#Pulitzer is not impressed

[wordshakerofgallifrey]

Sing us a song, you’re the piano man…

[sapphic-luthor]

i just realized - post-crisis kara doesn’t have a pulitzer bc she never wrote that article abt lex. yet in the finale, when kara is coming out, cat announces her as a pulitzer prize winner (iirc?)

yeah this is a thing that came up several times post-crisis and consistently doesn't seem to have any answers and it pisses me off for two main reasons:

1. because it effectively nerfed their title character and removed (?) a massive accomplishment she achieved because she spent a full season working tirelessly to expose lex, and

2. because it would have been so fucking easy to explain! all they needed was for some catco employee to run up to kara and be like "kara danvers, i'm so excited to be working alongside you, i was so impressed with the article you wrote about the agents of liberty, you absolutely deserved that pulitzer" and then kara would go "what? no, i got a pulitzer for---" and nia could elbow the shit out of her conspicuously and be like "yeah for your agents of liberty article, remember, kara?" and that's it! plot hole filled! just give her the pulitzer for something else!

but in true cw fashion, they both didn't give a fuck about the narrative enough to check it for gaping fucking plot holes, and didn't give a fuck about their title character enough to do her the service of leaving her with her accomplishments.

so yeah. best i can guess is that we're supposed to assume kara got a pulitzer for something else, and we can all go fuck ourselves if we'd like to know what that something else is :-)

[qyllenhaal]

Good Wives Club [2]

Lee Bodecker x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 4.2k.

Spin-off to American Pie

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Summary: It's been more than a year since she's escaped the ghost of her past but life is never fair to a girl like her. Lee doesn't care that she has a husband, a nice house, and sugary fake friends, he wants what's rightfully his.

Warnings (series): Cheating, smut, violence, housewife kink, period-typical misogyny, age gap (about a ten year difference), manipulation, dark themes all around.

A/N: If anyone wants to be added to future tag list just let me know!

Y/n woke up at 5am with a dry mouth and her head spinning. Her night has been plagued with restlessness and she couldn't stay still. When she did fall asleep, it was for small periods of time. Each time she woke up she was not aware of where she was for the first five seconds, panic almost setting in before she registered the sound of her husband snoring.

The end of her irregular sleep cycle ended because she saw the hallway light was on. She sighed when realized it must be time for her husband to get ready for work. She virtually got no sleep and she'll probably be tired for the rest of the day.

She gets up from their creaky bed and starts walking down the hallway. It takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the brightness as she slowly plods down the hallway. She follows the light to the bathroom where she can hear her husband getting ready for work. On the days he goes in this early Y/n is relieved that she doesn't have to get up and cook breakfast for him.

The door is cracked but she opens it to find him inside. She situates herself in the doorway, watching him shave his face through the mirror.

"Good morning," he spoke with a scratchy voice. Even though Y/n didn't marry Llewellyn for love, she's still attracted to him and likes his company most of the time. She feels an ache inside of her that wants him to take her, but after running into Lee last night she's afraid she won't be able to get Lee's face out of her mind while beneath her husband.

"Good morning. Going in early?"

"Yep. Dad wants to do inventory today since he put it off last week."

"Oh okay," she accepts quietly, ready to leave her husband alone so he can get ready in peace.

However he asks her a surprising question, "hey, did you enjoy last night?"

"Uh, it was fine I guess. Did you?" Her hope is that he at least enjoyed himself somewhat.

"You know I don't like that super fancy stuff like that, but I have to eat crow; it wasn't all that bad and Bodecker's not as bad as I thought. He's kind of a funny guy. I still think he's not as hard on crime like everyone claims he is, but personally, he's not that bad. Florence was nice too. She invited us to dinner on Wednesday night, apparently that's the only night Lee has off. I told her we'd be able to join them."

The turn of events was shocking. Y/n couldn't believe her ears and she thought maybe she indeed was still asleep. Lou was not fond of many people and his only "friends" were his two brothers so him warming up to Lee and Florence left her speechless. So speechless that she didn't register the fact that he accepted a dinner invite for them.

"What?"

"What do you mean ‘what’? You dragged me to that dinner last night and wanted me to be nice, and now you're confused when I do just that?"

"I-I'm not confused...just shocked," she admits truthfully, "I can't believe you want to go to someone’s house who isn't your mother house for dinner —are you sure you want to go?"

"We're going Y/n."

His tone of voice indicates that the conversation is done and over with and the decision has been made. Y/n didn't even get to contest his decision but Lou can tell when Y/n is in a defiant mood. Her folding her arms and walking away was confirmation for him. She stalks her way back to the bedroom where she takes to hiding under the covers.

Lee and Lou under the same roof — it makes her stomach churn just to think about it. They're wildly different from each other but the thing she hates about them is what they have in common.

All she can hope is that this nightmare ends and she wakes back up to a life without Lee's ghost lingering around.

-

She decided to go with a floral dress again. She really wanted to take out the checkerboard dress that made her legs look good and showed off her arms, but Lou would have made her change before she had the chance to step out of the house. The floral print is dizzying, but it's the kind of dress that Lou likes to see her wear.

It's just a small dinner at the Bodecker's house but Y/n opts for kitten heels instead of sensible flats. She feels obligated to look her best despite there being less people to dress for. She's never been alone with Florence save for that day at the grocery store. Florence is always dressed to the 10's and Y/n needs to look just as good, if not better. She claims to hate Lee, but it would be so satisfying if she caught Lee ogling her breasts.

"Are you ready?"

Y/n thought Lou was too dressed up for a home dinner of four. He wore a pinstriped suit and those nice leather shoes he bought himself around the holidays.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighs in an attempt to let off some steam.

It was a shorter drive than Y/n expected. Florence hadn't disclosed where she lived before, but Brewer Heights wasn't that for them to live at a distance. The sun was nearly dipped over the horizon and the remaining light that hits their house makes it look like a model home. Everything little aspect and detail Y/n was going to compare herself too. She lives in a nice house, but Florence lives in a nicer house. It tears her up knowing she has the ultimate upper hand over Florence in the form of her own husband and she can't even act upon it. She would royally fuck up her life and their lives too if she decide to let her jealousy get the best of her.

As she walks up their stairs as another man's wife, she accepts that she is jealous. She's always been jealous of Florence even when she didn't know her name. What made her so worthy of all of these things? Lee used to act like he hates the woman so she must be a bitch behind closed doors. It wouldn't be surprising if she is because most people in this town will smile in your face and then gossip about you a minute later.

Lou knocks on the door and only a second later Florence is opening the door with a big smile on her face and Lee right next to her. He wore his police uniform without the jacket while Florence looked like a Lilly Pulitzer catalog girl.

It only took one millisecond of their eyes locking together for Y/n to feel the electricity between her and Lee. She drags her eyes away from his, but she can bet that he has a smirk on her face. He always liked to see her squirm; in a good and bad way.

"Y/n, Llewellyn! I'm so glad you could make it! Why don't you come on in," Florence steps to the side, nudging Lee over with her, to make way for Y/n and her husband.

Her eyes scan over every inch of their house. It's warm, cozy, and oddly comforting. Everything little thing was in its place; perfectly dusted and polished. Y/n is sure that Lee had no hand in decorating this place, it screams Florence through and through.

"Dinner is almost ready. I started the scalloped potatoes a little too late, but it should be done soon! Y/n, do you want to help me set the table?"

Y/n didn't want to leave her husband alone with Lee, but she also didn't want to be in the room with just them. She nods at Florence and follows behind her to their kitchen.

The house smells like Lou's parent's house on holidays. Y/n's stomach rumbles and she doesn't realize how hungry she was. She despises herself for wanting Florence's cooking, but she barely ate today because of how nervous she was.

"I already laid out the place mates, you can place the plates and silverware."

Y/n picks up the expensive dining ware that Florence points towards. She wonders if Florence cooks like this all the time, even when Lee works well into the night.

The walls of their dining room have an awful floral pattern. Y/n is beginning to become sick at the sight of anything that pertains to flowers. The cedar table is perfect for accommodating guests and Y/n wonders how many dinner parties they had in this room. Florence seems to put a lot of stock into being a good hostess. Y/n herself has yet to throw a dinner party at her home, but setting the plates on someone else's dining room table feels like practice. She silently imagines her house filled with Lou's family as she cooks dinner for them.

Florence enters the room and starts placing the dishes in the middle of the table. Her presence takes Y/n out of her fantasy, and when she sees how Florence made a 3-course-meal she feels worse.

"Does the food look good? I tried some new recipes from Julia Child's cookbook to try to impress you and Llewellyn," she admits, "I wasn't sure what you two would like, but Lee loves when I make those recipes from Julia Child and I bet Llewellyn would love it too! I could lend you the book some time!"

"Of course. I love her work!" Y/n lies straight through her teeth. She has no clue who the hell Julia Child is.

Florence grabs one last thing before calling the husbands into the dining room. She places one beer on the coasters designated for Lee and Lou. Lou has never been much of a drinker, but she knows that Lee can knock down a few beers in one sitting. He might be on his best behavior tonight in front of his wife and company.

"Dinner's ready!" Florence called out.

Y/n took her seat on the right side of the table and Florence sat opposite of her. Their husbands come walking in laughing as if they were young boys sneaking back into the house during a family get together. Y/n doesn't like it; she doesn't like it at all. They look too cheery with each other and she knows that Lee is doing it on purpose — she can see it in his eyes when he quickly glances at her. He takes pride in making her uncomfortable. Y/n wishes she had that same affect on him to scare him off a bit, but no matter how chummy she gets with Florence, Lee looks unbothered.

Florence stands up from her seat as if she's presenting the food on the table to an audience. Everything is placed perfectly with the main dish being the middle of the smaller plates.

"This looks great honey, you made a whole feast," Lee walked up to Florence's side and kissed on the cheek. Y/n's eyes are trained on his hand snaking around her waist and giving her a light squeeze before letting go. When she pulls her eyes away from his hands, she sees that Florence almost looks shocked at her husband's affection; Lee is definitely putting on a show for Y/n and it's a damn good one.

Lee sits opposite of Lou and the first thing he does is open his beer. The food isn't even on plates anymore and he's drinking.

"I hope you like Schmidt's, Llewellyn. Lee loves it so it's all we have in the house."

"I'm not one to drink beer often, but I'll try it. And call me Lou, Florence."

Lou was acting out of his normal character. Him only interacting with his family and Y/n left him a bit awkward in the presence of others, but around Florence and Lee he seems to be much...warmer. If Lee was someone else then Y/n would be over the moon, but because it's him she can't even force herself to even look happy about it.

Y/n takes note of how Florence places portions of food on Lee's plate. They were small portions too. She was always strict about what he ate and how much he drank. She's surprised Florence is letting him drink tonight, but she must be trying to look nicer in front of guests.

Y/n was not as controlling as Florence. She always let Lou fix his plate to his liking. She thought it made her a good wife for letting her husband make his own decisions. But Y/n felt a tap on her shoulder after she finished making her own plate. He looked down at his empty plate before looking back at her and nodded towards the food.

"Y/n," he tries to whisper but his tone is rather harsh.

"What?" She whispers back in true confusion.

"My plate."

He looked at her as if she was crazy, as if it was a common occurrence for her to fix his plate. She starts to scramble to save herself from further embarrassment, the sound of silverware against plates so loud. She can feel the stares coming from the other side of the table but she doesn't dare look up.

Her skin began to grow hot. Her husband had embarrassed her in front of Lee and Florence. The worst part was when Florence tried to change the subject to something lighthearted to pull the attention off of Y/n. She felt small and useless. Lou never expected her to fix his plate, but he looked at her as if she was crazy for not doing so. She didn't want to spend dinner almost in tears. This changed behavior in her husband is giving her whiplash and making her dizzy.

"So, Y/n, did you enjoy the other night?"

"It was really nice Florence," she replies sheepishly.

"Susie and I put so much work into planning it. You should join us next time! We're going to start working on the fundraising events for Lee's next campaign-"

"Let's not talk about that tonight Florence," Lee interrupts. It was a moment that would've left Y/n embarrassed if she was in Florence's shoes but Florence was much better at masking her emotions. Only for a split second can Y/n see Florence flinch at his interjection before she just smiles.

"Sorry Lee, you know how excited I get about those things," she masks her apology in a cheery voice.

Dinner basically became a probe of Y/n and Lou's relationship. Florence wanted to know how they met, when they got married, how long they had been together, and what their future plans together were. Y/n let Lou answer the last question by herself because she genuinely didn't know what their future plans were. Lou usually wakes up and decides what major life change they're going to undertake, that's what happened when he decided to move to Brewer Heights.

When the topic of work came up, Y/n thought the coast was clear. Lou talked extensively about the work he does with his father and what his plan is for the next five years regarding the business.

"Once my father retires I'll have to hire someone to do his job. I didn’t go study in school after high school so I can't take over his position, even though it would make things easier."

"I'm sure you can find someone. I know it's rare for someone to leave the city and come to this little town, but Brewer Heights is always a nice incentive!"

"It is nice here," Lou agrees, "and it's quiet. We were in Meade before which is okay-"

"But, it's nothing like Brewer Heights," Florence interjects. "So, Y/n, what did you do before meeting Lou?"

Lee had not looked her way since the plate-fixing incident but his eyes were sure on her now. If his mouth wasn't stuffed with food he'd be grinning from ear to ear waiting for her answer. He knows she's not a good liar, but she's going to have to come up with something.

"I helped my mom with her business. She used to sell fruit preserves out of the house before she passed."

It wasn't a complete lie. She did help her mother label her jars, but that became less frequent when her hours picked up at Tecumseh. Her parents didn't know about her job either; she told them she was a waitress and it was a safe lie seeing as they didn't go out to diners.

"I'm sorry for your loss, I'm sure she was a lovely woman if she raised such a lovely daughter! Have you ever thought of continuing her business?"

"Not really. It was pretty small. I still make the preserves sometimes for Lou and I."

"If you wouldn't mind, would you be interested in making some for us one day? You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's just so hard to find any good fruit preserves around town." Florence's social habits were very transparent once you were around her for long; she tends to make it impossible for people to say no to her by making them feel bad about even possibly saying no.

"I'd love to Florence. I have fresh peaches at home and I can make peach preserves."

"Oh I'd love that so much," she fawns, "a jar for me and a jar for Lee! He loves his sweets."

"I'm not too big on peaches, Flo. You know I like cherries more."

"You always have," she leans into him and pats him on the chest before straightening up again.

The audacity of Lee is astounding, however not only is he a cop, he's the sheriff. It's such a cowardly move to pick at Y/n when she can't react, but what someone would call cowardly, he'd call fun. She looks like she wants to disappear from her spot and it scratches an itch for him. He missed seeing her get flustered and if he'd known that it would be much more enjoyable to taunt her while his wife was around, he would have found a reason a long time ago to bring her around.

And as if the night couldn't be more humiliating for her, Lou finished his plate before anyone else. He devoured the food on his plate, like a starved man. Y/n felt embarrassed when her husband went for seconds. He never eats this much at home, even when she makes his favorite meals. It makes her want to reach across the dinner table and smack Florence in the face. She hates her; she hates that she has to smile in her face and be friends with her. It's her own fault for continuing this "friendship" with Florence, but her rage makes her blind to her own faults.

She could ruin Florence's life with one sentence: "I've been fucking your husband for years." She'd cause a scene but it would be so gratifying.

Instead she just shuts her mouth and lets dinner continue without anymore incidents.

-

Y/n thought it would show she was grateful for dinner if she helped Florence with the dishes. She was glad to accept Y/n's help and the two spent their time in the kitchen while Lee and Lou sat on the back porch. With Lee's influence, Lou took another drink out back with him. Y/n wondered what they had to talk about, but she would truly not like to know.

"Your wife cooks like that every night, sheriff?"

"Enough with the title. And she cooks every night, but she went a little overboard since she was happy with having guests," he tells him. If it was anybody else, Lee would just answer the questions and not have any for himself. However, he really wants to know what Y/n has been up to since she's adopted this new image. "How about Y/n? Does she cook for you like that?"

"Not at all. She tries, but she's not the good of a cook," he brings the alcohol up to his lips before pulling away and sighing, "she tries but it's just not her best."

"Her mother didn't teach her how to cook?"

"I don't know much about her family. Her mother was dead when I met her and her father doesn't seem to be doing so well. They're from the same area as my folks but moved when they had Y/n. Maybe she was just too spoiled considering she's an only child."

Y/n's past was a mystery to Lee too, but he's surprised to learn she hasn't opened up to her husband. All he knows is that whether it was her home life or not, something had messed her up and it was almost made worse by her time at Tecumseh. He isn't sure how she made it out, but so much of her old life still bleeds through.

"You know I thought I was getting a good girl. One that would clean and have dinner ready when I get home," Lou continued.

Lee wanted to laugh in his face. Lou is proof that you can come from a smart family and still be dumb as rocks. How could he not know what type of girl Y/n was when he first laid eyes on her? She'd dress just like his sister Sandy; shorts that suffered from mistreatment over the years and a sleeveless blouse that was always stained. He's sure her hair was mussed up that day too. Many people would mistake her for a whore (which many people did see her as one even though she didn't outright sell her body to anyone).

"It can't be that bad," Lee tried to vouch for his former lover. Even he can name some good qualities about her; they just don't include any wifely qualities.

"It's not, but things could be better. Anytime I tell her to shape-up she gets this timid look on her face and flinches a little bit. I try to be nice and gentle but I'm losing my patience with her. I’m not looking to leave her, but what’s the point of marrying a woman who can’t do anything? She won’t even talk to me about having kids — was Florence ever like this?”

“No. Her family is from here so she’s been primed to be a housewife. But I will say it’s not all that fun havin’ a doting wife…she’s overbearing at times and I can never unwind with her around. She’s always on my ass about somethin’.”

Lee felt the need to vouch for Y/n. Anytime he would go to Tecumseh, she would accompany out back or get into his cruiser whenever he told her to. All the gritty things he dealt with at work, everything he kept inside, he dumped it on her. Florence would never sit there to listen to his grievances. Lee would never admit it, but he was vulnerable around Y/n, he knew that she would always be there to listen and he attached himself to that. In the beginning she wasn’t willingly listening to his problems but by the end she was. She took care of him when he was too drunk to go home, or she would let him take his stress and frustration out on her body. However, it doesn’t seem as if Lou is budging; his mind is made up.

“I work long hours. My father is putting more responsibilities on me. I put Y/n in that nice home, the least she could do is not serve me burnt food. Hangin’ around Florence and that Susie woman should have at least influenced her or something,” he continued to complain.

Florence was the last person that would be able to influence a girl like Y/n. Lee didn't know why his wife was seemingly grooming that girl. If anything it was just another person for her to control since Lee started telling her to knock it off. The only time she can get away with controlling her husband is if they're in the company of others where Lee has to be on his best behavior.

Y/n is not the type to be influenced by another woman. The only woman she held in high regard was her mother. Y/n listens to male authority. She listens to a man that will rough her up a little bit but then be sweet on her afterwards. She’s a little fucked up and jaded from her former “profession.” Lee knows this, but not Lou. He seems to know nothing of her past and Lee isn’t going to snitch on her.

“I can talk to Florence and see if she can do something. I know she likes taking people under her wing and shit. She seems to really like Y/n too.”

“I’d greatly appreciate that Lee. I know I sound like I’m hard on her, but I do love her. It’s hard for me to show when she just doesn’t put any effort in.”

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Florence — I'll make everything right."

[musetotheworld]

No 5 for the nuggets! SuperCat all the way yo!

When Cat said she would be home in two weeks, Kara didn’t think that meant she’d wake up to a sharp rap at her door as Cat Grant stood in the hallway of her apartment building. Never in a million years would she have guessed that would ever happen, let alone willingly.

But then, Cat’s always been one to surprise her.

“Did I miss an appointment request?” Kara asks as she opens the door, not bothering with glasses or a hair tie. Cat already knows her secret, and they’re well on their way to planning the reveal to everyone else. So Kara’s being careful, but not as careful as she used to be.

Cat doesn’t wait for more invitation than that, sauntering inside as if she visits all the time. “No, not this time. I was in the area and had a thought, so I decided to stop by.”

“In the area,” Kara echoes, not buying that. She’s never known Cat to visit this side of town, willingly or otherwise. And to be in the area at 6am on a Saturday seems doubly suspicious.

The questioning has Cat donning her ‘why would you ever doubt me’ mask, and Kara almost abandons that line of inquiry. But she’s a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist now, already hired on as CatCo’s newest Editor in Chief, and this is her apartment. She’s not going to start this conversation off by giving in.

“Okay, fine. You caught me. I had a thought last night before bed, and I couldn’t wait. Well, I waited until I woke up, of course. I need my two hours. But then I had Mark drive me right over.” Cat’s rambling in a way that Kara recognizes as being overcaffeinated without enough food to balance it out, and without thinking about it, heads towards the fridge to make them breakfast.

Because that’s apparently a thing they do now. Have breakfast meetings in Kara’s apartment.

Thankfully, she’s still got some of the higher-end stuff she knows Cat will tolerate, kept on hand out of long-standing habit from her time as Cat’s assistant. For the past few years it’s been used mostly as party fare when she has the superfriends over, but it’ll come in handy now.

“Egg whites only-”

“On the omelet, I remember,” Kara says with a smile. “And I promise, I can cook and talk at the same time. So what thought did you have last night?”

And okay, Kara can cook and talk at the same time, but when the thought of Cat dressed for bed flashes through her mind, it takes a burst of superspeed to recover before dropping the eggs on the floor. Apparently, that she can’t do if she wants to make something edible for them.

Cat doesn’t seem to notice, still pacing between the kitchen island and the dining table. “Well, it’s exactly what you mentioned earlier. The area. It’s not particularly impressive or prominent, is it? Not a bad neighborhood, but very millennial.”

“You know, I don’t think I technically count as a millennial,” Kara muses as she starts to beat the egg whites. She can’t use superspeed for that, though when it’s time to chop the add-ins, she can be done in a blink. “Seeing as how I spent the first half of my life on Krypton, not Earth.”

“Whether you are a millennial or not, the area definitely is, darling. And that’s passable, I suppose, for Kara Danvers, Pulitzer Prize winner. Lord knows we don’t value good journalism the way we should today. But it’s not quite the right look for Kara Danvers, Editor in Chief of CatCo Worldwide Media. Or, for that matter, Kara Zor-El, National City’s resident superhero.”

Pausing before she turns on the stove, Kara thinks that through. “You think I should move.”

“As a prominent figure in an international company, I would like to see you in a place that reflected well on that company. Particularly knowing the focus will be greater once you reveal your identity to the world.” Cat’s logic is sound, but she’s not done yet. “And as that superhero, I think you should be in a building with state-of-the-art protections in place for your apartment as well as the apartments around you.”

That was something Kara hadn’t considered. She’d spent hours talking with her friends about the best way to manage dangers and expectations once her secret is out, but she hadn’t considered her apartment could become a target. It wasn’t like that many people knew where she lived, after all.

But when one secret comes out, others can follow. And countless delivery drivers know her by name, not to mention all her neighbors. And even if no one talked, there were ways to find out someone’s address with very little effort.

“Even if no one targets this place, do you really think it’s set up to stop swarms of bottom-feeder rumor mongers from camping out in the hallway? Every tabloid is going to want a picture of Supergirl in a compromising position, and your windows don’t scream privacy.” Cat’s logic is well-founded, and Kara finds herself nodding as she considers the implications.

“I take it you have a solution?” Kara asks, getting back to her cooking.

“The second penthouse in my building was for sale,” Cat says casually, like they’re discussing transit times. “So I bought it, and it’s yours. The building is fully secured, and having you right there will make scheduling business meetings a breeze.”

And nope, cooking is once again on pause. “You bought me a penthouse?”

“I couldn’t let the opportunity get snatched up by someone else,” Cat explains like it should be obvious. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can sell it to you. But CatCo hiring bonuses for Director and above come with housing benefits factored into your salary, and since I own CatCo, it all works out.”

Kara can’t help but shake her head at that, knowing Cat’s lawyers have to be working overtime to figure that mess out. But still, it’s not like she can just turn down the offer. Cat’s right; she can’t stay here. As bittersweet as that realization is, she knows it’s true. And this entire decision is about moving forward, seeing who she can be as Kara Zor-El.

Just like moving out of Eliza’s house when she went to college, it’s time for Kara to make the next move in her journey.

“I do want to pay you back for it,” Kara decides, mentally skipping over the housing benefits section of Cat’s explanation. She still can’t believe she’s actually Editor in Chief, so she’s been doing that a lot. “But it sounds like the best option.”

“Excellent, I’ll have the lawyer drop off the packet later.” And of course she already had packets ready to go, Kara thinks with a grin. Cat has never stopped being able to read her like a book.

Turning back to her cooking yet again, Kara hums softly to herself as Cat wanders her apartment. It still feels surreal, but at the same time, it’s nice. And if she’s going to be living next door to Cat, it might eventually start to feel familiar. It already feels right; she just needs time to get used to things.

“Kara, why does this receipt say you ordered sixty chicken nuggets?” Cat asks just as Kara flips the first omelet onto a plate. “And ten large fries?”

“I needed a quick refuel,” Kara explains, starting up the first of her breakfast. “Sixty and ten are about the most I can order before they get suspicious.”

“You order this regularly?” Cat says, wrinkling her nose. “Do Kryptonians not have heart disease?”

“I promise I usually eat healthier,” Kara says, stretching the truth just a little. Her usual delivery was arguably more healthy than fast food. It’s Cat’s turn to fix her with an investigative journalist stare, and Kara cracks as easily as Cat had. “Okay, so I sometimes eat healthier. But you aren’t wrong; Kryptonian metabolism protects me from a lot of Earth health issues. And it’s a lot quicker than waiting for a full meal to support my metabolism to cook.”

“Oh, that won’t do,” Cat says, giving the receipt a dirty look. “Image, Kara. Image is everything. If you need large meals, then we’ll get you large meals. I’ll have my housekeeper prepare extra each night.”

“You want me to have dinner with you every night,” Kara asks slowly, pretending to focus on finishing her food. If she looks up right now, she’ll give herself away completely, and she’s not sure she’s ready to be that honest right now.

“Unless it’s a hardship?”

The note of vulnerability in Cat’s voice has Kara looking up despite just thinking she shouldn’t. But if Cat sounds like that, and is inviting her over every night, maybe Kara isn’t the only one trying to hide her feelings. Or maybe Kara’s just reading too much into it.

“No, not a hardship,” Kara says, once again fibbing just slightly. Because night after night of private meals with Cat sounds amazing. But having those nightly meals without giving away how much she’d rather not leave at the end might qualify as difficult. Especially with how well Cat knows her.

“Then it’s a date.”

Hope and trepidation in equal measure spread through Kara’s chest at those four words. She wants them to mean what she thinks Cat means, but she’s too afraid to ask. And too afraid to just jump into things without looking. She’s already planning enough upheaval in her life. Maybe this can be the one thing she takes slow. Figure out for sure where they stand before making the wrong move and ruining everything.

Whichever it is, Kara can’t wait for the first date.

[onceuponatown]

Views of Bar Harbor; Mount Desert Island, Maine. Between ca. 1890-1900. 

Originally incorporated as the Town of Eden, the town's name was changed to Bar Harbor in 1918. Bar Harbor's fascinating history as a summer resort began long before Champlain's visit in 1604. Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes inhabited the island year-round.  In the 1850's, painters such as Frederic E. Church, Thomas Cole, Fitz Hugh Lane, William Hart and Thomas Birch popularized the area through their exhibits of the island's beautiful mountains and seascapes. The first Hotel on the island was built in Bar Harbor by Tobias Roberts, the Agamont House in 1855. Alpheus Hardy was the first summer resident to build a "cottage" called Birch Point in 1868. More and more hotels and cottages were built as "rusticators" as summer visitors and residents were called, came to the island by train and the Mount Desert Ferry to dock at Bar Harbor.

The land boom continued until the 1880's when such notables as Joseph Pulitzer, William Proctor, Mary Cadwalader Jones, Frederick Vanderbilt, George Vanderbilt and Evelyn Walsh McLean came and built magnificent "cottages".  It was at this time that Boston native George B. Dorr worked tirelessly with Charles W. Eliot and later with John D. Rockefeller Jr. to bring about the National Park, which was organized in 1916 as Sieur de Monts monument. The name was changed in 1919 to Lafayette National Park and in 1929 to Acadia National Park. 

Bar Harbor, with its wealthy and powerful summer visitors, had become a rival with Newport, Rhode Island as the place to be seen and to play in the 1880's through the first part of 20th century. President Taft could be seen playing golf at Kebo Golf Club in August 1910. The garden parties at the Pot & Kettle club were attended by ladies and gentlemen in the beautiful long dresses and attire of the time. Robin Hood Park - Morrell Park was the place for a great afternoon of horse racing. 

The Fire of '47

On Friday, October 17, 1947, at 4 p.m., the fire department received a call from Mrs. Gilbert, who lived near Dolliver's dump on Crooked Road west of Hulls Cove. She reported smoke rising from a cranberry bog between her home and the dump. No one knows what started the fire. It could have been cranberry pickers smoking cigarettes in the bog. Or perhaps it was sunlight shining through a piece of broken glass in the dump that acted like an incendiary magnifying glass. Whatever the cause, once ignited, the fire smoldered underground. From this quiet beginning arose an inferno that burned nearly half of the eastern side of Mount Desert Island and made international news. In its first three days, the fire burned a relatively small area, blackening only 169 acres. But on October 21, strong winds fanned the flames. The blaze spread rapidly and raged out of control, engulfing over 2,000 acres. The fire swept down Millionaires' Row, an impressive collection of majestic summer cottages on the shore of Frenchman Bay. 67 of these seasonal estates were destroyed. The fire skirted the business district but razed 170 permanent homes and 5 large historic hotels in the area surrounding downtown Bar Harbor. Bar Harbor residents not actively engaged in firefighting tried to find safety, fleeing first to the athletic field and later to the town pier. At one point all roads from the town were blocked by flames, so fishermen from nearby Winter Harbor, Gouldsboro, and Lamoine prepared to help with a mass exodus by boat.   Still the fire continued to burn. From Bar Harbor, the blaze raced down the coast almost to Otter Point, engulfing and destroying the Jackson Laboratory on its way. The fire blew itself out over the ocean in a massive fireball. But that wasn't the end of the destruction. Almost 2,000 more acres burned before the fire was declared under control on October 27. The fire was not pronounced completely out until 4 p.m. on November 14, nearly one month after it began. 

In all, some 17,188 acres burned. More than 10,000 acres were in Acadia National Park. Property damage exceeded $23 million dollars. Considering the magnitude of the fire, loss of human life had been minimal. Bar Harbor, too, was changed by the fire. Most of the permanent residents rebuilt their homes, but many of the grand summer cottages were not replaced. The estates on Millionaires' Row have been replaced by motels that house the ever-increasing tourist population. But the fire alone cannot be blamed for ending the island's once-grand "cottage era." The opulent lifestyle had already been suffering from the effects of the newly invented income tax and the Depression. The destructive flames merely provided a final blow.

[clefairymuke]

ELOQUENT - coming soon

"You call yourself a writer?" he scoffs, tossing your pages to the side as if they are nothing. You feel a mixture of dread and embarrassment wash over your body as his slate-colored eyes bore into yours. All that work — for what? All you ever wanted was to impress him. You failed. "I'm sorry. I'll have something better at our next app—" "Save it. You write about romance as someone who's only viewed it from the outside. There's no substance. No truth. You have to experience these things before you write about them, or the people that have experienced them will rip you to shreds. Got it?" You nod, pushing back tears. "Now," he says, reaching out slowly and running his finger along the sensitive skin of your wrist, bouts of electricity shooting up your arm. He's never touched you before. You want to shiver. "Describe this feeling to me. Write me something eloquent." ________________________________ An aspiring author attends one of the most prestigious graduate colleges in the country in an attempt to chase her dreams. Following her assignment to the Pulitzer-winning master of fiction, Dr. Ackerman, she's forced to wonder if this life is truly for her. Under Dr. Ackerman's cold and unforgiving wing, she must simply sink or swim.

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Rafael Barba:  Liquid Courage

Word Count:  5589

TW:  Two idiots in love; a drunken kiss.

You were a woman with a lot of goals.  You wanted to eventually go back to school and get a master’s, you wanted to be a lieutenant with the NYPD.  You wanted to read every Pulitzer winning novel.  You wanted to travel to Paris and Tokyo and Dar Es Salaam.

Tonight, though, you just wanted to get drunk.  Drunk enough to erase the past two weeks of trial, drunk enough to wake up in the morning with no short-term memory.

It had been your first real, solo case with SVU.  You were the newest, youngest detective, and while you weren’t completely inexperienced (you had some years under your belt from Homicide), the entirety of the squad treated you as a novice.  That Lieutenant Benson had trusted you enough to take point on a violent rape case meant that you were finally breaking through that wall between you and the rest of the squad.

You had worked insane hours and pulled every favor to get lab results faster.  You explored every lead, no matter how inconsequential.  You made an arrest and ADA Barba agreed to prosecute based on the strength of your case.

Then the case fell apart.  It took a week to get through all of the witnesses and expert testimony, then the jury retired to deliberate.  But then, they came back and needed certain witness testimony read back to them.  Then again.  And again.  They asked the judge to describe certain legal aspects due to the fact that Barba had to question said witness as hostile.  

Barba, frustrated and at his wit’s end, had blown up at you in his office.  The witness in question had been your idea, not his.  He had wanted to go to trial without the woman’s testimony, but you had pushed for it.

That wasn’t even the worst of it, him yelling at you.  You had a bit of a crush on him and wanted desperately to impress him, and your first real case alone with him was crumbling.  No, the worst was when you left the room.  You didn’t storm out; you just left his office and stood in the waiting area to cool down.  You were within earshot when you heard Liv ask him if he was okay, and Barba answered that he was fine.

Then he said it.  “She’s too goddamned green to be leading a case on her own,” he continued, and it was abundantly clear that he was talking about you.  Like a knife in the heart.

The jury came back an hour later and reported that they were hopelessly deadlocked, and the judge declared a mistrial.  You only glanced at Barba once as he slammed his briefcase onto the table.  He turned to look at Liv, and your eyes met for a split second.  You felt a confusing blend of guilt, shame, and anger – juries were unpredictable, and it wasn’t completely your fault.  Barba only glared at you, and you slid your eyes away to focus on the victim in the gallery in front of you, crying softly.

Great, more guilt.  More shame.

Alcohol would help.

You gathered up some friends and met them at a nearby bar, and you got to work.  Shots, to start, then drink after drink – strong mojitos that erased the guilt and only left you floating, pleasantly buzzing and feeling like anything in the world was possible again.

Barba wasn’t so great, you thought as you settled at your table with a fresh drink.  The city was full of handsome assholes.  You could find one that wasn’t such an asshole.

But your thoughts felt slippery and elusive – you couldn’t hold onto one for more than a moment, and before long, you were ruminating on Barba.  

Pros:  handsome, smart, gloriously sarcastic, which was nice until the sarcasm was directed at you.  A rare prosecutor who seemed to put cases first and any political machinations second.  You thought he might be a softy too, beyond his tough exterior.  You saw the way his eyes softened sometimes when a case got to him.

Cons:  Cuttingly sarcastic when it was directed at you, looked past you in a dismissive way that made you feel like you were invisible most of the time.  Obviously way out of your league – you’d been to enough D.A. events to see the women that flocked to him, tall and slender women with impeccable hair and makeup.

More drinks.  Your friends drifted off – one went home (early shift at Bellvue, where she worked), one texted a guy she was hooking up with.  You moved to the bar and sat alone, and you pulled your phone out to occupy yourself.

You unlocked it and saw with horror that you had something like a hundred missed calls.  You fumbled to the call screen – they were all from Barba.  Missed calls, but no voicemails.  Shit.

Then a text came through, from him.  A terse, “Call me now.  It’s urgent.”

Shit again.  

Maybe you were too green to be a good enough detective for Rafael Barba, but you were a goddamned good actress.  In high school, you had won the starring role of “Fiddler on the Roof,” a stunning turn that the local newspaper had called “interesting.”  You, a teenaged girl, had sold the shit out the role of an old Jewish man beleaguered by daughters, and if you got the role only because no boys had auditioned, well…minor detail.

Now, you were going to sell the shit out of the role of a competent (sober) detective.  You gave yourself a firm shake, hummed a bit of “Tradition” to get into the actorly spirit, and called Barba back.

*****

Rafael had managed to talk to the jury foreman after the trial, and he got the real story about what had gone wrong:  there was a jury member who seemed suspiciously sympathetic to the defendant, and he kept asking for more and more ridiculous things (explanations, testimony re-read) until everyone was finally fed up.

Rafael went back to his office and did a bit of digging between the initial jury selection paperwork and social media.  He wasn’t sure how it was missed before (technically, the jury member had hidden it), but according to social media, the defendant and the jury member were frat brothers.  It hadn’t come up because the jury member had dropped out, so the “education” line of his survey had been left blank.

The ADA was willing to bet that they’d been in touch somehow throughout the trial.  He had tried enough frat brothers to know the weird loyalties that ran in those circles.

He tried to call you, but you didn’t respond, so he had Amaro look into it.  It was late in the afternoon when the detective came back with rudimentary proof of jury tampering, and Rafael called you throughout the evening.  You never picked up.  On the sixth try, Rafael winced and put his phone down.  It just kept ringing, so your phone was obviously turned on.  You just weren’t answering it.  He thought he knew why.

He had been too hard on you.  It was your first solo case – it had been strong, but the two of you had disagreed on that one damned eyewitness.  There had been a terse conversation between the two of you in his office about that witness, but he had finally relented.  When the case flamed out, he had naturally blamed you.  

He had been wrong.

Rafael hadn’t missed the way you looked at him sometimes, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel similarly about you.  Maybe that’s why he had been harder on you than he was on other detectives, other cases.  Rafael had tucked away that part of his life, the romantic feelings and infatuations.  He hadn’t been in a relationship for ages.  Not since the last woman cheated on him.  

That you sparked those feelings in him again?  It wasn’t your fault, but he didn’t want to feel those feelings, so he was needlessly dismissive of you (most of the time).  Downright rude (during this case).

It was late at night when you finally called him.  He was settled on his couch, preparing the paperwork to refile charges alongside new ones.  His phone rang, and he looked down to see your name.  He answered it.

“Detective,” he said pleasantly.  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

“ADA. Rafael Barba,” you replied, and your voice sounded….weird.  Stilted and formal in a way it never usually was.  “And how are you on this fine January evening?”

“I…I’m fine,” he said, confused.  “How are you?”

“Quite, quite well.  And you, sir?”  He could make out the din of a crowd behind you – you had to be in a bar.  Were you drunk?  You never spoke like a supporting character in a Noël Coward play usually.

He chuckled.  “I said I’m fine.  I was calling about the case today – “

“Yes, the case.”  There was a pause over the line.  “Bit of a disappointment, that.”  

He bit his lip so that he wouldn’t laugh.  There was a weird British accent creeping into your voice, or maybe you were just overenunciating every word.

“I need you to come into my office tomorrow morning, first thing.  Say, seven o’clock?  We have to discuss the case.  I’m refiling.”

Another pause.  “Well, you can’t.  Because I’ve already refiled.  Yes, I filed the paperwork this very evening.”  And then there was a burst of laughter over the line, and then muffled speaking, like you had placed your hand over the receiver and was talking to someone there.

He repeated your name over and over until you were back on the line.  “Yes, Rafael?”  He started to ask you a question, but you spoke over him.  “Rafael M. Barba, Lawyer-at-Law.  Esquire.”

He gave a huff of irritation, and concern started to creep in around the edges.  “Where are you at?”

“A bar.  Ye ol’ neighborhood watering hole.”

“Which bar?  Where?”

“O’Doyle’s, I do believe,” you replied.  “On the island of Man-hatt-a.”

Great, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  When drunk, you turned into Walt Whitman.

“Are you with anyone?” he asked, but he was already standing up and making his way towards his entryway.

“Well….” You trailed off.  “There’s a good sized crowd, I guess.”

“Can you wait there?” he asked as he pulled on his coat and grabbed his keys.  “Wait for me?  I’ll come get you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you replied, and he thought he detected a cold bit of panic underneath the thick wool batting of your drunkenness.  “I’m perfectly capable to escort myself home.”

There was the problem.  Rafael could picture all the ways your voyage home could go wrong.  “I know,” he said.  “But wait for me anyway, okay?”

You mumbled something over the line that he couldn’t make out, but he hoped that it was you agreeing to wait. He got into his car, turned the ignition and let it warm up a moment.  There was one O’Doyle’s Pub, not far from the courthouse, in fact.  Which is why he had to come get you – it was obvious that you’d gone straight to the bar after the case ended.  If he’d been a little less abrupt with you, a little more compassionate, you might not be putting yourself in danger and drinking a river of alcohol.  

If a selfish part of Rafael also enjoyed the opportunity to come to your rescue, he’d never admit it.

-----

You had, ultimately, waited for him.  He found you at the bar, chatting animatedly with a weasel-looking guy who’s oily expression practically screamed “problematic.”  Rafael strode up to you, got between you and the guy, informed the guy that he was a Sex Crimes ADA.  The guy slid into the shadows, and Rafael turned to you.

God, even as a mess, you looked beautiful.  Your eye makeup, usually sharp, was smeared around the edges.  Your hair was loose and wild, like you’d been finger-combing it.  Your eyes were bleary and unfocused, but you squinted at him.  When you recognized him, your face went through an entire journey of emotions:  surprise, delight, confusion.  You settled on “worried.”

“Oh, shit,” you said, then you looked shocked and clasped a hand over your mouth.  

“You okay?” he asked, bemused, and you dropped your hand and looked ashamed.

“I swore.  Sorry.”

He waved you away.  You’d muttered worse over the course of the past two weeks; maybe you hadn’t realized that he’d heard you then.

You narrowed your eyes at him, then reached for your glass.  You took a deep swallow and polished it off, and then you asked him, “you come to yell at me some more?”

He waved down the waiter and handed him a credit card to settle out your bill.  “I didn’t yell at you.”

You didn’t answer right away, and he just watched you.  You were tracing a nick in the bar-top over and over with one chewed-down fingernail.  He had noticed it over the case, you gnawing at your fingers, nervous.  He had noticed how stricken you looked when you saw the victim crying when the mistrial was declared.  

You were taking it harder than you let on.  

He also knew you had overheard him talking to Liv.  There was nothing worse than overhearing someone talking about you, especially if you heard something less than ideal.  He had called you a rookie or something, and he only noticed a moment later that you were standing outside his door.  He had only been blowing off steam, not even really mad at you, but you didn’t know that.

He’d clear all that up later.  Right now, he just paid your bill (you fumbled with your wallet, but he put a gentle hand over yours to stop you) and tried to wrangle you into your coat.  You kept missing the arm holes, so he finally just settled it over your shoulders.  You scooped up the rest of your stuff – your purse, your scarf, your gloves – and carried the whole bundle out to his waiting car.

You gave him your address and he drove you home.  You lived further uptown than him, and you were mostly quiet for the ride.  After a while, he cleared his throat.

“You called me ‘Rafael M. Barba,’” he said.  “What does the ‘M’ stand for?”

“Mannheim,” you answered immediately.

He laughed, and it surprised you.  You turned your head and looked at him like he was an entirely new specimen that you’d never seen before.

“A family name,” he said.  “Very common in Havana.”

“Language is weird, I guess.”  There was a pause, and you added, “Barba mean beard in Italian, for example.”

Another laugh.  “I didn’t know you were such a linguist.”

“A cunning one,” you muttered as you gazed out the window, and took him two entire blocks to realize the juvenile off-color joke you’d just told him.  He laughed again, half because it was unexpected, half because he knew you’d regret it in the morning.  Right now, you were turned and watching him again, and you started to laugh along with him.

There was a spot near your building, so he parked and killed the engine, and he helped you up to your apartment. You needed it – your armful of stuff kept slipping out of your arms, your coat kept falling off of your shoulders.  He took your keys from you and let you into your apartment, and he looked the place over while you tossed your stuff onto the floor and knelt to unlace your boots.

It was a nice apartment.  Small, but charmingly appointed.  A person’s apartment always revealed their inner nature, so it felt strangely intimate to suddenly be standing where you were your truest self.  

“So,” he said as you stood up in front of him, shoeless and sockless.  “I’d like to meet with you in the morning – “

You cut him off by kissing him.  The execution was sloppy – you teetered on your bare toes and only caught half of his mouth, so it ended up your mouth against the corner of his.  Rafael was completely caught off-guard, and he reached out and held your arms, as much to steady himself as you.  When you pulled back a little, he saw how drunk you still were.  Your eyes could barely focus on him, and even with a half-kiss, he could taste the pure alcohol on you.

Regrettable.  Rafael would love nothing more than to pull you back to him and kiss you again, but you were too far gone.  You weren’t thinking at all – just running on rum and mint, from the taste of you.

You leaned in a second time, but he held you away from him.  “Hey,” he said softly.  “You’ve had too much to drink….”

You gave him a winsome pout, and you leaned in against him a third time, so he pulled you into a hug instead.  You sagged against him and sighed heavily, and he patted your back awkwardly.  

“I’m sorry I messed up your case,” you mumbled against him.

“You didn’t,” he assured you, and you pushed away from him to watch him as he spoke.  He told you about the jury tampering and the re-filing, but he wasn’t clear that you were comprehending him.  

“Go drink some water and get some sleep,” he ordered you gently, and he gave you a little shove away from him and towards your kitchen.  “Meet me at 7 in my office and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

You nodded at him and waved him off, and as he made his way back to his car, he ran a finger over the corner of his mouth, wiping off the bit of minty lip balm you’d left there.  He was interested to see you in the morning.  Would you be ashamed?  Would you pretend it never happened?

-----

Rafael had to wait to see, because you did not show up at his office that morning.  He wasn’t mad, though.  You were so drunk last night, he doubted you remembered his order to meet up with him.

You did turn up that afternoon – you were on a new case and needed a warrant for a hard drive.  You didn’t look ashamed, exactly.  He couldn’t quite read the expression on your face.

“Hey,” you said as you knocked on his doorjamb.  “Got a minute?”

He waved you in and looked you over as you came to stand in front of his desk.  You looked just the same as always, albeit just a bit less put together.  You were missing your usual sharp eyeliner.  You seemed to have skipped the makeup this morning and looked younger as a result.

You handed him the folder with the details of what you needed, and as Rafael scanned it, he murmured, “you missed our meeting this morning.”  Then he glanced up at you.

Your eyebrows were knit together in confusion.  “We had a meeting?  When was that set up?”

He smirked at you.  “Last night, when I drove you home.”

Your eyes widened at that.  “You did drive me home last night.  I thought so, but when I woke up, I thought, there’s no way Barba was there.  I thought I hallucinated it.”

He sat back in his chair and studied you.  “How did you think you got home then?”

You shrugged.  “Honestly?  I thought Amaro drove me home.  I thought I remembered a guy with dark hair.”

Rafael gave a huff of mirthless laughter.  Of course you’d think it was Amaro.  The two of you joked around all the time, flirted without any real intention.  Did you think it was Nick that you were kissing too?

“I was pretty far gone,” you said, and you sounded a little ashamed.  “I’m sorry to have pulled you out of bed to drive me home.”

“First of all,” he said as he stood up, “you didn’t ask me to get you.  I came on my own.  I was worried when you called me back about the case.”  

He reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out all the stuff he found in his car this morning that belonged to you.  Your purse had probably tipped open during the ride home last night, and he laid everything out now like evidence of a crime.  One of your gloves, a pot of lip balm, a little Moleskine notebook that he had leafed through like a snoop.  It was filled with everything from interesting words to inspirational quotes to random lists.

“Second of all, I am re-filing on the Barnes case.  I tried to tell you last night that I was wrong.  There is strong evidence of jury tampering.”  He paused and gazed at you.  You gathered up your stuff from his desk, and he swore he could see you trying to piece the evening back together.  Fill in the empty spots erased by the booze.

He said your name until you looked up at him, and he added, “I’m sorry I was so tough on you.”

You smiled at him.  “Well, I’m sorry I pushed so hard for that witness.  I just wanted to get it right – “

“You did get it right,” he interrupted.  “You did an excellent job.”

Your smile got wider until the corners of your eyes crinkled.  And because Rafael doubted that you got much positive reinforcement from your SVU squad mates, he added, “you’re doing a really good job, you know.”

You nodded, and he nodded back at you, then he sat back down and promised to get you your new warrant as soon as possible.  You thanked him – for the warrant, and for saving you last night – and you went to leave.  But you paused in the door and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Did I…”  You hesitated.  “Did I try to kiss you?”

“Do you remember trying to kiss me?”

You laughed at that.  “Leading question, nice.  You should be a detective.”  Then you frowned, looked thoughtful.  “I remember sort of surging forward at someone, so I either tried to kiss you or head-butt you.  Either way, I’m really sorry.”

He shook his head.  “Don’t be.  And it was the former, not the latter.”

You had the good grace to duck your head and blush, and he added, “but you should be careful with that, forcing drunken kisses on unsuspecting ADA.’s.  Especially ADA.’s who work in Sex Crimes.”

“Suddenly, I see the good sense in Prohibition,” you joked weakly.  You refused to quite meet his gaze, settling for a spot somewhere on his forehead.

“Save your teetotaling for after we retry this case and nail the bastard,” he said.  “Once we get that guilty verdict, we’ll get a drink together.  Deal?”

You nodded, and he caught the happy surprise that crossed your face.  “Deal,” you said.

“Then run along, detective,” he said with a smile.  He waved you away.  “I’ll get you that warrant.  You get me another big case to try after this one.  Maybe another drink, if you do a good enough job.”

You laughed and left his office, and he smiled to himself as he pictured your next case – it’d probably be exhaustively explored, every T crossed and every I dotted.  Those post-victory drinks would go down well after hard-fought justice was won.

You sparked certain feelings in him, and he had ignored them for long enough.  All it had taken to weaken Rafael’s resolve was your mouth on his for a sloppy half-second.  He could only imagine what it might be like sober.  

He could hardly wait to find out.

[laurenoberholtz]

Lilly Pulitzer Inspired Plaque

[met-drawings-prints]

Jupiter, Pluto and Neptune Offering their Riches to Fortune, Pierre Brebiette, 1624, Metropolitan Museum of Art: Drawings and Prints

Purchase, Joseph Pulitzer Bequest, 1917 Size: 9 15/16 x 6 1/8 in. (25.2 x 15.6 cm) (clipped impression) Medium: Etching

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/333795

[sapphire-rage]

The Reporter (Part One)

To read more of this story by my partner, and many more like it, visit www.patreon.com/tasksforsubsstories and join from just $2 a month for access to over fifty original BDSM stories

"Geoff. Can't you give this online piece to someone else? It's just fucking weird." I asked desperately, but Geoff, my boss, wasn't budging. He was an ageing, balding, sleaze-bag of a man, but hey, it was hard to get work in this city. Like many young journalists, I had dreams. I wanted to make it big, I wanted to be the one that covered the big, ground-breaking stories. Not this piece of trash piece that he was telling me to do now. After all this Fifty Shades of Grey bullshit, there was apparently a growing amount of people entering the BDSM lifestyle. Bondage, Domination, Sadism and Masochism. It was all a bit too weird for me, wasn't normal sex enough for these people? I wasn't a prude, I enjoyed having sex as often as I could, but all this pain and pleasure malarky didn't interest me. 

"Look, no one else wants to do it Penny. You're last one in, so you're lowest of the pile here. Do you have any idea how many smart-ass young girls I have who think they're the next big thing? The next Pulitzer prize winner. Either you go do this piece, going from place to place, meeting people from the lifestyle and interacting, trying a few pieces yourself, or you're out. It won't be hard to replace you Penny."

"Argh, fine. I'll do it." I moaned as I slammed the door walking out. Unfortunately I had no other option. I moved to the big city a few months ago and I wanted to make it here. This was the only place that would take me with my limited experienced, if I could make my name here with some well written articles, video reports and common interest pieces, maybe another media company would pick me up. Then I could shove it in Geoff's face that I wasn't just another replaceable intern. Make the bastard regret treating me the way he had. 

Over the next few months, I would travel and meet with people who were from many aspects of the BDSM lifestyle. I was expected to make a web series and report on each of those aspects from a neutral point of view, and even get interactive, to experience some of them myself. If the reports went well, I would get a whole section of the media's website dedicated to my travels and my experiences. It would be eighteen plus, and people would have to subscribe to it. On the plus side, if this did go well, I earned a share of the subscriptions. The only problem, I would have to get naked. I would have to do some of the things that these people do. Of course, I didn't have to enjoy it, and I didn't have to lie and try to sell the experience. I'd try to keep my distaste out of the write ups and the reports for the sake of being professional. 

A week later, I met up with my cameraman, footage editor and all round tech know it all, Jason. Jason was an intern, like me. This was his first piece for the company and as we travelled, my first impressions of him was that he was a really nice guy. Friendly, funny, and not too bad on the eyes at all. We drove out the city to a small town on the outskirts until we finally reached our destination, a private estate surrounded by woods and a large wooden fence in the middle of fucking nowhere. This weekend this place held a pony play fetish festival. Apparently people enjoyed being treated like human ponies and all kinds of weird shit. Fuck knows how I was going to get through this without calling out these perverted wankers.

There was a large security gate blocking off a private lane which we had to buzz for access to get in. Once we passed the gate, we drove for another mile or so through a narrow lane surrounded by trees before it opened up into a massive wide open space. The main building was stunning, looking historic, possibly from the Victorian times. Spread away from the main building were several smaller buildings and barns which had probably once been the living quarters for the family's servants. 

Outside the main building, we were greeted by a man called Ian. He was a tall, bearded, handsome man, and he was pleasant and welcoming. Something you wouldn't expect from someone who owned a place like this. The event we were here to cover didn't start for another four hours, so Ian gave us a little tour of his grounds, explaining the history of the house. After the tour, he sat us down and had one of his workers make us all a tea and a sandwich whilst he spoke about the evening event.

"How much do you know about what you are filming here?" Ian asked curiously. 

"Not a lot." I answered honestly. There was something about Ian that made me feel at ease and inspired me to be honest, that it was safe to do so. "To tell you the truth, I have never experienced or looked into anything like what I've got ahead of me for this web series. It's never interested me, but work is hard to find and my manager wants me to do this."

"That's understandable." Ian replied sympathetically. "For you this will be weird then, and unlike anything you've experienced. You may not understand what people get out of this, but be assured that I have met some of the best people in this lifestyle. Wonderfully interesting characters and friendly. I only ask that whilst you film this and experience it yourself that you do not judge, you do not make my other guests feel uneasy or uncomfortable."

"I can do that. As much as I don't want to be here, that's not yours or your guests fault. I promise you I will act in a professional manner. It's in my best interests for this web-series to go well. Thank you for your hospitality Ian, where should we set up?" 

Ian led us outside to near the barn. The area was abuzz with activity, his workers setting up the area and bringing some equipment needed such as chariots and such. 

"If you follow me Penny, inside is my partner Mia. She is taking part in the festival herself and if you'd like to watch her being set up, you can record that as part of your report."

"I'd love to, thank you Ian." 

Ian led us inside the barn, it was mostly empty but on the walls were hooks and chains and plenty of leather straps and gear hanging. Mia was standing by the wall and when Ian came in, she kissed him. Like Ian, Mia was very polite, and had a great sense of humour. I know I judged these people as weird at the very least in the past, but so far, both of them had been amazing people. 

After we had set up, Ian started to get Mia undressed. Naked, Mia was a beautiful person and she had every right to be confident with her body. What amazed me was just how confident she was being naked around people, it was as if nothing was any different. 

"Hello, and welcome all to The World Of Kink, and I'm your host, Penny De Vale." I put on a smile and a happy voice as I spoke into the camera.  "Over the next few weeks, I'll be travelling across the county bringing you some of the highlights from the World of Kink. This week, I'm here at The East Wood Ranch, ready for the Pony Girl and Pony Boy festival that is held here annually. So, stay turned to see the exciting world of kink, and who knows, maybe you'll find your next kink as well." 

"Good stuff Penny." Jason made an okay sign with his fingers and I sighed. He turned the camera now to Mia as she was to be prepared for the event. I could sit back and watch and do the voiceover for that bit later. Standing next to Jason, I watched Ian approach Mia and he kissed her forehead, a signal that she was entering a new head space for her pony play. 

The first part of Mia's equipment to be placed on was the harness. It was a diamond in shape at the front, with a strap coming up in the middle of her breasts, connected to a ring on her collar. At the bottom, there was a strap that went through her legs and up the other side, leaving gaps for access to both holes. There were all belts around the sides and the bits coming from the collar so that the outfit was placed n tightly. At the back and the sides of the harness, there were a few rings to attach cuffs or whatever the pony girl was pulling. 

Next, Ian got the head harness ready. Made of leather, like the body harness, the head harness fit round Mia's head with straps coming down on the inside of her eyes. There was a metal bit gag which was placed inside Mia's mouth. Ian allowed me a closer look showing just how far the gag went. It was pretty much sitting on Mia's gag reflex, causing her to drool uncontrollably. In her safe place, Mia rubbed her head against Ian's arms as a show of affection and he stroked her hair before he placed it in a long pony tail. The head harness also had blinders, like a horse would have, preventing views from the side. Mia would only be able to see straight ahead of her. 

I shifted uncomfortably, unable to take my eyes off of Mia. As weird as this was, I felt a dull ache in between my legs. Mia looked stunning all dressed up in her gear, even more so when the leather platform boots were fitted. Next, Mia's arms were pulled behind her back and she had what looked like a double arm length glove was fitted around her arms and then tightened, pulling her shoulders back and her arms close together behind her. This had an added effect of pushing her chest out, showing off her magnificent breasts. Yeah, this was definitely affecting me in a way I wasn't expecting. I felt my cheeks warm as I knew I'd be fitted in a similar way to this, was I actually looking forward to it? What was wrong with me?

With Mia fitted in her pony girl gear, Ian worked on some small additional details. Mia's nose was pierced with a small bar in the middle of her nose, this was removed and replaced with a small ring. The bars in her nipples was also replaced with rings, and so was her Christina piercing and the two she had in each pussy lip. I was transfixed watching this transformation, it was almost dehumanising, and I was finding it hot. Ian then attached a small golden bell to the rings, and hearing them ring with every movement made the situation even hotter for me. To be so on display and have every movement you make draw even more attention to you. This was beginning to get difficult, if I couldn't sort myself out I was going to need to disappear for a few minutes and give myself some relief. 

"She looks absolutely stunning." Jason whispered to me and I could only mumble a reply to agree. "Looking forward to getting dressed up yourself?" He asked and I wondered if he could tell how it was affecting me. My body was not discreet when I got aroused, my breathing got heavier, I got very wet, very quickly. It wouldn't surprise me if I had a massive wet patch now. And knowing that I was going to go next and that I'd have to be naked for that. Either I'd have to excuse myself and give myself a moment to calm myself as I cleaned up, or I'd have to just go for it and not give a fuck what people thought. Mia certainly didn't and I admired her a great deal for that.

The last piece to be added to Mia's outfit was a butt plug. The steel device looked intimidating, but it had the same colour hair trailing from it as what was on her head. Mia closed her eyes in pleasure as the plug was lubed and placed inside her ass. I wondered what that felt like, I'd never had anal sex, let alone a plug fitted up my ass. 

Whilst Mia had been prepared, other guests had arrived on the grounds and prepared their ponies as well. As I followed Ian as he led Mia outside, her tail swaying behind her. I was surprised with just how many people had arrived. Men and women had come from all over the country, well world, to attend this festival. It was amazing to see so many people enjoying themselves. There were tours of the ground in a cart pulled by pony girls, there was an inspection area, a wash area and an area to 'park' your ponies with others whilst the dominant socialised with others. It was exciting and very arousing watching some of the shows and the parades with the pony girls and boys. I was afraid to speak, afraid that I'd give away just how much I was enjoying this.

"You're very quiet Penny." Ian commented and I smiled.

"There's far less sex than I imagined there being." I admitted, surprised by my turn of opinion for the event.

"There's usually an after party held inside after the festival. Rest assured there will be sex and games there. This time is purely for pony play fetishists however, and many of them don't have sex whilst regressed in the pony play mind set. For my guests however, I can't invite you and your camera man for that." Ian explained. 

"That's okay." I agreed, though a little disappointed. It was clear there was more to this stuff than I originally thought. I'd been so wrong to dismiss it as something bizarre that perverted people did. It may be perverted, but I could see why people did it. Maybe those who were perverted had a little more fun that others missed out on due to their hangups on the lifestyle. Maybe it was okay to be perverted, as two consenting partners, no one had a right to judge you. "So, where do I need to go to get fitted?" I asked nervously. It was going to have to happen for the web show eventually, there was no point in delaying it any further.

"Follow me back to the barn, I'll fit you myself if you'd prefer." Ian suggested softly and I agreed. Better him, someone that I've spoken to and seen what kind of person he is than someone I didn't know. My heart was pounding as I followed Ian. I was confident with my body, but I'd never been naked in front of so many people. In fact, it was usually only one person at a time.

I was led to the barn by Ian, and he locked the door behind him after Jason came in, I'm guessing to help me get comfortable. As Jason set up his camera, Ian talked to reassure me. I was safe, there was security around the event should anyone misbehave. I wasn't going to be judged by anyone here, I'd treated everyone with respect and kindness so far, so likely everyone would treat me the same way. 

Slowly, I undressed. Fully aware of my surroundings, I kept looking to see if either Ian or Jason stared or laughed, but they did nothing of the sort. Both were facing away as if to give me my privacy, which was ridiculous if you thought about it. I was going to be naked in front of them anyways. Once I was fully undressed, I stood there with my arms by my side. A big part of me wanted to cover myself up, though when Ian and Jason turned to face me, that went away. I felt safe here, both of them checked on me and made sure I was okay. Neither stared, and both looked at my face when talking to me. Totally professional and calming behaviour from both of them, it put me at ease instantly. 

"Ready to begin?" Ian asked, and I nodded, signalling for Jason to start recording. 

"So, after all the watching, it's time for me to get involved. This here is the lovely Ian who owns the facility here. He is going to get me fitted as a pony girl, and then I'm going to have a little play outside with the other pony boys and girls." My voice was far confident than I thought I could manage seeing as this was the first time I'd been naked on camera. "So, without further delay, I'll let Ian explain what he's doing as he fits me.  I tried to focus, smiling at the camera despite my growing nerves. 

"Let me know if you are struggling at all and need a break or to stop." Ian whispered before he began, and I smiled warmly at him to try to show him I was at ease. He first picked up the leather harness, similar to the one he put on Mia but with a few differences. I listened as he explained what it was and what it did to the camera. This one had only one hole for access to the ass, unlike Mia's which had two, otherwise it was the same diamond shape that fitted underneath my breasts and covered my pussy. The harness felt comfortable as he tightened the belts, ensuring that it fit properly. A leather collar was then fitted around my neck, which forced me to look up a little. It wasn't too uncomfortable but it would take some getting used to. 

"How're you doing so far?" Ian paused from fitting me and explaining all the way to check in on me and I gave him a nod. There was something about wearing this, something about being dressed this way that made my mind regress into itself. It was as if my other worries no longer mattered, that this was a welcome escape where I can let loose and enjoy myself. It felt like I wanted to submit, but I wasn't ready to admit that to myself, let alone Ian or in front of a camera. 

Once the harness had been fitted to the collar with a leash, Ian then got the head gear ready. He started by fitting it over my head, placing a rubber bit gag inside my mouth. Thankfully, I didn't have the same steel one that Mia was wearing. That one would have made me choke on my own drool I think, I had a sensitive gag reflex. The straps of the head harness covered my eyes a little. Unlike Mia's which had the blinders attached which stopped Mia from looking out at the sides, this one slightly obscured my vision at the front instead. The straps went around my head and fastened in place, meaning that I was unable to push the gag out. I looked at the camera and felt myself growing further aroused. 

I tried to distract myself as Ian put me in my boots, and fitted a clip on tail to the back of my harness. Lastly, Ian fitted a pair of leather cuffs to my wrists, and then attached them to a metal ring on the back of my harness. With my arms cuffed, and my control taken from me, I slipped further into my new found submission. Ian checked how I was one last time before he led me a bit closer to the camera. I couldn't meet Jason's eyes as he did a close-up of me on the camera. 

My heart pounded as I was led outside, and it took my eyes a second to adjust to the extra light. Around me, there was plenty of activity as people enjoyed the festival. People smiled and nodded as I passed them, but there was no laughing, no bad comments. Ian was right, if these people were treated with respect, they'd treat you that way in return. I could tell it was a close-knit community, even if these people didn't know each other, they were with people who shared the same kinks that they did, so why the hell would they kink-shame others? 

Mia whinnied as I approached her and she brushed her head against my arm as a show of support. I couldn't help but smile, she was so god damn cute, and sexy. She rubbed her head against Ian next, seemingly requesting something and he smiled and lightly sprayed her face with cool water. 

Over the course of the afternoon, Ian showed me many of the things the pony girls and boys got up to. I learned to walk properly as a pony girl should, lifting her knees up high and looking ahead at all times. I even pulled a cart with Mia and a couple of pony boys with Ian and Jason in it. As the afternoon went on, I found that I was actually enjoying myself thoroughly. My initial expectations of this had been completely wrong. 

As enjoyable as the day was, it was exhausting. After helping pulling the cart, my muscles felt like they were on fire. I think Ian could tell I was exhausted and he helped me back to the barn to get out of the outfit and dressed again. I thanked him for his time, asking him for his number to keep in touch. It honestly felt like I had made a couple of new friends today. Embracing him, I said goodbye, as did Jason and we left. I was a little gutted we didn't get to be involved in the after party, but he was right, we had no right to intrude there. 

"How did the footage look Jason?" I asked when we got back in the car.

"It was very good Penny. You looked amazing, and you did so well as a pony girl. How did you find it?"

"In truth, I loved every second of it. I'm definitely a lot more optimistic about enjoying making the rest of this series." 

We spoke the whole way home, both of us on a high after a great day. Jason was very easy to speak to and a very pleasant guy. By the time he dropped me off home however, it was late and I was exhausted. I wished him well as he went home to edit and post the first video on our website and then crashed into my own bed. Next week I had a visit planned with a professional Dominatrix. At first I just wanted to just get through this web series, but now I was actually looking forward to it. Next weekend couldn't come quick enough.

To read more of this story, and many more like it, visit www.patreon.com/tasksforsubsstories and join from just $2 a month for access to over fifty original BDSM stories

[actualbird]

something that may make u laugh: one of my professors back in college is a palanca award winner (uhhh, very badly put, it's the philppines version of the pulitzer. and yeah, big literary awards dont matter bc ur jus tryna impress like 5 ppl maximum who make the decision and those ppl have their own biases but im getting off topic, getting a palanca is something that rlly StarStruck me in college). he was a wonderful prof to me. he had wonderful skills and views. i loved his classes and he pushed me to write better and supported my writing. he even encouraged me to submit to the palancas myself, telling me one of my pieces had what it took. that made me deadass cry in public.

he follows me on twitter. he followed me back in college when i was not on priv bc i would tweet during his classes about his asmr voice and he would like those tweets to give me a heart attack and also get me to exit twitter and pay attention, probably. or maybe he just enjoys chaos.

he still follows me on twitter now that i am on priv. and much more unhinged on main. he likes my normal tweets regularly, mostly my tweets about my dogs. which is great. but he likes my normal stuff so regularly that it is clear he does not have my account muted

which is unfortunate given i also tweet shit like this

edit: ive been told this character uses they/them pronouns. im sorry for the misgendering! if editing tweets was possible, i'd edit it deffo. they are serving so much cunt.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Kendrick Lamar Album Review: Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers

(pgLang / Top Dawg Entertainment / Aftermath / Interscope)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

“I choose me, I’m sorry,” Kendrick Lamar repeats on “Mirror”, the final track on his final album for Top Dawg Entertainment. By then, he doesn’t even need to say it. The Pulitzer Prize-winning rapper, who on his previous records advocated on behalf of his community, from his immediate family and friends to Black lives at-large, has spent the past five years feeling the weight bearing down on him. As much as he’s raised a family with his partner Whitney Alford, he’s suffered from sex addiction and subsequent infidelity, described throughout his songs as “lust.” He’s used both therapy and religion, describing his vices in Biblical terms, to help reign in and ultimately overcome his own trauma. Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers is a document of Lamar working on himself in real time. Each track is like a therapy session. As such, it’s the most difficult listen of his career, songs stunningly revealing the worst parts of himself before it gets better.

As Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers starts, Lamar immediately reminds you why he’s at the top of the game, unveiling spitfire rhymes over pulsating piano, garage-like drums, synth arpeggios, and generally minimal arrangements. His words, per usual, demand attention, which is why your eyebrows raise when he speaks bluntly about his troubles. “Next time I fucked a white bitch was out in Copenhagen / good kid, m.A.A.d city tour, I flourished on them stages / Whitney asked did I have a problem, I said, ‘I might be racist’ / Ancestors watchin’ me fuck was like retaliation,” he raps on “Worldwide Steppers”. It only gets more uncomfortable. On the Sampha-featuring “Father Time”, he unpacks his own toxic masculinity as a result of generational trauma and his father’s desire for him to reject emotions in favor of hardness. “When Kanye got back with Drake, I was slightly confused / Guess I’m not mature as I think, got some healin’ to do,” Lamar admits.

But just because untwisting his own mind is personally necessary, it’s not essential for Lamar to present it, unfiltered, as art. The deeply unsettling “We Cry Together” is a screaming match where actress Taylour Paige performatively plays the part of Lamar’s partner. As technically impressive as it is to hear her cry out her rhymes, the song comes closer to matching the pure anger of Eminem’s “Kim” than it does make deep points about hypocrisy in feminism. (He chides his partner for still listening to R. Kelly’s music.) He includes lazy thoughts about cancel culture and conspiracy theories on “N95″, and misguidedly wonders on “Mr. Morale” whether R. Kelly would still have committed his crimes if he hadn’t been sexually abused himself. He gives problematic figures like Kodak Black, who has faced charges of sexual assault, and Summer Walker, who has spread xenophobic information about COVID-19, large platforms. Most egregious is “Auntie Diaries”, where Lamar repeatedly misgenders a transgender relative and drops homophobic “f” bombs as a way to demonstrate his perception of ignorance in the Black community and how it must be overcome. These may be honest thoughts, and that’s okay, but for Lamar to present them as the endpoint on a high profile album is borderline irresponsible.

What’s most frustrating about Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers are its moments of brilliance where you wish Lamar had left it at recognizing the work he needed to do on himself rather than revealing it all. He sets up his journey well, declaring “I grieve different” repeatedly on opener “United In Grief” and cleverly revealing the stakes on “Count Me Out”: “Got six magazines that's aimed at me / Done every magazine, what's fame to me?” On “Crown”, one of many tracks to prominently feature South London artist Duval Timothy, he riffs on Shakespeare and the Bible: “Heavy is the head that chose to wear the crown / To whom is given much is required now.” Lamar’s texts, too, are viewed as sacred, studied in schools just as much as in music publications. But unlike William Shakespeare, Lamar is both popular and globally viewed as genius during his life, something someone imperfect, like all of us, is constantly wrestling. “I can’t please everybody,” he declares. But on Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers, that’s a mission statement more than it is a caveat.

[slippinmickeys]

A Sequel: Amazon Archeologist/Scientist AU, Part 2:

You can read on AO3 here.

1. “How does it feel to have cured cancer?” asked Kathy Lee. Scully couldn’t take her eyes off the rim of the host’s wine glass; it was smeared with lipstick, and the wine contained therein had legs, running down the bell curve of the glass in thin amber stripes.

It was oddly, surreally quiet on the unnaturally blazing stage -- multiple cameras pointing at them, a team of professionals sitting in dead silence in the dark spread out below.

“I only wish I’d done it sooner,” Scully said, going off script a bit. “I think of the people that died while we were still searching, still researching, while the studies were being checked and… I just wish I’d found it sooner.”

The host’s face softened, and she reached forward and put her hand over Scully’s on the arm of the chair where it was resting. She gave it a squeeze and Hoda took over, “Up next, the group BTS is going to sing us their latest single!”

There was a dull bell that rang off to Scully’s right and the stage manager stepped forward, headphones clomped over his ears, his mic slung low around his jaw.

“We’re clear!” he called, “Sixty seconds!”

The show would be cutting to a co-host standing at a stage set-up outside 30 Rockefeller Center. Scully reached up to unhook the mic attached to her lapel, and a trio of sound technicians descended on her. In ten seconds, she was relieved of all equipment, and she was left swaying in the funnel of the Fresnels on the too bright stage.

“You did great,” she heard from her left, and the show’s host winked at her, and retook her hand, leading her to the dim cool just off stage.

She found Mulder standing before her once her eyes adjusted, just outside the reach of the stage lights, looking nervous and out of place, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a turtleneck and a suit coat, looking every inch the tenured professor.

“And who’s this?” Kathie Lee asked, looking at Mulder brightly.

Scully shook herself, trying to remember her manners. It wasn’t always easy, having spent so much time in the field.

“Uh, this is Mulder,” she said, “Dr. Fox Mulder. My, um… my fiancé.”

The television host smiled warmly at Mulder and clasped his hand.

“I’ve heard the story of your meeting,” Kathie Lee said, “It’s a real pleasure.”

“I’m a big Giants fan,” Mulder said, giving her hand a firm shake, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

The host winked at him and then stalked off, and Scully exhaled, falling a little into Mulder’s side.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said.

“The price you pay for changing the course of human history,” Mulder mumbled, squeezing her into his side and kissing her hairline. He led her off the soundstage and into a waiting limo.

2. It had been a whirlwind since the Nobel Prize Award ceremony in Stockholm. It was cold in Sweden in December — especially to a person who’d spent years in the humid jungles off the beaten paths of the world, and she and Mulder both felt out of place and perpetually in the clasp of a bone-clutching chill.

“I just want to be back in the field,” she’d whisper to him, and he would kiss her hand. With the prize money, they could buy a house, start a family — but they both would rather be in a jungle somewhere, sweating into the other’s skin on a too-narrow cot, in a too-hot clime. There was no science when they were in the cradle of the other’s hips, there was just each other. Sex made life more simple. Sex made life more fun. But sex didn’t cure cancer. Pleurotus Mulderatus did that, and the world wanted to hear about it.

3.She had a free ticket. Any university, any assignment.

“I feel pressure,” she told him, her nose pressed into his ear. “What do you do after you’ve cured cancer?” she asked, earnestly, “there’s nowhere to go but down.”

He’d taken her to Rhode Island, to his family’s cottage in Quonochontaug, creaky and drafty and smelling of mildew and old pine. No one had visited in decades and everything needed to be cleaned and aired out.

They kayaked and frolicked in the waves, drank coffee in adirondack chairs and listened to the pinched squawks of hovering sea birds. They’d find a place in the dune grass, down low where the wind wouldn’t catch them. They’d soak up the sun and then go into the cottage and make love between the knotty pine walls, their moans absorbed by the thick shag carpet laced with the grit of sand, faded drunkards path quilts nailed to the walls.

“Down is a state of mind,” Mulder would murmur into her ear, “Up is fighting gravity. You have nowhere to be but here. You have no one to impress but me.”

He would catch her lips with his own and they would sink into each other gratefully.

4.Mulder was burning pancakes in the kitchen when there was a dull knock on the screen door.

Scully was laughing at Mulder’s culinary ineptitudes when she turned toward the sound, her laugh fading when a well-done-up woman appeared on the stoop, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, trying to see into the murky depths of the house.

“Are you press?” Scully asked through the screen door glumly, her mood taking a nose dive.

“I’m Samantha,” the woman said, and it took Scully a full five seconds for her synapses to fire, to figure out the identity of the visitor.

“Oh my god,” Scully said, swinging the door open to admit the polished woman waiting on the other side. The door itself was swollen with humidity and didn’t shut all the way -- it caught like there was a second latch. “Come in, come in!”

Samantha had a full head of thick hair just like her brother, but it was curled and tawny, streaks of not-quite-blonde highlights running from the roots. She was wearing Lily Pulitzer pastels, and would have looked at home in a sun hat or on the pages of Coastal Living.

“You must be Dana,” she breathed, smiling widely. Scully nodded and looked around self-consciously. “God, this place hasn’t changed in thirty years,” Samantha finished, shaking her head ruefully. “Where’s Fox?”

“Kitchen,” Scully said, inclining her head toward the cooking space, though she knew Samantha knew right where to go.

“You’re using the cast iron?” Samantha said boldly and apropos of nothing, stepping into the sunny kitchen, “God, I hope you seasoned that thing.”

Mulder’s face brightened at seeing his sister, and he turned to her fully, enveloping her in a hug, a greasy spatula in one hand, held out so as not to soil her clothes.

“Like you can cook,” he drawled, turning back to the smoking pan.

“I know enough to hire a caterer,” she said, plunking down in an olive green vinyl kitchen chair, looking at ease but totally out of place in the dated decor of the cottage. “So. Who do I have to fuck to get a mimosa around here?”

“Me,” said a voice from the entryway. The screen door slammed ineffectually shut and Scully’s own sister Melissa stood awkwardly in the slant of sun showing through it, holding several plastic bags laden with glass bottles and juices, a hopeful, nervous smile on her face.

“Missy?!” Scully squeaked, and Mulder looked to the door, his face chagrined and pleased as Scully launched herself at her sister, wrapping herself in the earthy patchouli smell of the woman, the plastic bags clunking to the floor at their feet.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I got ordained online,” Melissa said, drinking a Bellini from a yellow smiley-face mug, her feet tucked under her on a rough-hewn dining chair. “It’s perfectly legal.”

“But it’s--” Scully started, then abandoned her argument. She looked to Mulder desperately, who smiled and plunked a cup of hot coffee in front of her.

“It was only an idea,” he said, squeezing her hand and sliding an ancient sugar dish in front of her. The crinkles around his eyes had hardened in the ocean-reflected sun, lending him an air of easy humor she hadn’t witnessed much of in the jungle.

“Don’t you need two witnesses?” she asked, realizing how lame it sounded the second the words were out of her mouth.

Samantha leaned over and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in such a way that made her feel bolstered and secure. “Not in Rhode Island,” Mulder’s sister told her, looking her square in the eye.

“We don’t have to do it,” Mulder said, still standing at her side, “but I thought…”

She felt overwhelmed with emotion, thinking of her father, who hadn’t lived long enough to witness her greatest achievement, which would have saved his life.

“Mom sent her wedding dress,” Melissa said, holding up a garment bag -- it was a yellowed ivory in the kitchen sun, the zipper up its middle aged and brittle.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They exchanged vows on the beach in front of the old cottage in a whipping Atlantic wind. Gulls hovered overhead and the sun was as bright as a brass doorknob, the air clearer than glass.

Samantha had read a poem by an amateur poet named Tim Pratt called Scientific Romance (Mulder having confessed to her later that night that it only seemed right to have had a reading replete with scientific notation for a wedding between two people such as themselves). Melissa had read words as old as the institution of marriage itself and they exchanged simple rings and had eyes only for each other. Scully handed her bouquet -- a small posy of wild swamp azalea and yellow flag that Melissa had picked the hour before -- to her new sister in law as she strode up the peeling wooden steps of the house. Mulder had insisted upon carrying her over the threshold and Melissa and Samantha had stood back thoughtfully, and were now sitting closely on the beach, heads bent together, talking in hushed tones.

Scully didn’t know quite what to do with herself, dressed in old lace in the heavy salt air, her left ring finger feeling as heavy and pendulous as an old bell. Mulder wrapped his arms around her from behind and told her they never had to leave.

“Nobel Laureates live in Rhode Island, too, you know,” he whispered into the hair behind her ear.

“Mmm,” she said happily, watching her sister and his dig their feet in the gritty sand.

He kissed the skin where her shoulder met her neck. “Life can be as simple as the state motto.”

“Which is?” she asked.

“Hope.”

5. She stood above the riverbank, the grass a trampled, muddy squelch. A monkey called from overhead, a high primate shriek that echoed through the canopy. Its compatriots soon joined in, the welcoming committee announcing the rare arrival of a visitor.

He sat in the back of the approaching hollowed-out canoe, his knees practically to his neck, the lanky bones of him jutting out at all angles. He wore jeans and chambray, all wrong for the climate, but the blue set off the dark mink of his hair, and his eyes -- as green as the river upon which his boat perched -- caught hers from twenty yards away -- they held her gaze as the craft glided to shore, and he leapt off with the galumphing grace of a power forward.

“Dr. Scully I presume,” he said, finding his balance on the slippery shore and reaching a hand forward. She clasped it gratefully, then brought it to her belly, which was protruding out like a carved fertility statue, a life-sized goddess, gravid and full. “I thank God, doctor, that I have been permitted to see you,” he finished, and they embraced on the shores of the jungle river, perspiring and damp and finally, finally feeling at home.

[turtlegirlave]

So this has a ton of opinions which I usually stray away from but i really let all my opinions out here. Also there is definitely fact mistakes, probably name mistakes and some incorrect singing terms in here, I wrote this at 2 A.M. with a limited knowledge of theater I’m just trying to get a point across.

Why s2 of hsm the series should have been newsies instead of beauty and the beast:

They say straight up in the show “we need a real Alan Menkhen musical” and they pick beauty and the beast instead of newsies, a literal Broadway stage production???

At first I assumed it was because the cast was primarily male, but that isn’t even a reasonable argument. 1)as shown by s1 when a boy played sharpay, gender doesn’t matter when being considered for a role. 2), a cast with multiple male leads would give the gay men in the show a chance to shine, instead of shoving them to background roles like Chip. Not to mention Carlos is a dancer, and newsies is a musical driven by choreography. 3), since nini moved there are only like 2 lead females anyway, which works for the 2 female roles in newsies.

Casting Wise, the play works SO MUCH better!

Ricky: jack kelley is a much better role for him than the beast for many reasons. First, their personalities are very similar with the mischievous main teen vibe, so the role would be like Troy where Ricky can slip into it easier. Second, it fits him better vocally. It is very clear from listening to Joshua basset sing that he has a relatively high vocal range, and singing low notes or in a deep voice doesn’t come as naturally to him. Jeremy Jordan has a similar vocal range, where he stays in higher octaves and more rarely uses a deep, monotone voice (at least never to the beast’s extent). Ricky would sound perfect singing in Jack’s vocal range. The beast, however, sings almost exclusively in an extremely deep, monotone voice that Joshua cannot easily perform.

Ashlyn: not only does she look quite similar to Katherine, but they have similar personalities as well. Also, katherine’s high and bubbly singing voice would sound lovely with Ash’s, which is also high and bubbly but often softer. This would allow her to push herself to sing louder and more confidently. And she still gets to play a smart bookworm lead female role.

Kourtney: she was born to play miss medda larken. Mrs. Potts’ debut song “beauty and the beast” is a soft romance ballad, which does not match kourt’s stadium reach, strong, powerful voice. “That’s rich” not only shows off her vocals better, but matches her personality and voice much better with the grit and power behind it. Also, Mrs Potts as a character is the soft, motherly type. Miss medda is a rambunctious, empowered, “I got men if I want em but I don’t need em” kinda woman. Which role better fits the girl power, loud, activist, personal cheer squad type person that Kourtney is?

Carlos and Sebastian: not only would this stop shoving the gays and only interesting men other than Ricky to background roles (sorry big red), but it would show off their talents. Seb would make a wonderful crutchy, with his innocent nature and likeness to the character. It would also give him a chance to flex his vocals and sing a duet with Ricky in Santa Fe, further developing the friendships in the show. Carlos could play really any of the main boys, I mostly think he would kill in this due to his dance and choreography skills, which newsies really emphasizes.

Big red: PLEASE this boy would be perfect as Ben Cook’s role (can’t remember the newsie’s name). They’re both the kinda dumb but endearing friend type, and he leads “king of New York”, a song with a killer tap dancing break, which is the whole reason big red wanted to try out! His chemistry with Ricky as crutchy would make that a fine role for him too, but since Sebastian has stronger vocals I think it’s better for him to take a more prominent role while big red relies on his dancing skills over singing.

Gina: though there’s no more lead girl roles, I think she would kill it as mr. Pulitzer. They could add some spice to the character through her insane dance skills, and she would play a great “cunning yet intelligent buisinesswoman” type. This dude also gets 2 or 3 songs, and honestly I don’t remember who she plays in Beauty and the beast so idk.

EJ: I admit Gaston is a perfect role for him and I can’t fit him into newsies well. He would play a good spot conlin, though it is a significantly smaller role. No one really cares about ej though so small loss.

Plot valuability:

doing newsies makes literally way more sense. Firstly, they are kinda planning entering this show last-minute compared to the competition, so to pick a show already written and choreographed for stage production would really save time. (Even though it would still need work to be condensed for a high school production). Second, miss Jen is so determined to stand out from the crowd and win the contest so she picks... beauty and the beast? One of the most popular Disney movies (and honestly with one of Alan’s weaker soundtracks compared to tangled, Aladdin, and the little mermaid imo). Having them do newsies, especially when switching up gender roles like casting Gina as Pulitzer, would actually make them stand apart from the dozens of schools performing Disney movies. It would also give a significantly more impressive vocal and dance performance, since the songs were written for Broadway singers rather than actors. The set is also more cheap and condensed, while still looking professional, which would help with their “we’re too poor and late to afford a straight-up aquarium so let’s do the most with what we’ve got.” Putting the characters in these roles would also not alter their development or main story plots much, besides strengthening certain friendships and pushing aside less popular characters (ej). It would also give more rep for the gays as well as switching up gender roles. Imagine, the gay guys get actual things to do in the show and aren’t defined by the sole plot of “my boyfriend rich” relationship drama! (I love these two but I am a tired ace). Also jerjor performs in both this and tangled the series, so it’s a double whammy for Alan menkhen representation.

Marketability: I know the musical has to be widely known and appealing to viewers. People watched s1 because they love hsm. People also love beauty and the beast, so viewership may raise with fans of the movie. Newsies doesn’t die here, though. It is a very widely popular play among theatre people, and existed first as a movie musical so it isn’t exclusive to theater kids. Also, fans of Newsies are generally between their tweens and early twenties, the exact age demographic for the show. Beauty and the beast is a classic and more widely known, but also doesn’t draw in large numbers of the exact age group you want. Also, the fact that newsies is a little less mainstream only helps the plot point of them choosing it to still have something well known while also standing out from the competition. Doing beauty and the beast is not only an awful choice for casting that limits the actors vocals or is completely out of their range, but it also makes them blend in with the crowd.

Final notes: beauty and the beast was IMO the worst choice for the play this season. Movies like Aladdin and tangled both have very energetic and loud soundtracks that allow these characters to belt their hearts out. Beauty and the beast has a very folksy, quiet, ballad type of track that limits the actors. The only actor that I think sings ballads better than big booming tracks is Nini, who isn’t even in the play this year. Ricky also sings great ballads, which is why ballads that are still slow but also emotional and powerful like “Santa fe” or “something to believe in” (which would sound AMAZING in his and Ashlyn’s voices) fit much better than the deep voice of the beast that he can not comfortably sing in. Also, the beast has very few songs whereas newsies would allow him to belt his heart out in nearly every song with that lovely voice he has. The age range of the newsies cast (that characters are supposed to be 17) fits better with these very teen actors than a movie about old fashioned French young adults. Really newsies was the best musical choice for this season, but I also believe beauty and the beast was the last one they should have chosen.

(After reading comments I rescind my statement that beauty and the beast was the worst choice, but it’s still second to newsies imo)

Feel free to debate me in the comments or point out my mistakes, I’m very open to other points of view

[blazingparker]

I Could Be Your Love, But You Treat Me Like A Scandal

Chapter Three is up!

read it on ao3!

Disconnected Billionaire Mounts Write-In Senate Campaign. By Peter Parker.

On Monday, Tony Stark hosted a press conference at Stark Industries to announce his candidacy for the United States Senate. While adept at giving cookie-cutter answers that make him look like he’s serious, it’s painfully clear he is oblivious as to what he’s just stepped into.

“Ouch, tell us how you really feel.” Peter looked up from his keyboard to find Ned standing there with two iced coffees. He slid one across the desk to Peter, pulling up a chair again. “Was the press conference that bad?”

“No, actually,” Peter was loath to admit it, but wouldn’t lie. “He did really well for the first portion. He got control over the room, connected with the reporters, and answered their softball questions.” Pushing back from his desk slightly, he took the coffee and sipped at it.

“Softball questions?” Ned questioned, scooching closer. Though he worked on the communications side of the office, he found what the journalists did to be fascinating and was always eager to learn more.

“Yeah, like easy questions. What’s your platform, what party are you, are you running as a write-in candidate?” Peter counted the questions off, rolling his eyes and taking another sip of coffee. “It was ridiculous. Not one question about the fact that Stark’s supposed to take over a worldwide arms manufacturer. Nothing about his billion-dollar government contracts. Nothing about how he has no political experience and wants to use the Senate as his playground.” He slammed his coffee down on the desk a little too hard, wincing and muttering an apology to his friend.

“What did you do?” Ned asked with a knowing grin. Peter looked at him, having the grace to look somewhat sheepish.

“I, uh. I might have sworn at him,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing as Ned started to laugh a little louder than was probably appropriate for the office. Peter filled him in on everything, grinning a little more at the knowledge his best friend was getting a kick out of the story.

“And now you’re about to ream him out in the press,” Ned said, gesturing to the barely-written article on Peter's computer. The journalist shrugged, the hint of a blush still present on his face.

“I wouldn’t call it that. I’d call it telling the truth. Stark is bad news for New York, okay? He’s not in tune with voters, probably couldn’t even name the incumbent Senator he’s running against, and would be a walking disaster if he ran,” Peter explained.

“Sounds like he’s a walking disaster whenever he sees you,” Ned teased. Peter flushed darker, shoving his friend playfully.

“Shut up, man. Let me work.” Ned chuckled and disappeared back to his office, leaving the young Pulitzer winner to his work.

The echoes of a deep voice saying Hi, Peter, twinkling brown eyes, and a smile that was actually somewhat warm and inviting rather than smug and insincere swirled in his brain. Shaking his head, Peter put in his earbuds and continued to type. He wouldn’t be one of those women who swooned in Tony Stark’s presence, and he wouldn’t be one of those men who fell over themselves to impress him.

He wouldn’t.

---

The smack of a heavy newspaper hitting the table next to him caused Tony to jump, dropping the screwdriver in his hand and placing a hand over his heart.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He asked, putting down the part of Dum-E’s arm that he’d been fixing. He looked up to see Pepper, an incredible mix of frustration and admiration on her face. Something told him the admiration wasn’t for him. Looking down at the paper, his eyes skimmed the headline and he frowned slightly.

Disconnected Billionaire Mounts Write-In Senate Campaign.

Tony’s frown tilted upwards into a little grin as he took in the byline.

“Why are you smiling over this? Parker’s a well-respected journalist, and he just hit you with a heavy blow before you’re properly out of the starting gate! You’re going to be playing catch-up in your own campaign!” Pepper exclaimed, throwing her hands up as she saw the look on Tony’s face.

“I was already playing catch-up, Pep,” Tony pointed out, picking up the paper and skimming the rest of the article. “According to our dear friend Mr. Parker, that’s what I’d be doing in the Senate, too.”

“Well, he’s not entirely wrong,” Pepper grumbled. “Nothing in there is untrue. At least with other papers, you could rebut them with an argument over sensationalization or exaggeration. No wonder the kid won a Pulitzer.”

“While adept at giving cookie-cutter answers that make him look like he’s serious, it’s painfully clear he is oblivious as to what he’s just stepped into,” Tony quoted from the article. “This is what I get for not answering the question. He’s got valid concerns.”

“Well, you didn’t have an answer.”

“No, but that’s not a reason to not answer it. That’s a reason to find the answer.” Tony held up a hand when Pepper started to protest. “Listen to this: Stark seems blissfully unaware of the realities New Yorkers face every day. While he hid in his tower for years, real people struggled with homelessness, poverty, and the constant pressures of trying to make ends-meet in one of the most expensive cities in the world.” Tony sat there, stunned into silence before he continued to read. “He claims to want to make things better for the average New Yorker, but how can he do that when he’s never even been one?”

Silence descended over the lab again. Neither one of them seemed to know what to say, staring at the newspaper as Tony gently set it down again.

“He’s good,” Pepper eventually said, voice much softer than before. “From the looks of things online, people agree with him, too.”

“I’ve got an event on Thursday. It’s out at one of the affordable housing construction projects that SI is funding,” Tony said, leaping into action. One bad headline was fine. Peter Parker might be well-respected, sure, but they could get back in control of the narrative. He didn’t plan on slandering the man - he was doing his job and hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true.

Tony Stark wanted to prove Peter Parker wrong.

“Yeah, what about it?” Pepper asked when Tony fell silent.

“Is he on the list?”

“He’s the assigned reporter from the New York Times,” Pepper said with a huff of laughter. “He’s always on the list.”

“Great.” Tony stood, grabbing the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. “We’ll prove him wrong.” With that, he swept out of the room and headed up to his penthouse to prepare. If he was going to get anyone to admit they were wrong, especially someone as savvy and intelligent as Peter Parker, then he was going to have to put everything he had into this event.

---

Three days after Tony Stark announced his plans to the country, Peter and Ned pushed open the doors of the New York Times building and started walking in the direction of the next Stark campaign event. It was Stark’s first public appearance, and was happening at the site of a construction project his company was funding. It was supposed to provide affordable housing, but the project was so behind-schedule it was laughable, and the process to try and get one of those apartments was such a mess that even Peter couldn’t figure it out.

“I can’t believe I get to go with you,” Ned said, gripping the camera slung around his neck tightly and beaming over at his best friend. “I get to see you in action!”

“It’s not really in action, Ned. He probably won’t even call on me again after that shitshow on Monday. He won’t if he listens to his campaign advisors, at least.” Did Stark even have campaign advisors? He didn’t seem the type to take advice from literally anyone.

Peter jotted down a note in his notebook to remind himself to look into that later on.

“Still, it’s nice to get out of the office if nothing else,” Ned said with a shrug. Peter grinned at him. The way his best friend never lost his enthusiasm was almost infectious.

Making their way to the event, Peter raised an eyebrow when he saw how little decoration there was. No Stark campaign banners, no roped off areas or decorative stages with balloons and a podium.

He was almost impressed. At least Stark knew not to unnecessarily disrupt an active construction site. Peter couldn’t fault him for having the event here, it was a visual representation of the good work he would supposedly make sure Congress funded. He could have faulted him for all of the extravagance he was sure he would find, but there was none.

Peter and Ned made their way to the press area, which was really just barely separated from the crowd of supporters. He was surprised to see a couple hundred people gathered, wearing sunglasses like Tony’s signature pair and carrying homemade signs.

“Does this guy have a merch store? Or did they make their own stuff?” Ned asked.

“Looks like they made their own. It seems Stark has some supporters after all, I’m surprised,” Peter mumbled back, taking notes. Ned just nodded, wrapped up in taking photos of everything. He was one of their best photographers, and Peter knew whatever shots he sent along for the article would look absolutely incredible.

“Good afternoon everyone!” Their attention was drawn as Pepper Potts walked out onto a simple wooden platform that Peter hadn’t noticed before. It raised her about a foot above the crowd, making her easily visible without requiring a lot of setup and teardown. She didn’t even have a microphone, just speaking clearly to the group gathered.

“I’m so pleased to see everyone here, and thanks to our friends in the press for coming out here as well.” Pepper gave a wave in their general direction, but it wasn’t returned as everyone’s hands were full with pens, recorders, and cameras. “I never thought I’d be up here, introducing someone for a very last-minute Senate campaign.” She paused, allowing for laughter to fill the space. “But I don’t think Tony ever saw himself at the center of that very campaign. He’s incredibly excited to get to work for you all, but I’ll let you hear it from him. Please welcome Tony Stark!” Pepper stepped back, clapping, as Tony climbed onto the stage and waved to the cheering crowd.

“Good afternoon everyone, and thanks so much for coming out.” Tony flashed the crowd a smile. “I wanted to bring you here to the site of the first Stark Industries Housing Initiative project. We’re working to bring affordable housing to New Yorkers in need. No one should live on the streets and suffer that loss of dignity when they’re genuinely trying to make a living. We’ve all needed a hand up at some point in our lives. I’m overjoyed I can extend my hand for even a few people with this project.”

Peter ignored writing exact quotes, knowing Ned was getting it all on camera. He focused on Stark’s overall appearance. At first glance, he appeared confident and self-assured, shoulders back and hands moving animatedly as he spoke. Peter could see the practiced ease in those movements, and wondered when Tony had made the time to perfect this politician persona he’d assembled.

“It was pointed out in the press recently that I’ve been living in a tower with my name on it while others struggle to put a roof over their heads,” Stark continued, and Peter’s head snapped up from where he’d bent to write down more notes.

He’d read the article.

“The reporter that wrote that piece was absolutely correct.”

Fucking what?!

“I’ve had it easy, and far too many of you haven’t.” Stark put his hands in his pockets, looking somewhat like a child shamed for misbehaving in class. It was almost endearing. Almost. “As your Senator, I wouldn’t forget that. I’ve had a privileged life, I’ve been blessed with money and opportunities that most people work their whole lives towards. I haven’t acknowledged that, and that was wrong of me.”

The crowd was silent, hanging onto his every word.

“This project is a physical reminder of my commitment to each and every New Yorker. You deserve, at the bare minimum, access to everything you need to thrive. And I believe that starts with a roof over your head. I won’t forget that, and it would be my honor to fight for you, to make sure it’s not forgotten in Washington, D.C, either.”

The crowd cheered loudly, chanting Stark’s name and waving their signs. Stark made a few other remarks, but Peter was focused on his notepad and barely heard him.

With the other politicians he’d profiled, the response had been threats. Threats of lawsuits, threats to get him fired, death threats from their supporters. With Stark, he’d...admitted he was wrong? And apologized?

Peter prided himself on how hard it was to surprise or shock him, but he was stunned speechless.

“With that, I’ll open it up for questions. I’d like to start with our friend, Mr. Parker.” Peter looked up at Tony with wide eyes, glancing back down at his notepad and then making his way to the front. For once, he felt a slight tremor in his hand as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Mr. Stark,” he started, and Tony smiled at him widely.

“Good to see you, Peter,” the man interrupted. Peter stared at him, brain short-circuiting for a split second.

“Yeah, uh, for sure. Mr. Stark, on Monday you said, and I’m paraphrasing, that good work shouldn’t be reliant on benevolent private citizens for funding. Are you changing your mind on that stance, given you took credit for the fact that this is funded entirely by you but haven’t made any mention of a proposed national or government-funded plan to combat homelessness and the housing crisis?”

It was so quiet Peter swore he heard the gravel crunch under the sneaker of a shifting civilian. Stark, for his part, was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. Fighting to keep the smirk off his face, Peter waited patiently for an answer.

Stark might have learned a thing or two from reading the article, but he still hadn’t figured out how to answer the tough questions.

“No,” Tony said after a beat too long for it to have been a casual pause. “I’m happy to do this, but the government should step up and do their share so that private citizens don’t have to-”

“Have to? Are you saying you’re doing this out of a sense of obligation?” Peter interrupted.

“Of course not,” Tony shot back immediately. “I just-I meant that private citizens aren’t responsible for the well-being of all others. At least, according to the Constitution. That’s the government’s job.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Stark, you’ve proved you know as much about civics as a sixth-grader,” Peter deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. To his credit, Tony didn’t get angry. The corner of his mouth quirked up, like he wanted to smile but was reining it in for the audience.

“What’s your issue with me, Mr. Parker?” He asked, though his tone was friendly.

“I don’t have an issue with you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said honestly with a shrug. “I have a city to report to, and they count on me to deliver answers. It’s not my fault you’re bad at giving them.”

There were a few shocked mutters and gasps among the crowd, but Tony and Peter paid them no mind. They stared each other down, intense but not hostile.

“Saturday at eleven,” Stark said all of a sudden. “I’m giving you an exclusive interview.”

“Why?” Peter asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“You said it yourself. You owe the constituents answers, and I think that’s a noble goal. This way we’ll have plenty of time for you to get the good answers you need.” Stark stuck his hand out, and Peter hesitated before shaking it.

“You’ve got a deal.”

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 24/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall  See Chapter 1 for summary and notes**

**Additional notes to follow in a separate post

Epilogue

There’s a bookcase in their room built by Luke Doggett that Mulder has filled with books of all kinds.  He’s glad they decided to extend the bedroom out when they did the expansion because it takes up a lot of space.  He’s also glad for the extra room because it means, while Katherine paces back and forth, he can follow behind and not bump into too many things.

Katherine stops suddenly and leans onto the bookcase.  She moans deeply and Mulder holds her from behind and rubs her hips.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Monica says.  “Just breathe through it.  Keep breathing.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to lie down?” Mulder asks.  “Just for a little while.”

Katherine hisses through her teeth and shakes her head.  Her forehead wrinkles and she moans again and clutches Mulder’s hand so tightly he’s sure it might break.  Monica comes over and puts her hand on Katherine’s belly.

“I think having a lie down might be a good idea about now,” Monica says.

Mulder puts his arm around Katherine and moves her to the bed.  He helps her to sit while Monica stacks the pillows up at the head of the bed.

“You’re the first husband I’ve had at a birth,” Monica says.

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine by me if it’s fine by Katherine.”

“Don’t go,” Katherine whispers to him.  

“I won’t,” he tells her.

“I need him here,” Katherine says to Monica.

“Whatever you need, you’ll have.”  Monica nods and then she helps move Katherine up to the pillows and she tells her to shift down a bit and bring her knees up so she can check the baby’s progress.

The miraculous arrival of the twin fillies is the only birth that Mulder has attended in his life.  He skimmed through one of Katherine’s textbooks on obstetrics to have an idea of what he might be in for, but he found it to be so terrifying he had to stop reading.  It doesn’t seem possible, even though he knows it has to be.

He’s never seen his wife as scared as she’s been throughout this pregnancy.  She’s been terrified of losing the baby and he understands her fears.  Every night he’s gently caressed her growing belly and whispered to the baby how wonderful the world will be when he or she arrives.  You’ll have your own cradle made especially for you by Luke Doggett.  You’ll have your own horses to play with and one day I’ll buy you a pony with a little cart, would you like that?  You’ll have all the picture books I can find and I’ll read to you every night.  You’ll have the very best, most brave, most wonderful, most beautiful, most special, most loving, most fierce, most smartest Mama in all of the world.  But, you just stay nice and cozy where you’re at for now.  Stay until the time is right, okay?

Katherine grits her teeth and then comes up away from the pillows onto her hands and whimpers pathetically.  Mulder looks at Monica who is nodding encouragingly and rubbing Katherine’s belly.

“When it grips you again like before, you go ahead and push,” Monica says.  “Mulder, why don’t you give her a nice place to lean into to help.”

Mulder scoots closer so that Katherine can lean back into his chest.  She’s breathing hard and there’s sweat beading across her hairline.  He holds her hands and then her body grows stiff and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Push, Katherine,” Monica says.  “That’s it.”

Katherine groans and then she falls limp in Mulder’s arms.  He feels the same helpless panic he felt when he was trying to help the horse drop her foal.  He knows he’s utterly useless and he can’t stand to be.  When Katherine’s body goes stiff again, he drops his head and starts to whisper the same things he whispered to Mary.

“You’re the only one that can do this,” he says.  “But, you’re strong and you’re brave and I believe in you.  You can do it.”

“Just a little more,” Monica says.  “You’re doing great.”

“Almost,” Mulder whispers.  “You can do it.”

Katherine lolls a little against Mulder’s chest and then she takes a deep breath and pushes again.  Her face grows red with exertion and she cries out before she deflates.  A different kind of shivery little cry fills the room.  Monica laughs and begins toweling off the squalling infant as quickly as possible and then passes the little bundle into Katherine’s arms.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new little filly,” Mulder whispers.

Katherine starts crying and brings the baby up to kiss her head.  She has little wispy blonde curls that Mulder runs his hand over.  The baby looks at him and he swears one of her eyebrows lifts inquisitively just like her mother’s.

“Look at those blue eyes,” he says.

“All babies have blue eyes,” Katherine murmurs.

“This blue?  They look like the ocean.”

“Well, what are you gonna call her?” Monica asks.

“I want to name her after Mulder’s aunt,” Katherine answers.

“Oh that’s sweet.  What was your aunt’s name?”

“Hortense,” Mulder answers, and then laughs at the look on Monica’s face.  “Emeline was her name.  But, I think we agreed on Emily Eliza if it was a girl.”

Katherine nods.

“Hey…”  Mulder eases out from behind Katherine.  “What day is it?”

“I heard the clock in the hall chime at midnight a little while ago,” Monica answers.  “September 9th, 1888.  She’s a seven.  She’s going to be very contemplative.”

“It’s two years to the day from when we first met,” Mulder says.  

“Only two years?” Katherine wonders.  “It feels as though we’ve been together forever.”

“Forever is ahead of us, not behind.”  Mulder smiles as the baby yawns and reaches out to touch her tiny hand.  She curls her fingers around his with a tight grip.  

↭

The year before Emily was born they took a trip to Boston with a stop in New York City to see the electrical lightbulbs that Katherine had wanted to see.  She was definitely impressed by the invention, but will always prefer the softness of lamplight to the glow of a bulb.  Of all people, she will be the most reluctant to modernize their home while it’s Mulder that will marvel at the on and off switches that bring light and darkness and later, he will never get enough of the telephone, sometimes simply picking up the handset to chat with the switchboard operator in town just because he can.

Three years after Emily is born, William Abbott, known by all as Liam, will come along.  By then, Emily’s blonde hair will have turned dark, like her father’s, but she’ll keep her deep blue eyes.  Mulder will often turn and think he sees the ghost of his sister running towards him as she grows.  Liam inherits his mother’s red hair and freckles, but his father’s hazel eyes and mischievous sense of humor that keeps everyone on their toes.

Doctor Black makes Katherine an offer that Mulder tells her she’d be crazy to refuse.  He sponsors an apprenticeship for her in lieu of formal schooling and after five years time, she receives her medical certificate.  When he retires, Katherine takes over the practice and the lady doctor that drives her own carriage through town becomes the pride of the town.

Emily will follow in her mother’s footsteps in some ways, her interest in science and medicine apparent from a very young age, but her love of animals pulls her in a different direction.  She studies to become a veterinarian.  When her husband is taken in World War I, she will come back to the ranch with her own young daughter in tow, seeking the peace and comfort of her childhood.

Liam takes a keen interest in literature and tears through all the books on his mother’s bookshelf before he’s eight years of age.  His favorite thing to do is to listen to the stories his father tells, ones he can’t quite determine are real or exaggerated, but that are always about how brave and strong and magical his mother is.

“Kids,” Mulder will say as they sit on the porch.  “Did I ever tell you about the time your mother shot a panther?”

“There aren’t any panthers in Texas, Daddy,” Emily will tell him.

“That’s because they got wind of your mother’s aim and they all packed up and moved to Mexico.”

“Mulder, you weren’t even there.”  Katherine will roll her eyes when he starts his tales.

“I had gone to Fort Worth to pick up some horses and your mother stayed behind with Pappy Melvin…”

Liam will take these stories and write them down and turn them into Fawkes Publishing House’s number one bestselling children’s series of the 1920s called Amazing Kate, about a young girl living on a ranch in the Texas plains who can do anything and everything.  He marries a suffragette he meets while tending to family business in Boston. One of their sons will pen a biography of his E. M. Abbott, sending shockwaves through the literary community and winning a Pulitzer.

When the children are small, Katherine will often wonder about her sister’s and where they are and if they’ve married and if they have children of their own.  Mulder will offer time and time again to track them down, but ultimately, Katherine decides against it.  She has made her own family here and Monica and Susannah are close enough to her to feel like the sisters she lost.  Mary Katherine Scully was her past and she has put it behind her.  She is and will forever now be Kate Mulder.

The ranch is only ever moderately successful and the need for trained horses dies out with the expansion of the railroad and the popularity of the automobile.  It suits Mulder fine and they simply become a haven for abused and neglected animals.  

Ranch hands come and go.  Trevor discovers a talent for building furniture through Luke Doggett.  Mulder sponsors their talents by starting them up with a business in Fort Worth where they form a successful partnership and their furniture is sold world-wide.  Richard announces one day that he thinks it’s about time he moves on, and then he just disappears.  Jesse and Jimmy are offered positions as lead trainers in a traveling rodeo that they hesitate to accept, but Mulder tells them they’d be crazy not to take the opportunity to travel the country.  Melvin stays with them until he passes on and they bury him beneath the magnolia tree that in twenty years time, has reached an impressive height of forty feet and blooms pink at the start of every summer.  

The years go by and Mulder and Katherine will be alone on their porch sometimes, sitting side by side watching the sunset.  Mulder will reach out and Katherine will take his hand and he’ll give it a squeeze.

“Just think where we might have ended up if Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe that day,” he’ll say to her, for maybe the hundredth time since they’ve been married.  “The day that changed my life forever.”

Katherine will roll her eyes at him, also for the hundredth time.  “Any number of things had already changed your life forever,” she’ll say.

“But, specifically, if Faithful Jenny hadn’t thrown that shoe…”

“And if you didn’t leave Massachusetts, and if your father hadn’t sent you to live with your aunt, and if your aunt never bought you that pony for your birthday…”

“So, you agree, A leads to B, leads to C, leads to Jenny throwing that shoe.”

“I think we’d still be right here on this porch.  That’s what I think.”

“Kate, are you admitting you believe in fate?”

“I’m admitting nothing.”

Mulder will smile and squeeze her hand as she twists her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb.

The End