#Lousie Jameson

[sorenthestoryteller]

The very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. They don't alter their views to fit the facts. They alter the facts to fit their views.

The Fourth Doctor, 'The Face of Evil'

[pers-books]

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I can highly recommend King Lear (David Warner, Lisa Bowerman, Finty Williams, Louise Jameson), The Shape of Things to Come (Nicola Walker and Sam Troughton), and The Invisible Man (John Hurt).

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: paparazzi

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re running away from the paparazzi and you bump into a gorgeous stranger who offers to buy you a drink

warnings: mild swearing

a/n: this was a request from an anon who wanted to see grayson hawthorne x reader where the reader is a famous singer. I hope you enjoy… this is what I managed to come up with. Note: this is the grayson equivalent of starstruck for jameson

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @f4iry-bell

I step out of the recording studio at exactly 6:23 am. I’d stayed there over night with a few people to try and get the sound I wanted from the new single I hoped to drop soon. Unfortunately I hadn’t managed to accomplished what I’d set out to do, so now I’m just feeling pretty lousy and absolutely exhausted. It’s so early in the morning that I wasn’t expecting to be met with bold flashes of several cameras as soon as I stepped foot out of the building. I curse under my breath and begin to walk in the opposite direction as quickly as I could. I swear one of these days I’ll be blinded. I wish I hadn’t decided to wear heels as they were not proving useful.

The paparazzi were relentless as per usual and continued to follow me down several different roads. They cry out my name and various questions. I begin to wonder who’s tipped them off that I was there, no one was supposed to know. But I let the curiosity die quickly. I glance behind me and realise they’re closer than I realised. So mutter a quick prayer and begin to run. As fast as I can in my heels. I knew for a fact I looked like a wild idiot, but I didn’t care now I needed to get away. The flashes were more frequent now, the clicking of the cameras louder. My feet are screaming for me to stop, my breath shallow. I really should plan my outfits better. Just when I think I’m screwed, I notice a small, secluded alleyway and decide to take the chance and run down it. I hope they didn’t notice.

On the corner is the door to a coffee shop, so I take the chance and dash in. Not many places are open at this time, so I count my lucky stars as breathlessly a make my way to the counter. I make sure my back is turned to the window, so prying eyes won’t recognise my face if they pass. I grip into the counter and catch my breath back.

“You look like you could use a coffee,” says a voice directed at me.

I look up to see a well dressed man, looking at me. He looks slightly recognisable but not enough for me to know exactly who he was. He had pretty grey eyes that stood out against his pale complexion and golden hair.

“Thanks, nice to know I look as horrendous as I feel,” I scoff sarcastically, not realising what I’d said be for the word had left my lips.

“You don’t look horrendous,” he offers kindly, too kindly.

“You just told me I look like I could use a coffee,” I state, running my fingers through a matted clump of hair.

“That was my way of offering to buy you a drink,” he explains to me.

“Oh…” I say, my eyes wide as red creeps up my cheeks.

I felt so stupid and horrible. This poor guy was trying to be nice, which he didn’t have to be, and I had totally just shut him down.

“Oh god sorry,” I ramble, “that was totally rude and-“

He laughs, thankfully cutting of my meaningless waffling, “don’t worry. Let me rephrase, can I buy you a drink?”

“Do you really want to?” I ask, arms folded, looking at him quizzically.

“Yes I really want to,” he assures me.

“Then that would be nice,” I agree.

He seemed trustworthy enough, though I was really going to regret saying that later is he turned out to be some sort of axe murderer. The coffee barista who looked as equally exhausted as I felt asks for our order. I quickly murmur to the man who offered to buy me a coffee what I wanted and he orders two of the same. He very kindly pays and the barista goes off to make the drinks.

“Sorry again about that,” I laugh sheepishly, “it’s too early for me in the morning to function politely.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he shrugs, “believe me I’ve had much worse interactions.”

I look him up and down, trying to gage who he might work for. A finance department maybe? Or maybe he was lawyer? Though he looked awfully young.

“You look too fancy to be hanging out in a coffee shop,” I say, trying to fish for some answers.

“Is that because I’m wearing a suit in 6:30 in the morning?” he asks me.

“Possibly,” I say, my eyes trailing down, “and those shoes.”

He chuckles softly, “even fancy people need coffee.”

“So you are a fancy person?” I reply, cocking my head towards him.

“Possibly,” he smiles, mirroring what I’d said to him.

I purse my lips, still trying to work this guy out. Presumably he was rich, the guy even looks expensive. And he seems too perfect to be real. I lean back an analyse him. He looks to be around twenty or so and holds himself with confidence. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit tired despite the time.

“Here’s your coffees,” the barista says, her expression flat and her tone even flatter, “enjoy.”

“I’ve never heard someone sound so melancholy saying the word enjoy,” I mutter once she’s gone around the corner.

He grins, “maybe she’s not a morning person.”

“I mean fair enough there,” I say. He passes me my cup and guides me to a table, “oh thank you.”

“I’m Grayson,” he tells me as we sit down, shifting his eyes so they exactly meet mine.

“Y/N,” I say, opting not to use a pseudonym as I would usually do. Something about him settled me, made me feel like I didn’t need to hide who I really was.

He smiles slightly and stares wistfully elsewhere.

“What?” I ask him as I take a large sip of my coffee.

The caffeine enters my blood stream and flows straight to my brain. Suddenly my energy levels are raised and I’m more alert. I actually feel awake now.

“That’s a pretty name,” Grayson replies quietly, the smile not leaving his face.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling unusually flattered. It wasn’t just the words he said but the way he said it, so tenderly, like my name was the most beautiful thing that had ever graced his lips. My cheeks are heating up again.

He opens his mouth to reply, but I notice a familiar flash in the corner of my eye. My mind plays a string of colourful words I wouldn’t dare say out loud.

“Oh god,” I groan, “duck.”

“Ducking isn’t going to help, we need to leave,” he says to me, standing up, suddenly alert and ready. He seems a little too prepared for this situation and I’m sceptical. But I don’t have time to be sceptical.

“But you just bought the coffee,” I complain. I feel horrible, he’s just spent good money on that and now I had to leave it.

“Forget about the coffee,” he replies, gesturing for me to stand up.

I get up, “I’ll pay you back as soon as we’re out of here.”

“Come on, there’s a back door we can slip out of,” he explains.

I don’t have time to question how or why he knows that or whether I should follow him. Paparazzi burst through the door, some yelling questions, some taking pictures.

“Oh shit,” I curse, covering my face with my hand, as if it’ll do anything.

“Run?” He suggests to me.

“More like sprint,” I scoff, “I really hope you don’t mind ruining those fancy shoes.”

“Who said I can’t sprint and keep them in perfect condition?” Grayson winks at me.

I roll my eyes, smiling widely, trying to suppress the blush that I can feel rising in my cheeks. He swiftly grabs my hand and pulls me towards the back door. I’m too flustered to even care where I’m going, my cheeks were now positively rosy with colour as I grip his hand. He leads me out and begins to run, not letting go of me, actually he holds on even tighter. Suddenly I feel my legs begin to drag and I realise that I might break an ankle if I carry on in these heels. I tear my hand out of his.

“Keep going!” I yell.

He immediately stops and runs back over to me, “what’s wrong?”

“I can’t keep up with you in these heels,” I heave. Actually I probably couldn’t keep up with him full stop, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Take them off,” he tells me.

“What?” I gape.

“Just trust me,” he says.

After a brief second of intense eye contact, I slip off my shoes. Then to my surprise he does the same.

“Put mine on,” he instructs, handing me a pair of clearly very expensive shoes.

“Are you kidding?” I ask.

“Stop with the questions and just wear the shoes, otherwise they’ll catch up to us,” he replies, eyes darting around, scanning for the paparazzi.

I look down at the shoes, which didn’t have a scratch nor crinkle in them. They practically looked fresh out of the box.

“Oh my gosh they’re actually still in perfect condition,” I gape, “how did you even manage that?”

“It’s a talent,” Grayson shrugs.

“Clearly,” I say, “oh god I’m going to end up ruining them.”

He shrugs, “I have too many shoes to count, it doesn’t matter.”

“What about you then, what will you wear?”

“I’m going to wear the heels,” he says, with a straight face, as he picks up my pair of black high heels.

“Really?” I reply, slightly curious on how he was going to a) get them on and b) run in them.

“No, but you should se the look on your face,” he smiles, “I’ll carry them for you.”

I want to slap his arm but I settle for rolling my eyes, I quickly throw his shoes on. They’re one hundred percent going to slip off but I didn’t care by this point, they were more comfortable than my heels.

“Thank you,” I breathe, just as a crowd of voices seemingly get closer.

“Ready to run,” Grayson asks me, extending his hand for me to hold.

“No,” I reply, gripping it tightly.

“Good,” he nods, “let’s go.”

We start to sprint again and quickly fall behind, losing a shoe more than once, praying the paparazzi did not catch that one. Grayson takes my hand back into his and it gives me the energy to move slightly faster.

“My car is this way,” he shouts over his shoulder, dragging my left suddenly.

He stops so abruptly I crash right into his back losing my balance. I can feel myself falling and brace myself for impact as I hit the floor but it never arrives. I open my eyes to find Grayson had caught me. His hands fit perfectly around my waist and held me from my inevitable doom on the pavement. We are frozen for a moment, a beautiful holy moment.

“You okay?” He asks, hurriedly.

His face was so close to mine, his lips look so soft. I can feel his hands on my body and I don’t want him to let go. I want to stay here for all eternity, just so I can feel this good. But I knew it wasn’t possible.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” I nod, standing up straight as his hands fall from my waist and I dust myself off.

It was odd how now my waist seemed colder than before, less complete without his strong hands upon it. I shake the notion from my head.

“This is my car,” he points at it, “jump in.”

“I can’t get into a stranger’s car,” I exclaim, folding my arms across my stomach.

“Says the same girl who followed the stranger to his car,” he says, not even bothering to suppress his chuckle, “besides we’re not strangers.”

“Yes we are,” I argue.

“What’s my name?” He asks me with a straight face.

I stare at him, confusion decorating all of my features. He gestures for me to carry on and answer.

“Grayson?” I say hesitantly.

“And you’re Y/N,” he says, “see, not strangers.”

Annoyingly he has a point but I think he can tell I’m not entirely convinced.

“My car has black out windows, they won’t be able to see us,” he tries.

“Or see you murder me,” I mutter.

“I’m not going to murder you!” Grayson exclaims, trying not to laugh.”

“How do I know that?” I ask him.

“Get in the car,” he tells me, rolling his eyes.

“Sounds like something a murderer would say,” I grumble.

He’s about to reply but is cut off.

“THEY’RE OVER HERE!” someone yells.

I weigh up my options, sigh and then get into his car. I didn’t want to run in to the paparazzi and this was my best option right now. I was fairly certain he wouldn’t murder me but it’s better safe than sorry right? Besides it meant I get to spend a little more time with this intriguing soul. We both sit in silence for a few moments before I lean down and take his shoes off of my feet, passing them to him.

“Thanks again,” I beam, “for buying me coffee, lending me your shoes, letting me stay in your car and not murdering me.”

He returns my heels, “no problem. It seems to have been an eventful morning.”

“You can say that again,” I sigh, then look at his shoes, “I don’t think I managed to keep them as unscathed as you did but…” I trail off, not really knowing how to finish my sentence.

I think he senses it as he replies with a simple, “they’re fine.”

We fall into another silence, as we both awkwardly put our shoes on and stare out of the windshield. I don’t think either of know how to rally approach conversation. I sit there and take in the dramatic events of this morning wondering what the day might bring, when I realise I probably owe Grayson an explanation.

I sigh, “look I’m really sorry about that by the way.”

“What? Why are you apologising?” he asks, blinking rapidly.

“For the paparazzi,” I clarify

“Why are you apologising for the paparazzi?” Grayson says, running a hand through his hair.

“Who did you think they were chasing after?” I laugh.

“Me…” he murmurs. My jaw drops, that was not the response I was expecting. He looks too serious to be joking.

“You? You’re famous?”

“I’m Grayson Hawthorne,” he says

My eye widen. How hadn’t I put two and two together? A blonde man, who looked to be about in his twenties, dressed in an expensive suit with gorgeous shoes, with impeccable running speed and the first name of Grayson. All the signs were literally screaming in my face and somehow I’d missed them. It’s as if I walked right past a neon sign, decorated with bold flashing lights.

“I thought they were chasing after me,” I say, leaning back in the seat and gazing out of the window.

“How comes?” Grayson questions.

“I’m a singer,” I shrug, not making eye contact with him.

“You’re joking,” he says.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I reply flatly, as my eyes finally will themselves to meet his.

“What do you sing?” he asks me, a spark in his eyes. He almost looks excited, for me, for my music.

“Songs,” I laugh cryptically.

He rolls his eyes playfully at me, “What songs?”

I name him a few of my most famous hits that most would’ve heard of. Though my heart was racing in my chest, what if he’s heard my songs and he hates them…

“You’re not Y/N L/N are you?” he asks me, narrowing his eyes.

Damn it.

“The one and only,” I manage to say, a smile plastered on my face, wishing for the ground to swallow my body up whole.

“My brother listens to you all the time, though he’ll never admit it and would kill me for telling you that,” he says, “but I must admit I’ve never listened to you myself.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved in my life. The breathe out slowly and calm down slightly.

“Let’s keep it that way,” I tell him.

“What if I don’t want to keep it that way?” he replies, mischief underlying his tone.

“You’re going to have to,” I say, making sure I sounded stern enough to warn him to never listen to a song.

“I could just google you,” he points out, taking out his phone. I’ve never wanted to smash anything more violently.

“You could,” I shrug, “but it was make me severely angry.”

“Oh no!” he says sarcastically, a stupid witty grin on his face.

“Hey!” I exclaim, smacking the top of his arm.

I know I’m not really a threat for him at all and when I leave he would most likely google my music and never want to talk to me again. But I convince myself that was okay because if we never see each other after today it wouldn’t matter what he thinks about my music.

“Can you sing for me now then?” Grayson asks, his voice soft and very persuading.

“Absolutely not,” I scoff, folding my arms. His voice was not persuading enough.

“Why?” he replies, almost offended.

“I’m on a vocal rest,” I tell him.

“You’re not doing a very good job, all you’ve done is talk,” he grins, looking to amused at himself for my liking.

“I’m on a vocal rest from just singing,” I lie, “I can still talk.”

“Is that even a thing?” he asks, probably sensing that I’m an awful liar.

“Yes?” I say trying not to sound guilty and failing.

“I think you’re lying,” Grayson replies, a playful look in his eye.

I’m about to answer when my eyes flick over to the dashboard where the time was red on the screen, “Oh my gosh!”

“What?” he asks, alarmed at my sudden burst.

“I’m meant to be at rehearsal in five minutes,” I groan, reaching for the door.

“I’ll drive you,” he says quickly.

“You don’t have to do th-“ I begin.

“Address?” he interrupts me, starting the car up.

“Noble Studios,” I sigh, accepting my fate. He probably wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He nods, “Wait how you on a vocal rest if you’re going to rehearsal?”

“I’m on a vocal rest until I get to rehearsal,” I say, making it up as I go along.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do you ever get any sleep?”

“What?” I ask, confused at the randomness of the question.

“Well you’ve just been in recording studio and now you’d going to rehearsal,” he clarifies, “so do you ever get any sleep?”

“Usually no,” I blow out a breath.

“You should go home and rest,” he tells me.

I blush deeply and replay the words over and over again in my head. The words he said to me. I steal a glance at him for a moment and quickly turn away.

“I will after rehearsal,” I explain, “but I’ve got to make it, I’ve got a concert tomorrow night.”

“Then after this rehearsal you promise me you’ll rest from then until tomorrow night,” Grayson tells me gently.

I nod, too shy to meet his eyes. The silence we fall into is comfortable until I’m brave enough to break it.

“Who do you listen to anyway?”

“What?” he asks quickly.

“What artists?” I wonder aloud, “you said you’d never listened to me, so then who.”

“Frank Sinatra is one of my favourites,” he murmurs, almost with a shyness in his tone.

“Frank Sinatra?” I giggle.

“Are you laughing at my music taste?” he raises his eyebrows.

“No I’m laughing because it’s so on brand for you,” I chuckle.

Of course Grayson Hawthorne liked Frank Sinatra. With his shoes and suit and general demeanours, who else would it be? I could even imagine Grayson singing his songs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“It’s a compliment, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I grin playfully.

“Do you even know who Frank Sinatra is?” he says to me, like I’m a complete moron.

“Of course I do, he’s that rapper right?” I tease him.

His head whips towards me faster than the speed on light. He’s staring so intently at me I’m worried we might crash. He death stares me, a mix of offensiveness and utter shock in his expression.

“I’m kidding,” I giggle, “Frank Sinatra was a singer popular in the 40s and 50s, taking on a classical pop style in his music.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he snaps, hands tight around the steering wheel, as he gets his eyes back on the road again.

“I think it was,” I sing song.

“You made me doubt you competence as a person,” he shakes his head.

“Well I’m sure if we ever meet again I’ll probably do something to make you doubt my competence again, count that as the practice round,” I wink as he pulls up outside the studio, stopping the car parallel to the entrance staircase.

“I hope we do meet again,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” I murmur.

We both look up at the same time, our eyes meeting. Both unable to look away. My heart hammers in my chest and my leg bounces up and down. I’m so addicted to the sight of him that I contemplate skipping rehearsals.

“Thank you,” I whisper, tearing my gaze away. Why did I have to be responsible?

“You better keep that promise,” he tells me.

“I will, don’t worry,” I smile, “thank you so much again, you’ve been a life saver.”

“I think we sort of saved each other,” he replies, it was a little cheesy but makes me smile widely nevertheless.

I sigh, a lean back, “We’re going to be all over the newspapers tomorrow.”

I didn’t know why I was still talking but my mouth always seems to struggle when it’s time to stop moving and so something productive. Or maybe… maybe it was because I wanted more time with him.

“All press is good press,” he shrugs nonchalantly. He knows what it’s like to deal with this crazy lifestyle, he gets it. I didn’t think I’d really ever get to know anyone who would understand how I feel.

“They’re going to speculate we’re dating,” I warn him.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Grayson asks me, quirking a brow upwards and tipping his head to the side.

“Are you flirting with me?” I blurt out before my brain can filter my words.

“If I was would you want me to stop?” he questions.

“No,” I murmur, without a second a hesitation.

“Can I have your number?” Grayson asks.

“What?” I reply, slightly in shock whilst still trying to process the information.

“Incase you ever need me to drive you away from paparazzi again, of course,” he says, biting his bottom lip ever so slightly.

I smile tickles my lips, “of course…”

I quickly fumble around for the pen at the bottom of my bag and look for some paper.

“Just write it here,” he says, running a finger across his hand.

“Are you sure? What if you get ink poisoning?” I ask.

“I’ll have your number so it would’ve been worth it,” he smiles, smoothly.

A chill runs down my spine and I feel all warm and fuzzy.

“You know you’re really good at this whole flirting thing,” I tell him, smiling like an idiot on drugs.

“I’m glad you think so,” he replies. Why did his voice have to be so addictive? It isn’t fair!

I slowly lean down and write the numbers etched into my brain onto his hand. I concentrate hard to make the numbers look neat and tidy, incase a girl with messy handwriting was a red flag for him. I take a minute to analyse his hands, they were strong, slightly tanned but looked so soft. I remember back to when my hand was in his when we were running and how perfectly mine fit into his. Maybe one day we’d hold hands just for the feelings between us and not in a freezer attempt to escape flashing cameras and annoying people. I bring my head back up and stare at the number, thinking how awful my handwriting looks. I tip my head up further and my eyes meet Grayson’s. He wasn’t looking at the number on his hand, he was looking at me.

Now our faces are inches from one another’s but I’m selfish enough to want them to be closer. After a few moments of our eyes being cemented in place, analysing each feature of one another’s faces, I slowly realise that I need to leave. My rational senses pull together and I step out of the car to begin to make my way towards the rehearsal centre. I can hear the car hasn’t yet left. He’s waiting, I can feel him watching, he’s making sure I’m safe. It makes me beam even wider.

“And hey,” I say, turning around, “you ever want a free concert ticket, it’s yours.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” Grayson smiles, causing a warmth to blossom in my heart.

I had a feeling this wasn’t the last time we were going to meet…

a/n: sorry this took me so long!! I got wayyy to carried away whilst writing this… originally it wasn’t going to be this long but here we are. anon, whoever you are, I hope you enjoyed this and if not I can try again!! you were my first request ever and that means a lots, so thank you!!

also I feel like I wrote Grayson really out of character but the reasoning behind that was in my mind I thought in public settings or around his family he has to be the serious one always on task etcetera but when he meets someone who doesn’t know he’s Grayson Hawthorne, he allows himself to be someone more open… IDKKKK but thanks for reading anyways 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

[lifeofkaze]

A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 36: DESPERATE OFFERS

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

Warning: Language

WIGTOWN'S WANDERERS IN WORRYING DISARRY

The final hunt for the Quidditch Cup has officially begun. Will Parkins’ Wanderers shoot the Magpies off their throne, or will they end up as bird feed? Rita Skeeter investigates.

With the teams at the bottom half of the table deciding among themselves who’s going to be kicked down a division, a much more prestigious fight awaits on the other end of the spectrum (read how many Galleons Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports Ludo Bagman set on the Chudley Cannons’ demise on page 7).

If this season’s League trend can be trusted, the hunt for the trophy will be settled between the Montrose Magpies - current Quidditch champion and very comfortable at the top of the table - and their iron pursuers, the Kenmare Kestrels and the Wigtown Wanderers.

After the bombshell of Wigtown Chaser Jameson’s abrupt split from former agent and fiancé Matthew McRae - which both refused to comment on - it poses the question of whether her relationship is all Jameson is ready to throw to the wind. Reports of her attending meetings with Montrose Magpies affiliates and her alleged absence from practice sessions do nothing to stop the rumour mill.

With Montrose and Wigtown almost even in points, all eyes will be trained on their showdown on the final season day. Will Jameson stand with her Wanderers, or will Coach Parkin have to watch his back?

Lizzie had barely slept after she had broken the news about her transfer to Orion. Tossing and turning in her bed, she had run their conversation through her mind over and over again, and each time she had felt more like crying and laughing at the bitter irony of it all. It was a cruel joke fate had played on them, but not one they could undo now, either. Lizzie had made her decision, and considering all the pain it had brought her, maybe her time in Wigtown coming to an end was for the best. 

She repeated the thought to herself until she almost believed it, but when she next entered the changing room, her resolution to lay her cards on the table straightaway faltered. The team’s mood was good - excited, even, with the final round so close at hand - and the thought of having to spoil it made Lizzie’s stomach churn. 

The only one to give her a dark look as she passed her was Morgaine, but Lizzie didn’t care for her. She searched the room for the two men she needed but didn’t want to face, and found them standing by the door leading into the men’s section. Ethan was talking at Orion with a subdued voice, but the angry look on his face gave Lizzie a good idea of what his telling-off was about; no matter what Orion had told him about his reasons for missing practice, Ethan hadn’t taken his absence lightly. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lizzie stepped closer to them, her heart beating in her ears. It took Ethan a moment to register her presence; when he did, he gave her a sharp look.

“What do you want?”

Feeling her courage dwindle, Lizzie ducked her head. 

“Nothing.”

Ethan looked like she had lost his mind, rolled his eyes and turned back to Orion. Cursing her cowardice, Lizzie left them to it, walking back to her seat with knees feeling like Jelly Slugs. 

The feeling of the ground beneath her feet slipping continued as practice began. With her lousy performance adding to her already fluttery nerves, Lizzie felt physically sick by the time the team trudged back into the changing room shortly before lunch. Pushing away the tight knot in her chest and she stood in the middle of the room, awkwardly clearing her throat. 

“Listen up, guys. There’s something I need to tell you.” 

“For Godric’s sake,” muttered Morgaine, not bothering with keeping her voice down. “Can you be quick about it? Some of us were headed out.”

Lizzie balled her fists at her side. Suddenly, the words seemed to pass her lips more easily.

“As you’re all aware, there’s been a lot of back and forth with my contract this season.” 

She looked over the room filled with the people who had been by her side for the last couple of years, her friends, her team. Her eyes settled on Ethan and a bewildered-looking Skye standing next to him. There was no turning back now.

“Having taken my career matters into my own hands again, I wanted to let you know that I’ve finally made a decision about my professional future.” 

From the corners of her eyes, Lizzie saw smiles spreading on Bethany and Scout’s faces, but before they could move in to congratulate her on her renewed contract, she carried on.

“I’m proud of how far we’ve come, and I loved my time here more than anything.” She took a deep breath. “Regardless, these will be my last matches with the Wigtown Wanderers. Come next season, I’m going to play for the Montrose Magpies.” 

The silence following her words was deafening. Lizzie dropped her gaze, studying the pattern in the tiled floor so she wouldn’t have to see the shocked and disappointed looks directed at her. Eventually, Skye spoke up.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said, her voice flat. “Jameson, come on. That’s bullshit.”

Lizzie slowly raised her eyes and shook her head.

“It’s not.”

Skye’s face changed from white to red more quickly than Lizzie had thought possible. 

“You let us blow smoke up your arse all this year, and now you have the guts to stand here and tell us that you want to leave? For Montrose?” Skye pushed herself off the locker she had been leaning against, joining Lizzie in the middle of the room with a couple of wide, angry strides. “Have you lost your bloody mind? You can’t do that to us!”

Lizzie couldn’t hold Skye’s burning gaze any longer, looking down at the tip of her Quidditch boots instead.

“Yes, I can. And I have. I’m sorry.”

“As you should be!” Skye’s voice was barely short of screaming. “You’re the co-captain! We’re banking on you, and you just go and drop us because some bloody club from bloody Montrose waves their trophies and money at you!”

“That’s not the reason I’m going.”

“Yes, it is. Everyone knows all you care about is fame. Be honest about it, at least.”

“That’s not the reason,” Lizzie repeated, her voice pressed.

“What is then, huh? Spit it out!”

Skye had raised her hands to Lizzie’s shoulders, looking like she was about to shove her, but then Ethan was there, bringing his hands between the two witches and firmly pushing them apart. 

“Enough,” he said sternly. His face was anything but friendly as he turned to Lizzie. “That true, lass? You’re leaving?”

All Lizzie could do was nod. Ethan’s face was unreadable. 

“Got anything else to say on the matter?” 

There were a lot of things, actually, but it wasn’t like Lizzie could say any of them out loud. Her eyes flicked to Orion, who sat beneath his locker, staring at the ground. Her anger dying down, Lizzie pressed her lips together and shook her head. Skye scoffed.

“Aye, keep quiet, like always when it counts.” She jerked her shoulder away from her father’s hand. “You did a lot of crappy things lately, but this is taking the Cauldron Cake.” 

Lizzie shook her head again, desperately now. “Skye, please. You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” Skye barked. “How could I? Can say much about me, but one thing I’m certainly not - a traitor.”

Lizzie opened her mouth in protest. “I’m not a traitor!”

“Yes, you are. You smile in people’s faces and then stab them in the back without batting an eye. But what goes around, comes around, Jameson, you wait and see. Now get out of my changing room.”

Lizzie stared at Skye, tears of anger and helplessness pricking at her eyes. She fought them down, looking around the room for some sign of support. She didn’t find any. 

Blinking back the tears that were starting to rise, Lizzie drew her shoulders back, picked up her bag and walked away from the people she had - and still did - considered her team. Once the door had fallen shut behind her, her steps accelerated until she burst out into the open, greedily gulping down the fresh air already smelling faintly of summer and the nearby end of the season.

Walking at a brisk pace, Lizzie soon put a distance between herself and the changing rooms. By then, the tears she’d been holding at bay had begun down her face. When someone called her name from behind, she quickly wiped them away before turning around. 

“Quite the bombshell you just dropped,” Ethan said as he approached her with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Are you okay?”

Lizzie sniffled. “I didn’t think it would be that nasty.”

“No gentle way of delivering such a blow. Skye took it quite personally.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Lizzie shrugged helplessly. “She’d have found out one way or another.”

Ethan made a sceptical sound. “Didn’t think about talking to her first? Or me, for that matter? Would’ve been fair to give us a little heads-up, I do think.” 

“I did try to tell you this morning.”

“Doesn’t matter what you tried, Lizzie. Matters what you did. Or, rather, what you didn’t do.”

Lizzie bit her lip. Ethan was right, of course, but telling Orion about her transfer had been crushing enough; she hadn’t wanted to go through it more times than strictly necessary. 

“Don’t fret,” Ethan sighed when Lizzie hung her head. “No use barring the doors when the Abraxan’s bolted. But cards on the table now,” he added, watching her closely. “What are you really playing at?”

Surprised, Lizzie blinked. “Nothing.”

“Aren’t you? I’d say quite the opposite. You and your agent -”

“He’s not my agent anymore.”

“- have kept us at arm’s length for over a year. You said Wigtown is your home, turned down every offer you got, and now suddenly you wanna go and play for the Magpies? The Magpies, of all teams?” Ethan shook his head. “If that’s not playing games, lassie, I don’t know what is.”

Lizzie swallowed the urge to tell Ethan about Matthew and his schemes. It didn’t matter anymore. Matthew was a thing of the past, and accepting Montrose’s offer had been her choice and hers alone. She wouldn’t push the responsibility for her decisions away any longer.

“No more games from now, I promise,” she told Ethan, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry how everything went, but I stand by it. I’m leaving after the end of the season.”

“What do they have that we don’t?”

“It’s not that.”

“Is it money? Success? A safe spot on the roster? What do you want?” Ethan’s gaze was hard. “I don’t know what they promised you, but I guarantee that we can match it. Outdo it, even.”

“Ethan, listen…”

“Tell me what you’re after, and you’re gonna get it,” Ethan continued, not minding Lizzie’s protest. He lowered his voice, his words quick and urgent now. “All I want is to lead this club back to its rightful place at the top, and we’re almost there. We haven’t won the Cup in years, but we’re so close, Lizzie. So close. My father, my grandfather, my whole family… Do you know how proud they’d be? How proud Skye would be?” 

He stopped himself, running his hand over his receding hairline. “I want to win, but not for me - for them. To do that, I need the best team I can get, and that includes you. I can’t just let you go like this.” 

“The Wanderers are your legacy, not mine,” Lizzie said softly but firmly. “For me, Wigtown is a dead end.”

Ethan’s lips turned into a thin line. “Alright, I got you. I see what the issue is.”

“You do?”

“Sure as a Quaffle is red. You think you’re not getting recognised. You want the world to know that you matter.”

“That’s not -”

“Have your way, then. Be our captain.”

Whatever it was Lizzie had wanted to say, she had suddenly forgotten.

“Sorry, what?”

“You heard me. I get it. Being co-captain just isn’t the same. We can’t do it without you, and it’s only fair that this is being recognised.”

“You can’t mean that. Skye’s the captain. You can’t take that away from her!”

A look of irritation passed Ethan’s face. “Skye’s captain for as long as I say she is.” 

Lizzie was aghast at how easily Ethan was ready to demote his daughter.

“Do you even know how proud Skye is to be the captain? You publicly put her down time and time again, and still she gives it her all. You can’t just act like she’s interchangeable. How can you do that to her?” 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Ethan replied coolly.

“What’s that supposed to mean now?”

“You say that I don’t care for Skye, but I could say the same of you. Can’t even remember how often the two of you locked horns over the years, and still, you stuck around. It’s handy, having a friend like Skye, ain’t it?” 

Lizzie struggled for words at the implication, but Ethan didn’t give her time to reply.

“Was a smart move to make, I’ll give you that. Quidditch business is tough, and you gotta look out for number one. You did well on that front, for sure.”

“Skye is my friend,” Lizzie said hotly, her speechlessness quickly turning to outrage. “I never used her for anything at all.”

“Is that so? Let me spell it out for you. Who talked the captain of your school team into doing out-of-turn-tryouts specifically for you? Who gave you a more thorough knowledge of Quidditch basics than the rest of your team?” Ethan’s face hardened. “Who made sure you got an invitation and contract with the Wanderers after school?

“And don’t come at me saying that it wasn’t Skye,” he raised his hand when Lizzie made to object. “No team in their right mind would have looked twice at an arrogant schoolgirl who turned them down because she thought she could go straight for number one. I wouldn’t have either. The only reason I gave you a second chance was because Skye begged me to.

“Maybe I am hard on her, no denying it, but that’s because I have her best interests at heart. Our legacy is no joke, and contrary to you, Skye hasn’t forgotten where she came from. You, Lizzie, would do well to do the same.”

“I know exactly where I came from, and also who took me where I am.” Anger bubbled beneath her skin, making Lizzie ball her hands into fists. “It was me. Everything I am today is because I worked for it. I deserve to be here.” 

“Tell that to yourself. How many players get a spot on the roster straight after school? Get a say in how the team is run? Get appointed co-captain even though they have a dated contract?” Ethan raised a hand to his ear. “What’s that, Lizzie? You gotta speak up, girl. Can’t hear you over all that self-entitled blabbering of yours.”

Lizzie gritted her teeth but remained quiet. As much as she hated it, Ethan wasn’t wrong. She had worked hard for her career, but so had all the others. So had Morgaine, for a fact, who - despite her talent - had never amounted to more than being Lizzie’s stand-in. 

Angrily, she shook her head. “I never asked for any of this.”

“Didn’t bother turning it down either,” Ethan shrugged. “I even looked the other way when you and Orion hit it off again. Stop gaping like a Mooncalf,” he added when the colour drained from Lizzie’s face. “Didn’t take the press reports to figure that one out. That’s the reason right there I didn’t want you kids to mess with each other. Nothing but trouble for anyone involved.” 

“You don’t understand,” Lizzie said, quietly now. 

“Maybe, and I honestly don’t care. I care about my team and where we’ll stand in the League in a few weeks. I’d do a lot to make sure it is on top. If you want to be there with us, you had better consider my offer and stay. Trust me, no other team will make it as easy for you as we do.”

Whatever sympathy Lizzie had had for Ethan vanished. She raised her chin defiantly. “Nothing you can offer me will change my mind, and that’s the last of it. But if you want to give my spot on the roster to Morgaine now, I’ll understand that.”

“Don’t think I’ll let you off the hook like that. I expect you to give this team your all until the very last second.”

“As if that ever was a question.”

“Good.” Ethan jerked his head toward the exit of the training grounds. “Go home for the rest of the day, or Skye will hang your butt from the goalposts. And from tomorrow, you’ll be the first to come and the last to leave, do you get me?”

“Clear as day.”

Giving her a curt nod, Ethan returned to the team while Lizzie headed home to pack her things. After everything that had happened, she didn’t want to suffer the humiliation of getting kicked out of the house by Skye on top.

Stuffing the few things she had unpacked the day before into her old school trunk, she thought about what Ethan had said. She hated the thought of owning her success to someone else but couldn’t dismiss the truth of it entirely, either. 

What if he was right? What if she didn’t have what it took to make it on her own? Montrose had crushed Orion when he’d been there. What if she failed, just like him?

The nagging doubts Ethan had planted in her head steadily grew over the next couple of weeks, during which Lizzie’s life reduced itself to being on the Quidditch pitch or contemplating her decision lying curled up in her room at her parents’ house in Dorset. 

Soon, even the thought of having to attend practice became exhausting. Lizzie didn’t feel welcome in Wigtown anymore, the more or less open hostility of her teammates draining her more than Ethan’s drill ever could. The only person who didn’t seem to be angry with her was Orion, but Lizzie would sooner face the collective disdain of her team than deal with how her heart hurt a little more every time he avoided her eyes. 

It was lonely without him and Skye, but it wasn’t like she could change it now. All Lizzie could do was grit her teeth, work harder than ever, and hope that the season would be over soon.

[lit-works]

City in Darkness Pt.1 : Flying horses

I swing through the brightly lit canyons of New York City on a single strand of webbing. Below me the city is ablaze with light, from the powerful spotlights framing it's most famous buildings to the soft glow of hundreds of street lamps and apartment windows. It is clearly summer and the warm weather has most of the population outdoors. Couples stroll along the sidewalks, stopping to watch street performers. Executives out on the town hail taxis bound for the theater district. Musicians sound out hot, muggy tones on saxes and clarinets, providing the soundtrack for the small-time hustlers plying the crowd with games and wagers.

I have a bird's-eye view of it all. Or in my case, a Spider's-eye view. I swing down the street, high above the bustle, my weblines arching from their special wrist-mounted shooters, providing a set of strands to carry me from skyscraper to skyscraper. I've gotta get across town fast–a meeting with the Daily Bugle editor Robert Robertson was supposed to start five minutes ago, and lateness is not a virtue looked for in freelance photographers. Not even when Jolly James Jonah Jameson was in charge.

Of course, when it absolutely, positively has to get there overnight, Web-Slinger express is the only way to travel.

I hit a break between buildings where my lines might not reach the next tall structure. Rather than risk missing a shot and wasting web fluid, I tuck into a roll, straighten at the last instant, and make a perfect two-point landing on a movie marquee.

"Hey, it's Spider-Man!" Shouts a voice from the crowd below. Heads turn and I feel the warm gaze of the admiring public.

"Wow!"

"Cool!"

"I thought he was from a comic book?!"

"George, get out your phone!"

Ah, the trials and tribulations of being a celebrity superhero. Adored by millions, or at least hundreds, capable of stunts only dreamed of by mere mortal men, in reality mild-mannered camera hound Peter–

"Ya lousy bum!"

The last comment breaks through my reverie and catches me by surprise. Not the words of an admirer, even in New York. I scan the crowd below to spy my detractor.

"Yeah, you, Spider-bitch! You're a damned menace to society! I read about it in the Bugle! Jameson says your a crook!" The heckler is a nondescript man, about 30, wearing a tan jacket and a Mets cap. I could pass this guy on the street without ever noticing him.

Beneath my mask, I frown deeply. Ok, Spider-Man, do you really wanna take this kind of grief, or do you wanna teach this loudmouth a lesson?

"According to The Daily Bugle, Ant-Man is the Hulk's tailor," I shout back, already shooting my next web-line. "And if you believe that, there's this bridge I want to sell you." A ripple of laughter runs through the gathering crowd, leaving the heckler red and fuming.

Unwilling to spend a beautiful summer evening arguing with a heckler, I swing off, climbing the web-line as I go.

I only get about a half a block away when I hear the loud, dull whumpph of an explosion nearby. The explosion is followed by the chatter of gunfire, mixed with an electric crackle that sounds like a high-schools science experiment gone wild.

Rob Robertson will have to wait. Something has come up–something that requires the presence of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

The shots are coming from near by. Swinging around the corner, I get the full picture from three stories above street level.

The center of the street is blocked by an overturned armored vehicle. The truck bears an insignia of a blue horse's head, but otherwise looks like standard US government issue. The truck's massive rear door has been blown off it's hinges and is laying nearby. Army Jeeps, also with the blue horse-head symbol, are pulled over in front and rear of the truck–apparently escorts for whatever was inside the truck.

The occupants of the Jeeps, men and women dressed in blue uniforms, have piled out and are using the vehicles for cover. Their attackers are across the street, crouched in an alleyway: two men, dressed in green body suits, armed with massive weapons that resemble WWII bazookas. These weapons are the source of the unearthly crackling I heard earlier, and the pair are firing random bolts of yellowish lightning at the guards in the Jeeps, keeping them pinned down.

The smoke from the fight clears for a moment, and I see in neat lettering beneath the symbol on the truck, the word: "PEGASUS". Good Gravy! The boys and girls in blue are from Project: PEGASUS.

Project: PEGASUS is an alternate energy source project located in upstate New York, funded by the state department of energy. In the past, the project has investigated alternate forms of energy derived from super-powered criminals, a number of which are former foes of mine. An empty armored truck does not bode well. At least I know who's team I'm on. Whoever would try to knock over an armored truck belonging to PEGASUS has to be up to no good.

I'm not sure why these two groups chose a crowded New York city street to fight in, but it's apparent the guys in green are not too worried about inflicting civilian casualties. This looks like a job tailor-made for the web-slinging wonder, and it might also be a good time to make a few bucks shooting Spider-Man in action.

I find a likely-looking ledge nearby and, drawing my camera out from my belt, mount it firmly with a dab of webbing. I activate the automated timer to continuously snap shots at 5-second intervals.

All these actions come automatically, smoothly developed over years of taking pictures of myself in action. These pictures, sold first to Jameson and the to Robertson at The Daily Bugle, have supplemented my income over the years, and are now my main source of ready cash.

I watch the unfolding battle and notice that the guys in the blue jumpsuits from PEGASUS are taking a pounding from their attackers. There doesn't seem to be a lot of movement from around the truck, one of those heavily armored monsters favored by the military, but fortunately there are no dead bodies, either. The guys with the lightning-firing bazookas look like members of HYDRA, but the green on their uniforms is too washed-out and they are missing the distinctive armband. Could some other flaky subversive group with bad taste have picked up these outfits at a rummage sale and decided to blow up government vehicles?

My fashion analysis is forgotten as my Spider-Sense, the heightened extra-sensory perception that warns me or immediate danger, kicks into full gear. One of the goons in the alley has spotted me, and the way my Spider-Senses are tingling in my head tell me he's got me lined up in his crosshairs.

I dodge out of the way at the last moment, as a massive bolt of electricity carves an equally large gash out of the brick wall, just inches away from my camera. If I wasn't sure before that the guys with the heavy artillery are the bad guys, that little bit of hate mail convinces me. Not only are these fellas dangerous, they're downright unfriendly. Could it be they're friends of that loudmouthed Mets fan, or at least be listening to the same podcasts and reading the same editorials?

My dodging drops me down to just above street level. One of the PEGASUS guards spots me and waves me away. "Get back!!" She shouts, "it's dangerous around here!"

"Surely you jest!" I snap back. "It's more dangerous trying to catch a cab when the theaters and bars let out than this little garden party." I'm too low to web up the bad guys without catching some innocent bystanders. My best move would be to try to get in between the two thugs.

I tense my muscles to leap across the street.

Flexing the muscles that give me the proportional strength and agility of a spider, I leap into the fray. A bolt of energy sears across the street, blasting through the wall directly behind me.

If I'd hung around there, I'd be a crispy critter for sure.

I somersault through the air and over the line of PEGASUS guards.

"Hold your fire, ladies and gents!" I shout, bouncing off the hood of the nearest Jeep. "Perforating my uniform with lead violates the warranty and will mess up your civil service record something fierce!"

A blast of lightning-like forces ionizes the air on top of the Jeep where I stood just moments before. Before the flash has dimmed I'm across the street, directly above the goons.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you guys don't like me. You've been reading the editorials in the Bugle, haven't you?" I quip, as I drop between them. "If you surrender now, I'll arrange for Jameson to visit your cell."

"Eat shock-zooka, webspinner!" Says the thug on my right as he fires a blast from his futuristic weapon.

"Shock-zooka!!" I laugh, dodging the fiery blast. "You'd think the people who use these deadly gadgets would at least come up with an original name for them! Sounds like a monster that fought Godzilla for Tokyo."

Before the thug can get in another shot, I rush him, grabbing the battery-operated bazooka and ripping it from his grasp. The goon on my left, a little dumpier than the other, watches in wonderment, muttering "He moves so fast." The second goon seems so amazed by my speed he has forgotten to aim his own weapon at me.

"You guys are just slow as snails," I taunt, lashing out with both arms at the assailants, "And now it's nighty-night time Shnooky-Ookums!"

I catch both goons flush on the jaw. The weapons clatter to the ground, and I'm left the only one standing in the alley.

So why is my Spidey-Sense still ringing in my ears like a three-alarm fire? I scan the empty alleyway, and no one is there. Not even any garbage or trash cans. A suspiciously well-kept New York alley…

Except for that manhole…

My Spidey-Sense shifts to a frantic pitch, and I realize the danger is from the manhole itself! Something nasty's down there, and I don't think I want to be here to find out what it is!

I leap straight up into the air, reaching for a fire-escape ladder hanging twenty feet up. I am no less than halfway towards my goal when the shockwave of an explosion sends me flying even higher! The booming thunderclap comes from below, and the walls shake as flames jet out the mouth of the manhole. The ground is shattered into a crazy quilt of broken asphalt.

The darkness of the alley is brilliantly lit for a half a heartbeat. The ground heaves and cracks run through the walls. I am thrown clear of the mouth of the alley and only avoid injury from a jagged piece of broken flying pipe by curling into a rolling crouch.

I land on the overturned security truck. Smoke drifts through the alleyway. My two playmates are sprawled out at the mouth of the alley. Guards from the PEGASUS protect are already checking them, while others are moving down the alley itself. A tall blonde woman in a blue jumpsuit stands in the midst of the scene, barking orders. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she seems to be taking the entire situation, explosion included, as a personal affront.

"Get down that alley!" She shouts at a pair of men, "try to find them!"

"Find who?" I ask, jumping down next to her. She glances at me sideways long enough to know that I am still among the living, but doesn't reply. Find who?! I still want to know. I thought I already took care of the crooks involved.

One of the guards approaches me and the blond woman. "I've contacted the NYPD. Paramedics are en route. There's an APB out for 'em."

"All-points Bulletin?! Who are you looking for?" I ask, but again receive no answer. "I only saw two goons. How many more were there?"

Another guard comes out of the alley. "Explosion in the sewers, ma'am. Awful mess. Must've been an arms depot or something. No sign of them. They must have had a vehicle waiting at the other end of the alley."

"Now wait just a minute!" I shout, turning around to face the head honcho. "Who is missing? Who got away? Who are you looking for?"

She stares at me for a moment, as if I just wandered on to the scene."I suppose you would need to know," she says. "You missed seeing them take him away."

"Let's just say, given the fact that I almost had my head handed to me by thugs with sci-fi blasters, I'm more than mildly curious." Mentally, I am counting to ten.

"We were escorting a prisoner from project headquarters to a parole hearing when we were ambushed." She explained. "The prisoner's name is Maxwell Dillon. You probably know him as Electro."

ELECTRO!

Early in my career as the webspinning wonder I first crossed paths with Maxwell Dillon, better known as the villainous Electro. A freak bolt of lightning transformed him from a lineman for Consolidated Edison into a master of living electricity, who promptly turned his newfound talents to crime. Each time he has gone on a rampage, I have hunted him down and caught him, and each time he has found a way to escape.

A wave of rage washes through me. To be so close and let him get away! Electro has never been one to learn his lesson, or even to lie low for a little bit. He'll be around, looking for revenge! And until he makes his move, me and all the people around Spider-Man are targets.

"Spider-Man?" The commander of the PEGASUS security force intrudes on my thoughts, "I would like to thank you for your help. When these guys recover we'll be sure to get some answers out of them."

"Right," I say, shaking my head. "But by that time, Electro will be miles away."

She shrugs her shoulders. "We do the best we can, when we can. Look, these clowns are going to St.Arbogast's Hospital. Is there somewhere you can be reached when they come to?"

"I'll be around."

"Have it your way, then," she says, nodding, "if you have problems, tell them Captain Nash sent you." With that she turns away and starts shouting at her troops. "You men! Clear those Jeeps out of the way! Let's let those ambulances in! Bashfield! You and Lawson help set up the barriers. Have the police brass arrived yet?!"

Just wonderful. Electro on the loose and all I caught werr a couple of small fry. To top it all off, Peter Parker is even later for that meeting. Some days, as the rabbit said, you shoulda stood in bed.

I leap atop the overturned truck, bouncing off the PEGASUS emblem. At the high point of the leap, I loose a single strand of webbing, mooring it against a handy flagpole jutting out from the Empire State Building three stories above me.

Twisting my body, I swing up to the highest point, then fire another strand, and in this fashion swing off into the night, hoping to make it to the Bugle before Robbie gives up hope on me. Behind me, the whine of the police sirens and the shouts of captain Nash are lost in the ambient city noise.

[dascarecrow]

Seeing Their Story - The Beginning

In New York City the wallcrawling, webswinging hero known as Spider-Man swung through the concrete jungle. Things had been going as well as they could get for him he thought. He’d managed to get a job with the New York Bulletin as a photographer and webmaster. Mr. Robertson was proving to be a good boss. He payed Peter fairly for the photos he could bring in, especially those of Spider-Man. Speaking of Spider-Man, Robertson was always open-minded about the hero. He lacked Jameson’s frankly irrational grudge against the wallcrawler and kept an open mind, only reporting the story as it happened instead of trying to warp the facts to fit an asinine smear campaign. Peter really did feel like he was fitting at the Bulletin. He’d already made a sort of friend there who was showing him the ropes of media photography. Eddie Brock was certainly a worldly guy. 

Beyond his job he’d also done nearly the impossible and was actually set up to start college. Empire State University may not get the acclaim that places like MIT did but it was a perfectly fine school and local as well. At least that was what Robertson had told him when he’d heard Peter had enrolled. Turns out Mr. Robertson’s son was also enrolled there so maybe Peter would have someone who could teach him the finer points of college life. 

Of course college wouldn’t have happened at all if it weren’t for what was undoubtedly the biggest break in Peter’s life. Peter had answered a post looking for a lab assistant and had to keep his jaw from dropping when it turned out said post had been put up by none other than Reed Richards. An up and coming genius who was well on his way to being one of, if not the biggest names in science. As much as Peter would always respect and admire Mr. Stark for his heroics even he couldn’t deny that Reed’s intellect blew Iron Man’s out of the water. And that was taking into account that Mr. Stark had invented genuine time travel. It’s a shame that the two would never get the opportunity to meet each other.  

But regardless, Peter had done something right and had managed to become the lab assistant to Reed Richards. He honestly didn’t know how he’d done it. The background check was the most nerve wracking part. Peter had been so worried that he was going to be tossed out when it came out that for all intents and purposes he didn’t exist. Fortunately the story that his records had wound up missing because of the Snap had been bought. It had been a logistical and bureaucratic nightmare to get any official documentation in order with both the Snap and the Blip. He hadn’t even really lied about it. He just... left out exactly how that was. 

Lucky for him Reed had determined he was just a very brilliant kid who had been dealt some very bad hands and decided that Peter was worth taking a chance on. Neither side seemed to be regretting that choice. Peter was on the ground floor of scientific discoveries that would revolutionize the world and Reed even payed him for his help! He was a cool guy like that. Heck, when he had heard Peter wasn’t likely to head for college because of his problems the first thing he did when he had the chance was make a few calls and get Peter a chance at Empire State. Being a highly accomplished alumnus of the place had certainly helped. 

Peter couldn’t help comparing Reed and Mr. Stark. They were similar in a lot of ways but Peter was far more focused on the differences. Tony was truly a good man at heart, someone who wanted to change the world for the better and wanted Peter to become the best version of himself that he could be. But he was also volatile, prone to going overboard in trying to do good and also pretty lousy at actually approaching people on an even level. 

Reed shared a lot of his virtues with Tony. He was unaccountably brilliant, a humanitarian at his core and someone with the will and heart to truly change the world. But there was a warmth to Reed that hadn’t really been there with Tony. While Tony would give people the tools he thought they could use to elevate themselves to something more he was also distant, mostly letting them carve their own way out and only getting involved if he felt a course correction was in order.

That had been especially true with Peter himself. 

Reed was much more open, inviting input and including Peter in all of their experiments as an equal rather than some kid who needed to be lead along. Tony would never have let Peter even look at his Iron Man suits unless his life was in danger and even then he probably would have dug his heels in until it became clear it was his only choice. Peter didn’t take it personally though. Tony never let anyone in, especially when it came to his tech. It was never personal with anyone. It was just that so much of his identity was in his tech that he couldn’t really bring himself to let anyone get a good look at it other than himself. Peter honestly questioned if Colonel Rhodes or Ms. Potts actually knew precisely how their armor functioned beyond piloting it. And that was the biggest difference Peter could see between the two geniuses. 

Tony couldn’t let people in, no matter how much he cared for them. And Reed could. 

Peter barely knew anyone that Tony had been close to, either in Stark Industries or the Avengers. He couldn’t say much if anything about Colonel Rhodes, the man who was Tony’s best friend, or Ms. Potts, Tony’s own wife. He only knew Tony had a daughter because they had met at the funeral. He had hoped that things could have gone in such a way that he could help her. He knew something about losing fathers after all. But he didn’t get that chance. Or the chance to get to know her at all really. It was the same way with the Avengers. The most he’d gotten with any of them had been the few shared battles they had. After the airport it had only really been Rhodes and Vision still at the Compound. The rest were either fugitives or absent for one reason or another. And he never really had the chance to properly meet War Machine or Vision and get to know them. Happy was the one exception to any of that but even that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Tony basically making Happy do it. And even the little joy he could find in their brief friendship was overwhelmed by knowing that Happy would never know him again. 

Things were different with Reed. 

Reed made it a point of introducing Peter to the people that were in his orbit because they would be in Peter’s soon enough. Sue was a warm person who always greeted Peter kindly. She’d told him how impressed Reed was with Peter’s intellect and how excited he had been to find “a diamond in the rough” like Peter. Ben was a bit of a well meaning grouch in Peter’s opinion, always grumbling about something or other. Mostly about the scientific terms that Reed tended to use instead of saying things simply. Peter got on the best with Sue’s brother Johnny. Peter had been reminded a bit of Flash when he’d first met Johnny and not in a good way. But soon enough they got on like a house on fire. Johnny might not have been a super genius like Reed but his mechanical skills would have impressed even Tony Stark and he did come up with some genuinely intriguing ideas for science projects. 

The four had been just fantastic to Peter. They were clearly all close way before Peter had shown up but they still brought him in just because Reed saw someone who was worth getting to know. He’d gotten roped into a few lunches and dinners already and due to for another one this Saturday.  

So all in all life was going as good as it could get for Peter. Better enjoy it before that darn Parker Luck kicked in. 

He was stuck working his tail off just to keep a roof over his head but at least he had a job. Getting into college seemed like a pipe dream and finishing it was all the more daunting but at he had gotten in. He’d lost his best friend. He’d lost his mother. And he’d lost the girl he’d loved with all his heart and soul. But he wasn’t alone. 

Peter Parker would never get the life he lost back. But he could build a new one. 

And Spider-Man would still be here. No matter what came his way. 

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

With his daytime patrol done Peter returned to his apartment, needing to get Eddie’s most recent photos touched up for the website. He hadn’t even gotten out of his costume yet. The absolute last thing Peter had expected was for a blinding light to come out of nowhere and for him to be in some room he didn’t recognize. Or it would have been if weren’t for what happened next. 

“Peter?”  

Peter froze when he heard that voice. It was one he fully expected to never hear again. Turning around he saw an impossible sight. 

It was MJ! 

But... that couldn’t be right. She wasn’t supposed to know who he was. No one was supposed to know. 

“Peter, what’s going on?” And that confirmed it. She knew who he was. And that was supposed to be impossible. 

“Wh-what did you call me?” MJ looked at him puzzled. “I called you Peter. You know, as in Peter Parker?” Peter’s eyes went wide at the realization that someone who absolutely should not know him did in fact remember who he was. 

“You know who I am?” Another puzzled expression on her face appeared. “Yeah. Is there a reason I shouldn’t know my superhero boyfriend’s secret identity?” 

It was too much for Peter. The thought that MJ had somehow regained her memories, that she somehow remembered everything. It was something that he would have loved to have. But it was too good to be true. 

“How?” “Beg pardon?” “How did you find out who I am?” MJ started to look a bit nervous now. “I just... watched you. Closely. Not in a stalkery way. I just paid attention. And... and... you were just really bad at hiding it. Like I’m astonished no one else has figured it out yet. It really is not that hard.” 

Peter looked at MJ for a moment before taking off his mask. The tearful look on his face told her that something was well and truly wrong. She went over to him, genuine concern on her face. “Peter, what’s wrong?” He didn’t answer her, instead lifting a hand up and gently touching her face. “You’re real.” The tearful look turned into a tearful smile. “You’re real. And you’re here. And... you remember.” That seemed to be the part he was focused. “You remember. You remember. You remember!” The sheer elation Peter was feeling was perhaps the single greatest thing he’d ever felt. And he couldn’t help himself as pulled MJ into the most passionate kiss they’d ever shared. 

Once the kiss was done MJ looked suitably dazed. “Not that I mind but what brought that on?” Peter had the decency to look bashful. “You remember.” That answered nothing for her. “You remember. And I thought you never would. And I know it’s my fault for that. I wanted to tell you, so badly. But then I saw that cut on your head and I knew I couldn’t risk having you in my life. And I know I said I’d tell you everything but losing you was just too much. After May there was no way I could go risk that. Not with you. But I have been miserable these last few months without you MJ. And I thought I’d never have this again. And now you remember.” The smile on Peter’s face cut through a lot of the confusion MJ was feeling, though not completely. 

“Okay Peter? Slow down for a second. What are you talking about?” Now it was Peter’s turn to be confused. “You remember that I’m Spider-Man.” “Yeah. I’ve known that since Prague. I mean I suspected since you quit robotics club but Prague was where I was certain.” “No MJ. You aren’t supposed to remember. No one is.” “What do you mean no one is? Not that many people know. Just me and Ned. And Happy. And Nick Fury. And whoever he told. And the Avengers. And why do you even bother with a secret identity again? Oh also May. What did you mean about her? Did something happen?” 

Peter was now a lot less excited than he had been. This didn’t add up. MJ wasn’t supposed to know he was but she did. And she didn’t know what happened to May. That didn’t make sense. “Okay MJ what is the most recent thing you remember?” “Why does that...?” “MJ I don’t know what is going on right now but I need you to tell me what is the most recent thing you can recall.” She was taken back but the desperation in Peter’s voice but complied nonetheless.  

“Uhh... okay. You said you were going to take me webswinging through the city and I was waiting for you to show up. Then somehow I’m here, which is actually really concerning now that I’ve had a second to think about it. Is this some kind of Avenger thing?” Before Peter could answer there was another flash of light and once it had faded there was another person present. 

“Ned?” Peter and MJ both exclaimed. And indeed it was in fact Spidey’s own “guy in the chair”, who was looking around in awe before he saw the two. “Hey guys! I have no idea how I got here. I was just sitting at home and then there was this light and now I’m here. Is this an Avenger thing? It’s totally an Avenger thing isn’t it Pete?”“ Peter was briefly taken aback by Ned’s enthusiasm. And the fact that he knew who Peter was when he shouldn’t. 

“Okay before we get into all that I need to know the last thing you remember Ned.” Ned looked at Peter in confusion. “We’d just gotten back from our trip and next thing I know I’m here with you guys. Speaking of where is here anyways?” MJ looked at Peter at the question, also wanting answers. Which he really didn’t have. 

“I... don’t really know. I just showed up here like you guys did. And I don’t know how or why that happened.” “Huh. Okay so do you think it’s science or magic?” Peter looked baffled at Ned’s question. “I mean was it some kind of teleportation tech or do you think it was some kind of spell? Personally I think it was more Doctor Strange than Iron Man.” “Yeah I don’t know Ned. Could be more Ant-Man for all we know.” “Ant-Man?” “Yeah. Pym tech deals with quantum energy. Could be how we wound up here. Wherever here is anyways.” 

Peter finally had a chance to look around at this unknown place. It looked to be a viewing room of some sort, well carpeted with an abundance of lounging chairs set up in rows. That all of them were facing towards one of the walls told Peter that this room was meant for watching... something. And in comfort no less. There were some doors leading out to other areas and he would have done just that if it weren’t for another flash of light. This one left behind someone that Peter wasn’t expecting to have seen again. 

“Doctor Octavius?” 

And indeed it was the same soul that had been Peter’s first real introduction to the Multiverse, right down to the metal arms attached to his back. He was looking around in confusion until Peter had spoken up. The man looked at him and gained a pleasant smile. “Hello Peter. Always good to see you dear boy. How are you?” Peter was taken aback a bit. Most guys who had tried to kill him tended not to be cheerful on a repeat meeting. Though he was reminded that Doctor Octavius had never really been a villain on his own merits. “Trying to do better. It is you I’m speaking with right?” 

Otto chuckled. “Yes Peter it’s me. Your inhibitor chip has held up marvelously. I’ve been endeavoring to find a way to remove these rather unnecessary extremities” he had his metal arms go up for emphasis “of mine but it’s been slow going. Would you mind explaining how I arrived here. I am dearly hoping that it isn’t another case of reality itself dissolving.” Peter was about to answer as well as he could when there was another flash of light and this one left behind a real surprise for Peter. 

“Peter-1?” “Peter-3?” And with that two Spider-Men where looking at each other. “What are you doing here?” “You tell me. I was in my secret base and next thing I know I’m in some kind of movie theater. It is a movie theater right?” “Looks that way. Wait, you have a secret base?” “Well I say secret base but it’s really a subway car that my dad turned into a hidden laboratory. I just call it a base because secret subway lab just doesn’t have the same ring.” “Hold on. Our dad built you base?” “Well it wasn’t built for us but yeah. He was kind of a mix of super scientist and super spy. There was this whole mess with Oscorp he got involved in and...” The discussion they were having was interrupted by another flash of light. And this one left behind another surprise for the Spider-Men. 

“Peter-2?” they both exclaimed. 

“Hey everyone.” And it was indeed another Spider-Man. One who had kept Peter from crossing an unforgivable line. And he wasn’t alone. Standing with him was a red haired woman. “Are these those other Peter Parkers you told me about?” Peter-2 looked at the woman with a smile. “Yeah they are. Everyone I would like to introduce you all to my wife, Mary Jane.” The red head gave a smile to everyone. “Nice to meet you all. Peter can’t stop talking about these other hims that he met.” Her smile dropped when she saw Otto. 

“Doctor Octavius?” Otto gave his own morose smile. “Good to see you again Ms. Watson. I beg your forgiveness for my conduct in our last meeting. I truly wasn’t in my right mind at the time.” “It’s fine. Peter explained everything to me. And it’s Mrs. Watson-Parker now.” Otto perked up a bit, his smile becoming more genuine. “Oh. Well congratulations. I do hope I can find an exceptional gift for you, once we’ve returned to our own world.” 

Peter and MJ both stared at the red haired woman, who was apparently a variant of the latter. Said woman noticed them both staring at her and her offered a kind smile. “You must the be the Peter here. It’s nice to meet you. And I guess your this world’s Mary Jane.” “Uh, actually it’s Michelle Jones. I also don’t go by Watson. Ever.” Mary Jane’s look turned sad yet understanding. “Mother or Father?” “A bit of both if I’m honest. You?” “About the same.” “So I guess one of those things across the multiverse is us drawing a bad hand with parents.” “Seems like. Also seems like we get the greatest guy in the world as a trade off.”  

MJ couldn’t help a genuine giggle. “This is so weird. I’m talking to a version of myself from another world. You think after aliens literally invade the world that nothing could be surprising anymore but I continually find myself proven wrong.” “Yeah, you find out that when you get involved with Spider-Man normal goes out the window.” “But not totally right? There has to be some kind of high bar on it all.” Mary Jane chuckled. “I’ve been attacked by a maniac dressed like an elf, a guy made of sand and some alien blob suit. Trust me, things stop being normal and they never go back. But it’s worth it. Believe me.” 

Peter looked at the exchange between the two MJ’s and couldn’t help his guilt. He’d thought that he was keeping MJ safe by staying out of her life but seeing a version of her that wasn’t just perfectly at ease with Spider-Man but embracing of the idea got to him. It was too late for regrets, no matter how many of them he had. But Peter’s self-reflection was stopped by another flash of light. And the voice that spoke after it. 

“Peter?” 

He froze. There was no way that was who he thought it was. Not after everything. Every fiber of his being was telling him not to turn around but he once again ignored his common sense. 

And there stood Aunt May. 

She was looking around in confusion and then at Peter in concern. “Is this an Avenger thing? This really feels like an Avenger thing.” Peter went up to her, tears barely held back. And he hugged his aunt, his mother, for all she was worth. He didn’t care how this had happened. He was just thankful he’d gotten even a few more seconds with those he thought lost to him forever.  

“Peter?” His aunt questioned. She wasn’t prepared for the answer. “I lost you.” The whole room stopped at that. “I lost you and somehow you’re here.” May didn’t know how to respond to what she just heard so she simply hugged her nephew, her son, knowing he had gone through something truly horrid. Especially given how he was openly crying right now. 

“Hey. Hey it’s ok Peter. I don’t know what’s happened but I’m here right now. And I’m not going anywhere.” At that Peter let her go and looked at her with tearful eyes and a broken smile. “I wish that could be true May. I really do.” May really didn’t know what to make of her nephew’s enigmatic words so she looked around the room and took in some faces she had never seen before. Which were looking at her with some shock. 

Otto made the first move. “Good to see you again Miss Parker. We’re not certain how all of this is happening but it’s a joy nonetheless.” He smiled towards her and May awkwardly smiled back. “Good to see you too, man with metal arms that I’ve never met before.” May stopped in an awkward silence, wondering why this absolute stranger seemed to know her. Said stranger was equally perplexed. “I beg your pardon miss but you have no recollection of us ever meeting before?” “Sorry no. Are you with Stark Industries? I visited a few times so maybe that’s where you saw me.” 

Otto was starting to come to a realization. “I remember you but you don’t know me. Curious, curious. I wonder... If travel between alternate universes is possible then theoretically we could... but the probability of even slight temporal manipulation is astronomical... Peter!” “Yes” all three responded. “I mean young Peter.” “What is it Doctor Octavious?” “How advanced is your world’s understanding of quantum mechanics?” “About the same as other worlds’ would be I guess. Unless your Hank Pym. That guy is the master of quantum science.” 

“Yes, yes. Master of quantum science and what not. Regardless I have a theory about our current circumstances.” “Which would be?” “I do believe that each of us has arrived here from different points in our respective timelines, rather from a standard “present” as it were. Though I have no idea whether that was by design or simply coincidence.” Peter stopped for a minute to think things over. “That... would make a lot of sense. Answers the what. Still need to figure out the how and why though.” 

While Peter and Otto were attempting to figure out what exactly their current circumstances were May found herself looking at Peter-2. Something he had noticed. “Something wrong Miss?” “I’m sorry for staring. It’s just... you look so much like my husband Ben did when he was younger.” Peter-2 was taken slightly aback but had a small smile. “I look like Uncle Ben?” May was slightly startled by the question but smiled at him “Just a bit, yeah.” “I’ll consider that as a compliment then.” Mary Jane smiled at her husband then turned to May. “Believe me that would be the highest praise he could ever receive.”  

Back with Peter and Otto the two were going over theories about what could have done all of this. “So a mix of teleportation and time travel is what we’re looking at?” Peter asked. “It would make the most logical sense given what we know so far. Though it would be ironic given those very concepts are at best speculative in the field of science.” Otto answered. “Not in my universe. I know both of those things have happened.” Otto looked at Peter in surprise. “Genuine spatial warping I’ve personally witnessed but you mean to tell me you’ve seen firsthand temporal traversal?” “Well not firsthand but I know it was done and I sort of know how.” Otto pondered this for a moment. “If what you say is true then it creates the possibility that this was in fact done by someone native to your world.” 

“Not quite Doctor Octavius.” 

Everyone in the room was shocked to hear a new voice and turned to look at where it came from. What they saw astounded them. It was a giant human looking figure dressed in white and blue robes with golden adornments. Said figure was bald as well as having pure white eyes. They were also floating in the air, much to the bafflement of everyone present. 

There was only silence as everyone took in the new arrival. Peter would be the one to break the silence. “Hello there, Mr...?” The figure looked at Peter with what could almost be considered warmth. “Greetings to you Peter Parker of the Sacred Timeline. I am the Watcher and I am the one who has gathered all of you here.” 

Peter stood there in shock for a few moments. “Okay. I have a few questions. First off, why? Second off, what is a “Sacred Timeline”? Third... I don’t really have a third I’m just really trying to figure everything out here.” MJ decided to take pity on her boyfriend and stepped in. “Easy there tiger. Just go one at a time alright?” Peter felt himself being centered by his girlfriend’s reassurance (god how had he thought that keeping her out of his life was a good idea?) and composed himself. 

The Watcher waited patiently for Peter to stop talking. “All will be revealed soon but for now all you need to know is that you, Peter Parker, have been chosen by a higher power for a special purpose.” Peter stood there in shock. He’d been chosen for something by some higher power. Him, of all people, had been chosen. He almost couldn’t believe it. But there was a lot happening he couldn’t believe. 

Steeling his nerves Peter looked at the Watcher. “What have I been chosen for?” The Watcher was silent for a moment. “You will have your answers soon. But to start with I will give you the responsibility of summoning others to join you in this place.” Peter’s eyes widened in shock. Summoning others? How would that be possible? And what about everyone already here? 

The Watcher seemed to know Peter’s thoughts before they were spoken. “Those already brought here were meant as a kindness towards you. As for how to choose who shall be summoned I will provide the means by which you can do so.” With a wave of his hand the Watcher brought forth an advanced looking machine that Peter couldn’t make heads or tails of but he did recognize a monitor and keyboard on it. Deciding to throw caution to the wind Peter shrugged and went over to the machine. 

“May as well see how this works.” 

To Be Continued   

[drwhotht]

The Dread (of the Hand) of Andred

The Dread (of the Hand) of Andred

Introductions in fiction are always much easier to manage than endings.  Tour Honchos have been doggedly making our way through ‘Bergerac’ for most of the last year, and even mentioned it previously here when a unusually strong confluence of Doctor Who luminaries appeared in an episode. Louise Jameson was a series regular from Series 4-7 playing Bergerac’s occasional girlfriend Susan Young, and…

[scifi4wifi]

Big Finish audio review: Gallifrey: Time War 3

Big Finish audio review: Gallifrey: Time War 3

Romana (Lalla Ward) and Narvin (Sean Carlsen) have been driven from Gallifrey. They must now risk the dangerous galaxy overrun by the Time War to try to find Leela (Louise Jameson) and anything else that might help end the war and take back Gallifrey from the dark path it’s gone down.

Hostiles by David Llewellyn

Romana and Narvin take refuge on an abandoned ship. But they are not alone and…

[10ths-writing-corner]

Febuwhump #20- Caged

Puppet Master AU

“{What on earth were you thinking of letting Jackie take Henrik?!}” If Jameson had his voice he’d be yelling his mind out, cursing for that lousy father for even breathing. This was bad, this was extremely bad. How could he be so careless! The dapper paced back and forth, thinking of what to do. Well, he didn’t have to give it too much of a thought, Jameson knew this was Chase’s last strike and there would be some blood spilling once he got Henrik back.

“I-I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Chase said in a trembling voice, though it earned a harsh glare from almost glowing sapphire eyes. The stare made the father shrink even further, his back pressing against the corner of the hallway. “J-Jackie seemed trustworthy! H-He even apologized to Henrik! It might even be good f-for him to g-go out—!”

“{I am the only one that Henrik needs!}” Jameson signed with force, faint royal blue strains shoot from his fingers and snake with speed towards Chase. The threads slice Chase’s skin as they wrap around his limbs, the father screaming in panic while being lift and pin against the wall. “{You’ve ruined everything!}”

Fear struck ceruleans stare at Jameson before drifting to the familiar strings. He tried to move but that only made the thread slice deeper into his flesh, blood now dripping from the wounds. “James— Agh! Please! Stop, it hurts!”

Jameson took slow steps towards the father, his free hand taking a hold of his jaw to fixate his eyes on him. Not in the time Chase had known he had seen so much anger and hatred, it almost looked like he was staring at Anti… the thought alone send him in a spiral of panic, and all he wanted was to get away. But the more Chase struggled to move, the tighter the strings became. “{I should’ve gotten rid of you the moment you stepped in my home. I should’ve killed you the first time you crossed me.}” Jameson growled in Chase’s mind. “{You lived because Henrik cared for you, but I am not allowing a disgusting mutt like you waste my time!}”

Tears are soon to roll down the father’s cheeks, his head shaking no. “D-Don’t kill me— Please… PLEASE! M-My children!” Chase yelled hysterically. “I-I’ll do anything! I’ll—“

“{I gave you far too many chances to prove yourself worthy, and all you’ve shown is how right I am to despise all of you—}”

“I-If I die, Henrik will never forgive you!” Chase suddenly shouts. The words struck the dapper, his grip on Chase’s jaw faltering until his hand drops. Henrik… hating him…? No, he couldn’t— Henrik loves him. He must understand the reasons why he had to do everything up to know. All to protect him. “He’ll find out— He’ll hate yo-you.”

No… His heartbeat increases the more he thinks about it. The thought of Henrik looking at him with fear. In disgust. Jameson can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen— Fearful sapphires soon return to their normal, kind ones. He offers a smile to Chase, the strings soon dissolving in thin air and letting the father fall with a harsh thump. “{I must admit… you have been quite a handful.}” Jameson signs as he crouched in front of Chase, his hand now gently tapping his cheek as if he just finished telling a joke. “{You’ve risked too much, and yet I’m going to let you live. Only because it would cause much distress in Henrik. However-}

In a blink of an eye Chase was lift in the air once more and thrown into a dark room. His back hit the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He wanted to scramble up but his injured limbs made him fall on his side. His eyes look at Jameson’s figure, the light obscuring his features except for those vibrant sapphire eyes. The resemblance was too much, it made the father’s stomach churn. “{This should be enough punishment of what’s to come if you speak of this encounter.}” Jameson signs. “{This room… resembles of one of the many horrors I went through while under Antisepticeye’s care.}” His hands tremble as the memory resurfaced, his hand almost trailing up his throat but he stops himself. He had to go and find Henrik. “{No one will hear you scream, not even yourself— If you do not sink into madness while in here then… well, we shall see.}”

“Wh— You can’t just leave me here like a caged— Don’t close the door!” The door shut before Chase could even finish his plea, and just as Jameson had mentioned. Utter silence filled the house, even when he knew Chase was screaming like caged animal. At least his pet will be trained to be good, and think twice before crossing him again. With that thought, the dapper walked away the room, footsteps echoing quirky down the hallway.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

sparkling eyes and smoky bars

Request: Shy male reader trying to ask Mad Sweeney out. 

Every time he stepped into the room, everyone else seemed to disappear. Of course, that may have just been because his broad shoulders hid everyone else from view, but you thought it more likely it was just part of the magic of him, how he could make everything else seem so insignificant.

He was a regular at your bar, had been for some time now, and although he didn’t tip well, or sometimes even at all, he was a favorite of all the staff. Nobody is really sure why: lousy tipper, always getting into trouble. Had to be that smile, you thought, as you found yourself on the receiving end of it, or maybe those eyes. You always had been partial to green eyes.

It’s a Tuesday, quiet, and there’s only two guys in cheap suits and Sweeney at the bar. You’re swiping a damp rag idly down the wooden counter, wishing it was a Friday so you would make more in tips, so you wouldn’t just stand here being bored and mooning over Mr. Tall, Ginger, and Stupid.

But then he turns the full force of that smile on you, and your hand moves for the bottle of Jameson on the shelf before he even asks. The suits throw some money onto the bar, but you barely register their departure until Sweeney slides the folded bills toward you. He grabs your hand to place the bills in your palm, and your heart feels like it’s going to burst from your chest. Electricity jolts through you at the feel of his calloused fingers on your wrist, and you swear he holds on just a second longer than he really needs to.

His smile is slow and sultry, green eyes sparkling and full of mischief as he captures your gaze, and your body forgets for a second how to breathe, how to stand upright, how to do anything but stand and stare at him.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice low and gravely, and you love the way your name sounds in his mouth. “I think there’s something you’ve been wanting to ask me for a while now.”

He's right, but you don't know how he can know that unless he can read minds, or if you're not as subtle as you thought. Honestly, with him, you're not sure which is more likely, or which would be worse. "Well if you already know, then why should I ask?" You challenge, quirking a brow.

"I want to hear ya say it," he answers without missing a beat, bringing the shot glass to his mouth. His throat bobs as he takes the shot, and you swallow hard at the sight. He sets the glass back down with a forceful clink, sparkling green eyes pinning you in place. "I can't say yes if ya never ask."

Your hands are clammy, and you just barely resist the urge to wipe them on your jeans. "Alright, then. Will you go on a date with me?"

He grins as he looks down at you, not answering to draw out your anticipation, and you find yourself wondering if he's this wicked of a tease in other situations, too. The thought makes your breath catch, something tight zapping low in your belly, and you're so distracted by it, you almost miss his answer.

"Yes."

[spideysmjs]

jumping from the tops of buildings (with you)

She’s always lived a mundane life.

It’s more of a fact than a complaint, knowing that at 16 years old, there’s nothing that demands excitement aside from ridiculous traditions of sweaty school dances, stress acne over the SATs, and graduation – wishing that something, big or small, can make her years more interesting.

The same doesn’t go for Peter Parker: the person she’s squinting at, sunlight beaming from behind him as he crouches on the light post with his hands pressed against his face from shock.

They’d just spent days together in Europe, solving a mystery that saved thousands of people – that little slice of adventure already turning into a whirlwind of events for her.

Now, J. Jonah Jameson continues to grumble about Spider-Man being a menace, spitting out hurtful words, accusing Peter of murder, MJ’s heart beating fast knowing she’d just been seen soaring through the skies of New York City with him.

People will frame him for kidnapping her if she goes with him.

People might attack her for staying.

Either way is a losing game, her legs have cemented onto the street, face numb from anxiety, heart about to jump out of her chest.

And then suddenly, his arms scoop her up and her feet are no longer touching anything, both of them back into the sky despite her declaration of never wanting to swing with him ever again.

Except, this time, there’s too much adrenaline in her veins to be afraid of heights – the only fear running through her mind is what’s going to happen next to Peter… to them.

MJ buries her face into the crook of his neck, grasps his waist tight with her legs, and keeps her eyes shut as if removing her sight will reverse whatever hell Mysterio’s just released onto Peter's entre life.

She hears him mumble something, breath shaking as she tries to zero in on his voice, but the wind is too harsh around her that she can’t hear him. The only resolve she tries to squeeze into her chest is the fact that she’s still here, in his arms, safe.

Even if it might be the last time.

And, because it might be probably is the last time, MJ’s never wanted anything more than just to make sure these few minutes in the sky with Peter feel longer than the sixteen years she’s spent waiting for something interesting to happen to her.

Be careful what you wish for, she thinks. The sentiment never made sense to her, not until now.

MJ doesn’t want to let go the moment her feet touch the ground, still nestled against him, hugging him tight against his body, knowing that the moment she opens her eyes, she has to face the reality that inevitably comes with being with Peter, with Spider-Man.

Both of them are now one person to the entire world.

“MJ,” he says, “No one’s followed us. You can let go.”

She doesn’t want to.

“Okay,” she says, loosening her arms, almost pulling away until she feels his hand on the small of her back press against her gently into a softer embrace.

She doesn’t realize how wet her eyes are until she opens them after their bodies break apart, staring at Peter straight in the lenses of his mask. When he pulls it off, he sighs.

A chuckle escapes his throat, broken and jagged, but trying. “Guess I don’t really need to use that anymore, huh?”

All she can do is look at him, eyes full of sorrow and uncertainty. She wishes she could say something to make him feel better, but in a world full of superheroes and aliens and otherworldly creatures, what is MJ’s lousy attempt to console him worth?

“I–I don’t know how this could happen,” he continues, trembling hands still clutching onto the mask that he no longer has the privilege of hiding in. “I didn’t… I didn’t do what that video said, MJ, you have to believe me. I’m not.. I didn’t want him to be.. The drones aren’t–”

“Peter,” she whispers, a soft thing. “I know.”

“You do?” he asks in a way that cracks right in the middle of her heart, just a touch away from the place she keeps him in because to her, Peter’s existence can never escape her.

“Of course I do.”

“Thank you,” he says. There’s helicopters flying in the distance, sirens wailing down below them, MJ only realizing now that they’d made it. He grabs her hands, pulling her away from the ledge and toward the entrance, beneath a metal awning big enough to hide both of them.

They lean against the wall, MJ feeling her legs give out as she sinks down, finding her breath that she’d lost ever since the news broke less than half an hour ago, time being suspended like she’d wanted, feeling guilty for wanting this moment to last longer than it should knowing that Peter probably has to go into hiding now, but she doesn’t want to say goodbye.

It’s absurd how gorgeous the Manhattan skyline looks, nearing sunset with its pinks and purples, almost as if it’s mocking the both of them right now.

She feels a hand press lightly on her shoulder and as she looks up, Peter smiles down at her, still standing, still finding a way to look confident in the face of distress.

MJ wishes she could tell Peter that he doesn’t have to be fearless around her. She wishes she could tell him that if she had the choice to run away with him, she would. She’d run away from him and grab that mace she stole from the Crown Jewels and make protecting him her superpowers. But she doesn’t have that choice. She’s powerless. She can’t protect him.

“Happy already knows where we are. He’s.. he’s sending for you.”

“What do you mean?” she stutters, heat rising in her face knowing that her question probably sounds ridiculous because she already knows the answer.

“I... I have to leave,” he says. “I can’t take you. That’s–that’s too dangerous, MJ.”

She knows.

“Happy will keep you safe.”

She knows.

“You have to lay low for a while.”

She knows, she knows, she knows but none of this is what she wants.

“I’ve ruined everything for you.”

“No,” she says. “No you didn’t, Peter.”

MJ watches him hit his head against the brick wall. “You could have had a normal life, and I had to be sutpid and show off my stupid swinging that you didn’t even like, and now…  now I don’t even know what’s going to happen–”

She stands up, facing him. His eyes go wide as she stares into them. “Everything will be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she says, though the shakiness in her voice doesn’t reassure her certainty. “I do because you’re Peter Parker. You figured it out before and you’ll figure it out again.”

“MJ…”

“And this time… This time I’m here for you,” she says. “With you. Even if I won’t be able to physically be…”

“Michelle,” he says – a name he hasn’t said until she’d told him and Ned that they can call her MJ, that they’re friends. Her name in his mouth this time feels different, like a promise that she trusts in him to keep.

“Peter,” she returns.

His wrist beeps. “Happy’s almost here.”

It’s almost time to say goodbye.

There’s so much MJ wants to say, wishing that she can find the words to be honest like she always is, like she always has to be. Somehow, every time she’s around Peter, it’s harder to say what’s on her mind, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

26 letters in the alphabet, but no combination is good enough for him.

“Okay,” she says. The only word that comes to mind. “We’re – we’re gonna be okay.”

She starts to hear a machine whirring near the side of the building, probably another Stark Industries jet, ready to pick her up.

Suddenly, at the same time, a siren begins to blare behind them. A harsh sound of feet kicking the door to the roof makes her jump. They both run to the edge of the building where they’d initially landed, MJ’s eyes immediately reaching an open window with someone snickering, phone in their hand like they’d taken a picture.

She wants to be angry, but there’s no time because Peter begins to panic, arms shaking and flailing as he explains, “I–I didn’t think it would be so soon before we had to–”

“Peter,” she says, feeling so drained of anything despite the needles poking her stomach, begging her to say something else. “Peter, it’s gonna be okay.”

Another slam against the door, and then an endless noise of banging in an attempt to knock it over.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna get to Happy,” she stares, looking down at the open jet. “Are you coming with me?”

“I can’t."

“Peter.”

“MJ.”

“I don’t want–” she tries, but he interrupts her.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Yes. I do,” she stammers, the same panic from when they’d discovered Mysterio’s true plans on the bridge coming back, but this time at full-force – this time with less knowledge of what’s to come.

Without responding, he drives toward her, arms open as he holds her and suddenly, they’re in the sky again.

MJ wishes it could be longer. It feels like she’s forgotten her fear of flying in the short amount of time they’d share together. She could keep flying if it meant being in Peter’s arms longer than the ten seconds it takes for him to carefully land her into the jet.

Happy throws a few capsules – what MJ thinks are web fluid containers – and says, “You know what you have to do, kid?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, catching it. He no longer sounds scared, but exhausted – exhaustion that no 16-year-old should ever know. But Peter lives in it. Breathes in it.

Her heart could break into a million pieces right now thinking of where he’s going to go, what’s he’s going to do – who he has to be.

“Michelle,” he says again, like a broken record, but she’d rather listen to that noise than anything else. “I…”

“I know,” she says. It could be stupid to already feel this way. She’s sixteen. They’d just kissed once, and maybe they won’t kiss again for a while. But she still feels it, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. “Me too.”

They nod at each other, a reassuring thing.

“We’re running out of time, Peter. You need to go,” Happy says.

Peter clicks his web-shooters against each other, refilling the fluid. They share one, lasting gaze until he thwips, disappearing into the sky.

When Happy flies away, she can’t even look back and watch him.

He’s already gone. They’ve run out of the short time they’d had together.

And now, the only thing she can do is wait.

[insidethegiftbasket]

Yankees (18-16) at Rays (19-17)

Tuesday – 7:10pm on YES and ESPN: Jordan Montgomery (1-1, 4.41 ERA) vs Luis Patino (1-0, 1.17 ERA)

Wednesday – 7:10 on YES: Gerrit Cole (4-1, 1.61 ERA) vs TBA, most likely Yarbrough for the bulk innings (2-3, 4.58 ERA)

Thursday – 7:10 on YES and MLBN: Jameson Taillon (1-2, 5.02 ERA) vs TBA, most likely Rich Hill (1-1, 5.17 ERA)

Rays Injury Report (since we last played them)

RP Pete Fairbanks – activated off IL on May 5th

RP Collin McHugh – activated off IL on May 5th

1b Ji-Man Choi – finishing rehabbing injured knee, expected to be activated for series vs Yankees

RP Chris Mazza – placed on 10 Day IL due to shoulder inflammation, no timetable for return

SP Michael Wacha – placed on 10 Day IL due to hamstring strain, no timetable for return

RP Diego Castillo – placed on 10 Day IL due to strained groin, no timetable for return

C Francisco Meijia – placed on 10 Day IL due to strained oblique, no timetable for return

OF Kevin Kiermaier – placed on 10 Day IL due to sprained wrist, no timetable for return

Rays Pitching

The good news for this series is that the Yankees avoid Glasnow, who’s still pitching at an All Star level. The bad news? The Rays, despite having seven relievers on the IL right now along with three starting pitchers, are still able to put out multiple elite relievers. Obviously guys like Fairbanks, Strickland, Thompson, and Kittredge have put up nice seasons in the past, but they’ve also started to use some of their top end prospects like Shane McClanahan out of the pen too with a ton of success.

McClanahan, a consensus Top 100 prospect in baseball, is a lefty who made his first career MLB appearance vs the Yankees in the ALDS last season, and mixes a sweeping slider with 33 inches of drop and 4.4 inches of horizontal break (both significantly above average) with a 99mph four seamer with 52% more horizontal break than average.

The slider is legit—in 12 at bats ending with the pitch, opposing batters have struck out eight times and only gotten one hit. The fastball however is a different story—despite having a lot of life to it, he’s leaving it smack dab in the middle of the zone and people are teeing off on it to a tune of a .506 xSLG.

The other main new piece the Rays have been trotting out is Tuesday’s starting pitcher Luis Patino. He was MLB Pipeline’s #23 prospect in 2020 when he was with the San Diego Padres organization, and was one of the main pieces of the Blake Snell deal this past winter. His star started to shine a bit less after a messy 2020 season in San Diego, as he had a real trouble with throwing strikes (16.5% walk rate was in the second percentile) and was miserable when even or behind in the count (opposing batters had a .845 OPS when ahead in the count, a 1.118 OPS when even in the count, and just a .495 OPS when behind.)

I saw him pitch when he was with Single-A Fort Wayne, and you could tell then that he had the potential to be truly special. He was just 18 years old, nearly four years younger than the average Midwest League player, but his stuff is just electric- he has a fastball that sits in the mid 90’s and lasts throughout the whole game, but can touch 100mph. It doesn’t have a ton of movement to it, but it does have a ton of spin (89th percentile in fastball spin rate in 2020, to go along with 94th percentile in fastball velocity.) The go to out pitch however is a disgusting slider- only 27.1 inches of drop (20% less than average) but it gets nearly double the average horizontal break on it. The slider has a 45.5% whiff rate this season and has gotten 8 strikeouts in 14 at bats. More importantly, he’s started throwing strikes more:

Those are his 2020 pitch charts, where he was really all over the place and had to use his change up more often (more on that in a second).

Compared to his 2021 pitch chart, where everything is a lot tighter and he’s thrown the slider for strikes.

He also has a change up, which is 88mph with a low spin rate and low movement, and he uses that almost exclusively against lefties—it’s really the pitch he needs to improve upon if he wants to live up to his billing as a top end starting pitcher, but despite not really having the underlying numbers to back it up, it has been successful so far in his MLB career. In his limited MLB career so far, he actually has reverse splits (righties are slashing .259/.368/.414 and lefties .158/.273/.536), but in his last MILB season righties slashed .163/.259/.220 compared to lefties slashing .262/.308/.443. I’d be willing to bet that his reverse splits right now are nearly purely small sample sizes and that things will go back to normal quickly.

Rays Hitting

Tampa has been improving their offensive numbers, and are up to a 99 OPS+ as a team so far this season (tied for 13th in baseball.) Getting Choi back helps, as it can for Tsutsugo out of the lineup more often as his 38 OPS+ is dragging down the Rays offense drastically—Tampa has the 5th worst OPS out of the DH position. Ideally, they’d be able to play Meadows there more often, but Kiermaier’s injury takes away his Gold Glove level defense and forces Tampa to play Meadows’ Garbage Glove level defense in LF.

Tampa has been getting good production from the majority of their team however—Zunino has doubled his OPS+ from last year so far and Diaz, Wendle, Meadows, and Arozarena are right where you’d expect them to be in the heart of the order. Adames has been the weak link so far of the every day guys, which is not a place you want to be in when Wander Franco, the consensus top prospect in baseball, is currently crushing the ball in AAA.

Yankees Focus On: Starting Pitchers

Because we’ve faced Tampa twice in the last month already, I figured it’d be a little better to spend more time breaking down our own starters for this series.

First up—Jordan Montgomery: if you want to look at some upside with Gumby, you can point to the fact that he has really battled back from some lousy starts and moments that he just didn’t have it this season. If you want some downside with Gumby, there’s been a lot of those moments. Gumby has a 6.00 ERA in the first inning this season, batters are slashing a very high .364/.417/.871 when leading off an inning, and against non-Orioles teams he’s been a mess:

He’s had miserable platoon splits—lefties are slashing .138/.219/.138 with 10 Ks and 1 BB in 32 PA, but righties are slashing .272/.323/.489 with 18 Ks and 7 BBs in 100 PA. His home/road splits are similar:

Now it’s easy to say “oh it’s been a month, give it some time” with Gumby, and with some of the other pitchers on the team I’d agree, but unfortunately all his career numbers are similar—significantly a different pitcher at home, vs lousy teams, and against lefties than he is on the road, vs winning teams, or against righties. One of the biggest issues he’s running into is that he just really struggles against the best of the best:

It’s hard to trust Gumby when he’s on the mound because of all this—he’s reached 90 pitches in a game just twice in the last two seasons and pitched into the 7th just once (he was pulled after letting the leadoff hitter on in the 7th inning this season against Tampa).

His underlying numbers aren’t that great either—he’s still not walking guys (just a 6.1% BB rate) but he doesn’t get strikeouts and allows a lot of hard contact. Last year he was in the 95th percentile in average exit velocity, this year he’s in the 33rd percentile, mainly because his sinker and his cutter suck.

Those are two pitches with not a lot of movement to them and not a lot of speed to them that are being left in very hittable places for hitters—here’s a zone chart for SLG and xSLG for righties against Gumby:

Not great! He’s leaving those cutters and sinkers all over up in the zone and guys are destroying those pitches.

That being said, the curveball has been elite offerings from him this season: curveball has a .071 SLG and .192 xSLG and is actually his most used pitch at 23.7% of the time (although he does throw a variation of his fastball over 50% of the time.) His change up has gotten good results- right now it has a decent .314 wOBA (although it does have a much higher .440 xWOBA, and if it starts to perform like that then he’s really in trouble.)

At this point I’m not writing Gumby off, he did have a really nice 2017 after all, but he’s now three years removed from Tommy John surgery and the results just have not been there.

In much more positive news, Gerrit Cole is really freaking good at baseball.

Those are his numbers in his Yankee career, and he’s been really worth every penny of the contract so far.

Maybe the most insane thing that Cole’s done this year is put up a 40.2 K% and a 1.8 BB%: the only two SP with a higher difference are Jacob deGrom and Corbin Burnes, who both have roughly a 45% difference between their K rate and BB rate. He’s also drastically cut his HR/FB% down, last year 18.7% of his fly balls left the yard, this year it’s down to 7%. He gave up 14 homers in 73 innings last season, this year he’s given up three in 44.2 innings.

Obviously the big change Cole made this season, as YES mentions every time he steps out on the mound, is that he has embraced the Matt Blake Change Up Factory approach, and to good measure. Last season he threw a change up 5.6% of the time, almost entirely against lefties and to the tune of a .268 wOBA. This year that number is up to 15.1% of the time, it’s used against righties and lefties, and it has a .041 wOBA thanks to one hit against it in 31 PA. His change up is the third best change up in baseball in run value so far this year, only behind John Means and Ian Anderson. He also has the 17th best four seam fastball in run value, and those two pitches play off each other perfectly:

That is excellent tunneling for two pitches with similar movement but a 10mph difference to them—Cole’s change up actually drops significantly less than the average change up and has similar horizontal movement to his four seamer, so it’s really hard to tell the difference in the two pitches. Here’s a pitch chart from his start against Detroit, with four seamers in red and change ups in green:

He’s able to keep the fastballs up in the zone and use his change up as essentially a low fastball, but with a 10mph hitters are just really struggling to identify it and do anything with it.

Starting the final game of the series is Jameson Taillon, who’s really been improving his last couple times out. It’s interesting with Jamo that he’s had Gary behind the plate for every one of his starts so far, and also very interesting in that his expected stats are all significantly better than his actual stats: he’s given up seven homers already this season, but if it was park adjusted he’d be expected to give up five homers. His expected ERA is nearly two runs less than his actual ERA. What he’s running into, and why I am not worried about Jamo long term, is this:

To me that screams “this dude hasn’t pitched in two years and is just building up his stamina” more than anything. He’s also been significantly better with an extra day or two of rest, and between him, Kluber, and Severino once he returns from injury, I can definitely see the Yankees try to get them all extra rest when possible.

His slider has easily been his best pitch on the season—.205 wOBA against (.301 xwOBA) with a high spin rate and sitting at 87mph. He’s used mostly that and his four seamer, which has a lot better expected numbers than actual numbers—xSLG of .430 as opposed to actual SLG of .612. That said, when your chart looks like this, it’s easy to see why his SLG is higher than it should be:

High fastballs are good, but he’s allowing too many high fastballs to be way out of the zone, and they are all really high up. Five of his seven homers are off the 4 seamer, which is totally believable when you look at how his pitches are winding up. A little more time and a little more control can fix that problem however, and I don’t think it’s going to be too long before we see Jamo living up to his potential.

[falseroar]

Silent Watch Part 2: Into the Woods

((Just two young people, discussing their hopes and fears. In the woods. At night. Actually, this part is a fairly short and quiet heart to heart. I’ve always liked the idea that JJ is British, so that’s why he has that accent instead of an Irish one.

Link to Part 1 here.))

You soon reached the trailers and cars set up around the set and slowed down long enough to call out, “Mr. Jackson? Jameson?”

There was no answer as you wandered among the trailers, guided more by your memory than what little the moonlight overhead could do, and you found yourself reaching into your pocket to feel the familiar weight of the pocket watch there, the raised lines of the elaborate metalwork on its cover.

It was the single most precious thing you owned, the memory of the giver almost as important as the spell on it designed to protect its bearer. Everyone in your town possessed a ward of some kind, only a maniac would risk going out without one.

But then, most of the cast and crew had come from the cities, where sealed walls and regular patrols kept them safe. For them, the stories of what lurked in the woods near your town were just legends or things that happened to other people. You remembered some of the actors and actresses even laughing about the warnings the town had given them before filming, calling the crew who left before dark superstitious or lazy.

You had been one of those to always work as late as possible, but that was only because you needed the money and you trusted the warded watch to keep you safe.

Now, as you caught sight of the figure in the distance walking along the tree line, shoulders still hunched with his hands in his pockets as he kicked away a stone, you gripped the silver pocket watch and took a deep, steadying breath before running after him.

As long as you had the watch, you were safe. Jameson, on the other hand…

“Mr. Jackson! Jameson, wait!”

He didn’t hear you, and you cursed under your breath as you ran under the shade of the hanging limbs and stumbled through a clinging bush before finding the trail barely visible in the moonlight. Minutes later, you spotted the bright blue vest on the trail up ahead and this time, when you called, he turned around.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, staring in surprise as you ran right up to him and gave him a shove, made harder by how far he made you chase him. “Ow!”

“What am I—What are you doing, going off into the woods, at night, without even a ward to protect you?” You gasped for breath but still had enough to add, “You idiot!”

“A what?” he asked, and you nearly hit him again.

“A ward, a protective charm, something, these woods are dangerous even in the daytime, you can’t just go wandering off alone—”

Jameson seemed surprised at your words, but that’s not what made you pause when he looked around, as though astonished to find himself so far within the trees that neither the party nor the town could be seen anymore.

It was dark, and you might have been tempted to write off the red in Jameson’s eyes as tiredness or maybe even from a drink or two from the party, but something in the slump of his shoulders, in the way that he wouldn’t quite look at you…

“Have you been crying?”

Jameson looked as though he were going to argue, but then sighed and sat down on the raised root of a tree. “Is it that obvious?”

You hesitated before sitting down next to him, trying to ignore the desire to get out of here and back to the safety of the others. After an awkward silence where you tried to figure out what to say, you decided to just ask, “…Do you want to talk about it?”

Jameson chuckled. “Not really.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his dark mustache that you suspected might be fake, his feet tapping on the ground as though sitting still for even a moment was too much to ask, and then blurted out anyways, “I’ve never lost my temper like that before, I swear, I don’t know what came over me, I just…”

His fingers interlocked and twisted together while he worked himself up to continuing, and when he did you noticed that his voice sounded...different. You hadn’t noticed it before, but apparently Jameson had been faking a generic American accent. Now, either because he had forgotten or was too upset to keep it up, you could hear the vowels and emphasis on certain words shifting, sounding more British if you had to guess, although you couldn’t narrow it down more than that.

You realized, despite all of the fame he had gained, despite the responsibility of owning and running his own studio, despite the larger than life character he played on the screen and in front of everyone else, he really wasn’t that much older than you. It wasn’t something that had occurred to you until you heard the soft sniffle before he spoke.

“Have you ever hoped and worked so hard for something, and been terrified that you might lose it all, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it?”

“…I can imagine.”

You could feel his stare on you, prompting you to explain further even if you would rather not.

After a long silence and some fidgeting of your own, you managed to wrestle out the words, “I’ve wanted to be a lawyer, ever since…for a long time. And there’s this college with a great law school that could make that happen, and I got in.”

You felt the pride at those last three words, and the familiar sting of the ones that followed. “But it’s expensive, and I don’t…I think I can make it, there are scholarships and I have a meeting with the admissions officer in a few months—”

But if it wasn’t enough…You swallowed, trying to banish those thoughts before they could start to spiral again.

Jameson exhaled, his silhouette in the darkness looking up at the branches overhead. “It’s always money, isn’t it?”

You started to ask what that’s supposed to mean before recalling one of the actresses’ words. “Is your studio really out of money?”

Jameson shrugged. “We might as well be. Near every dime I’ve had has gone into this studio, and even that hasn’t been enough, not with one disaster after another.”

He opened his hand and began to list them off on his fingers. “Studio fire, burned three sets to the ground and took sixty feet of film with it. Film that’s just gone missing or been corrupted. Red tape every time I turn around, permits that were signed and filed but suddenly can’t be found just when we start rolling. Stars coming down with the flu and setting schedules back weeks. I’ve lost count of how many studio hands have been injured and sent home with broken bones or concussions, or how many close calls I’ve had myself.”

He pulled back the collar of his shirt and you could just make out the white line of a bandage before he let it drop back into place with another heavy sigh.

“At this rate, the best I can hope for is that this movie makes enough to pay off the bank. No wonder that lousy muckraker thinks I’m cursed.”

“That’s what he said to you?”

“Among other things.” Jameson considered and then shook his head, apparently having decided against sharing some of the more colorful language with you. “Of course, once word gets out how bad the studio’s doing, no one’s going to want to touch us. The pictures are booming, so what does that say about a studio that has managed to bust at every turn? I had to pull every last string I had just to get the cast and crew for this film, and then shoot it out in the middle of nowhere because it’s the only site we could afford. No offense.”

“What, that you called this place the middle of nowhere? Why do you think I want to get out of here so bad?”

Well, it was one reason.

You watched Jameson out of the corner of your eye, taking in the slumped figure of the nearly broken man beside you before coming to a decision.

“I think I know a way to break your curse.”

((End of Part 2. Thank you for reading, and I’m really glad the first part seems to have gone over well. These quiet moments are nice, while they last.

Link to Part 3.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch))

[leslea]

The Happy Isles

I'm really jonesing for my next puzzle, The Happy Isle by Magic Puzzles, but I promised myself I wouldn't start on it until I'm at least 50% through my second pass over my latest WIP. I'm at 45%, so palm trees and aggravating straight edge pieces are definitely on the horizon. 

Besides denying myself the joy of a jigsaw puzzle, another thing I do to try and get myself over the hump of procrastination is allow myself to play a round of PVP on Guild Wars 2 in between 10 minute sessions of editing. I'll probably draw out the sessions to 15 minutes. I feel like PVP is getting more screen time than Miss Fitz at this point, and that's really not fair.

It's not like I don't want to do the work. I actually really am enjoying the story, the characters, and the process. There is just something hard-wired in me that fights that actual process. Are all writers like this? I think at some point we all are. The fun part of having the idea is like the sex before the baby. Nine long months of labor and 18+ of raising the kid, and you're like, why did I do this? Oh, yeah.

I fear I have just outed myself as a horrible mother.

There are authors who barrel through the work like a blur. I am not one of them. I'm not going to try to be. I'm pretty happy with my work, but I totally appreciate my superfast friends. They are super cool and I look to their example when I ask myself if I am denying myself the pleasure of writing/editing, or what. Because sometimes I am, and that's just self-flagellation, isn't it? It's okay to not work on a lousy $9/hour project if I've got the energy to write, right? And then I do it. Because I can. Sometimes I have to remind myself that other authors are allowed to write, and so am I. We are all allowed to write. It’s not a crime. It’s not a sin.

This particular WIP was possibly my fastest first draft, taking about six or seven weeks from start to finish, and although I always feel like I put a lot of myself into my stories, this one feels like it's right out of my present life as a mom of four, unlike any other novel I've written. So, is that good? Sure. It's something I've struggled for years to try to understand how to do, and I have to thank Emma Jameson specifically for not only encouraging me to write about my life, but also to dabble with fictionalizing it. 

I don't want to jinx myself because I'm only working through a draft--it's not like it's out for sale and getting rave reviews just yet. But I do feel good about it.

So I suppose that is my long-winded way of saying, I have learned that even when I really love what I'm working on, I will still have days when I would rather clean the air filters and the dog's ears than sit down for 15 minutes and edit my own work.

And to be honest, I have always loved what I’m working on, even when it was really, REALLY awful (and I knew it was awful, and it was meant to be awful). I suppose I’m just accepting that this is me. I have to bribe and trick myself sometimes, but maybe I love that. Maybe I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

[pandoraborn]

I'd love to see more of Marvin sleeptalking XD

How he’d managed to get inside Marvin’s room without the magician waking up is beyond Jameson. This time, he’s even able to grab random books, shooting glimpses over in Marvin’s direction the whole time, as if afraid Marvin is going to bolt upright and scold him for sneaking around. There’s no sign of Marvin waking up anytime soon, though.

Unfortunately, the book Jameson managed to grab is one of those shameful romance novels. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, setting it aside and continuing to look through the bookshelf for something far more interesting.

“No, I don’t want your money,” Marvin’s voice rings out. It nearly causes Jameson to jump, shoving everything back and trying to pretend that he hadn’t been snooping. 

“Marvin, I can-”

“Well, don’t give it to the dog,” Marvin murmurs. “He doesn’t have any pockets!”

Jameson blinks in confusion, then slowly approaches Marvin. He’s careful not to wake the magician, but in the darkness, he can just make out that Marvin is on his side, hugging his pillow. “Marvin?”

“Now look what you made me do, it’s raining honey. Are you happy?”

Jameson clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. Marvin may not be awake now, but he’s far from a heavy sleeper, and it’s only a matter of time before Jameson is caught. Realistically, he should leave, but...

“Honey, you say?” Jameson whispers. “Better get the dog, he might be able to help.”

Marvin rolls over and lifts an arm up into the air. “I don’t trust the dog with anything!” Marvin snaps. “He got me fired because he wouldn’t take my paycheck!” His arm drops a second later, and he rolls over to bury his face in his pillow.

“Damned thing doesn’t know a good show when he sees it,” he continues. “You’re all a lousy bunch of geese.”

Jameson flings his arms over his face, dissolving into silent giggles.

[drwhotht]

Hardly a Low Profile

Hardly a Low Profile

As we’ve detailed before on various occasions, one of the serendipities about watching ‘classic’ TV is stumbling across the odd constellations of stars which had, or will have, Doctor Who, somewhere on their CV.  The fourth season episode of ‘Bergerac’ titled Low Profile is particularly rich in this regard. Louise Jameson was a series regular at this point playing Bergerac’s occasional girlfriend…