing all of our souls?”

“Chara! He did manage to break the barrier, cut him some slack.” Frisk stated. “Plus, he’s really trying to make amends.”

“your friend is right, y'know kiddo, that flower’s done some awful stuff.” Frisk turned around to see the voice coming from Sans.

“Hello smiley trashbag, when’d you get here?” Flowey asked.

“just now, thought i should poppy in.” He laughed. Flowey rolled his eyes. “anywho, i came here to inform you kiddo that your new friends seem, not so great.”

“What do you mean Sans? They’re really nice.” Frisk asked.

“niceness can only get a soul so far, especially for level 13 soul.” Frisk was shocked at this comment. “judging by your expression, you never even CHECKED them, kid, that’s like asking for a fight. i only got to check henry as he was searching for alph, so who knows about the others.”

“Sans, you’re being paranoid! If they haven't hurt us yet then, then won’t hurt us soon.” Sans sighed at what Frisk said.

“just be careful kid. You should not trust people who came from another world.” His tone had shifted from his usual one, to a serious tone. “anyways, i’m off to check in on pap.” 

Before Frisk could even speak again, he was gone.

~~~

Alphys had been in one of the tents nearest to the medical tent, talking with Undyne about some anime they hoped to watch since on the surface, it’d be much easier to access new anime. As they were discussing, Henry ran in, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Woah there punk! What’s got you all riled up?” The tall fish lady asked. 

“Emergency...in the medical tent...danger!” Henry spoke between pants. Alphys jumped in surprise. The three of them rushed to the medical tent, throwing open the fabric entrance to see Right Hand Man trying to get up off the floor using the nearby chair as support.

“Oh my goodness! A-are you ok?!” The doctor asked in a panic, rushing over to help them man up.

“M’fine, jus’ a little after shock. Nothin’ I ‘aven’t ‘andled before.” Right answered in his usual thick accent while rubbing the left side of his head.

“Then why’d...your eye!” Henry started before cutting himself off as he noticed that Right’s left eye had gone from it’s normal turquoise color to a light blue shade, with even the red ring around the iris having changed to a teal color. Alphys looked up at the aussie before noticing the same change. 

“I-It’s true! Whatever you did must’ve changed your soul!” She explained, pressing a hand against Right’s chest and retracting it to let his soul be drawn out. 

His normal soul did pop out, but it had faint teal orbits circulating it. Along with his soul, a familiar light blue one also appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, it’s break had been sealed with solid DETERMINATION and even had more pumping through newly visible veins.

“Is that?! No it can’t be...unless…” The other human started before trailing off into his thoughts. Then he noticed the discarded leather book on the table, opened to the page with a familiar process. “You binded your soul with the chief’s, didn’t you?” Right looked away for a moment while raising a hand to the teal soul and stroking it lovingly. 

The soul glowed brighter.

“It was the only option, Reg’s jar got knocked over and it broke, he was goin’ to fade if ah didn’t do something.” He looked back. “Granted, the flower didn’t give me warnin’ that the process would hurt like a stab to the chest.”

“Yeah, the pain of the other’s death is reflected onto the bonder.” Henry receipted. The other three in the tent just stared at him. Even the way Reginald’s soul was facing and glowing felt like judgement. “Hey, I just read it somewhere.” 

“Well now what?” Undyne asked in a monotone way. 

“Now, we let Reginald soak up enough determination from Right’s soul until he’s ready to show himself, then he’s got to get used to being a ghost for a bit and if he understands what to do, he’ll fix himself.” Henry answered. He left the tent after finishing his sentence, wandering into the woods for a bit. 

“Well he was helpful, I mean, he didn’t even explain half the things I would have to do!” Spoke a disembodied voice in a British accent. Right looked around for a moment, Reg wasn’t there.

“Course not Righty, I’m dead remember? But now since you binded our souls, you can hear me! And I can hear you!”

Right was losing his mind wasn’t he? Maybe he needed more sleep? Well, if you can hear me, then did you hear what I said to bind our souls? Also, what can you see since you can only hear me? He thought.

“Nope! Didn’t hear a thing until your DETERMINATION powered me! And, well, I don’t know where I am, it’s just pitch black and I’m all tangled up in something, not sure what it is, I think that since it’s coming from my wound, it’s blood. Y’know it’s so nice to talk to you, I missed you a lot, I’m actually glad you were the last thing I saw before I ended up in this hellhole.”

Right laughed internally, tied up in your own blood? Yikes. He smiled, now knowing that his darling friend was at least somewhat happy.

~~~

“Hey Heny~ what’s wrong? Missed me?”

“God no, it’s just that...now Right Hand Man is caught up in this whole soul bond business. I don’t want him to know that you exist.” Henry responded, leaning against a tree.

“Well I know what can help that doesn't involve killing all your friends~” Player cheerfully said while reaching into their cloak pocket, only to pull out a-

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 18

[I have to point out, once again, how very strange it is that he is not running from us, not making an excuse to leave us, and feels safer with us than with the unarmed, clearly sane man.]

{Shut up! Petey-Pie is amazing!}

[I didn’t say I don’t like him, I said he’s strange.]

Wade hummed as Peter put groceries in his cart. When the boy had asked him to go shopping with him, he didn’t think it would be for groceries.

[And medical supplies. He could support an ambulance with what he’s got in there.]

{What does he need those for? Is working for Stark that dangerous?}

“Peter,” said Wade slowly, “I notice that you’ve got a lot of fruit.”

“Ah, well,” said Peter as he pushed up his glasses (he’d put them on before going into the store saying he had eyestrain), “fruit is good. It has vitamins and nutrients, and most fruits also have juice.”

[That’s—oddly specific.]

Wade watched as Peter put some crackers in the cart. “Do you ever—cook food, Petey?” he asked.

“I can,” Peter said defensively. “I just—don’t have a lot of time,” he admitted. Peter slouched over, as if ashamed of himself.

{You FIEND!  Fix it! Fix it NOW!!!}

“All righty Petey-Pie,” said Wade decisively as he started grabbing stuff on his own. “Tonight, I’ll cook.”

An adorable flush crossed Peter’s cheeks. “I can’t ask you to do that,” he protested.

[Buy it with our money Wade. Author knows we have more than enough.]

“True. You’re not asking,” Wade assured Peter. “I’m telling. And I’m a good cook.”

{Remember that chef that taught us how to cook in exchange for not killing him?}

[We still killed him though.]

{Only because he tried to poison us.}

The flush deepened. “Th—thanks Wade,” he said.

Wade looked at him, reached and towards his face, and “Boop!” bopped his nose with a gloved finger. The nose, predictably, twitched in response.

“Stop that,’ protested Peter with no heat from the words.

“You are just too cute. I can’t wait to see you melt over dinner.”

“That sounded wrong,” Peter complained as he followed Wade to the next aisle.

“No, no!” protested Wade as he turned Peter around. “you’re going to be surprised!”

[We’re not. It’s tacos again, isn’t it?]

{Tacos have all the food groups because tomatoes are a fruit!}

“Hey, are the food groups still a pyramid, or did they change again?” asked Wade as he picked ingredients.

{Hate to break it to ya buddy, but rice doesn’t go in tacos.}

“I don’t know. I don’t really keep up with that stuff.” Wade turned to see that Peter was still looking away. He couldn't help but grin under the mask; the boy really did believe in the concept of fair play.

“Kay. Hmm. I’ll Google it later. Oh—fun fact!” Wade announced as they continued to shop. “Did you know the first person to survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel died after slipping on an orange peel?”

“Did you mention that because I have oranges in the cart?” asked Peter trailing after Wade, still not looking. Wade reached out and gently grabbed his elbow to prevent him from running into a display.

“Nah. It just popped into my head. I think the author was reading Fun Facts of the Day again.”

“Author?”

“Not important, Baby Boy,” said Wade with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked at the contents of the cart and a thought took hold.

{I saw that! Do it! Do it!}

[An actual good idea. The second one so far.]

Wade hummed. “Okay Pete,” he said with a grin hidden (mostly, partly, okay—not at all since his mask was so emotive) behind his mask. “This next bit’s the secret to a perfect dinner, so I want you to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

Peter didn’t sound thrilled at the idea. “Don’t worry,” Wade said as reassuring as possible. “I’ll keep a hand on you and make sure you don’t run into anything.”

[Are you insane? Like he’s really going to trust a sword-wielding—he’s doing it. I can’t believe he’s doing it.]

{I want to keep him! Hold him tight and never let go!}

Peter had closed his eyes and was trustingly holding out a hand to Wade. A hand that Wade gently, reverently took. It wasn’t often anyone gave him trust.

[Or ever.]

{Spidey trusts us!}

[And how are you going to manage this next part, genius?]

Wade kept up a stream of babble that was just loud enough to cover the beeping at the checkout. He had no idea what the clerk thought—

[Probably that he doesn’t get paid enough to care.]

—but the young man didn’t say anything to ruin the deception until he gave the total. Peter’s eyes snapped open and his mouth dropped as Wade quickly paid for the food. All of the food. And the first aid supplies.

{Seriously; what does he need those for?}

“Wade!” spluttered Peter, face flushed, and staring in shock.

“Aw,” crooned Wade. “Boop.” He gently bopped Peter’s nose and, like always, it twitched like a little rabbit.

“Wade, this is serious!”

“What was that? I can’t hear you!” Wade quickly gathered the bags on and in his arms.

“Wade!”

“CAN’T HEAR YOU!” The mercenary danced out of the door.

Peter quickly caught up. “Wait—at least let me carry some of them!”

“Well—since I’m cooking,” admitted Wade. He paused and let Peter shift about half the weight of the bags to himself.

[Did you notice he took the heavy half?]

“I can carry it all,” Wade said.

“No,” said Peter firmly. His glasses began to slide down his nose. He used his forearm to push them back up again. “You paid for the groceries. You said you’d be cooking dinner. The least I can do is carry them.”

{Aw! He’s such a sweetie}

[I’m taking this moment to point out that he’s not even breathing hard.]

Wade ignored the voices in his head for the moment. “Well,” he said salaciously, “you are just going to—”

“Peter!” The two of them turned to see two beautiful redheads, one male and one female, coming up to them.

Peter’s face lit up. “Harry! MJ!” he called back as the two approached them. Wade watched them warily, not sure how to respond to the two new people. Especially not two people that Peter actually seemed happy to see.

[Doesn’t it strike you odd? All day long he’s only been happy to see three people, and we’re one of them.]

“Peter,” the young man said warily as he regarded Wade. “Who’s this?”

“Oh!” said Peter. “I’m sorry. Wade, this is Harry,” the male nodded, “and MJ,” the female waved. “They’ve been my best friends since—well, almost forever. Harry, MJ,  this is Wade. He’s—um, a friend.”

“Oh.” The girl’s vibrant green eyes looked the costumed man up and down. “An ‘um friend.’ When did you get one of those? Huh?” she nudged Peter in the side with an elbow while wearing a smirk.

Peter squirmed. “MJ!” he protested.

The guy simply grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets. “So, Wade, was it? Has Peter shown you his scrapbooks yet?”

Wade hadn’t thought it was possible for Peter to get any redder. He’d been wrong. “Harry!” protested Peter in a voice that was half yelp, half yell.

MJ simply giggled before absconding with half the bags in Peter’s arms. “Let’s get your groceries put up Peter,” she said. “It’s been forever.”

[Why aren’t they screaming, running away, or telling us to leave?]

{Who cares?}

“You know,” said Harry, “I can help with—”

Both MJ and Peter whirled, identical expressions of anger on their faces. “NO!” they said firmly, in unison.

“Wow,” said Wade looking at Harry. “They agree! It must be important.”

“They’re just overprotective,” said Harry fondly. “On another note; you should really look at Peter’s scrapbooks. There’s at least one picture I know you’ll be thrilled with.” He smirked.

Wade wanted to punch him in the nose. He wasn’t sure why. “Peter doesn’t seem okay with it,” he said slowly.

Harry frowned. “That’s Dad’s fault,” he said viciously. “And the world doesn’t bow to Dad, no matter what the bastard thinks.”

{That’s a lot of anger.}

“There’s nothing wrong with scrapbooking.”

“Nothing at all,” agreed Wade. He wasn’t sure why, except that seeing Harry upset might upset Peter and he didn’t want to upset Peter.

“And Peter took all the pictures himself,” Harry added. There was an odd note of pride in his voice.

“I’ve seen his pictures in the Bugle,” Wade admitted.

[You mean, you’ve cut out pictures he’s taken of Spiderman and glued them to the wall of the bathroom.]

As the four of them made their way to Peter’s apartment, Wade noticed something. There was always someone touching Peter—MJ his arm, Harry his shoulder, or Wade just leaning against him randomly as they walked. Peter took it all in stride.

[Maybe it’s not so strange that he likes us. Maybe he’s just one of those people that needs to be touched.]

{In that case—we’re perfect for each other!}

[We are not, you idiot.]

Once they’re in the apartment all four of them help put up groceries. To Wade’s slight surprise, the redheads know where everything is supposed to go. When they were done MJ slung an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Come on, Tiger,” she told him. “Time to get the scrapbook.”

“But—” Peter didn’t have a chance as MJ towed him towards a room.

“So,” said Harry amiably as the two of them waited on the couch. “You and Peter, huh? How did that happen?”

“I launched a sword into the alarm in his lab and his only comment was to ask if he could borrow the blade to finish cutting something.”

Harry chuckled. “Sounds like Peter,” he said fondly.

[He should sound more worried.]

“You don’t sound surprised,” Wade admitted.

Harry looked at Wade with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. “When we were five a guy in a dirty white van came up to the school. He said he’d hit a puppy and begged us to get the teacher for help.”

Sounded like a stranger danger scenario, the kind used to frighten small children. “What happened?” he asked.

“Peter climbed into the van. Turns out, there really was an injured puppy in the thing. The man had been telling the truth.” Harry was silent for a moment. “I asked Peter how he knew and he said he just did. So, if Peter feels comfortable around you, that means you’re a good person for him.”

Wade scoffed. “I’m not a good person,” he argued.

“Good,” said Harry, sounding satisfied.

Before Wade could interrogate Harry on that odd comment, MJ came out with a frantic Peter trailing behind her. “Got it,” said MJ smugly.

Peter was flushed, and looked a little panicked. “It—it’s not that great,” he said hurriedly as MJ smugly handed Wade a three-ring binder.

Wade looked at Peter. “I won’t open if it you’re not okay with that.” He noticed MJ and Harry exchange smiles, but kept his eyes on Peter.

Who slumped, defeated. “You can look,” he said. “They’re just—just not that great,” he continued lamely.

{He looks sad. We need to hug him!}

[We need to find out why this is so important.]

Wade opened the book and stared. It wasn’t a scrapbook so much as it was a photo album—and the photos were amazing. They were nothing the Bugle, borderline tabloid that it was, would ever print, but amazing nonetheless. They showed the city of New Amsterdam, and its heroes, in a way that Wade had never seen before. There was a picture of Captain America, clearly helping a cat down out of a tree, getting scratched in the face by said cat. There was a picture of a blue balloon among the pink petals of the cherry trees in the park. A group of girls in prom dresses eating pizza and laughing while one of them tried to scoop the pizza off her dress.

The one that made his breath catch, though, was the picture of him. Standing at the edge of a rooftop, katanas in each hand, a light shining on him highlighting features of the costume even as the rising sun behind him outlined the mercenary in view.

{We look amazing! That should be a poster!}

[There’s something odd about that picture…]

“These are wonderful,” said Wade in awe as he turned the page. He looked up at Peter. “Did you take all these?”

Peter flushed and shuffled his feet. “Well, yes,” he admitted.

“You should share them,” Wade said. They were way too good to be condemned to life merely in a notebook.

“No one wants them,” muttered Peter.

{LIES!!}

“Have you tried putting them up on Instagram?” asked Wade. “You know, showing people what you have?”

“I—I never really thought about it much,” admitted Peter as he pushed his glasses back into place with the heel of his hand.

“We’ll have to do that. After dinner. Or while it’s cooking.” He turned to MJ and Harry. “You want to join us?” he asked, politely. “I’m making a lot of food.”

MJ just chuckled. “The two of you are made for each other—he can eat a lot of food.”

Harry pushed himself up off the couch. “You two have fun,” he said gently. “We’ve got to go.” He walked up to Peter and tousled the smaller man’s hair. “Don’t let Dad run you ragged,” he advised.

Peter instantly looked troubled. “Harry—” he said worriedly.

“After all,” continued Harry, “he won’t always be in control.”

The worried look vanished and Peter grinned. “That’s right!” he said happily.

[What’s that about?]

{Eh, he’ll tell us when he’s ready.}

[vanchlo]

Magic Moment

Hello! I could NOT resist writing another blurb about boyfriend!harry for my lovely friend, @bfharry‘s BOYFRIENDATHON after I got this idea! I’ve always loved baseball myself and playing lots of catch at work recently inspired this, as well as falling in love with Queen ;) Enjoy  some fluff about playing catch with boyfriend!harry at your childhood home c:

*

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: This Magic Moment by Ben E. King and The Drifters (click to listen and yes Sandlot *wink*) 

*

“Follow your heart, kid, and you can never go wrong.”

- The Sandlot

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” you jest, giggling nervously. The screen door closes with a loud whap! behind the both of you.

“Ya, maybe it wasn’t fer you,” he sighs in a whisper, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His high-top white converses slap! down the wooden stairs quickly. “I think I need anotha beer afta that.”

“Follow me.”

A humid heat hits you in the face when you open the scarlet-colored door to the garage. The familiar smell welcomes you, and so do the sights of your father’s tools hanging up on the walls. The lawn mower still sits in the same spot, his pair of old glasses remain perched on the windowsill, and the tiny mini fridge in the corner awaits your call.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after taking a long pull from the refreshing beer. You opt for a Whiskey-Coke, instead, the carbonation sending shooting stars across your tongue. You watch him wipe away the bead of sweat running down his forehead, and then the subsequent smile that drills the dimples into his cheeks. “Bloody hell, if that isn’t tha cutest thing ‘ve eva seen.”

A questioning ‘what’ barely passes your lips once you spot the miniature lilac colored baseball glove on a shelf. Next, a laugh falls from your lips and he echoes it with his own adorable concoction. 

“Hard t’ believe yer hand was eva that tiny, love.”

“I know, it’s funny that my dad kept it around.”

“I would if I were him, ‘s bloody adorable,” he notes, picking up the battered leather mitt with a content smile. “Ah, lookie here. Up fer a game o’ catch, love? Bet I could whoop yer ass.”

“Harry, you can’t beat somebody in catch!” you protest, the cool liquid gracing your lips, providing you a few seconds of relief from the summer heat. 

“We’ll just see ‘bout that, now won’t we?” he teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows. A tan, leather baseball glove hits you square in the chest, landing in your arms while he slips on a darker twin of it. “C’mon, I wanna see how girly of a throw ya got.”

“Oh, shut up. You have no idea what’s coming for you. You’re dating a former softball player here.”

“Am I now? Ya don’t seem that intimidatin’ t’ me, miss,” Harry laughs softly, the billowy cotton of his red Hawaiian themed shirt catching the wind once your feet find the grass. “Dunno how anythin’ can be intimidatin’ afta meetin’ yer bleedin’ father, tho’. Bloody hell,” he remarks, shaking his head. 

“It really wasn’t that bad, Harry,” you correct him, placing your tall can beside his dark glass bottle. 

“It was. Didn’t know he’d be so fookin’ hard on me, askin’ all o’ those questions. He never even smiled at me once, babe,” he scoffs, sliding the glove onto his large hand and messing around with it until it’s comfortable enough. 

“Yes, he did.”

“No, he didn’t. Or I didn’t see it. Dunno why he was so cold t’ me. Ya’ve always had such good things t’ say ‘bout growin’ up with him . . ,” he exhales, tossing the ancient brown and red baseball into the mitt. His short curls dance around atop his head as he crosses the large backyard, the very same one you played kickball in, where you hit home run balls into the woods, set cartwheel records in, and still have the pieces of wood set into the ground marking the bases. 

“He’s quiet, Harry, that’s all. You just have to find something in common with him, and then you’ll hit it off. I promise you, he liked you.”

“Don’t believe ya there, he was givin' me tha evil eye tha whole time durin’ dinna, even tho’ I was fakin’ likin’ his burgers. They were dry as hell,” he grumbles, soon coming to a stop a good way across the grassy area. Messing with his light-washed denim shorts, he checks his phone before letting it fall back into one of its pockets. “Reckon ‘s cuz yer his li’l girl, loads mo’ protective o’ you cuzz’a that.” 

“Keep going, I’m not a sissy.”

“Oh, so I should go long, ‘s that right? Dunno if ya can make it t’ me if I go back any farther,” he winks, the dimples set into his cheeks all the way from here, you notice.

“Would you hush? I pitched all throughout high school, I can make your hand hurt from catching it, if you keep running your mouth,” you argue. 

“Oooooo, she’s gettin’ feisty now,” he chuckles, raising his voice to carry across the clipped green grass, tall trees framing the yard. He pats his taut fist into the palm of the glove, the baseball snug in his large hand. Why, of course it is, Mr. Huge Hands.

Seconds later, the ball soars through the air and banks to the left, but with a jump, you catch it just in time. 

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, holding up your hands. 

“Erm, ‘m warmin’ up? Y’know, gotta get the old righty back in ‘s place,” he insists, stretching his dominant arm this way and that, ever so dramatically. 

“Whatever. You’re full of shit, Harry,” you call back, adding extra volume to your voice. His bottom lip escapes to between his teeth while his head goes from side to side. You surprise him with your throw and he misses it, pulling a loud laugh from your lips. “Not so confident, are we now?”

“Shuddup! Ya were a bloody softball player, ya got advantage ova me, ‘s not fair.”

“Don’t you start whining now! You’re the one who wanted to play catch with a five time-.”

“Ya ya, we get tha point, babe. Yer a bloody star when it comes t’ softball. I know, I know. Wish I coulda seen ya play, woulda been fun. Ya should join a summer league, they sound like a hoot,” he comments, locating the ball at last back in the woods and landing it in your glove. 

“And I played with my brother all of the time, and he was M.V.P two years in a row on his high school baseball team.”

“Good fer him, maybe he should be out here playin’ with you, instead,” Harry says when your throw to him sails over his head. “God, can ya control that arm o’ yers fer once?”

“Sorry!” you laugh, knowing that he doesn’t believe it for a second. 

“Sure ya are.” 

The ball arrives in your mitt with a pleasing whap! and your hand settles over it. Brushing your fingers along the coarse stitches, the shocks of green grass stains on the leather welcome you back to your childhood, tossing around this very same ball with your older brother and father. The nostalgia brings your hand to your pocket, and your fingers soon tap the screen of your phone. 

“C’mon, slow poke! What’re ya waitin’ fer? ‘Fraid ‘ll beat ya afta all?” Harry quips from across the yard, nearing you to retrieve his beer that he sips from. With a pleased ‘ahhhh,’ he sets it down on the gray cinder blocks of the nearby fire pit after walking back, placing enough space between him and it so he doesn’t run into it. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, music soon pours from the large bluetooth speaker in between you against the garage. 

“‘s this just fantasy? Caught inn’a landslide, no escape from realityyyyyy. Open yer eyes, look up t’ tha skies, and seeeeee,” Harry sings loudly, pumping his arms down at his sides and closing his eyes adamantly. “‘m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because ‘m easy come, easy go, li’l high, li’l low.” 

“Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to meeeeee,” you sing back, savoring the large smile painting his face as he catches your throw with ease. 

“Toooo meeee,” he sings back. “Mamaaaaaa just killed a man, put a gun against his head. Pulled my trigger, now’s he dead. Mamaaaaa, life had just begunnnn. But now ‘ve gone and thrown it all awayyyyy,” he sings to the baby blue skies dotted with clouds, adamantly strumming an invisible guitar. He echoes your laugh that flies between the two of you, joining the robins and starlings flitting between the trees. “Knew I picked a good one, she’s got a good arm and a bloody good taste in music. Ya betta play Take On Me next, or all bets are off.”

“Oh, you know that I will. It feels like an eighties night, playing catch in the backyard during the summer. It’s just like when I was little,” you note aloud, jogging to the right to catch his next throw until it falls into your glove. 

“‘Bout tha same fer me, just with footy, think this ‘s how ‘d like t’ spend my summers still . . I loved it so much, playin’ in tha backyard listenin’ t’ tha radio, and think my kids would too,” he says casually, sparking a blush in your cheeks at the mention of him as a father. Oh, what you would do to be able to see him playing catch with a little dark-haired boy or girl who calls him ‘Daddy.’ 

Fuck me, you think hastily. 

Quickly, your shared favorite part of the song comes and he imitates the guitar shredding while you repeatedly toss the ball into your mitt, watching him. 

“But eva since I watched Wayne’s World as a kid, I can’t avoid bangin’ my head when it gets t’ this part,” Harry chuckles, tossing a pop fly towards the overhang of tree branches. “I love tha trees here, ya know, ‘ve neva seen so many.” 

“Me too, I love that part in the movie, and I love them too. It’s crazy to think how long they’ve been around to get this big. Some of them were as tall as I am now when I was little.”

“Huh,” he hums curiously, shooting into the air to grab a high one you tried to trick him with. Your eyes can’t help but wander to his dark fern tattoos that peek out when his shirt rises. “Ya think I should keep it still, or get rid o’ it?” Harry poses to you, puckering his lips at you with a mischievous grin. 

“You almost remind me of Freddie Mercury with that ‘stache,” you say, the laugh growing from somewhere deep inside of you. He shrugs his shoulders and tosses a fast one back to you, hitting your glove square in the center with a heavy slap! 

“Dunno why ya think that’s such a good joke, ‘s a damn compliment, if ya ask me.” 

“Uh oh, are we getting a big head over there because you’ve caught my last three throws?” you joke, watching the ball soar high into the air amongst the green covering of the trees. 

“Hey, be easy on me,” he pouts, his words disagreeing with his actions that send a hot fastball into your palm. 

“Why? You’re never easy on me when we play Mario Kart or Cribbage.” 

“Hey! You don’t have a bleedin’ nearly professional career in any o’ those!” he protests and then curses when your curveball nicks the tip of his glove. 

“So, and neither do you, and you’re still aggressive as fuck when we play them! Huh, what’s your excuse, Harry?” 

“Galileo!” he calls out. 

“Galileo!” you echo, and the rest follow suit between the two of you as the song plays. 

“‘m just a poor boyyyyy, nobody loves me,” he sings loudly, causing you to cough on your drink that you take a swig from. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” you shoot back, setting down the wet can as he approaches you. 

“But I am,” he whines, pushing out his bottom lip that you flick with your finger. 

“Watch it!” 

“Or what?” you counter, savoring the annoyed expression that soon fills his features. There’s just something about pushing his buttons that gets you going, even though you know that you shouldn’t do it. 

“Or else I won’t bloody learn tha rest o’ Blackbird on guitar fer you,” he retorts playfully, taking a long pull from his bottle. 

Now, it’s your turn to shout ‘hey!’ until he scoops you into his arms, your surprised shriek piercing the sky. 

“You better finish learning it! But, I think that I like Freddie better.”

“How? Paul ‘s far betta. ‘ll always love Queen, and The Beatles don’t have anythin’ on Bohemian Rhapsody, but Paul ‘s tha betta musician. Trust me, I should know,” he disagrees, pecking your temple before pulling away and tossing the ball into your waiting glove. 

“But, Freddie had a four octave range.”

“And? So does Paul,” Harry shrugs, raising his left arm in the air to snag your fastpitch that he almost loses. “Paul McCartney ‘s tha superior musician, just trust me on this.” 

“Paul McCartney has nothing on Freddie Mercury,” a voice pipes up, turning the both of your heads to the right where you find your dad stepping out of the garage with a weathered black baseball glove snug upon his right hand. 

You swear that you could hear Harry’s apprehensive gulp from all of the way over here, and when you look, you find his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“But Paul was betta on guitar, bass, and drums,” Harry argues, nervously tossing the ball into his glove repeatedly. 

Your dad closes the door behind him softly, and steps out on the grass, adjusting his glasses. Surprise is absent from your range of emotions when your dad shrugs his shoulders, but you’re sure that it coats Harry’s insides in the next few moments. 

“You’re right there, I like somebody who can stand up for their argument,” he comments, nodding a head towards Harry who out of the corner of your eye is smiling, just the slightest. “I think I might like this one,” he says to you, holding out his glove towards Harry, with his lips curling into his cheeks. 

The smile on your boyfriend’s face almost matches that of your father’s, but he’s got nothing on the grin plastered across Harry’s face because of your next words. 

“I think I do, too, Dad.”

[peachymess]

Can we ask random things or do they have to be SNK related? Like can I ask if you're a rightie or a leftie? What kind of style do you have? Do you have pets? Kids (in general), yay or nay? If not soorrryyyy!

Go right ahead! I love getting fun(nny) questions! ❤️ I also have other interests that I love talking about, so if you see me reblog something none-snk related that you also like (like video games), don’t hesitate!

I’m a proud leftie! 🖐 I don’t know about other places, but over here, they used to call it “skew handed” and kids were forced to learn writing with their right hand at school or face punishment. One of my pet agendas is correcting everyone who still calls it “skew handed” lol. “Skewed” means something isn’t as it should be, but lefties aren’t wrong, just different.

Style... I suppose everyone has a style, but my knee-jerk reaction is still to say I don’t. “I don’t spend much time/effort on it” is probably more correct to say. As with so many other things, I like a myriad of styles and could honestly go for (a good bunch of) anything. But it ends up being necessity-based. Whatever costs little and serves a purpose (like the homeless-gloves I bought at 14, with cut off finger tips. They don’t do me any favors what adult integrity is concerned, but they keep my hands warm while I also can use my phone). I keep thinking “when I look good enough, I’ll invest in something stylish that lasts”. But that day ain’t today. I was an edgy teen, though, ngl. I tried dressing frilly for a bit but then Megaming came along and reminded me of the emo king I was meant to be 😂 Don’t judge.

I don’t have any pets. My dad is allergic to fur in general so all I had as a kid was goldfish (which I loved a bunch). The plan was always to get a cat when I moved out and felt ready. And I thought I was going to be last year, but then I babysat my best friend’s cat for the summer and I realized even a cat is too much stress for me (I’ve got mental health boo-boos). So I had to accept that I don’t have the strength to take care of anyone other than myself yet. Maybe some day? The idea was: step 1 - cat. Step 2 - advance to dog. Training complete. Now ready for step 3 - baby adoption. I love kids and I want to give some a good home some day. But I have to wait until it’s responsible to do so.

In the meantime, Armin’s my only son :’)

[rachel1987]

GWCFT Part 3

Get ready to run some errands! Hatter and Hare get their steps in on this update as they run around Wonderland getting ready for June to arrive. Hare continues to have a nervous breakdown and Hatter can’t help but be an adorable pain in the ass.

xposted on ao3 and FF.net

Part 3:

A few hours later, Hatter pushed the bedroom door open with his elbow, a tray in his hands. Hare stirred, groaning as he flopped around in bed, tangled up in his sheets.

The tall man entered the room and crept to Hare's side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table as he took a seat. Reaching a gloved hand out, he touched Hare's shoulder and shook it softly. "Hare… Hare, it's time to get up." Hatter's palms itched as he sat there, forcing himself to remain calm. His instincts were making him want to body slam down on the bed and squeeze Hare till he woke up.

Feeling the touch on his shoulder, Hare opened his brown eyes slowly, looking around with blurry vision. "What time is it?" he muttered, voice dry from sleeping with his mouth open. He flipped over onto his back and sat up, reaching out for his glasses. His hand clanked against a teapot, two cups with saucers and a plate of reheated breakfast rolls.

"Might be a little past breakfast, but it isn't too late for lunch," Hatter said with a smile, reaching out and nabbing the glasses from the table, handing them to Hare.

"How long have I been asleep?" Hare yawned, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. His hair was frazzed out (more than usual) and he still looked tired, but he was at least coherent. It seemed the caffeine had worked through his system too.

"Only a couple hours, nothing to worry about," Hatter soothed him, filling one of the cups with hot tea and passing it to his friend after adding some sugar and lemon.

Hare gave him an uneasy glance and took the cup, sniffing it before taking a sip. "Camomile…" he smiled, taking a larger swig.

Hatter waited till the cup was mostly empty before speaking again. "I put everything away out there and did one final check of the house, it's all in order. You don't have to worry about cleaning anything else today."

Hare moved to protest, but Hatter gave him a 'you'd-better-not' look, so he sat still, finishing up the tea before helping himself to more.

"I also took the liberty of airing the place out and watering your garden," Hatter beamed, very proud of himself in taking charge. He had omitted the fact that he had found an old diary of Hare's and read it while laying the wrong way on his sofa.

"Thank you," Hare replied, stirring more sugar into his cup. "You've been a busy Hatter this morning."

"Anything for you, old buddy," Hatter shrugged, brushing some imaginary lint off his sleeve before also helping himself to some tea. "Now all we need to do is get you showered and packed and we'll go back to the Hat house for a day of relaxation."

Hare snorted and choked on his tea, trying not to spill any of it as he placed his cup back on the tray. "Go to the Hat house? But I've still got things to do here! I haven't cleaned out the fridge or the basement and-"

Hatter shook his head and put a finger to the Hare's lips to shush him, giving him a stern look. "Your mother won't look in the fridge and we'll lock the basement door so she won't go into it."

"But-" Hare started, Hatter's finger still against his front teeth as he tried to speak.

"Hare, your house is clean and, to be frank, I don't trust you on your own anymore after that stunt you pulled last night."

Hare crossed his arms in an imitation of Rabbit and leaned back against his headboard. "I hate it when you try to be Frank… I prefer when you act like John if you can't be the Hatter."

Hatter rolled his eyes and scooted closer to the Hare, offering him a breakfast roll as a peace offering. "Yes, well, I can't be John all the time."

Hare took the roll and nibbled at it, only realizing how hungry he was after he gobbled it down.

"Anyway," Hatter waved a hand. "We'll get you showered and pack you a bag and you'll stay at my place till your Mother shows up. That way I can keep an eye on you and we can finish all the party planning. And you can figure out what you'd like to do for the magic act."

"Oh, right… that," Hare said, losing his appetite again as he placed his third roll back on the plate, half eaten. In the hustle and bustle of last night, he had forgotten that he'd agreed to the talent show and a magic act for his mother.

"I've already asked everyone and they've all agreed to perform," Hatter announced. "Well, I've spoken to everybody but Alice, but I don't think she should be a problem. She always likes to have fun with us no matter what we're doing."

"Too late to back out now, huh?" Hare said aloud, more to himself than anybody else.

"Now don't be a killjoy," Hatter said, patting Hare on the knee before getting to his feet. "I'll start getting these dishes done, why don't you go take a shower? You smell like dish soap and Pine-sol."

Hatter left Hare to himself, who pouted a little and sat alone in his room for a few minutes, listening to him the kitchen. He sat there till he heard a crash and then a soft "damn" from a husky voice, making him shake his head.

"Oh gawwwwd…" Hare rubbed his eyes and caught a whiff of himself, deciding that he did need a shower after all.

--

"Don't forget your magic trunk too!" Hatter said, laying across the bed with his feet up in the air, a Rubik's cube in his hands as Hare packed his duffel bag.

"Already got it," Hare said absently, folding up another yellow shirt and placing it neatly in his bag. He only needed a couple days worth of clothes, but he was packing more than he needed because he never knew when he'd need to change at the Hat house. They usually got up to some mischief that ended in someone getting filthy and the idea of having to do laundry wasn't overly appealing. "Maybe I should just do my juggling act… or play my tuba. I don't know if magic is such a good idea."

"Naw, your Mom has seen you do those things," Hatter said, tossing the Rubik's cube onto the floor in frustration. He'd managed to get three sides done, but the last three were proving to be more difficult. "Or fit those into your magic act."

The Hatter seemed stuck on seeing some magic performed by the Amazing Hair-raising Hare, so he supposed that's what he'd have to do. Scrunching up his face, he opened his magic trunk and threw his bowling pins, juggling balls and tuba inside.

"Where'd those doves go?" Hatter asked, leaning over and peeking into the trunk. He reached an arm in and swatted around blindly, fingers brushing against objects in the darkness. Hare shook his head and was about to say how there weren't any birds inside when four more flew out. "Aw, nuts… sorry."

"It's okay, I'll get more…" Hare muttered in astonishment, taking another look deep into the trunk.

"Well…" Hatter said loudly, pushing himself up off the bed and onto his feet, planting the landing like a gold medal gymnast. "Anything else or are we ready to go?"

"Uh, I don't think so. I'm ready."

"Righty roo," Hatter said, linking his arm with the Hare and leading him through the house and out the front door.

--

The rest of the day was one of forced relaxation. Hatter took Hare back to the Hat house and insisted that they do nothing the entire rest of the day. They'd bring in dinner and watch television or read comics and just laze around. They had spent the past few days doing nothing but cleaning, they deserved a little time to not do anything. There were a few times when Hatter caught Hare straightening up and whatever he was doing was taken out of his mits and he was forced to return to the sofa and watch another television show. By the 4th episode of Dodo's Do The Strangest Things, he thought he'd go crazy.

Of course, they did have their usual tea party at 4 o'clock, that was non negotiable. Alice and the Tweedles decided to join them and after the tea party they threw a softball around the tea table and spoke about nothing in particular, which was nice.

June's visit was specifically not mentioned, for fear that it would aggravate Hare. Therefore, Hatter made a special effort to squash any mention of her, in the most exaggerated fashion, of course. Hare thought he was overreacting, but also secretly appreciated it. Truth was, he was really tired from the past few days of hard labor. He had overdone it and did need a break. So, while he pouted and huffed and puffed about everything, he was hiding how much he enjoyed being doted on.

They brought in Chinese food for dinner (with oolong tea and miso soup) and ate it with chopsticks. They fought over who would get which fortune cookie and made fun of what the paper slips said inside. More tea was brewed, they watched Some Like it Hot and argued over who would make a more attractive woman if they were in the starring roles of the film.

"No, I would," Hatter argued, pulling his pajama pants leg up and resting his bare limb onto the low coffee table. "Look at these gams! They go on for miles!"

"No no no no," Hare shook his head and wagged his finger a little. "You may have the legs, but I have much more vavoom in the rear end department."

"How true that is," Hatter said, wiggling his eyebrows provocatively after craning his neck back and taking a look, causing Hare to laugh out loud and throw popcorn at him.

When they finally made their way to bed late into the evening, Hare couldn't wipe the smile from his face. After all the work and trouble he had put Hatter through, this was the day he didn't know they'd needed. He had almost completely forgotten about his mother coming and the talent show that he still had to plan for. Everything felt like it had returned to normal.

He cuddled into the Hatter and smiled very contentedly as they fell asleep wrapped up in one another.

--

The next morning Hare decided it would be a good idea for him to go for a jog to clear his head and get his focus back. He was honestly thinking of signing up for the Wonderland 5K and he thought that maybe going for a bit of a run would do him some good. It would be good to dust off his running shoes and see if he still had it in him.

He raided the attic, making sure to leave the room just as clean as when he had found it. Honestly, he was surprised that the Hatter had avoided the room as well as he had been. The place was still pretty spick and span, even a few days after cleaning. After a little bit of digging, he found one of his yellow sweatsuits and a pair of running shoes in a trunk.

Hatter was in the kitchen rummaging around for a clean kettle to start brewing the morning tea when Hare appeared in his jogging suit.

"Oh…" Hatter gave him a once over with some interest. "Going for a run, huh?"

"Yeah, I thought it'd be a good idea. Help me clear my head." Hare said in the most nonchalant way he knew how, taking a seat at the kitchen table to lace up his sneakers.

"You want me to come with?" The lack of enthusiasm was noted in Hatter's voice, it sounded like he'd almost rather wash all the dishes he had in his house than go for a run.

"No, you don't have to," he replied, wiping a scuff off his sneaker before leaning back into his chair a little. "It'll just be quick, only a couple miles. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, tops."

"Okay…" Hatter drawled, filling up the kettle and setting it on the stove, clicking the burner on underneath it. "I'll have breakfast ready for you when you get back. Anything sound scrummy to you? I think I have some eggs in the ice box."

"Eggs would be nice," he agreed, getting to his feet and lifting onto his toes to give Hatter a smooch on the cheek. "Time me?"

"I'll, uh... count the seconds," Hatter said, altering his voice and trying to sound as gushy as possible.

Hare rolled his eyes and made his way through the OUT door. He paused at the stone gate, using it to prop his leg up as he stretched a bit, planning his route for the morning. He'd start around the Hat house, through the forest to the Palace, maybe see if Caterpillar was around…

After stretching, he bounced on his feet a little, trying to warm up some before taking off at a smooth pace.

He tried to keep his head as clear as possible as he ran, attempting to take in the scenery. It was too early for him to really run into anybody, but he could sense the signs of life within the various dwellings he passed. He could hear the music coming from the Tweedles house, knowing they were probably up and doing their morning dance routines. He could smell breakfast being cooked when he passed the palace, the scent of bacon and waffles making him want to stop and reach his hand in through the kitchen window to grab some.

"Wouldn't Rabbit be surprised?" he thought to himself with a laugh.

He made sure to weave his way through the Caterpillar's mushroom forest, hoping that he wasn't too early to catch him awake. He was lucky today. The large insect was already up, packing books into a fabric bag to be returned to the library. It seemed he was on his way out.

"Good morning, Caterpillar!" Hare huffed as he jogged up, slowing down a little upon approach.

"Ah, Mr Hare. Good morning. Out for a morning run, I see." The Caterpillar was only marginally interested, which was usual.

Hare nodded and bounced around in place to keep his heart rate up, having worked up a sweat from his trek through the forest. The Caterpillar glanced at him silently, just the look of this bounding bunny making his bulky form feel tired.

"Can I help you?" Caterpillar finally asked, after a long awkward pause.

"Oh, right," Hare stopped hopping around, taking a seat on a large mushroom. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something if you aren't busy. I need your help."

"I'm always busy, I have many things that I do that get no attention whatsoever," the six armed insect said, waving all of his right hands at the wrist at once. "But let's see what I can do for you. What's on your mind?"

"Well, as you know my Mother is coming to visit and I'm worried about impressing her. She expects me to be perfect and I just don't think I can deliver. I'm afraid she won't like my lifestyle choices."

"Well, you do live an… alternative lifestyle," Caterpillar droned, emphasizing the word alternative. "But everything you've said in the past about your mother has always been quite positive. What makes you think she won't approve of what you do?"

"Well, she expects me to be perfect all the time," he replied with a shrug. "I don't want to disappoint her."

"Do you think that maybe your mother doesn't expect you to be perfect, but believes that you are in fact perfect as you are?"

Hare paused and laughed at this notion, shaking his head. "If only that were the case!" he explained from his spot upon the mushroom. "She's always pushing me to do more, not to back down… and I'm afraid that I'll mess up and she won't be proud of me."

"Hmm. I see…" the Caterpillar put a gloved finger to his lips, nodding. "This does seem to be a tricky situation for you."

"You wouldn't happen to have a story to tell me, would you?" Hare asked reaching out and peeking into the bag of books the second pair of hands were holding, only to be slapped away.

"No, I'm afraid I don't…" he replied. "But I do have some words of wisdom that may help you."

Hare sat up at attention, listening eagerly.

"A wise man once said, 'A mother's love endures through all'," the Caterpillar said, waiving a finger around in the air as he spoke to punctuate his point. "I think you should be yourself, let your mother see the real you and let her love you for it. Because, after all, you are the only person who can be you."

Hare's shoulders drooped in disappointment, though he tried to hide it. He had wanted a different answer. "So, you're saying that I'm worrying for nothing."

"Precisely," Caterpillar said with a smile.

Hare huffed a little and stood up, brushing himself off as he thought to himself. "Thanks for the help, Caterpillar. I'll have to think about it some more."

Caterpillar watched Hare jog off through the mushroom forest, disappearing behind a tall purple fungi before speaking aloud to himself. "I pray for that woman and what she might experience in that house."

--

"25:40!" said a voice as Hare stumbled into the Hat house, sweaty and a little out of breath.

"What?" Hare asked, his glasses a little foggy as he looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice.

"You're time," Hatter said, checking his pocket watch again with a nod. "Yup… 25:40."

"Man, I'm out of shape…"

"I think you're the perfect shape," Hatter said aloud with a smile.

Hare chortled and waved a hand at the Hatter, stumbling his way to the kitchen table and taking a seat. Hatter might have seen a blush on his partner's cheeks, if he wasn't already flushed from running. "I stopped and spoke to the Caterpillar for a little," Hare explained, wiping his glasses on his sweater before replacing them.

"Did he tell you a story? Please share," he said with a smile, dishing up an egg and tomato omelet, bacon and hash browns onto a plate for the Hare and sliding it his way.

"No, not a story. Just some crummy advice."

"Well, that's no fun," Hatter pouted. "What's the fun of visiting the Caterpillar if you don't get a good story out of it?"

Hare shrugged and tucked into his meal, partaking in some toast and strawberry jam with it. He'd asked for some coffee, but was firmly denied any, and settled on Raspberry tea with sugar.

--

Later that day, the pair were outside at the tea table enjoying the nice spring weather. Hatter had his guitar on his knee and was tuning it, strumming the strings and adjusting the tuning keys as he worked. Hare had his magic trunk out and open, its contents spilling onto the table. He had his EZ Magic Tricks book open and was reading through it, trying to find just the right illusions to add to his act. His nerves were getting frayed again and he was starting to feel overwhelmed.

Hatter noticed this and rested his hand on the guitar, watching Hare flip through the same five pages of the magic book. "You know…" he started, making him jump a little at the sudden sound of his voice. "I can help you choose, if you want help."

Hare wanted to resist the help, but accepted it. Hatter laid the guitar down on the table and scooted over, pushing cups and plates to the floor to make room for himself. He laid on his side so he could look through the book from the same direction as the Hare.

They flipped through the pages, looking at all the Ez detailed images. "Rings would be a nice touch…" Hatter pointed out.

Hare nodded. "And I've practiced the cuff trick. I can try that one again."

"Your mother hasn't seen that one, I guess it'll be alright… you need a big finisher," Hatter said, rotating the book a little more toward him and scanning through the pages quickly. Hare sat back a little, watching Hatter zoom through the book before stopping. "Eureka!"

"My what?" Hare asked in surprise, gazing down at the book.

"This is the one, Hare! Your big finisher." Hatter pointed a finger into the book and tilted it toward him, giving him a good look.

"Oh, Hatter…" he grimaced. "I, uh… I mean…"

"Come on, Hare! It'll be amazing! Can you imagine the look on your mother's face when she sees you pull that trick off!?"

Hare took the book in his hands and looked down at the instructions, scratching his head a little as he read. The trick seemed complicated… and they'd need to build some things in order to do it.

"You sure this belongs in the Ez book?" he muttered to himself.

Gazing up, he saw the excitement in Hatter's eyes and couldn't find it in his heart to disappoint him.

"Okay…" Hare breathed. "What have I got to lose?"

"That's the ticket!" Hatter celebrated, kicking his feet out a little and sending dishware to the ground with a smash.

"The book says we'll need a plant…" Hare rubbed his chin in contemplation. "You think I should pick one from my garden? I have a beautiful bluebell plant that is just about to bloom that might work."

Hatter pursed his lips and leaned back over, looking down at the book again with a furrowed brow. "No, not a plant like a flower! A plant like a helper. Someone in the audience who can help you who knows how the trick works. See?" He pointed to an illustration in the book with a gloved finger.

"Oh, right, I knew that," Hare chuckled nervously, reading the specifications of the type of 'volunteer' he'd need. "I bet I could get Alice to do it."

"She'll probably be around for tonight's tea party. You can talk to her about it then!"

Hare felt a little better about it, he knew he could trust Alice to be able to perform. He'd just have to worry about all the things he needed to do to get the trick to work out right. Flipping to the appendix, he started pulling diagrams and plans out of a hidden compartment in the back of the book, laying them out on the table to read over them. The strumming of the guitar started up again as Hatter began to play.

--

"We need to pick up the dry cleaning," Hare said as they got off the Wonderland bus the next day. "I dropped some things off for us earlier this week and I'm sure they're ready by now."

"Oh, well that's nice…" Hatter smiled, holding onto Hare's hand as they walked. "Where else are we going on our little trip into the city?"

"Just the Market. Alice said she'd be by early today to help with practice so we don't really have time to mess around." Hare was looking down at his grocery list in his free hand, making mental notes as they walked.

Hatter pouted, glancing around at all the shops he'd have liked to wander through. He stopped to peer in the window of some thrift shop and looked into it longingly, holding Hare back a little. "But I love messing around…"

Hare laughed and shook his head, pulling Hatter along to the Market. They walked in through the automatic doors and grabbed a shopping cart, pausing a moment by the self-serve Olive bar as Hare flipped through his grocery list.

"Don't forget, we need to get the usual stuff too," Hatter said, leaning on the cart with his feet up on the bar of the bottom basket. He watched Hare start to walk away before calling out. "Hare! Pull me!"

Hare looked up at him, a little annoyed already, but rolled his eyes and returned. "Fine, but only if you pull me later…" he griped, grabbing the front of the shopping cart and tugging it along behind him.

They made their way down the various aisles, grabbing the things they needed and tossing them into the bin. Hatter got caught up in the jam isle, trying to decide if he wanted to get more lemon marmalade or orange rhubarb jam for the table.

"Hare, you should learn to make jams and jellies and things…" Hatter said aloud, taking the orange rhubarb and placing it in the cart. "I bet you'd be good at it."

"I used to make wild berry jam with my Mom from the berries we had in our garden when I was young," Hare shrugged from inside the shopping cart, checking off items from his list. He was laying in the big basket and had his legs scrunched up, his feet hanging over the side as Hatter pushed him. "I can teach you sometime."

Hatter agreed. "That sounds pretty fun! Let's schedule that for three weeks from Wednesday."

"Noted!" Hare said, jotting it down in his calendar.

They continued to shop, making their way to the produce section when a tall white bunny came into view. Hatter and Hare stopped, glanced at each other with wicked grins on their faces, and made their way to him. They snuck up behind him as he was sniffing some carrots, looking very hungry.

"Nice day, Rabbit," Hatter said loudly from Rabbit's right, causing him to jump a little, almost losing his balance on his skates. He had dropped all the veggies he had in his hands though, sending them scattering on the floor. His brow was furrowed as he looked to the source of his freight, his shoulders dropping a little.

"What are you two doing here?" Rabbit said, flustered. He looked like he had already had a very long day and the last thing he wanted to deal with were these two dingle-berries

"Why, shopping of course!" Hare chuckled from the basket of the cart, struggling to pull his body out of it. He flopped around a little, cans and groceries falling in on him and keeping him in place. He eventually gave up and reached his arms out to Hatter, giving a small whimper.

"The Queen busting your balls today, Rabbit?" Hatter asked as he lifted the Hare out of the cart, helping him to his feet.

"No more than usual-" Rabbit started, but stopped himself and shook his head a little. "Why are you two bothering me? Don't you have things to be doing right now? Hare, isn't your mother coming tomorrow?"

"Oh, Rabbit, can't we come say hello to you when we run into you in public?" Hare asked, a goofy smile on his face as he put one hand on his hip, the other on Rabbit's shoulder. Rabbit grimaced and lifted the yellow hand from his body, looking at it like he didn't want to know where it had been.

'It's almost like you're ashamed to know us…" Hatter remarked, shaking his head.

"I'm on a time crunch and I don't have time to mess around. The Queen is expecting a full spread for dinner tonight and she wants me to give her a mani pedi while she watches The Bachelor tonight. And that's on top of everything else I have going on." Rabbit had stooped down and picked up the produce he dropped on the ground, placing them in a hand basket as he spoke. He was picking up an onion and placing it in his basket when Hatter pounced on him.

"What a coincidence! We're on a time crunch too!" He had a bright smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around Rabbit's shoulder, pulling him in close and almost off the ground. "How about we shop together and help each other out? It'll save time and be much more efficient."

"I can help you pick out some produce!" Hare offered, reaching out to the apples with an eager hand. "I'm good at picking out the fresh ones."

Rabbit's face puckered and he shook his head, remembering the last time he'd taken them with him to the grocery store. "No… I believe I can manage. Thank you~."

"Well, don't say we never tried to do anything for ya," Hatter said indignantly, a fake pout on his face.

Rabbit dusted himself off and shook a little, maybe to vent some frustration. "Now, if you don't mind-" he started, only to be stopped by Hatter again.

"So, did you think about the talent show at all? What are you going to do for your act?"

Rabbit put a hand to his temples, just wanting to get along with his day and away from this duo's shenanigans. "I told you already, I am far too busy to participate in something as trivial as a talent show. Unlike the two of you, I must work for a living. And the Queen is a very demanding woman."

"Oh, come on Rabbit! Don't be a spoiled sport." Hatter said, scrunching up his lips in mock disappointment. "Everyone else will be doing an act. You'll be left out if you don't do something."

"Yeah, and my Mom will be there," Hare added. "Wouldn't you like to show off a little for her? Maybe you'll get lucky. She's single..." he jabbed Rabbit in the ribs jokingly, giving him a playful wink.

The Rabbit grimaced and glanced at the Hare with what would almost be described as a look of complete disgust. The last thing he would ever want to do, would be to 'get' with anyone that this thing came out of.

"Even the Caterpillar is participating," Hatter added, looking in the Rabbit's basket and removing the carrots and some other vegetables, putting them back on the shelf unnoticed. "You'll be sorry…"

The Rabbit just wanted to be out of this duo's company "Alright!" he snapped, causing both Hatter and Hare to look at him with alarm. "I'll think about it, are you happy!? My carrots! All…" he looked down into his basket, noticing that it was half empty. "My carrots? Where are my carrots? And my celery? And the jicama?" His attention had been taken away from the pair and he was now looking around the produce department for his lost veggies.

"Oh, and now we're being ignored! Real mature, Rabbit! We can take a hint!" Hatter said, waving his hands in the air. "Come on, Hare. We have more shopping to do anyway." He then took hold of the handle of the shopping cart and stood on the bottom basket bar, Hare gripping the front of the cart and pulling him out of the produce department.

It took them five minutes to realize they hadn't gathered any fruits or vegetables and returned to the department, but dashed around to try to stay out of sight of Rabbit. He, of course, knew what they were doing and tried his best to ignore them. It was hard when he passed them with their heads lined up among the pineapples, trying not to be noticed.

When they were done squeezing oranges and sniffing cantaloupes, they made their way to the checkout line. Hare took out his envelope of coupons and had them at the ready when they got to the cashier. Hatter peeked into Hare's wallet and saw that it was mostly filled with photos of the two of them (and one of his mother), a barber shop punch card and his Movie Land Video membership card, as well as a blood donor card that said his blood type was O+. After adding a last minute purchase of two candy bars to their order, they loaded their arms up with their bags and set out on their way to the dry cleaners.

"Were you really insinuating that Rabbit should try to impress your mother while we were talking to him in the store just now?" Hatter asked, munching on his chocolate bar. At the time he hadn't thought it strange, he was in doofus mode and was mostly trying to give Rabbit a hard time, but thinking about it now it left a weird taste in his mouth. And it wasn't the chocolate he was nibbling.

"I was just yanking his chain," Hare shrugged his shoulders, brushing it off. "I mean, it's not like my Mother would be interested anyway. This is Rabbit we're talking about. He isn't really her type."

Hatter considered this and bobbed his head a little in agreement before scarfing down the rest of his candy bar.

--

Hare laid in bed later that night, staring at the yellow walls, the Hatter snuggled up against his side as he slept. He knew he'd be up half the night because of his nerves. The past couple days had been relaxing and smooth enough to take the edge off, but he still had that pit in his stomach. Something would go wrong, he knew it. It always did.

He ran through all the plans in his head, calculating what he could do to minimize mistakes. In all honesty, he wasn't worried about the tea party. They had prepared all the tarts and they were in the deep freezer in the basement, waiting to be baked up fresh tomorrow. All the makings of the sandwiches were in the fridge and they'd pick up their order from Just Add Sugar tomorrow on the way to the train station. It was the magic act he was more worried about. He'd only managed to do half the tricks correctly when he and Alice had practiced them and got so nervous that he handcuffed his wrist to his ankle somehow. And the big showstopper he never managed to get right! Oh, why had he agreed with the Hatter to do this?

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he looked at the round alarm clock next to him on the bedside table, squinting his eyes to read the time. It was late he really needed to sleep.

Wiggling down a little, he burrowed into the covers, causing Hatter to stir a little beside him.

"It's okay, Hare," he mumbled, half asleep as he gave the bunny a squeeze. "We have another jar of pickles in the fridge."

--

"Hare, you need to take a seat and try to relax," Hatter remarked, watching his friend pace around the tea table once again. "You look like you dug into the caffeine again."

"My Mother will be here in," Hare paused and looked at his watch, nose twitching. "Two hours, fifteen minutes and 12 seconds. How can I not panic?!"

Hatter rolled his eyes and stirred his morning tea lazily, adding another cube of sugar to it. "Just calm down and breathe, it'll be okay." He was focusing on the tea so much he didn't notice when the Hare took a harmonica out of his pocket and started to breath in and out of it, filling the air with the shrill sound. Hatter watched him silently, a brow cocked, sipping from his teacup.

The Dormouse peeped out of his teapot, tiny hands gripping the rim and head swirling around. "What is that noise?"

"The Hare is having a breakdown," Hatter mentioned casually. "Give him a couple minutes and he'll calm down."

Dormouse blinked and glanced at the Hare, who was still wheezing into the harmonica. "If this is going to be a regular thing, I might have to look for another teapot. If the hills are alive with this sound of music, I don't think I'll be able to stand it."

Hatter nodded. "How true that is," he said as he got to his feet, striding up behind his friend and reaching around to pluck the harmonica out of his hands, tossing it over his shoulder into the bushes. "Don't worry so much. The house is clean, your place is all prepared, and this afternoon's tea party will be a success. Everyone already told us they were going to be here early, so all you have to do is bring your Mom." Leaning forward, he gave his Hare a peck on the cheek.

The Hare sighed, his shoulders dropping a little as he scrunched his face up. He knew he was overreacting but he couldn't help it. "My Mother expects a lot out of me, only the best. I just want to make her proud. And I want her to approve of us."

"And she will," the Hatter patted him on the shoulders, giving them a squeeze before letting them go. "I think you need some camomile tea and a little sit down. Maybe if you're good, I'll let you help me set the table with your cups and saucers for tonight."

"I do love camomile…" Hare managed, taking a seat and grabbing a scone, not fully intending to eat any of it. He had too many butterflies in his stomach and none of them were hungry either.

After managing to get some calming tea in his system, Hatter decided he'd let the Hare help with setting the table. All the gifted tea sets had been washed the night before and were gleaming in their boxes as they were brought out.

"Now to just clear the table," Hatter announced, lifting his arms up to swipe the current settings onto the ground.

"Hatter, no!" Hare threw himself over the tea table, covering the cups and saucers in the process, hearing a few of them crack under his weight.

Hatter dropped his arms at his sides, brow furrowed. "What's the problem now?"

"What would my mother think if she saw you being careless with your things? She'd find it unnecessarily unruly!"

"How true that is," Hatter said, putting a finger to his chin as he considered it. "So, no throwing things. Anything else?"

"Just…" Hare heaved, getting up from the table and dusting himself off. "Try to keep in control. Don't get too crazy. My Mother likes order and discipline. If she sees you acting wild, she might get the wrong idea."

"So, you don't like me acting crazy now?"

Hare stopped suddenly, his eyes growing wide as he realized what it sounded like. "No no no, I love you being crazy! You're my Mad Hatter and I don't want you any other way. I just don't think my Mother will appreciate it as much as I do."

The Hatter tried to look offended but he simply couldn't. He knew the Hare meant well and just wanted to impress. Plus he looked so cute when he was wound up tight as a drum.

"I'll try my best, but I make no promises," he joked, giving his Hare a peck on the lips. "Were you like this when your mother met all your other partners, or am I just lucky?"

"Oh…" Hare's face went red as a nervous laugh slipped from his lips. "She didn't exactly meet too many of them. Not that I've had many."

Hatter smirked and shook his head, not surprised in the slightest about his answer.

--

Hare stood on the train station platform, his shoes shined and his suit pressed, holding a bouquet of pansies from his own garden, tied together with a yellow ribbon. He kept bouncing on his toes, a bundle of nerves. Hatter felt that it was a good thing he had decided to come with him to the station, he was pretty sure his pal was going to take off like a rocket if there wasn't someone there holding him down. He was seated on a bench on the platform, a couple pink boxes from Just Add Sugar next to him as well as a box of handmade chocolates. "Hare, why don't you take a seat? The train is only a few minutes late."

"I can't sit, I'm just too nervous!" he squeaked, biting at his thumb as he looked up and down the track. "Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"Because if we're going to take our relationship to the next level I'm going to have to eventually meet your mother. And now is as good a time as any." Hatter reached his long arm and grasped Hare's hand, holding it to try to calm him down a little. It didn't seem to work. "Come and sit."

"I think maybe a year from next July would be a better day," Hare wheezed and moved to dash off the platform when a loud whistle made the pair jump. They turned to see the train pull up to the station, steam streaming from the smokestack. The train pulled in to a stop, pausing and then jolting forward once before the doors flung open. Hare stood there, fidgeting, waiting to see his mother come out of the double doors. When she didn't, he looked at the Hatter with a worried expression and dashed in to search for her.

It didn't take long before they appeared on the landing, June holding the bouquet of flowers in her gloved hands and the Hare dragging her obscenely large amount of luggage behind them.

"How was your trip?" The Hare asked his mother, attempting to lift her bags up onto his shoulder.

"It was marvelous, very relaxing," she crooned in her squeaky voice. June was fussing over him as they walked, adjusting his bow tie and pushing his bangs away from his eyes. "Although the guard kept harassing me for my ticket every stop. He was very rude."

The two approached Hatter and paused, looking up at him expectantly. He had gotten to his feet and met them halfway down the landing, holding the boxes of sugary goodies in his arms.

"Mom, this is the Mad Hatter."

Hatter could definitely see the family resemblance. She looked exactly like the Hare, only with a grey hairdo and lipstick. It was almost off putting.

"June!" Hatter beamed, thrusting a box of chocolate covered carrots in her direction. "So nice to finally meet you!"

June Hare smiled at the Hatter. "Oh, Hatter. Yes, it's lovely to finally meet you too. I've only ever spoken to you over the telephone." She seemed to give him a quick once over, her eyes scanning him for any imperfections in his dress or demeanor. She didn't give any indication that something was wrong, so the Hatter figured he was in the clear. "And thank you for these, I'm sure they're delicious."

"Hare and I made them ourselves," Hatter beamed, looking at his buddy. "From your family recipe, I believe."

The Hare looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown, but he was keeping it together. He kept balling his little hands up, fidgeting with his fingers behind his back. Hatter thought he looked adorable.

"That's very sweet of you," June mused, tucking the box under her arm as the group left the station and walked their way to Hare's house. About halfway there, Hatter took some of June's luggage from his boyfriend to give his arms a break.

June seemed charmed by Hare's little home. She thought the garden was impressive and oohed and awed as they entered the tiny abode. They settled her in Hare's guest room, leaving her bags there as they gave her a tour. Hare thought he'd faint when he saw her do a glove test on the top of some of his bookshelves, but it seemed he had passed her test because she didn't say anything.

About halfway through the tour, Hatter took out his golden pocket watch to check the time. "I should probably get home and get the tea brewing," he whispered to Hare as his mother stepped out of the room.

"Okay…" Hare whined, not wanting to be left alone. He was still a bundle of nerves, constantly afraid his mother would find something out of place for him to fix.

Hatter smiled and gave his hare a kiss on the cheek to calm him a little. "She got here safe, she seems happy with everything… try to relax."

"I'll try," he huffed, managing a weak smile. "I'll bring her over in about an hour."

"I'll see you then," he replied with a wink before speaking out loud. "I'm going to head home and get the tea started, June. I'll see you there in a bit."

"That will be nice," June replied from the next room. They found her in the kitchen standing on a chair, rotating all the cans in the pantry so their labels faced forward.

"Oh no…" Hare moaned. "Mom, stop. Leave those…"

[peakyblinders-au]

Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

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Tumblr Url & Your Real Name: @peakersblindy - Erika

Character Full Name: Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

Nicknames/Alias: Kassie

Backstory for nicknames/alias/names: you don’t have to add anything here if its unnecessary

Gender: Female, she/her

Gender Role: housewife & mommy

Sexual Orientation: straight (unless may carleton shows up)

Age: 27

Birthday: November 26, 1892

Deathday: please don’t kill me i need to make sure my son is ok

Birthplace: Sparta, Greece

Ethnicity: Greek-born but raised in England (Greek English??)

Family Members: not related to any of the Shelby’s or their friends by blood but by marriage/child through Tommy

Children: Tommy and I have a son together, little James Rokko Shelby. I met Tommy while he was in France as a tunneller, I was a nurse in the army and had to bandage him up fairly often. We understood each other well and fell in love and had a baby. Jamesy was born in France and is only a few months old when we get to go home

Face shape: oval

Eye colour: green

Hair colour: brown

Hairstyle: Long and wavy like a goddess

Skin tone: light olive skin (that tans easily)

Complexion: like a goddamn porcelain doll (not really but i wish so yeah make her beautiful!)

Body type/Build: thin with proportionate features

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 125 lbs

Breast size: 34b

Facial Hair: no thank you except for eyebrows

Scars/Birthmarks/Prominent Features: septum piercing (does that count?)

Preferred hand: Rightie

Health: able-bodied

Phobias: drowning, James losing his daddy

Addictions: whiskey and cigarettes because of Tommy (but she enjoys them responsibly because mom)

Mental Disorders: Has severe daddy issues from a messed up childhood, only Tommy knows the truth about it and knows how to comfort her and help the nightmares. She just needs to feel loved and taken care of and Tommy does that for her.

Attitude: SPICY very spicy, but also very loving and compassionate and friendly to those she trusts. She’s an actual Spartan so no one messes with her. She has resting bitch face (much like Tommy which is why they understand each other). She would literally take a bullet to the head for her son.

Expressions: lots of angry eyebrows, she bites her lip when she’s nervous or worried, lots of shrugs and “idk” when she is annoyed

Residence: She lives in Tommy’s mansion. She shares a bed with him (on the nights he actually sleeps) She’s the Wifey™

Political Affiliation: She grew up dirt poor so she probably secretly admires commies but she would never join herself. She tends to take Tommy’s side on politics whatever it may be at the moment

Friends: She is close with Arthur, Ada and Finn, but tends to butt heads with John. She’s friends with mostly everyone as she is known as Mrs. Shelby and likes to keep her acquaintances in good standing. Childhood friend of Alfie Solomons. He was her older neighbor growing up in Camden Town and she spent hours playing with him to get away from her dad. She is very good friends with Ekaterina, she took her in because she saw a tiny part of her younger, wilder self in her. And also probably Nikki and Denise’s characters- if that’s okay?

Enemies: She’s a Shelby now so anyone who crosses them is dead to her. She doesn’t like Kimber, Sabini, or anyone else that takes a stab at her husband/baby daddy.

Boss: Tommy is her boss, she is an integral part of the business because she handles ALL of Tommy’s paperwork

Pets: James has a small white dog that follows him everywhere and protects him at all times (You can name him)

Finances: She works for and with the Shelby family so she’s a Rich Bitch™

Marital Status: married Tommy in France by the river after she told him she was preggy

Sex Life: HELL YEAH smut this bitch up!

Lovers: she’s only ever fucked Tommy and isn’t tryna get with anyone else YET

Turn-ons: omg all the dommy!tommy stuff pretty much: choking, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, nipple tugging; when Tommy comes home covered in blood

Turn-offs: Creepy old men, she is very wary of men who remind her of her dad

Dom or Sub: sub but can definitely be dom and take control of the situation when asked (or hinted at)

Fantasies: I’m gonna aim high and say a threesome with Tommy and Michael…

Occupation: she manages all the clerical work for Shelby Company Ltd. so she’s at the office most days, but she’s with her little boy every minute she’s not working

Income: Shelby money

Work Experience: she took care of the wounded men at the Somme

Religion: I’m with tommy on this one: ALL RELIGION IS A FOOLISH ANSWER TO A FOOLISH QUESTION

Criminal Record: A baddie at heart and when no one’s looking but never on paper

Morals: morals because she has to teach her son to be a proper gentleman but also no morals because she deals with the Shelby’s and their enemies

Main Goal: Main goal is just to support Tommy and his terrible decisions, and raise their son and try to steer him away from the family business and send him to school to become a scientist or something

Ambitions: really just wants to be a good wife and mommy, set a good example for her son

Regrets: never going to school for a proper career

Secrets: Her dad was a real piece of shit and molested her throughout her infancy and childhood hence her severe daddy issues- Tommy is the only person alive who knows about it and can soothe her

Best memories: when she told Tommy she was pregnant and Tommy looked at her wide-eyed as a single tear started to fall down his cheek and the biggest smile come over him, he took her face in his hands and put their foreheads together “so you’re havin’ my baby eh?”

Worst memories: the last few months in France were akin to torture because everyday as she sat rubbing her growing belly, she hoped Tommy would come back at the end of the day. She was so afraid of seeing him go into the tunnels and never come back out.

Hobbies: She loves to knit little hats and gloves for Jamesy, she also knits Tommy some hats and he’s been seen wearing them only to be made fun of my his brothers. She also loves to have a few whiskeys with Tommy at the end of a long day ;)

Skills: she was an army nurse so she is a first aid expert and is the one everyone runs to when they’ve gotten hurt in a fight or an accident

Likes: rainy days by the fire, dark colors, flowers, laughing, being a mommy

Dislikes: blatantly rude people, people who overstep their boundaries, know-it-alls

Superstitions: the only thing she believes in is science

Quirks: she’s weird and clumsy but also very knowledgeable about certain things

Guilty Pleasures: talking back, getting people to admit they’re wrong

Strengths: charming, good with money, loyal to a fault, organized, she just loves to make sure her people feel supported  

Weaknesses: JEALOUS, a little vain, argumentative, doesn’t like to give in, can be childish

Languages: Greek, English, and French (learned it to talk with the soldiers)

Accent: from Camden Town so ?? Londony i guess

Speech Impediments: none

Voice: kinda on the low side but gets increasingly higher when she’s excited about something

Reputation: she doesnt really have one she’s just known for being Tommy’s wife/secretary and baby momma

Backstory: She comes from immigrant parents with 4 siblings so she was always kinda scraping what she could for herself and always very independent. She had a tumultuous relationship with both her parents and at the age of 18 she left to join the army as a nurse. She didn’t care what she had to so as long as she got to get away from her awful father. She ended up breaking off all contact with her family. During her time as a nurse she saw it all: broken bones, missing limbs, and strained spirits. That is where she met Thomas Shelby. He had been shot when he was brought in. She had never seen a soldier look so handsome and perfect while lying there bleeding. That was the first of many times she bandaged Tommy up and sent him back out to the battlefield. They became very close and eventually she became pregnant. It was shock all around at first and then instant excitement and love and hope for the future. They were married by the river in front of all their friends and Tommy’s brothers. Their baby boy was born in France but soon after they were able to come home and Tommy brought his new family back to Small Heath.

[minimin1993]

S/M 26 & B/L 26

Warning: Cheating. Angst. Violence

“What you planning on doing with Daniel today since we got an early day on set?” Sebastian said walking Min back to her trailer. 

“I don’t know yet. Right now honestly I just need a deep tissue rub and sleep.” Min said rolling her neck around. 

“Yeah you need something deep rubbed alright.” Sebastian said smirking. 

“Oh shut up, I am not talking to you about that.” Min said pushing him playfully. 

“Uh huh, now go be with your man, I am gonna go take a long LONG shower.” Sebastian said walking up his trailer. 

“Yup, I forgot you have a date with Miss. Rightie.” Min said winking at Sebastian making him laugh 

“Good one Princess. Good one.”

Min walks up her trailer ready to see her boyfriend when she was stopped again with Deja Vu. 

“Princess what's wrong?” Sebastian question seeing Min stop frozen at the doorstep before walking over to her but she opened her door. Once again she catches another boyfriend of hers who is balls deep in her assistant; Maddie. 

“Wow I totally didn’t see this coming. Oh don’t stop on my account, it’s fine, I am just going to close this door and leave you 2 be.” Min said slamming the door pushing past Sebastian to leave. 

“Min what’s wr..” Sebastian was chasing her before her trailer opens revealing Daniel and Maddie scrambling to put their clothes on running toward them.

“Baby, it not what it looks like.” Daniel said about to grab her.

“Don’t you dare fucken touch her!” Sebastian yelled grabbing his shirt ready to pummel his face in.

“Sebastian stop, it’s not worth it.” Min said pulling him off Daniel while some of the other cast members runs over. 

“Min please listen to me.” Daniel said as Maddie helps him up.

“How long?” 

“What?” 

“I said how long? How long have you been sleeping with her?” Min repeated. 

“2 months.” was all he has to say. 

“Wow, so our relationship was practically a joke. Okay. We’re done Daniel, there's no more talking. You can leave. And Maddie best know your fired.” Min said trying her best not to cry with all the people watching. 

“Min please.” Daniel begged wanting to step closer before Robert Downey Jr. got in front of him. 

“I suggest you leave son before I let these guys off their leash to kill you. You messed up bad and you lost an amazing person in the process. Hope that girl was worth it. Now leave before I call security.” Robert told Daniel who walks away with Maddie before turning over to Min who was standing there with a face no one saw before. Emotionless. 

“I just want to be alone for a while. Anthony, Joe I will be in tomorrow to set don’t worry” She said looking at the Russo bros.

“Min are you sure? You should take a few days off.” Joe insisted.

“No its fine, I’ll be fine. I will see you all tomorrow.” Min said walking off to her car.

“Princess…” Sebastian said running over to her. 

“I said I want to be alone Sebastian.” Min said not even looking at him getting in the car and drove off the set leaving everyone stunned on set. 

 Sebastian was sitting in makeup worried for Min who happens to ignore every phone call and text message from everyone but just like she said when her call time the next day she walks into makeup trailer looking like she didn’t sleep all night with heavy bags under her blood shot eyes. 

“It looks like you guys have a lot of work to make these bags disappear.” She said with a painful smile on her face.

“Princess…” Sebastian said looking at her 

“I am fine Sebastian, don’t worry about me. I am a big girl.” Min said with an emotionless smile breaking his heart. In the years knowing her she was always full of life, now all he saw was an empty shell of her. 

  By the time Linda got in range where she knows she can transmit her thoughts to Bucky that is what she did.    “Bucky listen to me, go back to the house as quickly as possible. SHIELD is on there way to you, grab the bag. I will meet you there.” Linda send into Bucky mind.

“I didn’t do it love, you gotta believe me. I been here waiting for you to come back.” 

“I know baby, but they won’t. And Steve’s coming, I didn’t mean to tell him but I had to.”

“Its okay love, I am not mad just be careful. ``I love you.”

“I love you too.” Linda thought as she parked the jet out of town before running back to the safe house. By the time she got there she heard Steve and Bucky talking.

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive.” Steve said 

“That's smart. Good strategy.” 

“This is not the time to talk, we have to go now.” Linda said walking next to Bucky readying herself for a fight.

“  This doesn't have end in a fight, Buck.” Steve said    “It always ends in a fight.” Bucky said removing his glove. 

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” 

“  I don't know.” 

“Steve this is not the time.” Linda tried.    “Yes, you do.” Steve said just as a grenade launches into the window but Steve uses his shield to deflect it back out only to have another come in. Bucky kicks it over to Steve who contains it with his shield once again. Another came through one of the windows but Bucky uses their bed to shield them before Linda flips the table to block the front door that they are pummeling with the ram. 

“James we have to go now.” Linda said as policeman smashes through the windows. Linda whips one of them out before going over where the bed used to be and smashes through the floor retrieving her backpack.   

“Buck, stop! You're gonna kill someone.” Steve stops Bucky from attacking more but Bucky shoves him into the ground punching a hole in the floor.    “I am not going to kill anyone.” He said retrieving his backpack throwing it out the window. Bucky and Steve get behind Steve's shield to avoid gunfire raining through the house which Linda can shield herself from easy. Bucky shoves Steve and he knocks a cop over.

“James now.” Linda said as they rush to the door,  Bucky holds up his metal hand and repels bullets, then slams a cop into shelves, he picks up a large cement brick and slams it into a cop approaching them. When a cop shoots through the door from the outside Linda sends a blast knocking out the cops in the way of the door before Bucky rushing out first knocking out the policemens pointing their guns at them, a cop then descends through a sky-light on a zip wire, Bucky grabs the cop's gun and slams him into the wall before bashing a couple of cops with the battering ram. Linda and Bucky looks over the stairwell seeing more of the police team running up. 

‘Go, I will catch up.’ Linda transmitted into Bucky's mind as he grabs onto the cop hanging on the wire jumping down. Linda was running down the stairs, knocking out as many cops as she can when Steve jumps down helping Bucky. 

“Come on man.” Steve said catching the policeman Bucky accidentally knocks over the stairwell before Bucky jumps down a couple floor before catching himself using his metal arm letting out a scream. Linda looks over the stairs jumping down with him looking up at Steve who was staring down at them. 

“I’m sorry.” She transmitted into Steve when Bucky runs at full speed jumping over to the building next to them grabbing his backpack with Linda following. 

As they were running a black figure comes out of nowhere knocking Bucky over. Linda rushes over to Bucky looking at the person in a Black Panther like suit before extending his claw charging at Bucky. Bucky pushes Linda out of the way as they fight each other, she cracks her whip wrapping it on his wrist, unaffecting him before he grabs it and flips her away from them. . 

“This is not your fight Luna.” Black Panther said making Linda flinch at her given name.

“Don’t call me that.” Linda said about to send a charge at him before a helicopter flies over and starts shooting at them. Linda shields herself watching Sam fly into the helicopter sending it flying before she jumps over to the panther like figure knocking him off Bucky. Bucky stands up immediately grabbing his backpack jumping off the building with Linda as the Black Panther chases them. 

As they ran down the street more bullet comes flying at them before Bucky grabs Linda hand as they jump down the bridge on to the freeway underneath taking off running at full speed. 

Bucky and Linda running knowing the Black Panther and Steve was chasing after them while hearing sirens goes off when police cars start coming their direction. Bucky grabs Lindas hand and immediately jumps over onto the other side of the road before Bucky grabs onto a motorcycle and both of them flies onto it cruising down the freeway once again. 

“Steve’s right behind us, so is that Black Panther” Linda thought

“I know.” Bucky answered only when the Black Panther launches himself onto them.

“Look out.” Linda said about to blast him when Bucky hand grabs him by the neck choking him about to send him off when he latches onto the backside of the motorcycle dragging them down. Bucky uses his metal hand to stop them from going down when Linda sends a charge to the Black Panther knocking him off the motorcycle. 

Linda pulls out a grenade from Bucky back and tosses it up attaching it to the top of the freeway destroying it trapping everyone inside behind it only to see the Black Panther jump out and slashes their tire sending them rolling on the ground. The Black Panther was on top of Bucky again but Steve jumps out of the rubble and pushes him off Bucky as they all stand up not long before they all got surrounded by cops pointing their guns at them.  

Rhodey comes out of nowhere and puts his blasters pointing at everyone “Stand down now. Congratulations CAP, Grey you are a criminal.” 

Linda and Steve puts their hands up as they come and forcefully shove Bucky down causing Linda eyes to turn black.

“Don’t make this worse doll” Bucky transmitted into her mind seeing her eyes flash about to tear into them. “Please.” 

Linda calmed down as they put her arms down handcuffing her before turning back to the Black Panther who removes his mask revealing T’Challa. 

“Your highness.” Rhodey said as they all got shoved into the van, Bucky thought got put into a containing box strapping him down.

[tales-of-abysia]

Reflection - Yellow One

Engine walked through the park at the foot of the tower. He stopped a moment to watch Mikendo try to teach Clora how to skate. She wore his hat for good luck, looking like a real punk with her bandages fingers and a scratch on her face. He chuckled as her face contorted in focus and he realized he didn’t have the heart to remind her that Mikendo had no idea what he was doing. He continued on the thin path that wrapped around the tower, as he had places to be. He grabbed a small violet growing from one of the planters and slipped it into his vest pocket.

Engine finally got to the mirror door to the Reflection Room. Miss Aria was within, waiting for their talk. Sitting on the wicker bench was Lexi, bending a metal wire into a dragonfly shape. “Heya there Alexia. Waiting to see Miss Aria?”

She looked up at him momentarily before her gaze fell back to the wire insect. “Nah, I’m hanging out with Bastion today. We have a task.”

Engine looked around, toward the park and then toward the residential district. He didn’t see Bash anywhere. After a moment he turned his gaze to the mirror. “Wait, in there? Bastion? Like the real Bastion?”

She blinked slowly, and then finally looked up to Engine. “Is there a fake Bastion?”

“Um, well no. I mean-“

The door whipped open and a thoroughly annoyed Bastion stormed out of it. “What a waste of time. Come on, Lexi. We’re going.” He noticed Engine and pointed his thumb at the door. “I half expected you to be in there. I thought I was going to interrupt you.”

Engine smiled wide. “I got distracted and I’m running late! Excuse me.” He walked over to the door and gave the glass handle a soft tug. Before he stepped through he glanced back to them long enough to see them head into the lower levels.

Engine stepped into a room that reflected himself. A pale purple near the ceiling bled darker and darker until the color was thick and dark on the carpeted floor. To the left he had a few pieces of art. The closest was not hanging, but resting awkwardly on the counter. He lifted it, examining. There was a celestial body in the center. The sun shone to the left, an inverted angelic being reaching down from the sky and holding it up. The right had a skeletal figure exuding darkness reaching out and placing a hand on the moon. The two together symbolized a duality. He hung it up and glanced at a couple more pieces, each with these two tones as a theme. Two serpents curled around each other, a brightly lit pond with a dark reflection, and more. He smiled at it rested level and then turned to the small chair there, a small angle on the back for support. He sat straight in it with a sincere smile. “Hello Miss Aria. You look a bit troubled.”

Aria stared down into one of her desk drawers, her brow lowered. “Yeah…” She closed the drawer and then grabbed a folder off of her desk, closing it and sorting it away. Engine noted Bastion’s name on the file, but it seemed so thin. She turned back toward Engine with his own file, one with several tabs and a bit more bulk. A sketch of a notebook was on the front of it. “All righty Engine. Last time we talked about uhh…”

“Please smile, Miss. A grimace doesn’t suit your face, and the stress will wrinkle you.”

Her tired face looked up at him, her eyes widening a bit until they met his. After a soft scoff she smiled genuinely back at him. “Thank you, Engine. I’m afraid I’m just having a stressful day. It should pass soon.” She feathered through his folder and Engine was quite sure that Bastion had ruined her mood. He said nothing. “So we were talking about your containment?”

Engine nodded. “Yeah, I think I remember that.” He looked at the tall metal table before him, where a Newton's cradle, an hour glass, and a fidget spinner all rested. He flipped the hourglass. “I forget where I was so I’ll start over. My book was damaged during the Flood, y'know? I exerted a lot of my energy to hold back that big red monster so I can’t remember that part too well. I remember waking up though, and seeing Clora and Lexi trying to fix my brother and I. Lexi got all the pages and put them back together and she was binding them to a new spine.” He reached into his vest and pulled out a small book with a fresh white spine and a thick black binding string. The pages had begun to turn brown from use and age. He placed this onto the table next to the hourglass. “I recovered quickly but I do have some new scars. They’re gonna need some work to cover up.” Aria stared for a moment with curiosity. He stood and slipped his vest onto the seat's back, and then crossed his arms to lift his long sleeve shirt off. Aria's eyes fixed onto his skin as he disrobed, catching attention on his forearm tattoos first. The one on his right arm – a metal cross used as a projectile weapon in combat with “Redemption” written across it - was old. On the left arm was a perfect reflection, but this one was fresh and the flesh was still raw from the process. This one read “Penance.” Engine did them himself. Her eyes followed up to his shoulder, where the skin was torn and rippled all around. This is where his arm had been removed. The skin was paler, his muscle atrophied and his fingers slender. One wouldn’t notice while he was clothed, but topless it quickly became apparent. He turned, revealing a long polearm tattoo down his spine. As he lifted his arm, however, a long tear down his left side under his arm quickly became visible. It was sewn shut with a thick black cord similar to the thread that now bound his book. “I got the design for Penance done, so now it matches Redemption on my right arm. I gotta figure out something for this scar on the side though because it isn’t very aesthetic.”

Aria took in all of the details. She winced at the marring of his flesh. “You uh… You took a lot of damage in the Flood, huh?”

He nodded, his goofy grin firmly remaining in place. “Yeah! Lexi tells me that thing ripped my arm off, but Vedroh gave my his so I’m all right. The tear down my side is actually Vedroh's fault so I might make that tat looks like him. It’s kinda shaped like him, yeah?”

Aria stared at the scar in silence for longer than Engine felt comfortable with. When she noticed his discomfort she cleared her throat and looked down to the folder for a moment. A twinge of guilt rang through her like the chime of a bell. “Your recovery took a while, yeah? It took a couple months for you to get back to normal.”

“I mean, yeah. But still, that’s better than how long Damien had to wait. And anyways, I still have an arm so that’s pretty great!” He quickly grabbed his shirt and slipped it back on, it fitting his form like a glove. It was pretty clear that he hadn’t expected his wounds to make her so uneasy. He didn’t want her to suffer the sight any longer.

She tried to move the conversation forward. “So you mentioned before that you’ve been feeling different? You never went into detail with that.”

A light slowly faded from Engine's eye, although his smile remained on him like a statue's would. “Heh… Yeah, I’m a little tense lately. I seem pretty quick to get agitated, and to top it off I don’t seem to be able to make my words come out the way I’d like them to. There’s been a lot to do lately and it’s left me pretty tired all the time, but I’m proud to say I’ve kept it all in line despite sometimes burning the candle at both ends or staying awake way too long. It doesn’t bother me or anything but somehow whenever I bring it up about how I’m holding together I somehow make it sound like a bad thing. I stopped talking about it to be honest. It only seems to make the Missus mad when I bring up my exhaustion and she has so much going on already. Trying to find the right thing to say has been really difficult lately and I’m wondering if I’m being insensitive, rude, or maybe I’ve just said it the wrong way, maybe with the wrong tone?” Engine noticed the hourglass emptied and he pulled a ball back on the Cradle, starting the melodic clicks.

Aria tapped her pen in tune to the clicks as she thought. “Well those are possibilities, but I think it’s far more likely that your Missus is under a lot of stress. Her own doubt likely makes her feel like a burden and that’s coming out when she hears about your exertion. She has trouble with herself a lot of days so my guess is that she has the impression that you’re overworked.”

“I like my work though.”

“Well En, it’s always possible that she thinks you’re being insincere sometimes when you tell her not to worry. If you don’t speak out when you are tired or stressed, then she’s going to start assuming when.”

Engine’s eyes widened. “Holy whoa! I didn’t think of that!”

Aria couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Did you think she was psychic, or something? Or perhaps you actually believe she presumes you have infinite stamina.”

Engine shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I don’t really want to add to an already unbearable burden. I can handle myself just fine, but it’s her I worry about. I’m very certain of my limits because every day it’s the same, with a minor variable of sleep. She has a different threshold each day, and if she passes that it can wreck her. I don’t want her to push too hard and get worse, or loose focus when she needs it. If I help with everything I can be more certain that she is okay. I need her to be okay, you know? I want her to get better and be happy, so I will push myself a little bit to make it happen. I know sometimes I ask a lot so the least I can do is give back.”

“I’m sure she wants the same for you though.” Aria tilted her head with a small frown showing her concern.

“Yes. But no, I can handle a lot more right now so that’s what I’ll do. I support my little family. I make sure to rest and say no when I need to, it’s just not as often as others may like.”

“Burning the candle at both ends isn’t sustainable, En.” Her tapping slowed as the cradle's did.

Engine picked up the fidget and began spinning it the moment the cradle ceased it’s clacking. “Well my candle is reeeeaaally big, and if I don’t burn enough of it then I can’t even sleep. Like walking home for example; it helps me burn off extra energy from work, killing some of my momentum. If I skip that then sometimes I am really talkative when I get home, and then I feel really annoying. I don’t wanna be annoying, I wanna be helpful and a benefit to my family. I wanna know my siblings, and help them grow. I wanna be there for my wife when her doctors don’t listen. I wanna be a great husband and sometimes that means taking a little extra of the load and using the power I have. It isn’t more than I’m capable of, and it isn’t more than my fair share. She took a lot of the labor at first, and found us a home, and got me work. She’s done a whole lot of tiring work for me and I’m sure as hell gonna pay it back with interest. Maybe it’s only something I think about, but I recover pretty quickly and if a bad time comes up I want her to be able to handle it with me. I’m unwilling to let her suffer when I can stop it, especially if it’s not a bother for me. It usually isn’t to be honest, and even when it’s a lot for me to handle I am there because I want to be. It’s my choice.”

“Have you considered how that makes her feel?”

Engine placed the fidget down and stood, grabbing his vest. As he did so, there was a soft tone throughout the room. “I would hope that she’s proud to have a guy who is willing to put Us first instead of just me. I do plenty to work on myself, and the things I am not working on have more to do with my own shortcomings then they do her. I’m imperfect, but I try to be the perfect husband. It’s just who I am.” He pulled his vest on as she closed the folder. “Thanks for having me again, Miss Aria. It’s always a pleasure.” He held his hand out and took a step toward her desk, to where the rug ended, perfectly in line with the window.

“NO, EN!” She spoke a moment too late as he reached the edge and instead of stepping onto the gray wood floor he came to a hard stop, faceplanting into an invisible wall right in front of her desk. The air rippled out like the surface of water as she let out a long sigh. “Engine, must you do that every time?”

With a bit of a blush, Engine rubbed his nose and picked up his notebook. “Eheh… yeah I keep forgetting that we cant cross there. Sorry. Uhhh… Oh! I got this for you!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small violet flower. He gently tossed it over the divide and it landed on her desk. “There we go! You said you wanted to see the Park last time but I remembered you can’t leave, so I brought some of the park to you! Hopefully you can keep it alive for a while, Miss Aria. Have a good day, okay?” He turned toward the door and happily pulled it open.

As the door closed, Aria smiled and lifted up the violet. “Beautiful…”

[michrob87]

Lefties have it right

http://blog.timesunion.com/hoffmanfiles/lefties-have-it-right/40932/

Lefties have it right.By

Rob Hoffman

on January 8, 2018 at 5:31 AM

0Let’s face it, there’s nothing in our physiological makeup that has fascinated us, or mystified us more than the functioning of the human brain.  It is by far our most important organ, and yet, it remains the one that we know the least about.  While we continue to try to ascertain its workings, there is still so much about this magnificent biological structure we have yet to fully comprehend.  (I suppose that is why it is so hard to truly know ourselves.)  I believe we are living in a time where we hunger to understand the brain, and we can all thank the president for that.  After all, he himself has discussed the importance of the brain, and has told us on numerous occasions that he in fact has, “A really good brain.”

(“I have a very good brain.”  They say that’s exactly what Sir Issac Newton used to say after the apple fell on his head.  All smart people have really good brains, and feel the need to tell us about it all of the time…right?  In fact, remember the time Albert Einstein stated that he was a really mentally stable genius?  You Tube)

It is our brains that explain everything about us.  Many psychologists prescribe to the notion that our behaviors, likes, and habits are predetermined, and that our brains are simply hardwired to be as they are.  Sure our environment shapes us to some to degree, but let’s face it, people can tell you from now until the judgement day that you should like seafood, or appreciate art, or poetry, but if it’s not something that you would naturally gravitate towards, no amount of coaxing in the world is going to get you to a place where you are going to sit there and enjoy a “poetry slam,” when the idea of poetry literally causes you to break into hives.

I can say with great confidence that I would not have been one of these wide-eyed gadflies who sat around on college campuses listening to the “Bard of Haight-Ashbury,” Allen Ginsberg.  I suppose that my brain simply isn’t wired as such that I can enjoy an art-form such as free-verse poetry.  Of course, if Ginsberg were to show up sporting let’s say Yodels, I suppose I could be coerced to listen to a little good old-fashioned “Hippie Poetry.”  What is it about Yodels that make the prattle of poetry just go down a little bit smoother? (Getty Images)

Considering how differently we are wired, it shouldn’t be any wonder that we are a divided people here in the United States.  However, I believe the media has it wrong regarding what divides us.  There’s a lot of talk about the concept of tribalism, and how we are loyal to our own “tribe” or group.  While I don’t disagree with this description of how our society is broken down, I do believe that the way most so-called experts have attempted to explain the causes of our tribalism are way off the mark.

It is my estimable opinion that it is not race, nor religion, nor region, nor the football teams that we root for that divide us as much as it is the conflagration that is “left vs. right.”  I don’t mean the political left vs. the political right.  I mean left-handed people vs. right-handed people.  Think about it.  Sure there’s racism in the world.  African-Americans and whites don’t see the world the same way here in the United States, this much we know to be true.  However, even amongst whites or African-Americans, there is division over the concept of being right-handed vs. being left-handed.  How did we get here, and can we bridge this gap, or are right-handed people simply doomed to be inferior to left-handed people?  (Spoiler alert…I’m a lefty!)

This division over left-handedness vs. right-handedness lies squarely on the doorstep of the brain.  It is our brains that determine whether we lean towards left-handed vs. right-handed dominance.  How typical is it to be left-handed?  Not very.  Somewhere between 88-92% of the world’s population is right-handed.  How soon in our human development do we choose a dominant hand?  Apparently pretty early.  According to researchers who studied hand dominance in utero, they found that hand dominance in the womb was an accurate predictor of handedness after birth.  Heredity also plays a role as well.  Nearly 24% of handedness is inherited. As a lefty with two right-handed parents, all I can say is, I wish I knew which hand the milk-man delivered with.

Like all things of value in our society, lefty’s are rare.  We’re like leprechauns, but taller.  (Hoffman Collection)

There was a time in our society that being a lefty was considered a negative.  People would criticize your handwriting, or the way you held a fork, or cut your meat, or your ability to handle scissors, or your throwing.  Look at baseball.  Most of the positions on the field are made specifically and exclusively for right-handers.  Forget Jackie Robinson, the real hero who integrated baseball was the first player to stand to the first-base side of home-plate, or throw from the mound from the first-base side of the rubber with that slinging motion, tossing another unhittable slider.

My Aunt Sylvia, who has since passed away, was not known for her cheerful, optimistic nature.  In fact you could argue that she only had two moods; fed-up and surly.  How did she acquire a disposition that was so chock-filled with sourness?  Most likely it was because she was born a lefty, but was forced in school to write and eat with her right-hand.  This is worse than making a child renounce their religion.  Religion is a choice.  Nobody chooses to be left-handed, and yet our education system has historically denied 12-14% of our population that most basic of rights, to favor your lefts.

The “Immortal Babe.”  The “Sultan of Swat.”  The “Bambino.”  The “Hefty-Lefty.”  (I kind of embellished on that one.)  Babe Ruth was an inspiration to every chubby left-hander who has ever picked up a baseball, especially when you learn that he used to play with his glove on backwards since they didn’t even have a left-handed mitt at the orphanage where he learned the game.  (Getty Images)

The sad truth is, left-handed people have been discriminated against by an uptight, and right-leaning society that has sought to crush those free-spirited “port-siders” who just want to be free….man.  Historically, left-handed people were routinely accused of consorting with the devil, and during the 15th and 16th centuries, any woman who was left-handed could be branded a witch.  (If you listen to The Eagles’ classic “Witchy Woman,” backwards, you can clearly hear Don Henley say, “Bitch is lefty.”)  Even during the supposedly more enlightened 19th century, left-handedness was sometimes brutally suppressed.  In school, students who preferred using their left-hand to write with would often find their left hand tied to the back of their chair.

Even in modern times, the lefty is forced to exist in a world where the scissors, most sports, the left-to-right style of how we write, and many attempts at manual labor are all catered towards the prissy and spoiled right-handed majority.  This group of left-brained, right-siders, are an oppressive bunch that are so insecure about their dull sameness, they use the word for “correct” to describe their handedness.  What’s so “right” about being right?  Why are we lefties left behind?  Why are we so put upon?  I’ll tell you why.  Left-handed people are rebels.  We are non-conformists.  We don’t go with the flow.  We are the fly in the ointment.  The proverbial turd in the punchbowl.  We are the antagonists, and we won’t be denied, as long as you have those special left-handed scissors that make it so much easier for us to cut stuff up.

A rallying cry for those who refuse to conform.  This is the true “rebel yell!”  (The Hoffman Collection)

Even in politics, being on the left is seen as a negative.  Right-wing politics is ascendant.  The “Alt-right” is the hottest political movement in America as we speak.  In Europe in the early part of the 20th century, people willingly supported the Fascists in Italy, and the Nazis in Germany rather than support the left-wing policies of the Socialists or Communists.  (Granted, the Communists were and are pretty horrible, but the Nazis if possible were worse.)  If you wanted to destroy a politician’s career in America between 1920, and, well today, all you have to do is refer to them as a “lefty.”  The only way it would seem to survive as a left-wing politician in the United States, is to be at least 74 years old, look disheveled, and yell a lot about the rich in a very thick Brooklyn accent, even if you’ve lived in Vermont for over 40 years.  (By the way my little left-wing millennials, it didn’t work for Bernie either, he lost, remember?)

In fact, anything that smacks of the “left,” is seen by the teeming masses as negative and undesirable.  Consider the following:

A bad idea is “out of left-field.”

A guy who sucks in baseball is told to play “left-out.”

When somebody is trying to insult you, but make it sound like they are saying something nice it’s called a “left-handed compliment.”

Food that’s not finished at dinner time, and is reheated the next day in a dried-out, crusty, and luke-warm version of its former self, is known non-affectionately as a “leftover.”

When Jesus comes back, and takes all of the good-hearted people who are the true believers, while the sinners who didn’t make the cut  must fend for themselves amidst the devil’s minions, it’s known as being “left-behind.”

Why couldn’t I have listened to my mother and teachers who begged me to be right-handed.  If only I hadn’t been such a rebel, I could be chilling with Kirk Cameron in whatever vanilla flavored version of heaven he’s squatting in.  (You Tube)

Outside of being a non-conformist, are there any advantages in going through life as “southpaw?”  Well….

You usually only have to hit against righties in baseball, which is good for a lefty since getting to face a righty is easier.

Nobody really ever borrows your baseball glove since there are very few lefties.

Your serve in racquetball, tennis, and perhaps squash, (I really don’t know anything about squash other than it tends to get played by swells named “Mitt,” or “Buzz,” or “Chip,” or “Clark,” or some “tool-like” moniker given to an individual I wouldn’t be caught dead “chilling” with.) is really hard to return.  I’ve won racquetball games without ever having to hit the ball a second time after I’ve served due to the fact that some people find it very frustrating to return a left-hander’s serve.

Lefties always get the end of the table since nobody wishes to buy an elbow from me or any other lefty while we’re eating with our unconventional left-hand.

Left-handed people tend to return quicker from strokes.  (Either that or nobody can tell the difference.)

Supposedly, left-handed college graduates tend to earn 26% more money than right-handed graduates.  (This stat may be a little bit skewed since both Bill Gates and Steve Jobs are and were both left-handed.  They more than make up for my teacher’s salary.)

They have a better chance of passing their drivers test.  Lefties pass 57% of the time, while righties only pass 47% of the time.  One therefore could make the assumption that we left-handers must be better drivers.  (Fun fact, I failed my road-test on the first try.  Sorry, other lefties.)

They are faster typists.  That’s why I’m able to write these blogs so quickly.  Look, I’m finished…not.

They spend less time standing in line.  Geez, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.

They are better at multi-tasking. (Or as my brother calls multi-tasking, doing a lot of things at once poorly.)

(Source: Left-handed people are great, righties suck.com)

Because we lefties have been so badly discriminated against over the centuries, we have needed to invest our time in developing cute little sayings, and putting them on coffee mugs.  The best part, while we’re drinking our coffee, those insufferable right-handers have to read what’s on our mugs every time we take a sip.  They can literally suck-it.  (The Hoffman Collection)

Probably the greatest attribute that lefties have going for them is their creativity.  How can I prove this?  Take a look at this list of famous lefties and you tell me if we’re not G_d’s most gifted children.

Barack Obama – No surprise here.  Is there anything this Kenyan, Muslim, Socialist isn’t to the left of?

Bill Gates – Let’s see, richest man in the world is a lefty.  Check!

Oprah Winfrey – “You get a left-handed glove, and you get a left-handed glove, and you get a left-handed glove,” is what I imagine her saying when I daydream about Oprah being a lefty.

Babe Ruth – A great pitcher and perhaps the greatest hitter in baseball history, and of course he’s a lefty.  You know, this is just getting boring pointing out our superiority.

Napoleon Bonaparte – Which hand was it that he stuck in his shirt for all of those portraits?

Leonardo DaVinci – Does that mean that the Ninja Turtles are left-handed as well?

Marie Curie – Lefties “radiate” greatness.

Aristotle – I think, therefore I believe I’ll be a left-hander, or something like that.

Jimi Hendrix – I hear the guy could play a little guitar.  By the way, I believe he shot heroin right-handed, of course.

Edward R. Murrow – Only the best journalist in history. I believe he could smoke with either hand however.

I would also mention famous lawyer Clarence Darrow, H.G. Wells, James Baldwin, Michelangelo, Charlie Chaplain, Robert De Niro, Bill Bradley, and Ned Flanders.  Guess who’s right-handed? Well, if you had guessed Tom Brady, Adolf Hitler, Bill Belichick, Joseph Stalin,and Judas, then you’d be correct…or should I say “right?”  Do you really need any more proof?

I’m sorry, could somebody remind me how many right-handed artists painted the most famous portrait in world history?  Oh that’s right, the man was a lefty.  Thank you Leonardo.   You are the Jimi Hendrix of the Renaissance.  (Getty Images)

I believe I have accurately explained the greatness of being left-handed.  However, what are we to make of those who are ambidextrous, the bi-sexuals of the hand-dominance world.  Are they more flexible?  Are they more open-minded?  Do they have some sort of genetic advantage?  Personally, I believe that they are descended from a tribe of magic pixies.  I’m not sure I trust these people.  Pick a handedness, and stick with it.  We don’t need you genetic supermen making the rest of us look bad.

[giantsfootball0]

Every playoff team’s one big lineup question – SweetSpot

Let’s look at the 10 teams currently holding down a playoff position and what lineup questions they might still need to resolve as we inch closer to the postseason.

Los Angeles Dodgers: Who starts in the outfield? Depth is fun, until everyone stops hitting and the manager doesn’t know who to play. I think we can determine this: Chris Taylor will start in center field (and hit leadoff) and Yasiel Puig will start in right field. Taylor has struggled in September (.212, 19 strikeouts, three walks), but he has been the regular starter in center field ever since Joc Pederson was demoted in mid-August, making some starts at shortstop only because Corey Seager has rested a sore elbow at times.

So that leaves left field. Curtis Granderson is still the likely starter against right-handed pitchers, even though he has hit .126 in 101 plate appearances since coming over from the Mets. That’s a scary number, and I’m sure manager Dave Roberts would love to see Granderson have a couple of big games before fully committing to him. That leaves two other options in a platoon with Kike Hernandez, Cody Bellinger (with Adrian Gonzalez playing first base) or Andre Ethier. I have trouble seeing those as realistic options. Ethier has barely played the past two seasons; you don’t know how he can move out there and you’re basically expecting him to fall out of bed after two years of injuries and expect him to hit. Gonzalez doesn’t look healthy and has barely played in September; he probably doesn’t even make the postseason roster.

As an aside: Please, Dodgers fans, quit complaining that Granderson ruined the team chemistry. It’s a ridiculous and embarrassing excuse for a team-wide slump.

Washington Nationals: Who starts in the outfield? The good news is that Bryce Harper took batting practice on the field Sunday for the first time since injuring his knee in August; he did some running and said he’s aiming to be ready for Game 1 of the National League Division Series. Obviously the Nationals would love to get him some game action before then, but for now it appears he’s on target to play.

With Michael Taylor in center field, that leaves manager Dusty Baker multiple options in left field. The Nationals have started five different left fielders in September, plus three more players who started in right field. That’s eight options! The sentimental favorite would be veteran Jayson Werth, but he has hit just .133 in 13 games since returning from the disabled list in late August. Werth really hasn’t hit right-handers since 2014, so I would consider him a viable option only against lefties.

That leaves Howie Kendrick and Adam Lind as the best options. Kendrick has hit well since coming over from the Phillies, while Lind has had a terrific season as a bench bat, hitting .306/.361/.508. He hadn’t played the outfield consistently since 2010 but has started 23 games in left; his ability to hit righties means he could draw some starts out there, even as a defensive liability.

An intriguing bench option might be 20-year-old rookie Victor Robles, who could beat out Andrew Stevenson, Rafael Bautista or Alejandro De Aza for a final spot. He has only nine major league at-bats after hitting .300 in the minors with 27 steals, but his speed makes him a pinch running option. Baker hasn’t ruled out the idea of Robles making the roster. “If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t play him at all,” Baker told MLB.com the other day.

As an aside: If Harper makes it back, Baker would be wise to hit Harper or Anthony Rendon second instead of a lesser hitter. Rendon has occupied the sixth spot for most of the season before Harper was injured.

Chicago Cubs: Where does Ian Happ play? Joe Maddon’s head might explode with all of his options. Happ has hit his way into a regular role — somewhere — with 22 home runs and a .507 slugging mark. Addison Russell just returned from his foot injury and was making Gold Glove-caliber plays at shortstop, so the Cubs’ best defensive lineup would be Russell at short and Javier Baez at second.

That could mean the switch-hitting Happ ends up in the outfield. Since returning from the minors, Kyle Schwarber has hit .253/.338/.567, and you know Maddon will want that bat in the lineup against right-handers. The power that Happ and Schwarber offer would help offset the lower OBPs Russell and Baez bring to the table. There’s also Maddon favorite Ben Zobrist and Albert Almora Jr. (.910 OPS against left-handed pitchers) to consider. Most likely scenario: Schwarber and Almora platoon in the outfield, with Happ switching back-and-forth between center and left. That leaves Zobrist, Jon Jay and Tommy La Stella coming off the bench. It’s a deep roster with lots of flexibility and pinch-hitting options.

An aside: For most of August, Maddon hit Kris Bryant third and Anthony Rizzo fourth. The past few games he has gone back to Bryant second and Rizzo third. Willson Contreras has been hot in the second half (.320/.412/.670), so Maddon might stick with him in the cleanup spot.

Arizona Diamondbacks: Is Chris Iannetta the unlikeliest No. 2 hitter for a playoff team? Yes. Iannetta hit .188 with the Angels in 2015. He hit .210 with the Mariners in 2016. Now he’s a 34-year-old catcher suddenly hitting second for the first time in his career (he has started 21 games in that spot in his career, 18 of them coming this season). Of the past 14 games he has started, 13 have seen him hitting in the 2-hole (he hit cleanup in the other game). Obviously getting away from that marine layer in Seattle and Anaheim has helped rejuvenate the bat, and he has crushed lefties in particular with a .902 OPS.

One thing to note: The odd thing about manager Torey Lovullo’s lineups is that he has Paul Goldschmidt and J.D. Martinez in the fourth and fifth spots, no matter the pitcher. Jake Lamb and A.J. Pollock rotate hitting third. Lamb, however, has collapsed in the second half (.195/.315/.369), so it would make sense to move him down and get Goldschmidt/Martinez up earlier.

Colorado Rockies: Where does Ian Desmond play? He doesn’t. The first year of a five-year, $70 million contract has been a disaster as Desmond has hit .275/.322/.368, with the hand fracture he suffered in spring training perhaps limiting his ability to drive the ball. Mark Reynolds will play first, Gerardo Parra will play left and Carlos Gonzalez, finally heating up, will play right, especially with righty Zack Greinke the likely wild-card game starter for Arizona.

As an aside, I’d bat DJ LeMahieu leadoff and Charlie Blackmon second to give Blackmon a few more runners on base, but there’s also nothing wrong with starting the game with a 1-0 lead.

Cleveland Indians: Who plays in the outfield? With Bradley Zimmer likely out for the playoffs with a broken bone in his left hand, and Michael Brantley slow to heal from his ankle injury (he hasn’t played since Aug. 8), manager Terry Francona’s options in the outfield are suddenly limited. Almost by default, it seems we’ll get Jay Bruce in right, Austin Jackson in center and Lonnie Chisenhall in left.

Jackson has primarily been used as a platoon starter this season (almost half his plate appearances have come against lefties), but without Zimmer, he’s Cleveland’s best option for center field. Chisenhall doesn’t play much against lefties — although he has hit them well in limited time this year — so the Indians will likely carry Brandon Guyer as a platoon partner, or perhaps September call-up Greg Allen, a switch-hitter who hit .356 from the right side in Double-A. Allen doesn’t have any power, but has speed and defensive ability.

All that seemed reasonably straightforward … and then Jason Kipnis returned from the DL and started in center field on Sunday. That was his first game there in the majors, but he was a center fielder in college at Arizona State. He has had a bad season, battling a strained rotator cuff coming out of spring training and then landing on the DL twice with hamstring injuries, so he might be a utility guy in the playoffs with Jose Ramirez remaining at second and Yandy Diaz at third. If he can play center, that gives Francona options such as pinch hitting for Jackson or even starting Kipnis against a right-hander. Still, the defensive problems in center that hurt the Indians last October — including the Game 7 loss to the Cubs — could mean Francona plays it safe out there.

Houston Astros: Who bats second? With Carlos Correa back, manager A.J. Hinch looks like he’s back to his preferred order of Jose Altuve hitting third and Correa cleanup. It looks like the second spot will be shared by Josh Reddick (versus right-handers) and Alex Bregman (versus lefties). Reddick has quietly had a superb season at the plate, hitting .317/.365/.483, while Bregman has had a big second half (.308/.360/.515). Hinch lost some versatility when defensive whiz Jake Marisnick fractured his thumb, so that leaves George Springer in center on a regular basis with Marwin Gonzalez and Cameron Maybin in left.

The weak spot in the lineup is actually designated hitter Carlos Beltran. If the Astros keep a third catcher, that means Evan Gattis could get some starts there.

Boston Red Sox: Who hits leadoff? This is also known as the “Where does Eduardo Nunez play?” question. Since coming over from the Giants, Nunez has hit .319/.351/.534 in 51 games, although he’s currently sidelined with a right knee sprain. He had taken over the leadoff spot, but in his absence manager John Farrell has turned to Xander Bogaerts in the past week. Nunez was also able to play regularly because Dustin Pedroia was on the DL, but now Pedroia is back. Maybe Nunez ends up at third base, as Rafael Devers has gone 28 games and over 100 at-bats without a home run. Or maybe Nunez is the DH, as Hanley Ramirez is battling a biceps injury and had just one at-bat the past week.

One thing: Bogaerts hit .315 in April and .351 in May, but just .216 in the second half. The hand injury he suffered in July no doubt affected his production. See how he finishes, especially whether he’s driving the ball at all.

New York Yankees: Who plays first base? Manager Joe Girardi keeps giving Greg Bird playing time to see if he can get going, but he’s still hitting .144/.255/.297, including .125 in September. Even though the Yankees would likely face a right-hander in the wild-card game if they play the Twins — Ervin Santana, probably — Chase Headley seems like the guy here unless Bird suddenly heats up in the final two weeks.

As an aside, Aaron Hicks’ oblique strain limits Girardi’s options, as he would have been a nice option in the outfield. That leaves Jacoby Ellsbury in center field — he has been productive in the second half with a .376 OBP — and Matt Holliday at DH.

Minnesota Twins: Will Miguel Sano return? The impressive thing about the Twins’ offensive surge the past eight weeks is they’ve done it in part without Sano, who has been out since Aug. 20 with a stress reaction in his left shin. He took swings off a tee over the weekend, but there remains no timetable for his return. Eduardo Escobar has been playing third base in Sano’s absence and has been hitting like … well, like Sano, with seven home runs in September. That’s more than he hit all of last season in 352 at-bats.

In the least likely cleanup arrangement you could have predicted, Escobar and Eddie Rosario are now sharing the duties. And Jorge Polanco has been hitting third. You can’t predict baseball!

The post Every playoff team’s one big lineup question – SweetSpot appeared first on Daily Star Sports.

from https://dailystarsports.com/2017/09/20/every-playoff-teams-one-big-lineup-question-sweetspot/ from https://dailystarsports.tumblr.com/post/165546772476

[footballleague0]

Every playoff team’s one big lineup question – SweetSpot

Let’s look at the 10 teams currently holding down a playoff position and what lineup questions they might still need to resolve as we inch closer to the postseason.

Los Angeles Dodgers: Who starts in the outfield? Depth is fun, until everyone stops hitting and the manager doesn’t know who to play. I think we can determine this: Chris Taylor will start in center field (and hit leadoff) and Yasiel Puig will start in right field. Taylor has struggled in September (.212, 19 strikeouts, three walks), but he has been the regular starter in center field ever since Joc Pederson was demoted in mid-August, making some starts at shortstop only because Corey Seager has rested a sore elbow at times.

So that leaves left field. Curtis Granderson is still the likely starter against right-handed pitchers, even though he has hit .126 in 101 plate appearances since coming over from the Mets. That’s a scary number, and I’m sure manager Dave Roberts would love to see Granderson have a couple of big games before fully committing to him. That leaves two other options in a platoon with Kike Hernandez, Cody Bellinger (with Adrian Gonzalez playing first base) or Andre Ethier. I have trouble seeing those as realistic options. Ethier has barely played the past two seasons; you don’t know how he can move out there and you’re basically expecting him to fall out of bed after two years of injuries and expect him to hit. Gonzalez doesn’t look healthy and has barely played in September; he probably doesn’t even make the postseason roster.

As an aside: Please, Dodgers fans, quit complaining that Granderson ruined the team chemistry. It’s a ridiculous and embarrassing excuse for a team-wide slump.

Washington Nationals: Who starts in the outfield? The good news is that Bryce Harper took batting practice on the field Sunday for the first time since injuring his knee in August; he did some running and said he’s aiming to be ready for Game 1 of the National League Division Series. Obviously the Nationals would love to get him some game action before then, but for now it appears he’s on target to play.

With Michael Taylor in center field, that leaves manager Dusty Baker multiple options in left field. The Nationals have started five different left fielders in September, plus three more players who started in right field. That’s eight options! The sentimental favorite would be veteran Jayson Werth, but he has hit just .133 in 13 games since returning from the disabled list in late August. Werth really hasn’t hit right-handers since 2014, so I would consider him a viable option only against lefties.

That leaves Howie Kendrick and Adam Lind as the best options. Kendrick has hit well since coming over from the Phillies, while Lind has had a terrific season as a bench bat, hitting .306/.361/.508. He hadn’t played the outfield consistently since 2010 but has started 23 games in left; his ability to hit righties means he could draw some starts out there, even as a defensive liability.

An intriguing bench option might be 20-year-old rookie Victor Robles, who could beat out Andrew Stevenson, Rafael Bautista or Alejandro De Aza for a final spot. He has only nine major league at-bats after hitting .300 in the minors with 27 steals, but his speed makes him a pinch running option. Baker hasn’t ruled out the idea of Robles making the roster. “If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t play him at all,” Baker told MLB.com the other day.

As an aside: If Harper makes it back, Baker would be wise to hit Harper or Anthony Rendon second instead of a lesser hitter. Rendon has occupied the sixth spot for most of the season before Harper was injured.

Chicago Cubs: Where does Ian Happ play? Joe Maddon’s head might explode with all of his options. Happ has hit his way into a regular role — somewhere — with 22 home runs and a .507 slugging mark. Addison Russell just returned from his foot injury and was making Gold Glove-caliber plays at shortstop, so the Cubs’ best defensive lineup would be Russell at short and Javier Baez at second.

That could mean the switch-hitting Happ ends up in the outfield. Since returning from the minors, Kyle Schwarber has hit .253/.338/.567, and you know Maddon will want that bat in the lineup against right-handers. The power that Happ and Schwarber offer would help offset the lower OBPs Russell and Baez bring to the table. There’s also Maddon favorite Ben Zobrist and Albert Almora Jr. (.910 OPS against left-handed pitchers) to consider. Most likely scenario: Schwarber and Almora platoon in the outfield, with Happ switching back-and-forth between center and left. That leaves Zobrist, Jon Jay and Tommy La Stella coming off the bench. It’s a deep roster with lots of flexibility and pinch-hitting options.

An aside: For most of August, Maddon hit Kris Bryant third and Anthony Rizzo fourth. The past few games he has gone back to Bryant second and Rizzo third. Willson Contreras has been hot in the second half (.320/.412/.670), so Maddon might stick with him in the cleanup spot.

Arizona Diamondbacks: Is Chris Iannetta the unlikeliest No. 2 hitter for a playoff team? Yes. Iannetta hit .188 with the Angels in 2015. He hit .210 with the Mariners in 2016. Now he’s a 34-year-old catcher suddenly hitting second for the first time in his career (he has started 21 games in that spot in his career, 18 of them coming this season). Of the past 14 games he has started, 13 have seen him hitting in the 2-hole (he hit cleanup in the other game). Obviously getting away from that marine layer in Seattle and Anaheim has helped rejuvenate the bat, and he has crushed lefties in particular with a .902 OPS.

One thing to note: The odd thing about manager Torey Lovullo’s lineups is that he has Paul Goldschmidt and J.D. Martinez in the fourth and fifth spots, no matter the pitcher. Jake Lamb and A.J. Pollock rotate hitting third. Lamb, however, has collapsed in the second half (.195/.315/.369), so it would make sense to move him down and get Goldschmidt/Martinez up earlier.

Colorado Rockies: Where does Ian Desmond play? He doesn’t. The first year of a five-year, $70 million contract has been a disaster as Desmond has hit .275/.322/.368, with the hand fracture he suffered in spring training perhaps limiting his ability to drive the ball. Mark Reynolds will play first, Gerardo Parra will play left and Carlos Gonzalez, finally heating up, will play right, especially with righty Zack Greinke the likely wild-card game starter for Arizona.

As an aside, I’d bat DJ LeMahieu leadoff and Charlie Blackmon second to give Blackmon a few more runners on base, but there’s also nothing wrong with starting the game with a 1-0 lead.

Cleveland Indians: Who plays in the outfield? With Bradley Zimmer likely out for the playoffs with a broken bone in his left hand, and Michael Brantley slow to heal from his ankle injury (he hasn’t played since Aug. 8), manager Terry Francona’s options in the outfield are suddenly limited. Almost by default, it seems we’ll get Jay Bruce in right, Austin Jackson in center and Lonnie Chisenhall in left.

Jackson has primarily been used as a platoon starter this season (almost half his plate appearances have come against lefties), but without Zimmer, he’s Cleveland’s best option for center field. Chisenhall doesn’t play much against lefties — although he has hit them well in limited time this year — so the Indians will likely carry Brandon Guyer as a platoon partner, or perhaps September call-up Greg Allen, a switch-hitter who hit .356 from the right side in Double-A. Allen doesn’t have any power, but has speed and defensive ability.

All that seemed reasonably straightforward … and then Jason Kipnis returned from the DL and started in center field on Sunday. That was his first game there in the majors, but he was a center fielder in college at Arizona State. He has had a bad season, battling a strained rotator cuff coming out of spring training and then landing on the DL twice with hamstring injuries, so he might be a utility guy in the playoffs with Jose Ramirez remaining at second and Yandy Diaz at third. If he can play center, that gives Francona options such as pinch hitting for Jackson or even starting Kipnis against a right-hander. Still, the defensive problems in center that hurt the Indians last October — including the Game 7 loss to the Cubs — could mean Francona plays it safe out there.

Houston Astros: Who bats second? With Carlos Correa back, manager A.J. Hinch looks like he’s back to his preferred order of Jose Altuve hitting third and Correa cleanup. It looks like the second spot will be shared by Josh Reddick (versus right-handers) and Alex Bregman (versus lefties). Reddick has quietly had a superb season at the plate, hitting .317/.365/.483, while Bregman has had a big second half (.308/.360/.515). Hinch lost some versatility when defensive whiz Jake Marisnick fractured his thumb, so that leaves George Springer in center on a regular basis with Marwin Gonzalez and Cameron Maybin in left.

The weak spot in the lineup is actually designated hitter Carlos Beltran. If the Astros keep a third catcher, that means Evan Gattis could get some starts there.

Boston Red Sox: Who hits leadoff? This is also known as the “Where does Eduardo Nunez play?” question. Since coming over from the Giants, Nunez has hit .319/.351/.534 in 51 games, although he’s currently sidelined with a right knee sprain. He had taken over the leadoff spot, but in his absence manager John Farrell has turned to Xander Bogaerts in the past week. Nunez was also able to play regularly because Dustin Pedroia was on the DL, but now Pedroia is back. Maybe Nunez ends up at third base, as Rafael Devers has gone 28 games and over 100 at-bats without a home run. Or maybe Nunez is the DH, as Hanley Ramirez is battling a biceps injury and had just one at-bat the past week.

One thing: Bogaerts hit .315 in April and .351 in May, but just .216 in the second half. The hand injury he suffered in July no doubt affected his production. See how he finishes, especially whether he’s driving the ball at all.

New York Yankees: Who plays first base? Manager Joe Girardi keeps giving Greg Bird playing time to see if he can get going, but he’s still hitting .144/.255/.297, including .125 in September. Even though the Yankees would likely face a right-hander in the wild-card game if they play the Twins — Ervin Santana, probably — Chase Headley seems like the guy here unless Bird suddenly heats up in the final two weeks.

As an aside, Aaron Hicks’ oblique strain limits Girardi’s options, as he would have been a nice option in the outfield. That leaves Jacoby Ellsbury in center field — he has been productive in the second half with a .376 OBP — and Matt Holliday at DH.

Minnesota Twins: Will Miguel Sano return? The impressive thing about the Twins’ offensive surge the past eight weeks is they’ve done it in part without Sano, who has been out since Aug. 20 with a stress reaction in his left shin. He took swings off a tee over the weekend, but there remains no timetable for his return. Eduardo Escobar has been playing third base in Sano’s absence and has been hitting like … well, like Sano, with seven home runs in September. That’s more than he hit all of last season in 352 at-bats.

In the least likely cleanup arrangement you could have predicted, Escobar and Eddie Rosario are now sharing the duties. And Jorge Polanco has been hitting third. You can’t predict baseball!

The post Every playoff team’s one big lineup question – SweetSpot appeared first on Daily Star Sports.

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I’m So Annoyed By You, Pittsburgh Pirates

My Dearest Pittsburgh Pirates,

I should have known after sweeping the Cubs last weekend that something would go wrong. I just didn’t know that so many things would go wrong. You went to St. Louis to play to Cardinals and you continued your streak of sweeping and then getting swept. The Cardinals beat you in all three games by the same exact score, 2-1. You only gave up six runs in an entire road series which is a testament to your starting pitching. In particular, Ivan Nova has been worth every penny and more so far. He pitched two games this week for a combined line of 15 IP 9 H 3 ER 1 BB 10 K. He’s currently rocking a 2.00 ERA with a 0.89 WHIP. To add to the absurdity, Nova has as many complete games (4) as walks (4) since joining your team last August 1st. He pitched a complete game against the Cardinals on Monday but that didn’t stop you from losing that game and getting swept because you could only accumulate a total of three runs and 21 hits that whole series. Eleven of those came on Tuesday when you were 1-10 with RISP and left nine men on base. You were 2-17 with RISP for the series and left 23 men on base. You managed to salvage the week by taking two out of three from the Yankees in one of the more frustrating series victories I can remember. That makes for a 2-4 week. The offense has been a problem all year and, after receiving the biggest news of the year this week, that’s not going to improve any time soon. 

Starling, Starling, Starling. How could you? Obviously the biggest story of the year was your All-Star center fielder and arguably best player Starling Marte getting suspended for 80 games for testing positive for a performance enhancing drug. He won’t be available until after the All Star break and won’t be eligible to participate in the playoffs if you somehow make it. That’s seeming less and less likely though. How valuable is Marte? There are only two outfielders to have at least a 4.5 WAR over each of the last four years. One of them is Mike Trout and the other is Marte. You lose his 47 stolen bases, his .300 batting average, and his Gold Glove defense which seems particularly important given how terrible your defense has played so far. Add Marte’s suspension to Jung-ho Kang’s absence and this lineup is missing it’s two most dynamic players. The most annoying part is we were fine with your production, Starling. Were you embarrassed because you only hit 9 home runs last year? Your splits were still .311/.362/.456 for a .818 OPS with 34 doubles and the 47 stolen bases. That’s plenty. I didn’t need anything more from you. Two years ago, you hit 19 homers. That would be more enough offense especially when you add in your elite arm and great defense. You didn’t need to do it! Why Starling? Why?!?!?!?!?!?!? 

How do you make up for the loss of Marte’s production? Most of your lineup has been struggling at the plate so far. Role players need to do more but there are three players that need to step way up way. Cutch, Polanco, and Josh Bell are the most talented bats in this lineup now. Cutch helped his cause this week jumping his OPS up to a respectable .785. The  .329 OBP is a concern but he’s shown a little pop which is reassuring. He still doesn’t look like MVP Cutch but I’ll take what I can get. Bell has finally started coming around after a dismal start to the season. At the end of last week, he had a .469 OPS. After a better hitting week that included two home runs, he raised his OPS to .684 while also looking more comfortable at the plate. The most disappointing player so far has been Polanco. He finally had an two hits including an RBI double Sunday but even that only raised his OPS to a measly .620. That needs to change quickly. Who will actually see more playing time without Marte? Adam Frazier will certainly see more playing time. It also seems like your going to give John Jaso and recently promoted Jose Osuna a chance and I’m fine that. Osuna had a terrific spring and ripped an opposite field triple for his first major league hit. Jaso has had a slow start to the season but he’s also going to give you the best at bats against righty pitching of all your available players. One player improving won’t be enough to make up for what you have lost. This will have to be a team effort and so far it hasn’t been nearly good enough.

Maybe I’m beating a dead horse but your defense is absolutely atrocious. The atrocity was particularly on display Saturday. You were tied in the 6th inning when what should have been a run scoring bloop single turned into a 2 run double because John Jaso is not a real right fielder. You managed to tie the game in the bottom half of the inning. Then with two outs in the 8th, a routine groundball to Adam Frazier should have ended the inning. Of course, he booted it. After a single made it 1st and 2nd, Chris Carter hit a towering, pinch hit 3-run homer to give the Yankees an 8-5 lead. Frazier should not play on the infield or at least be substituted in the late innings. I know the obsession with his bat but JHay is currently batting .291 with a .371 OBP. He made a terrible error late himself but if he’s hitting that much there’s no reason he shouldn’t play. Later in that inning, there was miscommunication between Cutch in center and Polanco in left and the ball dropped in leading to a triple. I have to imagine this happens to you more than any other team. Antonio Bastardo came in a threw a wild pitch to give them that run due to bad defense. (Bastardo also gave up a double off the wall and a ridiculously long homer to Aaron Judge the next inning. His ERA is 18.56 and he’s already given up 5 homers in 5 1/3 innings. He needs to go now!) The problem is your bench players can play multiple positions (Frazier, Jaso, Hanson) but none of them play any of them well. At this pace, you’re going to lose a lot of game because of your defense. 

You are currently 8-10, tied for last place in the NL Central, and this week won’t be any easier. The Cubs come to Pittsburgh starting tomorrow and you know they will want to pay you back for sweeping them at home last week. With the loss of Marte and the increase of hideous defense, that doesn’t particularly bode well for a victorious series. You follow that with an off day Thursday before heading to Miami to face the Marlins Friday through Sunday. I can’t stress the defense enough. Even the usually sure-handed JHay had two errors in the Yankees series, one cost a run and one came in the 9th on Sunday that would have started a double play to end the game. Fortunately, Tony Watson worked out of it. From now until Marte returns, you will never have a true RF playing that position. That’s crazy. That’s possibly why Neal Huntington said today that they are exploring options outside of the organization. The pitching has been great so far and that’s the name of the game but teams simply don’t win when you can’t hit and can’t play defense. I don’t know if it’s a lack of focus, a lack of ability, or just putting players in positions that they don’t know how to play. Something has to change though because this is the worst defense I can remember you having and I watched twenty straight losing seasons. Without Marte and Kang, the rest of the team needs to step their game up. I didn’t see that this week. You can survive 80 games without Marte but not playing like this. The theme of the season so far remains “Clean It Up”. Get focused! Good luck this week.

                                                               Your Already Exasperated Life Partner,

                                                                                           Brad

P.S. still stands for Pens’ series. The Pittsburgh Penguins finished off the Columbus Blue Jackets with a 5-2 victory on Thursday to take the series 4-1. Marc-Andre Fleury was spectacular in the game saving 49 of 51 shots. The Pens will await the winner of the Toronto Maple Leafs and Washington Capitals. The Caps lead the series 3-2 with game 6 happening today in Toronto. The Pens next series should start late this week. Go Pens!!!...