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lils-writes-stuff · 5 years ago

Text

I Remember

Best years Part 3 | part two | part one

spencer reid x reader

summary: as time moves forward, the readers past begins to creep its way back into her thoughts.

warnings: normal criminal minds things

A/N: based on season 7 episode 13 (this one may be my favorite i’ve written so far)

The white sweater on Y/N’s body warmed her as she walked to the kitchen in her apartment. The hard-wood floor was cold against her bare feet as she poured the hot coffee into her mug, along with her cream and sugar. She felt tired that morning, legs feeling heavier than usual as she dragged herself to the bar inside her kitchen. She sat down, opening up her notebook that laid there and began to write.

Her mind trailed off as she wrote to the note she had gotten a couple of weeks back. The bird on the page mocked her as she thought of the enemy she had made all those years back. Her thoughts trailed back to when the woman made her sit and watch as she tormented people she cared for. The sounds of slapping and skin-on-skin contact making her cringe. The smell of water and fire filled her nose as she felt like she was back where she was almost ten years ago.

Buzz. Buzz.

The sound of her phone brought her back into the kitchen and she looked over to see who was calling her. The time read 7:30 A.M., Saturday, but that’s not what had her attention. Spencer’s name lit up the screen telling her it was him who was calling.

She set her pen down before picking up her phone. “Hey, Spence,” she said answering the phone.

“Hey, did you get Hotch’s message?” He asked, the sound of an elevator ding being heard through the speaker of the phone.

“No, I just woke up, why is something wrong?” She closed her notebook standing up and heading towards her room.

“We’ve got a case, Hotch said to get here as soon as possible,” The elevator ding was heard again.

“I’m assuming you’re already at the office,” she said while placing some clothes together in her go-bag before she got ready.

“Yeah, I was up anyway, couldn’t sleep,” he explained to her.

“Oh, that sucks, well I’ll be there in ten,” she said before saying bye.

“See ya,” was his response before hanging up.

She buttoned up a blue shirt and grabbed the white sweater she wore to bed, layering it over the shirt. Black pants and boots followed as she put on makeup quickly and headed out the door to the BAU office.

Spencer smiled at her as he saw her enter the door of the office. She smiled back with radiance.

“Beautiful,” Spencer whispered to himself, or what he thought was himself.

“What was that Pretty Boy?” Derek questioned from behind Spencer, a smug smirk on his face.

Spencer flushed looking back at Derek, “I-I didn’t say anything.” He lied, and it was evident, not only because Derek heard him, but because it was a bad lie.

“You know Reid, I think girl wonder over there has feeling for you too,” the broad man said pointing the woman across the room who was talking to Emily.

“I never said I had feelings for her,” Spencer said defending his bottled up emotion for the woman he had truly been crushing on since she arrived at the BAU.

Derek rolled his eyes, “Kid, you may be a genius or whatever, but it doesn’t take a profiler to notice you like her. All the small glances and longing looks, come on when are you going to tell her?”

“Is it that obvious?” Spencer asked looking at his friend.

“Painstakingly,” was Derek’s response before he walked away towards the round table room.

Spencer turned back around looking at Y/N as she laughed at something Emily had said to her before they themselves made their way to the room.

He watched as Y/N smiled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her hair, eyes sparkling as she smiled at Derek who said something to her.

You’re gonna do it, Spencer, he thought, You’re going to ask her out.

----------

“It looks like a robbery gone bad,” Emily said as they inspected the latest case coming through. “Why was the BAU called in?”

Hotch clicked a button on the remote pulling up the next photo which was of the crime scene.

“Eight one-dollar bills surrounding an eight card,” Spencer said as he looked closely at the victim on the screen. “That’s highly ritualistic.”

“And because Savino has ties to organized crime, agents in New Jersey are worried about things escalating,” Hotch explained.

“Well, it doesn’t take much to ignite a mob war,” Derek said looking at the photo on the screen again.

“And collateral damage means nothing to these guys,” Y/N added to what Derek was saying.

“If we don’t get a handle on this soon, innocent people are gonna die,” Rossi said.

“And we don’t want that, wheels up in 20,” Hotch said dismissing the team to get ready to leave.

Everyone grabbed their things and headed out the door, leaving Y/N and Penelope the last.

“Hey, Penelope,” Y/N said turning to her right before she walked out the door.

Penelope jumped, startled by Y/N’s voice before looking at her ready for her question.

“Can you look someone up for me, after this case, of course, I need to know where they are,” Y/N explained to her.

“Sure, yeah, who is it,” Penelope said grabbing out a small notepad and pen from her bag.

“Uh, her name is Caroline Roberts,” she told the woman in front of her. “And can this stay between us, I don’t want anyone to worry,” Y/N explained to her.

“Oh, sure, should I be worried,” Penelope asked concerned for her friend.

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” She spoke and turned around exiting the room.

----------

“No question. ‘God Father II,’ hands down,” Emily said in response to the question on what her favorite gangster flick was.

“No, no, gotta be ‘Scarface’,” responded Derek contouring Emily’s choice in the movie.

“For me, ‘The Untouchables’, ” JJ said the turning to look at Spencer and Y/N who sat on the couch beside each other. “Y/N? Spence?”

“Hmm, Does ‘Pulp Fiction’ count? If so then that,” Y/N responded.

“Mm, Probably ‘Le Cercle Rouge,’ the 1970s french classic,” Spencer answered looking up from the book he was reading. “But ‘Den Tredje Vaagan’ is definitely a close second.”

“Yeah, that was my runner-up, too,” Emily said with a smile, making the others laugh.

“What about you, Rossi?” JJ said to the man walking down the aisle.

“Yeah, best ever gangster flick,” Y/N said turning towards him.

“I’ve had too much of the real thing to be a fan of mob movies,” Rossi replied sitting in the chair next to him.

The others chuckled at his words before turning to Hotch.

“Garcia, did we get the crime scene surveillance video yet?” Hotch asked looking at the woman on the screen in front of him.

“No, Sir, because there wasn’t any,” replied Penelope through the screen. Her face showed guilt that wasn’t even hers to have.

“That’s not possible,” Spencer said with shock. “Every inch of the casino is surveilled, every minute of every day.”

“Yeah, apparently the footage was tampered with, so…,” Penelope’s voice trailed off.

“All right, Reid and Y/L/N, go to the crime scene,” Hotch said to the two sitting on the couch. “Dave, you and JJ find out if Savino was involved in anything the local authorities don’t know about. Morgan, Prentiss, and I will contact the local FBI office and arrange a ceasefire with the families.”

Everyone nodded and went back to their previous conversation. Y/N looked over at Spencer who had a book in his hand, reading with his finger trailing down the page to follow the words. For a second she was mesmerized by how he looked, but she soon looked away at the thought of being caught and listened to the conversation between the other four at the table.

-----------

Spencer and Y/N walked down the hallway towards the room of the crime scene, the guard sliding the card the lock opening it.

“Electric strike lock, impressive,” Y/N spoke walking into the room, taking into count how it looked.

“And hard to bypass. If this was a robbery, the unsub must have slipped in right behind him,” Spencer said, looking at the room around him.

“Well, Savino could have known the killer,” Y/N said as she looked at the scene on the ground. “Could have let him in himself, and probably wasn’t expecting this to turn into a brawl, let alone a murder.”

“Maybe the unsub wasn’t either,” Spencer said looking at Y/N. “If this was premeditated, you’d think he would have brought a knife or a gun with him,” he walked closer to the scene on the floor bending over to look at it closer. “The bowling trophy looks more like a weapon of opportunity.”

“Is this the only camera?” Y/N asked pointing up towards the camera in the corner.

“Yes, Ma’am, but the disk was removed,” replied the guard who let them in.

“But casinos have a central terminal that backs up and stores all surveillance footage, right?” Spencer asked turning around to the guard.

“Mr. Savino didn’t want that in his office,” the guard replied.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Of course not.” The words were muttered under her breath, barely even audible.

“He put in a personal camera,” the guard continued.

“So the victim bypassed a security system that would have revealed his own killer,” Spencer said the tone in his voice going up at the end.

“What didn’t he want anyone to see?” Y/N asked walking over towards the camera on the wall. “Whatever it was he wanted everything kept secret.”

Spencer nodded his head in agreement, the two thanked the guard and walked out of the room. The walk down the hall was silent as the two made their way towards the elevator.

“I hate casinos,” Y/N stated as they entered the elevator.

“Why’s that?” Spencer asked as he pressed the button labeled ‘Lobby’.

“I think it’s the smell, alcohol, and cigarettes, it just gives me a headache,” she said with disgust at the thought of it. “Don’t get me wrong though, I love a good game of poker, but I’d rather do it with some friends and some pretzels as chips.”

Spencer laughed at her statement, “Are you good?” Spencer asked her as they exited the elevator and headed towards the doors.

“At poker? I mean I guess, I have a decent bluff face, but I prefer gin,” she opened the door for them. The brisk air hitting her skin as she wrapped her jacket around her torso as they headed towards the car.

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

Y/N and Spencer entered the small conference room behind Agent Gossling who had met them at the door.

“Agent Gossling,” Hotch said greeting her.

“Any luck with our mob bosses?” asked Gossling as she walked into the room.

“Well, I think we bought some time,” replied Derek.

Y/N and Spencer sat down at the table along with everyone else.

“What about the crime scene?” Emily asked.

“Savino purposely bypassed the standard casino security,” Y/N explained, her arms folding over herself as she leaned forward on the table.

“I think we know why,” stated Rossi as he entered the room, JJ following closely behind him.

“Danny Savino supplemented his income by loaning money to casino patrons,” JJ explained, relaying the information she and Rossi had learned.

“Explains why he changed the camera in his office,” Spencer said, shifting in his seat. “He didn’t want his bosses to know he was freelancing.”

“So we’re looking for a gambler,” Hotch said looking at those around him.

“A gambler in Atlantic City,” Emily said.

“Ah, yes because that narrows the field,” Y/N said with light sarcasm in her voice. A few around her chuckled.

They sat in the room for a few more hours, discussing what could be going down. Y/N’s phone rang, she pulled it out of her pocket, the name ‘Penelope’ on the screen.

“Excuse me,” She said standing up, walking out of the room. “Hey Pen, what’s up,” she said when she was out of ears-reach from those in the room.

“So that Caroline Roberts you asked me to look into, she was a lot harder to find then I thought,” She spoke through the phone.

“Oh, you found her already,” Y/N whispered, not expecting her to find her, or even look for her, this fast. But who was Y/N kidding, she was asking Penelope Garcia to find her someone, she should have expected this.

“Yeah, so this girl was in prison about two years ago for assault, which is unusual seeing how violent it was considering she is a woman,” Penelope spoke confusion evident in her voice.

“She is a very unusual person,” Y/N agreed as more memories of the woman from her past filled her mind.

“Uh-huh, no kidding, anyway she was let out for parole not too long ago and she has been working for an insurance company ever since,” Penelope explained.

“And there’s been no suspicious behavior since she was let out?” Y/N was nervous about her answer.

“Nope. None,” she replied. “So are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Y/N was about to respond, but Hotch approached behind her causing the conversation to be cut short. “I got to go,” she pulled the phone from her ear and hanging up turning around to Hotch.

“Everything alright,” He asked her, brows furrowed in his normal serious manner.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” she said reassuring him. His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t push it anymore.

“There’s been another victim, we’re heading to the scene now,” he told her. “I want you to stay here, help the other build the profile we’ll be back.”

Y/N nodded her head. As he turned and walked away, she let out a heavy sigh and headed back to the small conference room.

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

“We’re looking for a man who’s killing those who appear to prey upon or take advantage of gamblers,” Hotch said beginning to explain the profile. It was the next morning and the office was filled with people ready to hear the profile and catch the man who was doing this. “Loan Sharks and call girls so far.”

“The killings may have been triggered by recent gambling losses,” Derek explained further into the profile.

“Our unsub is physically fit,” Y/N added.

“He was able to overpower Danny Savino and Patty Riolo was killed with extreme violence,” Emily explained more.

“It’s doubtful this man has a criminal record, he moves without fear of being recognized,” Derek said looking over the sea of people in front of them.

“In one of the most surveilled locales on the planet,” Y/N continued explaining why that was important.

“He wouldn’t have elements of domestic life,” JJ began. “Like children, that would only moderate or stabilize his compulsive behavior.”

“Pathological gambling is the most common type of impulse control disorder in the world,” Spencer explained.

“And there is no more superstitious creature on Earth than a gambler,” Rossi said pushing himself off the desk he was leaning on. “The number eight is the ritual aspect of our unsub’s signature.”

“It’s a compulsion, it could signify a birthday or an important time in his life,” Y/N explained more into the skepticism type.

“Not only is this unsub a killer, but he’s also an addict,” Hotch added. “He’s killed twice in the last two days, and he may not be able to stop.”

Hotch then dismissed the group in front of them and the team went back to the small conference room.

Y/N’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket reading the text from Penelope;

Can you tell me what it’s about now??

Y/N shook her head, knowing that the woman wasn’t going to give up till she told her or gave her a promising answer.

I will when we get back

The text was enough for Penelope to reply with a simple ‘okay’ and leave her alone until she got back.

--------

“This doesn’t make sense,” Rossi exclaimed looking at the board. “Danny Savino was a bottom-feeder, handing out nickel-and-dime to small-time gamblers. But Patti Riolo was exclusively about high-rollers.”

“The unsub wouldn’t have crossed naturally into both worlds, he would have been in one or the other,” Emily said, agreeing with Rossi that it didn’t make sense.

“Unless his fortunes changed drastically between murdering Savino and meeting up with Patti Riolo,” Hotch shed some light onto the conversation.

“Maybe he flashed the money he stole from Savino in front of her, you know pretending to be rich,” Y/N said looking at the other three hoping she helped.

“Or he gambled with it and won big,” Rossi said turning back towards the board.

“Let’s say Dave is right, he was in financial trouble, and immediately after murdering Savino, his luck changed,” Hotch said giving his theory.

“In his mind, he could’ve connected the two,” Y/N connected her own thoughts as she pieced the story together.

“Every compulsive gambler believes in a system, no matter how illogical,” Rossi added.

“And he’d figure the past part of his system he was missing was murder,” Hotch connected the last of the dots forming the story together.

---------

Y/N walked up to Spencer and squatted down next to him. The victim leaned up against a wall in a back alley, multiple gunshot wounds were shot in his back.

“Eighty-eight dollars, the unsub’s getting generous,” Spencer said holding the money in his gloved covered hands.

“There’s less rage than the others,” Y/N noticed as she looked at the victim. “And undoing. There’s major evidence of remorse, shot in the back so he wouldn’t have to face his victim.”

“No robbery this time either, the wallet’s intact, except for anything to I.D. him,” Spencer said holding up the wallet to Y/N, Hotch and Agent Gossling also who had approached beside her.

“Is this even the same killer?” Agent Gossling asked looking at Spencer.

“The ritual’s too similar to discount it,” Hotch explained looking over at the three beside him. The sound of Agent Gossling’s phone ringing pulled her away from the three and off to the side to answer it.

“Well, the change in M.O. makes sense if the unsub is still refining his system,” Y/N said head-turning to Hotch beside her. “Maybe the killing of the gas station clerk didn’t work, so now he’s back to the drawing board.”

“Two eights instead of one could be significant,” Spencer said diverting the attention over to him. “I know in China the number 8 symbolizes prosperity. The more eights, the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter-million dollars.”

“Wow,” Y/N said. “So, wait, why would he be doubling his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” She wondered while looking between the two.

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Gossling said approaching the three after hanging up her phone. “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady.”

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked as he looked over at the agent.

“No, his neck was broken, and he was robbed of 50,000,” Agent Gossling explained what she was told over the phone. “The strange thing is, the killer left nearly 20,000 behind with the body.”

Hotch opened his phone, pressing Penelope’s name.

“Garcia is there a casino in the neighborhood of Penrose and Morningside avenue?” Hotch asked after hearing the beep of Penelope answering.

“Uh...no casino per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner,” Penelope explained.

“Is it legal?” Spencer asked, his voice speaking louder so he could be heard over the phone.

“Yeah, but it’s ultra-exclusive, they have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament-” she paused, “today being that day for that day of the month, coincidentally enough.”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Y/N said with a huff.

“What’s the buy-in?” Hotch asked.

“Yikies, 50,000 dollars,” Penelope said confirming what everyone was thinking. “But it’s a million-dollar guarantee if you win,” she continued.

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked her.

“Later this afternoon,” she replied.

“Thanks,” Hotch said hanging up his phone before turning and walking to the cars.

---------

“Forensics got a match on the last victim,” Agent Gossling said as she walked into the small conference room, taking a seat next to Rossi. “Eddie Langdon, we’re looking into him now.”

“Hey, any luck?” JJ said turning to Hotch as he stepped into the room.

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in,” Hotch replied looking at his phone. They were trying to find a way to get into the tournament so that they could hopefully catch the unsub. “I’m still working on it.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for 50,000 bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi said with humor.

Y/N paused for a second,“Hey, what about you?” She asked looking at Rossi across from her.

“What about me what?” He retorted back with eyebrows raised.

“You could stake us the buy-in?” Y/N proposed.

“Yeah, you’re a best-selling author,” Spencer said as he sat down next to Y/N.

“No,” Rossi said, he had that tone that said why would you even say such a thing.

“Why not?” Emily asked him.

“One, it’s against regulations, and I’d like to hold on to this job for a little while longer,” Rossi said looking at the four in front of him.

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” JJ said, a smirk on her face.

“And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things. Like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork-”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily interrupted quickly.

“They are,” Y/N agreed, nodding her head while she looked at Rossi.

“Maybe just think of it as like a new experience,” Spencer began. “I mean at your age how often does that happen.”

“Oh no,” Y/N whispered after Spencer’s statement.

“At my what?” Rossi questioned with daggers as he looked at Spencer. Spencer than looked away, avoiding eye contact.

“Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy,” JJ explained, voice coming off as slightly pleading.

“Alright fine,” Rossi said finally caving. “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to-”

“You know what, I bet you’re a great poker player,” Y/N said cutting Rossi off. “But what if we send in Spencer?” She posed the idea of the boy wonder going in.

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump for my card counting ability,” Spencer said as he looked at those around the table.

Y/N held her hand up as if saying, my point exactly.

“Look, I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here,” he said hand gesturing to Spencer next to him. “But poker is not blackjack, it’s about bluffing, reading human nature, head games, Y/N would be a better bet because she’s really good at hiding stuff and playing mind games.”

“I slightly resent that statement,” Y/N said, humor clearly evident in her voice.

“All I am saying is, It’s not math,” Rossi finished.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Spencer said standing up, grabbing a marker and walking towards the board. “There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players, in the final round of betting--”

“Okay, fine, I surrender,” Rossi cut Spencer off not wanting to hear any more of the math lesson he was giving. “Just try not to lose all of my money.”

Spencer snapped his fingers giving Rossi a thumbs up with a tight-lipped smile.

“Dear God, I hope this works,” Y/N said while she placed her head on her folded arms that rested on the table.

“You know, maybe we should send Y/N in also, you know like as a call girl or something, have two sets of eyes to cover all the tables,” Rossi said looking at Y/N.

“Ha, that’s a good one Rossi,” She said laughing while looking up at his serious face. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“It would work well, two eyes being able to see everything,” Emily said looking at Y/N.

She looked at her friend in disbelief that she was agreeing to this, but she let out a huff and said, “Fine, but if I’m going to do this you better get me some makeup and a outfit because I don’t think this attire will pull off what you want me to do,” Y/N caved knowing there would be no way of getting out of this.

“I think we can get that worked out,” Agent Gossling said standing up and getting what they needed.

----------

Y/N looked around the large room full of tables from the bar, not really sure what to do. “Guys, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing here, I also feel very exposed,” she whispered into her wire that was placed on her, tugging on the top of the low-cut black jumpsuit she was wearing. She was given a wire to be safe in case something happened while Spencer was given an alert pen.

“Go over to some tables and flirt with someone, come on Pretty girl, you got this,” Derek spoke to her through the clear ear-piece in her ear. So that’s what she did, wandering from table to table flirting lightly with men, and looking to see if they had any items of eight tat would link them as the unsub. She watched as some men made the worst decisions in poker and others who took it way to seriously.

While she was paying attention to what she was doing, she couldn’t help but notice Spencer’s glances as he looked at her to make sure she was okay. The reason she knew that was why he was looking at her was that it was the same reason she would glance at him.

“Get anything yet, Y/N?” Emily asked in her ear-piece.

Y/N pulled herself away from the table she was just at so she could answer. “Negative,” she answered switching the clutch from her left hand to her right. She looked up for a second and saw Spencer make eye contact with her, then eyes diverting to the man sitting beside him. “Hold on, Reid might have something, wait for his signal though.”

“I am in, and I raise,” Y/N caught the end of Spencer’s call as she made her way over to the table.

“That’s too rich for my blood,” the man beside the one glaring at Spencer spoke. The two sat there, eyeing each other, no wards exchange.

She began lightly flirting with some of the men at the table, pretending to be dumb about poker. She carefully watched Spencer and then man eyeing each other.

“Are you in, sir?” The dealer asked the man eyeing Spencer.

“I’ll call,” He said placing some chips in front of him.

“Call,” the dealer spoke.

“Straight,” Spencer said as he flipped his cards over, eyes never leaving the man.

The man scoffed in defeat.

“A gutshot straight draw? Are you kidding me?” The man that Y/N was flirting with said looking at Spencer in disbelief. “That is just-- that is just nuts.”

“No kidding,” Y/N whispered to herself at the hand Spencer had. He looked up at her making eye contact signaling her that he believed the one he had been eyeing was the unsub. Y/N nodded and waited for his move.

“Do you mind if I take a look at this?” Spencer asked reaching for the eight ball key-chain that sat in front of the man.

The man’s hand gripped Spencer’s wrist as he had a hold on his lucky item. Spencer’s theory confirmed that this was the unsub.

“Hey, what’s the problem, sir?” A guard asked walking over to Spencer and the unsub.

“He-He’s reaching for my chips!” The unsub proclaimed to the guard.

“I was simply admiring--” Spencer was cut off by the guard yanking him out of his seat.

“Shit,” Y/N whispered as she calmly approached, but stopped realizing that wasn’t smart and kept her distance.

“Sir you need to come with me,” The guard said yanking Spencer again. Y/N becoming slightly angry at how the guard was treating Spencer.

“Y/N what is it?” Hotch asked through her earpiece, she didn’t respond.

“I’ll cooperate, don’t manhandle me,” Spencer said shoving the guard off of him slightly. “Thanks.” He looked at Y/N nodding towards the man before sounding the alarm in his hand.

Y/N watched Spencer get pulled away and when she turned back the unsub, who was now taking poker chips and shoving them in his pockets. She knew she couldn’t go after him, she didn’t have her gun or a vest so she waited for backup.

“Y/N did you see where he went?” Hotch asked as he approached her, Emily tossing her a vest.

“Yeah, he went this way come on,” She said placing the vest over her head and grabbing her gun from Emily.

“Morgan, he’s a white male baseball cap, he’s headed for the back door,” Emily spoke into her watch as she, Hotch, and Y/N continued to move forward towards the back.

They entered a room and saw the head of a man lying on the ground, “He’s on the move.” Y/N said to her wire as her and the other two ran out the back.

The three came to a halt as they were met with the cold air, realizing the unsub had gotten away.

----------

The cool air ran over Y/N’s bare arms as the stood outside of the building. They had started to discuss victimology again before Hotch called Penelope to find out if Eddie Langdon had a partner in his plumbing business. His partner was Curtiss Banks whose father was also a compulsive gambler.

“Do you have an address?” Hotch asked Penelope over the phone. She responded with his home address and than Hotch hung up.

“Y/L/N, go with Reid and Morgan and head to Banks’ house, he may head back there,” Hotch ordered to Y/N who began to walk towards where Spencer and Derek were.

“Hey, Hotch wants us to go to Banks’ house, Garcia just sent the address,” Y/N said as she approached the two men by the stakeout van.

“Alright, let’s go,” Derek said pushing himself off of the van and heading towards the SUV in the parking lot.

“Here, I grabbed this out of the van,” Spencer said, handing Y/N an FBI bomber jacket.

“Thank you, I’m freezing,” she said taking the jacket from Spencer, hand slightly brushing his.

While Y/N put the jacket on her body, Derek looked at Spencer as they approached the vehicle and wiggled his eyebrows. Spencer responded with an exaggerated eye roll and hopped into the passenger seat.

The three arrived at the house and looked around to see if anyone was there, but the house was quiet and dark. Derek pulled his phone out and dialed Hotch’s number.

“Yeah Hotch,” Derek said when Hotch answered the phone. “There’s nobody here. There’s a foreclosure sign on the front lawn.”

The three got back into the car as Hotch told them to stay in case he came back. Y/N let out a sigh as she placed her head on her hand on the armrest.

“You okay back there Y/N?” Derek asked turning in his chair to look at the young woman.

“Yep,” she said popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. “I don’t like sitting and waiting.”

“Me neither,” Derek agreed. “What about you pretty boy?”

Spencer turned to look at Derek beside him, his eye previously trained on the house outside the window. “I don’t mind it, it gives me some time to relax and think.”

The three sat in silence and waited for some instruction. Y/N closed her eyes for a second and began to drift off. She was quickly brought back to reality as Derek’s phone ringing woke her up.

“Hey, Hotch,” he said answering the phone. Y/N and Spencer looked over as he talked on the phone. “Alright, we’ll head back now, that was Hotch they got him at his sister-in-law’s house.”

“Oh good, does this mean we get to go home now and sleep?” Y/N asked, hope in her voice.

“Yes, sleepyhead, we do,” Derek said, starting the car and driving back towards the office. Y/N laughed and shook her head before just leaning back in her chair.

The next morning the team made their way home and returned back to the office and began their day there.

Y/N sat at her desk looking over a report in her hand. She looked up at the post-it note on her desk, the sketch of a bird taunting her as she looked at it. Ripping it off her desk she crumpled it and threw it away and went back to the report.

“Hey Y/N,” Spencer said walking up to Y/N at her desk.

She looked up from her report and looked at Spencer, “Hey Spence, what’s up?” She asked him.

“Um, I was wondering, if you know you wanted to maybe, possibly, wanted to,” He stumbled over his words out of nervousness.

She raised an eyebrow at him waiting for the climax of the question. “Spencer, take a breath.”

He did just that, taking in a deep breath, letting his shoulders drop in the process.

“Sometime, would you maybe want to, get some coffee?” His voice was quiet at the end and if it wasn’t for Y/N’s hyper-aware hearing she may have not caught it.

“Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?” She said, a smile forming on her face.

“Only-only if you want me to be, if not then it can just be as friends, or we could-”

“Spence,” she cut him off. “I would really like that.”

“Really?” He asked smiling at the woman in front of him. “How-how about tomorrow?” He asked her.

“That sounds great,” she said and smiled. He went back to his desk with a pep in his step and sat down with a smile.

“He did it,” Emily said to Penelope as she walked up beside her.

“Who did it?” Penelope asked the dark-headed woman.

“Spencer, he asked Y/N out, only took him a year and a half,” she laughed.

“Oh my god, the day has finally happened!”

---------

Y/N walked into her apartment, sighing happily as she took her shoes off of her aching feet. She looked down and saw an envelope on the ground. Cautiously she picked it up and flipped it over, the flap being tapped down by wax. The imprint of a bird on it.

She opened it carefully, pulling out a note similar to the ones she had gotten weeks prior.

Remember those nights you would sit scared in your room? I do, I remember and I miss them, start feeling that again. ~ C.R.

Y/N dropped the letter on the ground, she turned in locked her door shut before she slide down it. Grabbing her phone, she quickly went to Penelope’s contact and called her.

“Hey Pen, I think I’m ready to tell you who Caroline Roberts is.”

tag list (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #criminal minds meme #Penelope Garcia #Emily Printiss

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adultswim2021 · 3 years ago

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Squidbillies #2: “Take This Job and Love It” | October 24, 2005 – 12:00AM | S01E02

Episode two already? Finally we get to see the iconic opening, where Early fucks around in a broken down truck set to a fairly catchy country song. I like this opening, for the record. It joins the pantheon of great opening sequences that include a radio dial being tuned. The only other one I can think of right now is the short-lived Exit 57 from Comedy Central. But I digress! LIKE USUAL

This episode, guest directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, is about Early getting fired from his mattress store job. This threatens his freedom as being gainfully employed is a condition of his parole. The Sheriff accompanies him on several job interviews that he predictably bombs at, including one where he just turns some guy’s head into red goo for no real reason shown. Early is prone to extreme, angry violence, which is revisited on the show often.

He finally winds up at Dan Halen’s sheet rock company, where he manages to become the new CEO. It turns out this is some scheme to avoid legal problems on Halen’s part. This goes nowhere, really, and one is left to conclude that this show is called Squidbillies, and it’s serialized. Who’d a thunk it?

I think I’d seen this episode before, because it did seem pretty familiar to me. I think I gave up on it pretty shortly after this. I do recall catching glimpses of the show during it’s first season and gleaning that the continuity was surprisingly strong from episode to episode, and even noting that some episodes seemed to be picking up cliffhangers from previous episodes. THIS SHOW? Really??

I don’t know how to accurately describe the quality of this show. It seems like it’s supposed to be exactly what it is. As repulsive as some elements are, nothing about it seems like a mistake. It’s just either for you or not. I only sort of like Squidbillies so far. The most refreshing thing about Squidbillies is that it doesn’t seem like it’s written by outsiders. Dave Willis is definitely from the South. He’s definitely not from New Jersey, where Aqua Teen Hunger Force is set. Not to minimize the contributions of Jim Fortier and or Matt Maiellaro, his co-creators for Squidbillies and ATHF respectively. I guess the point I’m making is that even though I consider this show the lesser of the two mentioned, it’s still more authentic. I guess that counts for something.

#adultswim2021 #adult swim #squidbillies

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damianwaynerocks · 5 years ago

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Ghosts in Gotham

Danny Phantom / DC Comics fanfic

Dedicated to: @dannyphantom-justiceleauge

Summary: The Batfamily has been through their fair share of the supernatural. That’s why they originally weren’t worried whenever ghosts started showing up in Gotham City. Until one day, something happens; Batman is captured and taken into the Ghost Zone. With no way to go in there themselves, the no way to fight the ghosts inside, the bats decide to call the person who can; Danny Phantom. Together, Danny takes Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown and Damian Wayne into the Ghost Zone before the Batman is lost forever.

Words: 2032

ch 2 Masterlist

Chapter 1:

Every city had its hero.

Gotham City? Batman. Metropolis? Superman. Central City? The Flash.

Amity Park? Danny Phantom.

Amity Park had mixed feelings about Phantom. Some said he was a helper, a true hero, keeping the town safe. Others said he was a criminal, doing nothing but wreaking havoc on the town. Either way, Phantom was known for one specific thing; fighting ghosts.

Which is what he was doing at the moment.

"I am!! The Box Ghost!!" a short, stocky ghost shouted. His eyes glowed blue and an aura of the same color surrounded the boxes crowding the back of a movie theater. "Beware!" he raised his arms and hurled three boxes at a figure who easily dodged.

"Come on, Box Ghost," a teenage boy with white hair and green eyes floating above the ground groaned. "I don't have time for this! I have to order the new Cheese Viking game before it sells out!"

"Beware!" The Box Ghost shouted again, throwing more boxes at the boy.

Danny Phantom rolled his eyes as his body became intangible, the boxes easily passing through it. He raised his arm, and a blast of bright green energy shot from his palm, hitting the Box Ghost square in the chest. The Box Ghost, with a grunt, was blown back into the brick wall of the movie theater.

Not wasting any time, Danny grabbed the thermos that he had strapped to his back and pointed it at the other ghost. In a flash of light, the Box Ghost was sucked into the thermos.

"Finally," Danny muttered as he took off into the sky.

Danny Phantom, his real name being Danny Fenton, was a sixteen-year-old halfa, or a ghost-human hybrid. He could switch between ghost and human form at will. He'd gotten his powers from an accident with the Ghost Portal, a portal in his home that was a bridge between the human world and the Ghost Zone, where every ghost resides.

Ghosts repeatedly escaped the Ghost Zone through this portal for one of three reasons; to wreak havoc on the human world, to kill Danny or both. Usually, it was the latter.

Danny returned to his house, passing through the walls of the building with intangibility and landing in the lab. He switched back to his human form in a flash of light, changing his hair color from white to black and his eyes from green to blue.

His family was made up of ghost hunters- aside from his sister -so they had an entire lab dedicated to ghost technology.

"Back you go, Boxy," Danny said as he released the Box Ghost into the portal. "Finally," he sighed, "Time to get Cheese Viking."

"No!" he shouted five minutes later at his computer. The new Cheese Viking, Danny's favorite game, had sold out.

"Danny!" a large man in an orange jumpsuit burst into the boy's room. "Are you okay!? Are you hurt!?"

"No, Dad, I'm fine," Danny replied to his father, Jack Fenton. "Except for that stupid Box Ghost making me too late to get Cheese Viking!"

He hadn't told his parents about his life as Phantom until he was fifteen. Well, it wasn't Danny who told them. His sister found him in his room passed out with a gaping hole in his side, and she had to tell their parents so they could help him.

Jack paused. "But.. you got him?" he asked cheerily. Danny smiled.

"Yeah. I got him." Jack slapped him on the back.

"Thatta boy!" he said with a grin. "Come on, Jazz got a letter from Wayne Enterprises and your mom wants the whole family to watch her open it!"

Jazz, Danny's sister, had just graduated high school and had applied for an internship at Wayne Enterprises, one of the largest businesses in the world. An internship there would kick-start her career in marketing. That was the reason she claimed, but Danny was sure that part of the reason was that Bruce Wayne, the billionaire who owned Wayne Enterprises, was cute.

"Finally!" Jazz, a girl with long red hair and a blue headband huffed. "I haven't been able to look for three hours! What were you out doing?"

"Uh, my job?" Danny smirked as he hopped over the back of the couch to sit on it. Jazz rolled her eyes.

"Open it, dear!" Their mom, Maddie Fenton, urged. Jazz grinned widely, opening the letter. Her smile grew, and she jumped up and down.

"I got it!" she squealed. "I got it!! I got the internship!!"

"That's great, Jazz!" the other three Fentons exclaimed at once. Jazz seemed to get even more excited as she continued reading the letter.

"And," she continued excitedly, "All the interns are expected to attend the next Wayne Gala with their families! All expenses paid!"

"Yes!" Jack cried. "We're going to New Jersey, baby!" As the entire family celebrated, Danny couldn't help but be suspicious. Jazz had applied late and while she was smart, she wouldn't have been anything special next to the other applicants.

Something was up. _

"So what, you think she only got accepted because of you?" A girl with short black hair raised an eyebrow as they walked through the halls of their high school. "Why, exactly?"

"Because, Sam," Danny responded to his girlfriend. "It's weird. I was looking at the Infi-map, and there's a portal to the Ghost Zone in Gotham that wasn't there a month ago. And get this? It's five miles away from Wayne Manor.”

"You think Bruce Wayne wants you out of the way for some plan?

"It wouldn't be the first time somebody did."

"But how would he even know who you are?" Sam Manson asked, "I mean, there's no way he knows that you're Phantom."

"Um, because he's Batman?" An African American boy walking beside them scoffed as though it was obvious. "Batman knows everything."

Danny and Sam laughed. "Tucker, seriously?" Danny shook his head in disbelief. "That conspiracy? Batman and Bruce Wayne have been seen at the same time in the same place multiple times.”

"Okay, well, you can clone yourself! Who's to say Batman can't? Or maybe it's a hologram! Or maybe it's one of his thousand children in the suit!" Tucker Foley counted on his fingers as he rattled off the various theories. His eyes widened, and he grabbed Danny's shoulders. "Dude, you have to get proof."

"There's no way I'd be able to get close enough to Bruce Wayne to prove anything."

"Then trick him!" Tucker said, his eyes bright. "Most of Bruce's adopted kids are boys with black hair and blue eyes! Just say you're an orphan and I bet he'll be like 'Of course you can stay, I am always down for more children."

"Okay, first of all," Danny began, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder and prying his friends arms off of him. “His son Damian? That kid scares me, he gives off Dash vibes. Did you see how he made that interviewer cry?"

A few months prior, a video had surfaced that showed Damian Wayne insulting a girl who was trying to give him an interview. The two-minute video ended with the girl crying.

"And second of all-" Danny was cut off as he was shoved to the ground. He looked up to see Dash Baxter, a muscular boy with blonde hair.

"Watch where you're going, Fen-freak," Dash sneered, "Before I shove your puny face into a locker!"

Danny gritted his teeth as he sat up. Dash had been picking on him from the beginning of high school. Two years later, he hadn't stopped.

On any other occasion, Danny would have said something in response, but Dash had already continued down the hall.

"Why can't you just zap him or something?" Tucker grumbled. "He's the worst!"

"Yeah, I know," Danny stood up, wiping dust off of his shirt. "But I can't. It isn't right."

"Your moral code is dumb," his friend snapped back.

"If you're going to Gotham," said Sam with a pointed look at Tucker. "Who's gonna be here to help with the ghosts?"

"I've got it covered," Danny replied swiftly, looking up. "Dani's coming down. It'll be fine. I have to keep Jazz safe, and figure out what Brucie Wayne is up to."

"I am sure Father would have a better plan than to invite some under-qualified intern to the Manor."

A seventeen-year-old boy with spiky black hair rolled his eyes. "Damian, she isn't under-qualified. She meets all of the qualifications for the internship."

The first boy, an Arab thirteen-year-old with the same spiky hair and bright green eyes, scoffed. "There is no way a person from some backwater town would have received the internship if we hadn't needed her brother."

Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, the youngest children of Bruce Wayne. Damian currently held the Robin mantle, while Tim used Red Robin. The brothers were in a large cave decked out with a plethora of high-tech equipment.

"Okay, but you think every place outside of Gotham is a backwater town." Tim pointed out as he swiveled his chair to face a massive computer.

"Amity Park is a backwater town. The citizens there are animals," Damian retorted, crossing his arms. "You just cannot see that because you are also a backwater type."

Tim laughed as he realized what the younger boy was basing his opinion on. "Damian, please tell me you haven't generalized an entire city just because of one tourist from Amity Park ran into you and spilled soda on your shirt."

"It was my favorite shirt! And that cretin did not even apologize!" Damian spat. "The nerve!"

"Okay, well, put aside your dumb grudge and think about the objective," Tim responded. "I think, if you look within that thing you call a soul, you can see that letting one intern that you think is under-qualified is worth getting Bruce back."

"Tt. I suppose," Damian admitted begrudgingly. "If this Danny Phantom character truly has the potential to save Father."

"He's the only one who can." Tim reminded him. "We can't get into the Ghost Zone without a ghost, and I don't think any of the ones we've seen so far would be willing to help," He paused. "Plus, don't the Fentons make ghost hunting gear? Who knows, maybe they have a ghost sword."

After a sudden wave of ghost attacks in Gotham, Bruce had poured in countless hours of research to find out as much as he could about ghosts. He had discovered that they came from another dimension and that there was one person who was an expert at fighting them; Danny Phantom of Amity Park. It didn't take very long for him to uncover Phantom's true identity.

"Tim! Dames!" a voice shouted. "My boys!" Tim and Damian looked towards the stairs and saw a taller man with black hair and blue eyes jump the railing of said stairs, landing in the Bat Cave.This was their oldest brother, Dick Grayson, also known as Nightwing. He grinned brightly. "How's it going?"

"Making sure that we have every possible outcome of this mission prepared for." Tim replied as he continued typing on the Bat Computer. Damian nodded.

“Yes, and so I have decided that I shall accompany them on this journey."

"Damian, no." his older brothers said at the same time. Damian scowled.

"Why not? I am plenty capable of-

"Because people would get suspicious if Batman suddenly didn't have a Robin," Dick answered, strolling towards the younger boy. "That's why Jason, Tim, and Stephanie are going. They won't be missed," He gave Tim a nervous look. "No offense."

"None taken," Tim replied, waving his hand. "Sorry Damian, you'd just get in the way."

"But I have died before!" Damian huffed, his hands clenching into fists. "That combined with my skills- which are far greater than yours, Drake, I might add -makes me much more qualified than you."

"Little D, dude, I just told you," Dick ruffled his younger brother's hair. "It'll be suspicious if you're gone. And besides, I need you. We're a great team."

"But my father is in there-"

"Master Damian-" their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, interrupted the trio's squabbling. "You won't be going anywhere until your homework is done."

"Homework? Finding my father is much more important than an essay on why the Roman empire fe-"

"Master Damian." Alfred repeated in a low tone. "Now."

Damian scowled as he trudged up the stairs. It didn't matter how tough the person was. When Alfred told you to do something, you do it. "I will be going with you, Drake!" he called behind his shoulder. "I promise you that!"

Dick and Tim exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes.

"Children."

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tomeandflickcorner · 4 years ago

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Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Last Train to Oblivion

Bit of a simple story in this one, but still a good one (apart from a few nitpicks of mine). Though the simplicity makes it seem really short.

It’s nearly midnight at Grand Central Station, and the train from Trenton, New Jersey is just pulling in. But when the clock strikes midnight on the dot, the train tracks begin to spark and soon bend upwards. This ends up signaling the appearance of a ghost dressed in traditional train engineer clothing. The ghost quickly scares away all the bystanders at the station before entering one of the trains, making his way up to the control car. There, he takes a few moments to examine the control console before letting out a loud howl of what I guess was supposed to be frustration. Because if this was the ghost of an old-time train engineer, then the modern-style trains are probably are very confusing and alien to him.

It then cuts over to the Firehouse, where we see Peter has decided to stay up late to set up and play with a model train set. It seems that Peter is really into trains, which is an interest that seemed to come out of nowhere. Egon, who I guess was coming downstairs to get a midnight snack, pauses for a moment to comment on Peter’s train obsession, because Peter was even mimicking train noises as he played with his trains. Though Peter seems to be ignoring him, so Egon shrugs and continues onto the kitchen. Slimer then shows up, wanting to play with Peter’s train as well, but Peter slaps his hand away from the controls. So Slimer decides to, I guess, turn himself into a tunnel for the train to go through. Which results in him eating the toy train. Naturally, Peter is ticked about this. But before he can do anything to Slimer in retaliation, the phone rings and Peter has to go answer it. I’m guessing Janine finally was allowed to get a night off. That’s great! The woman deserves a break every now and then.

The phone call turns out to be about the disturbance down at Grand Cental Station, so the Ghostbusters suit up and head out. Upon arriving at the train station, they’re greeted by a security guard. Who actually asks them if they’re the Ghostbusters. (No, it’s some other group of guys carrying Proton Packs and driving around in the Ecto-1.) The security guard tells them about the ghost he’d seen and speculates it might be the ghost of Casey Jones. The Ghostbusters then make their way into the station, with Peter talking to Winston about how Casey Jones was a train engineer who was involved in the most famous train wreck in railroad history. (Yeah, I’ll talk more about that at the end of this review.) Here, Peter gets distracted by the sight of an actual working steam locomotive that was sitting out in the open for some reason, so he has to run over to check it out, with Winston following after him.

Meanwhile, Egon and Ray are looking around the train station. They come across Casey Jones in a cafeteria-like area of the train station. At the moment, Casey Jones is busy looking at a cup of coffee and an iced tea, as if trying to decide which he’d rather have. The episode explains through Egon’s dialogue that Casey Jones must have a sore throat or something and is needing to lubricate his throat. Which does make sense, since after Casey Jones downs the cup of coffee, he actually starts speaking. Up until that point, all he did was make that horrible wailing noise. For a while, Egon and Ray continue trying to track down Casey Jones. But every time they have him in their sights, Casey Jones manages to get the better of them, either burying them in a pile of train tickets or dropping suitcases full of clothes on them.

Eventually, Casey Jones makes it outside, just in time to see Peter and Winston standing near the steam locomotive that Peter had been playing around in. He apparently overhears Peter telling Winston how much he loved trains as a boy, and had even taken up Engineering as a college major for two years, until he figured out it had nothing to do with trains. This, combined with the fact that Peter is now wearing an engineer hat he found inside the steam locomotive, leads to Casey Jones abducting Peter, taking him into the steam locomotive and shackling him next to the locomotive’s boiler. Casey Jones instructs Peter to keep the fire burning in the boiler. At first, Peter refuses, mentioning union rules and whatnot. But he quickly relents when Casey Jones virtually threatens him by crushing a sheet of metal in his hand. So, as Peter starts shoveling coal into the boiler, the train starts to move. And despite Winston’s best efforts, he cannot reach Peter in time before the train picks up speed and moves out of sight.

Here, we get a prolonged sequence with Egon, Ray and Winston trying to follow the train Casey Jones is manning, in an effort to get Peter back. They try all manner of things to get onto the train. Such as jumping onto the train as it goes under an overpass (this fails because Ray miscalculated the number of cars on the train) and trying to block the train by parking the Ecto-1 on the tracks (they have to abort this plan pretty quickly for obvious reasons). At one point, they have to steer the Ecto-1 directly onto the tracks in order to avoid driving into the Delaware River, which obviously results in everyone inside the Ecto-1 experiencing a rather bumpy ride. Eventually, Ray comes up with a plan to use the track ramp to launch the Ecto-1 directly onto the roof of the train. This plan ends up working, but even then, they’re not in the clear. Because Casey Jones apparently sensed their presence and went out to face them, demanding they get off the train. But that leads to more filler scenes. Because they briefly shake Casey Jones when the train entered a tunnel, because Casey Jones was ‘standing up’ at the time and was momentarily too solid to pass through the wall. There’s a weird joke when Ray states he saw something amazing but then says ‘forget it, you missed it’ when the train exits the tunnel. Then the train goes through a second tunnel, and when it comes back out again, the Ghostbusters are inexplicitly inside the train. It’s a bizarre moment, but I guess you have to get a little gimmicky when you’re dealing with a train going through a dark tunnel.

Eventually, Ray, Egon and Winston make it to the front of the train, where Casey Jones (who had managed to catch up after the tunnel mishap) is in the process of instructing Peter to throw the last piece of coal into the boiler. Ray instructs Peter to not move (and Peter literally freezes in place), and the Ghostbusters effortlessly are able to capture Casey Jones inside a Ghost Trap. However, it seems there’s still an issue that must be addressed. Up ahead, there is an Amtrak passenger train heading right towards them, with a collision course imminent.

So the Ghostbusters scramble to try and think of a way to prevent the two trains from crashing. Ray tries to pull the brake in the steam engine, but it snaps off in his hand. Briefly, Ray and Egon consider simply jumping off the steam engine before the two trains collide, but Peter points out that he’s still shackled in place and there wouldn’t be time to free him. Winston also adds that jumping out won’t prevent the people in the incoming passenger train from getting hurt. He then announces that the ghost they caught really must have been Casey Jones, citing the ghost’s history of causing train wrecks. But this statement gives Peter a revelation. Acting quickly, he takes the Ghost Trap and releases Casey Jones. Upon being freed, Casey Jones flies out of the steam locomotive and heads right for a nearby track switch. Upon pulling the track switch, the steam locomotive is diverted to a second track, thereby preventing the collision from happening. Once the two trains miss each other, the steam locomotive slows to a stop, and Peter is instantly released from his shackles.

As the Ghostbusters climb out, Peter explains that he’d figured out that Casey Jones had been trying to correct the mistake he’d made in his life. Since he’d caused a train crash while he was alive, his ghost had been trying to prevent a train wreck in an effort to seek redemption. Although, Egon points out that Peter’s plan had been a risky gamble. Still, it seems that Casey Jones had achieved what he had been trying to do, and he waves goodbye to the Ghostbusters as he fades from sight, signifying the fact that his soul is now at peace.

Okay, I’m all for stories involving ghosts who are simply trying to cross over. But for some reason, I have a slight issue with this episode. While I do sympathize with Casey Jones’ plight, it still seems like a jerk move for him to have done all this. Yeah, his spirit wanted to prevent a train wreck so he could cross over. But does it still count when he deliberately creates a situation where a train wreck could happen? That aside, there’s the fact that this episode suggests that the train wreck that killed Casey Jones also killed a bunch of other people. Particularly when Peter states that Casey Jones’ ghost had wanted to save lives, not take them. The main issue with this is that it contradicts the actual story involving Casey Jones. Yeah, Casey Jones was an actual person. The factual Casey Jones died when the passenger train he was manning collided with a stalled freight train in Mississippi. However, he did successfully manage to prevent a disastrous crash by skillfully slowing the engine, which saved the lives of the train’s passengers at the cost of his own. In other words, the only person who died in that crash was Casey Jones himself. So, if Casey Jones died saving the lives of the other passengers, what exactly was he seeking redemption for?

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

#the real ghostbusters #rgb episode review #ghostbusters franchise

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thessalian · 5 years ago

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Thess vs Race Representation

So I watched The Haunting of Bly Manor, just like half of Tumblr from the looks of things, and I know the focus is on the central couple and everything, and that’s great. Just ... there’s something else I liked about it - something that added to the veracity of the piece, for me personally.

People of colour in near-on central roles.

Look, I’ve lived in Canada, and I’ve lived in the States, and now I live in England. I don’t know how it is for people in the US anymore, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve been back to my home and native land, but I can say a lot about England and its racial makeup. And honestly? No matter how good the accents were (and they were good, especially since most of them were real), I would not have believed that they were really in England without Rebecca, Owen and Hannah. It’s like, how can you live in this country and not have regular contact with people of colour? It’s not possible, at least not beyond very tiny communities, and even then it’s rare. And I don’t just mean the all-too-true stereotype of almost every corner shop being run by Indian or Pakistani families, either. Though honestly, it is true; chain newsagents never quite caught on and most of the independent corner shops (which are kind of like a cross between a very small grocery store and a liquor store) are run by Indian or Pakistani families, more or less across the board.

The NHS, for example. Half the doctors and admin staff. Maybe three-fifths of the nursing staff. Hell, even government. Sadiq Khan, mayor of London. Rishi Sunak, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Priti Patel, Home Secretary (may she fucking rot, though, because she’s happy to deport anyone so long as she can stay in her cushy-ass position). Alok Sharma, Secretary for Business, Energy, and Industrial Strategy. Suella Braverman, Attorney General. Are they good at their jobs? No. Are they venial jackasses lining their pockets and securing their positions while those beneath them suffer? Probably, most of them. Are they the majority? Nope. But given how keen the Conservatives are on their Old Rich White Men, the fact that you can count the major officials in the Conservative government and find a quarter of them are people of colour? That says something about this country’s makeup, and how unlikely it is that you’re going to find all that many places where everybody’s white.

And it makes sense. With so many Jamaican people having come here during the Windrush years, so many Indian and Pakistani people having moved here when those countries were part of the Empire and stayed for generations, how could you possibly go a day without seeing a person of colour here? I live in one of those green leafy suburban areas that’s not overly different to where I lived in the US. There are blocks of flats instead of houses in parts and what houses there are tend to be smaller, but that’s England for you. Point is that while my little town in New Jersey had, like, one Chinese family and maybe one or two Black families to judge by the people who went to my school, here in the UK, my building alone has a pretty good mix (I can’t say percentages because I haven’t seen many of my neighbours).

There’s a lot I could say right now, about how white supremacy seems to be taking hold in the UK under the banner of ‘sovereignty’ and ... frankly a return to imperialism. But that’s not what I’m here to say. I’m here to talk about a fun little Netflix series, which felt real to me solely because three of the main cast were a man of Indian descent born in London, a woman of African descent (Wikipedia didn’t specify country and in the quote they put there, neither did she) born in Guilford, and another Londoner of mixed Pakistani / Jamaican descent. Because that’s how it is here. It’s not perfect - there’s a lot of racism, and I won’t say different - but people of colour are here, and they’re seen in our media a lot because they’re here and to do otherwise would be disingenuous, and now I can’t watch media that’s supposed to be set in England but has no people of colour because it’s wrong and obviously fake because “if it’s England, why is it only white people?”

I just pray it stays that way.

#Thess watches stuff #Thess has opinions

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robhorninginternalexile · 5 years ago

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Feeds and objecthood

The phone seems to demand the feed as a form. The feed capitalizes on the personalized screen interface, the networkedness of the device, its portability, and resolves it all into an experience that encapsulates the pleasures the phone can afford. The feed brings into focus the sort of subject one can become, the sort of subjectivity one can sustain, through the agency of phones.

Of all things, Michael Fried’s “Art and Objecthood” (which seems as wrongheaded as ever to me as an assessment of “authentic art”) offers a way of theorizing the feed. A lot of what he condemns about the “theatricality” of minimalist art could be applied to the experience of consuming feeds.

The problem with minimalist works, in Fried’s view, is that they are interesting. And that is a problem because it means they demand a continual renewal of attention; the works make the viewer conscious of the process and the situatedness of the act of paying attention.

Describing a cube sculpture by Tony Smith, Fried complains that it “is always of further interest; one never feels that one has come to the end of it; it is inexhaustible. It is inexhaustible, however, not because of any fullness��that is the inexhaustibility of art—but because there is nothing there to exhaust. It is endless the way a road might be: if it were circular, for example. Endlessness, being able to go on and on, even having to go on and on, is central both to the concept of interest and to that of objecthood.” And obviously, it is central to the concept of the feed, which is designed to hold our attention through an endless scroll.

This is part of what Fried calls “theatricality” — the foregrounding of the duration of an experience as a quality in itself. Fried writes that minimalist art’s “preoccupation with time — more precisely, with the duration of the experience — is ... paradigmatically theatrical: as though theater confronts the beholder, and thereby isolates him, with the endlessness not just of objecthood but of time.” The dismaying note in his account of this reminds me of that sense of having lost track of time while scrolling a feed — of getting lost in the seriality, of feeling compelled to keep scrolling without ever attaining anything like a flow state, and without any hope of finally seeing what we are searching for, because we are not looking for anything: it’s an experience of time as “simultaneously approaching and receding, as if apprehended in an infinite perspective.”

For Fried, the fact of this consciousness about how we are paying attention — the conspicuous unboredom — prevents artworks from having some sort of transcendental presence in themselves. Art is inauthentic in his view if it seems to require an audience — much the way a feed presupposes viewers, though the feed takes it much further and is personalized algorithmically in anticipation of the viewers’ interests. Fried argues that minimalist art “extorts” a “special complicity” from beholders which “demands that the beholder take it into account, that he take it seriously” — it coerces viewers by centering their subjectivity, their view, which activates or completes the work. “Being able to go on and on indefinitely is of the essence,” he writes, and this does the “job of distancing or isolating the beholder, of making him a subject.” But this subjectivity is contingent on objectified experience, on time being made into a consumable commodity. And again, I think the feed is the most conspicuous example of that today. Feeds (like minimalist art, in Fried’s account) constitute viewers as needing to pay attention in this way — as though their subjectivity depended on it.

Key to Fried’s argument is Tony Smith’s famous account in an interview of driving on the New Jersey Turnpike before it had opened. He describes how there was nothing but “the dark pavement moving through the landscape of the flats, rimmed by hills in the distance, but punctuated by stacks, towers, fumes, and colored lights.” This ghost ride brought Smith to an epiphany:

The experience on the road was something mapped out but not socially recognized. I thought to myself, it ought to be clear that’s the end of art. Most painting looks pretty pictorial after that. There is no way you can frame it, you just have to experience it.

This statement seems to make Fried lose his mind. It is the epitome of ”theatrical” in his terms, a rejection of artworks in favor of experiences, of works that are not autonomous but are necessarily performed in time. (This seems true of art generally, though, which always has a variable context, and “autonomy” seems always to be a protective illusion of the elites who want to decide which art counts as “real.” The ruse of autonomy is just masking the power they exert over the field of “art” as a form of status.)

What Smith is talking about makes me think what feeds try to evoke but often only in a negative, FOMO sort of way: a “frameless” experience that got framed by someone who posted it, something that “you just had to experience” directly but which you are now experiencing vicariously. Feeds evoke the nighttime highway’s endless expanses, the sense that one is moving through a limitless stretch of content, always at the center of it all, but with a necessarily myopic view that occludes any glimpse of the totality. One is never compelled to be “present” on the road in the sense that Fried champions; one is always on the way to nowhere in particular.

The immersiveness of a feed puts one in the midst of the content, the organizing principle of it in a literal, irrefutable way, obliterating the potential autonomy of anything out there. The algorithmic feed especially centers this consuming subject, immersing them in a serial array of content continually provided from ever widening and reconstituting archives, biased toward the immediate and the seemingly spontaneous but in fact composed of reposts, of memetic reiterations, of repeats and conformist mimickry (the “challenges” and borrowed audio tracks of TikTok for instance). It keeps reinscribing discovery as limitation, curiosity as a hermetic feedback loop.

At the same time, as much as this centers the consumer and anchors their sense of self, it provokes a sense of needing to contribute, of needing to reappropriate that experience of the open road and make it the highway for someone else. Immersion in endlessness becomes endless pressure to produce, to make sense of the infinite in a series of posts that try to announce one’s absent presence, one’s ceaseless willingness to participate.

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blackjack-15 · 6 years ago

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A Surprisingly Thoughtful Spin — Thoughts on: The Haunted Carousel (CAR)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

This game also has an additional section between “The Mystery” and “The Suspects” entitled “The Theme”, where I’ll talk about the philosophy within this game, and how it stands out and solidifies its place as a truly “Expanded” game due to that thoughtfulness.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: CAR, brief mentions of CLK, CRY, HAU, and ASH, brief but slightly spoiler-y mention of the opening act of SPY.

The Intro:

The Haunted Carousel is, without preamble, a fantastic game.

I know I normally start these with a brief analysis of what stands out about the game or what it’s done for the series as a whole — and I will do that, never fear — but I think it’s important to establish first and foremost that, while it’s not an Overtly Beloved game, it very much should be, and it doesn’t get enough near enough credit. Especially since, in my opinion, the many great modern games’ tight plots and varied protagonists have their roots in this excellent game.

With a logical and ever-progressing plot, characters who feel like actual people, beautiful visuals, and historical backstories that round out the present day plots (plots!! In the plural!! Huzzah!!), Haunted Carousel may not be a wild ride, but it is a consistent, fun, and surprisingly thoughtful one.

CAR is perhaps the odd one out of its fellow Expanded games (SSH through SHA) in that its location isn’t really anything immersive. You don’t spend your time outdoors in thick atmosphere nor surrounded by trinkets of the Maya nor stuck on an old ranch, but between a bright hotel room and a shut-down (but not rundown) amusement park during the day. Its historical background isn’t linked to a specific area, there isn’t a “standout” scene featured in every gifset or trailer, and the wackiest the game really gets is expecting the player to enjoy Barnacle Blast.

In most ways, in other words, CAR is an exceptionally quiet game in the middle of quite a few loud ones, which might account for it not getting as much credit as it deserves. There are flashier games, there are longer games (CAR is quite short), and there are games with better and more memorable cutscenes…but there’s not many games in the series (and none of out the expanded games as well-told and sincere as CAR.

Not only is CAR a lot of fun to play, but it also takes care to mean something – to tell an actual story rather than a bare-bones whodunnit. The characters all have their reasons for being there and being involved, and they all have something to say as well — some directly contrasting each other. CAR doesn’t feel really like a computer game where everything is laid for the Convenience of the Plot and the suspects are only there to robotically deliver plot points and incriminate themselves. Rather, it feels like a whole story with real people where a crime happens to occur, but not everything revolves around that central plot point.

It’s also remarkable in the presence of a protagonist, which isn’t really something that Nancy Drew games have done yet. Nancy herself doesn’t count because at this point, Nancy doesn’t gain or lose anything from the mystery; she’s not the one with a problem, nor does she discover anything about herself. The Nik-era games are notable for their strong protagonists (or, often, dual protagonists with Nancy acting as one out of the two), but CAR really is the first one to take a character and have Nancy be a part of their story, rather than having Nancy act as a magnet to four pieces of metal and a mystery.

Mechanically, CAR is much the same as games that have come before it, as we won’t see another big upset until SHA, with the addition of Nancy’s cell phone (oh blessed day) and, most importantly, a task list. Fans had been asking for a task list since MHM (which sorely needed one so that you could at least identify which hanzi you had already seen) and CAR delivers that long-needed mechanical update.

The historical backstory is more recent than in most games, happening not in Antiquity or even during the 1700s but instead in the modern(ish) day, featuring the man behind the titular Carousel’s horses, Rolfe Kessler. The backstory doesn’t feel like an appendage like in DOG, but really establishes why the Carousel is so important and helps serve the theme of the game (more on that later).

The last thing that’s really important to note in CAR is its villain. By now, HER is reasonably okay at camouflaging its villain for at least the first third of the game, and here does a good job keeping the player in the dark for the first bit. CAR is also HER’s first successful attempt at the friendly villain archetype. Elliott Chen is pleasant, accommodating, friendly, funny, and incredibly likable. He just also happens to be a forger stretched thinner than he’s comfortable with.

Ultimately, The Haunted Carousel is a great game with a huge thematic presence, likable characters, and an honest character arc. Not only should it be a must-play for any new fan, it should be on the top of any older fan’s re-play list, both for its intrinsic value and for its obvious influence on the plots and protagonists of the modern Nancy Drew games.

The Title:

As far as titles go, The Haunted Carousel is a meh one – admittedly, it’s probably the weakest part of the entire game. It does tell us what our focal point will be — the Carousel — and the mystery surrounding the focal point – that it’s haunted — but, like DOG, it doesn’t really go much past that.

After completing the game, the title does mean a little more — the events of the game are a carousel of hauntings in that they seem to be cyclical and mysterious, but are really a farce — a simple fair ride with pretty decorations but simple parts. The carousel itself also points towards the villain, who’s the only artist out of the cast, and seems to allude to Joy’s cycle of sadness — she’s haunted as well.

It’s not a brilliant title, all things considered, but because the game is so good, it’s only a minor blip on the radar rather than something symptomatic of the game’s value.

The Mystery:

Paula Santos, a friend of Carson Drew’s, hears about Nancy’s penchant for solving mysteries and decides to call her in to investigate some thefts and sabotage that Captain’s Cove, an amusement park in New Jersey, has been encountering.

Nancy learns that first, the lead horse on the carousel was stolen, followed by the roller coaster losing power and causing a serious crash. The last straw for Paula was the merry-go-round turning on in the middle of the night, and Captain’s Cove has been shut down until someone — perhaps a badly-attired ginger fresh out of high school — can figure out what’s causing these problems.

It’s Nancy’s job to explore the shut-down amusement park, talk to the leftover staff, help reconstruct a carousel horse, and use such Astoundingly Modern Technologies as a cell phone and a laptop in order to crack the case behind The Haunted Carousel.

As a mystery, CAR is a pretty good one; it’s the age-old Nancy Drew Sabotage set up, but with the twist of happening at an amusement park. There are plenty of clues and even more red herrings, and the attempt to keep you guessing until the 3/4ths mark is a solid attempt.

I don’t know if this mystery feels more fun because it’s at a place like an amusement park or if really is that fun, but the overall effect is the same, and CAR is a delight to solve. The backstory and present story fit together like jigsaw pieces, and the suspects are both interesting and a ton of fun to question.

Is CAR an overly difficult or surprising mystery? Not to the modern mind, I would say, especially given the mystery fans’ inclination to suspect the friendliest suspect (a hole-in-one suspicion here). But it is incredibly fun to see how everything is put together, and it’s a water-tight mystery, if not air-tight.

It’s okay that the mystery isn’t the absolute greatest, however, because it isn’t the most profound part of the game.

The Theme:

Prior to CAR, Nancy Drew games didn’t really bother with the concept of theme. It was new and novel and difficult enough to design detective computer games that ran efficiently with decent graphics and to put them out twice a year that HER focused, quite rightly, on that rather than on trying more complex ideas.

With the formula and the game engine firmly established, however, and a small but fervent fanbase ready to devour the latest game — and being in charge of their own distribution — HER was ready to expand their games in a way separate from technology or location: it was ready for a strong theme.

As a character, Nancy deals with some pretty heavy stuff during the course of her mysteries. In the early games, we don’t really see it affecting her that much, which is a product of simple writing and, in my opinion, the child-like resilience of an 18 year old. While she has her occasional line like “to think I almost made friends with a jewel thief!” in TRT, these cases tend to engage Nancy on an intellectual level rather than an emotional one.

CAR shifts that narrative slightly and allows Nancy to bond with a suspect — Joy Trent — over their shared loss of a mother. Joy has also lost her father recently and is stuck in mourning over both her father and her childhood. Her father, having realized how both repressed and depressed Joy is, decided to build her a robot to help her get in touch with her childhood again. In other words, the jumping off point of the story is a father who wanted good things, happiness, and safety for his daughter, and tried to go about it in a way that he thought would be best.

If you’re hearing echoes of SPY here, you’re correct. The difference here being that Joy’s repression of tragedy leads her into a pit of inaction while stewing over that tragedy, while Nancy’s repression (which I’ll talk about more in my TMB meta) pushes her to action while ignoring the driving force of that tragedy.

CAR is also, I believe, the first time that Nancy mentions the death of her mother to a suspect, and it’s a really humanizing moment for her. As much as Nancy can be driven, tactless, and goal-oriented, she’s not a robot, and she does have personal as well as professional reasons behind the things she does and the characters she tends to bond with.

The first big thematic point in CAR is the importance of connection. It juxtaposes morose, prickly Joy (who doesn’t want a friend but gets one anyway) against our villain, who is friendly and smiling and charming but is by no means someone Nancy should make friends with. It also asks a question to tie into this theme: are those who are mean bad, and are those who are bad always mean? It’s almost a Shakespearean theme (“one may smile, and smile, and be a villain”) and it’s well-placed here.

The second theme comes up in the backstory about Rolfe Kessler, a genius who struggled all his life with mental illness, eventually ending with him never getting the credit he deserved and without the companionship of the woman he loved, Amelia.

It’s a tragic story in a way that HER hasn’t really done tragic stories yet — MHM has a basically happy ending, in TRT by the end the implication is that Marie is finally going to get the credit and un-blackening of her name that she deserves, FIN’s is a whole mess so we’re not even gonna try to dissect that, and in SSH the Whisperer is vindicated.

There’s no descendant of Rolfe in this game; no historian ready to exculpate him, no family members or friends to remember him fondly to Nancy over the phone. Rolfe is in the game, as in his life, alone. It’s a tragedy, and the way that Nancy and the player discover his genius and his story is quiet, as befitting the man.

Through Rolfe’s story we address the twin themes of remembrance — that how you’re remembered will generally be the way you lived (think DED’s dénouement for further insight) in the time that you lived — and of the role of trauma and struggle in life. Rolfe’s struggle against his illness didn’t make him a genius, but it did stand in his way of achieving all that he could.

And that’s where we tie into Joy and the main theme of the game. Once again, we see a person being limited by their mental illness and their struggle against it, and a world that doesn’t really take that struggle into effect. Instead of Joy being alone in this struggle, however, she has help — not just the small help from Nancy, but the help and support of her father through Miles the Magnificent Memory Machine.

Miles was created by Darryl Trent to help Joy unlock her childhood memories and move past her trauma in a healthy way – and only if she was actually dedicated to the task. The riddles, while not hugely difficult, are enough to dissuade Joy from ever really trying to get past them, as she’s not ready to open that lid just yet. As anyone who’s experienced mental illness (or had a close loved one experience it) knows, there’s no way for you to improve and grow if you’re not ready to receive the help you need.

Opening up just a little bit to Nancy and having someone who doesn’t have to care about her problems actually care is enough to springboard Joy to take the first step and try to tackle the riddles again with a little help. Over the course of the game, Joy gets more and more ready and less resentful towards her past and finds the strength to confront herself and her illness.

While the trauma of losing her mother in the way that she lost her (not to mention the added weight of her family’s financial situation) didn’t make Joy strong, the choice to struggle through and come out the better on the other side does make her end the game stronger than when she started and with more — pardon the pun — joy in her life. That progression is what makes her the protagonist, but is also sets her up to have the theme hand-delivered to her.

Miles states that it was Darryl’s belief that life is simply made up of memories. This is why it’s such a big deal that Joy’s memories of her mother are repressed, because her brain is actively erasing her life. As Joy moves through those memories with Nancy and Miles’ help, she gains back her life and is shown that, while struggle is a part of life, it doesn’t define life — and that a good life isn’t necessarily a life made up of only good things.

The presence of these themes (and of the final theme in particular) is what makes CAR such a strong game. Though the characters are delightful, the aesthetic is fabulous, the Hardy Boys are here, and the history and puzzles are fun, it’s CAR’s strong thematic elements interwoven with its plot that really makes it something special.

So let’s get on with those characters, shall we?

The Suspects:

Joy Trent is the current bookkeeper of Captain’s Cove and basically the man in charge apart from Paula. Her father Darryl used to work at/own half of Captain’s Cove, but died poor (specifically of a heart attack in bankruptcy court, poor man) after having to sell his part of the park to Paula. Thus, Joy holds a grudge against Paula even as she does good work for the park.

She’s also suffering a bit of childhood amnesia due to the trauma of her mother dying when she was young — the first of the women featured in this game series to share that backstory with Nancy. This forms a lot of the story’s B plot (with the historical backstory of the game being relegated to the C-plot) as Nancy and a funny little computer help her to move past this emotional block, confront her past, and progress to a better future.

As a suspect, Joy isn’t a bad pick at all, in part because she is responsible for a portion of the sabotage — the shut-down of the roller coaster while it was in operation – over bitterness for her father’s ignominious end. This little instance is helpful for diverting attention away from the true saboteur — though she doesn’t mean to — and it helps round out Joy as more than just the sad daddy’s girl (and resident protagonist) that she would be otherwise.

Well, other than her magical talking robot companion.

Miles the Magnificent Memory Machine isn’t really a culprit, but he definitely needs to be noted here, as he’s the best help that Nancy has outside of the Hardy Boys. Miles knows everything about Joy, yet he can’t move the story forward without Nancy completing a little task after task that unlocks the next portion of his (rather, by proxy, Joy’s father’s) quest to help Joy become a well-rounded, non-traumatized person who can face her past.

I’ve said enough about Miles’ part in the Theme section above, so I’ll move on without too much in this area.

Harlan Bishop is the security guard of Captain’s Cove and an ex-forger in a past life. He’s also voiced by Jonah Von Spreecken, best known for his long-running stint as Frank Hardy and for his writing of Francy fanfiction, God bless the man.

Harlan went to jail for forging checks and had a hard time getting a job once he was free, but Paula offered him a job as a security guard at Captain’s Cove and he’s been loyal since, even taking a pay cut in order to keep his job as the park was shut down. He’s also hilarious, giving such immortal quotes as “the whale is getting impatient” when trying to summon Nancy to the security office.

As a suspect, Harlan is interesting. He shares the key identity of the villain — a forger — as a red herring and as a way to complicate the mystery, and he does do something wrong in that he spies on Ingrid to get the passcode to her office. Sure, he does it for a good and innocent reason — he wants to be the best security guard he can possibly be, and that means learning everything about the park — but it’s still wrong to do, and Nancy (in a rather supercilious way) doesn’t hesitate to call him on it (and, once again rather arrogantly, for his past. Nancy’s done way worse than forgery in her hobby as a detective, after all).

Ultimately, Harlan is too good a guy to actually cause the problems and thefts at Captain’s Cove, and stays on with Paula even after getting other job offers once he helps Nancy recover the stolen lead horse for the carousel. He serves as Nancy’s “buddy” character after the mess with Nancy reporting him finishes its business.

Elliot Chen is the art director — and perpetually behind art director — of Captain’s Cove and our friendly neighborhood villain for the game. Elliott is the first to greet Nancy with a smile and a joke, and is friendly in a way that instantly suckers the player in.

HER has been trying since TRT’s Lisa to create a villain that’s actually a sort of friend to Nancy – or at least passes off as someone becoming her friend throughout the course of the game, and they nail it with Elliott. He even mentions Poppy Dada as a sort of inside joke with the player that makes one easily warm up to him.

As a suspect, Elliott is perfect. He’s sly enough to take advantage of what others do and fold it into his plan (the roller coaster) and to use people’s superstitions to his advantage both for privacy for his schemes and for driving the price of the carousel horses up.

He’s got just enough clues pointing towards everyone else — taking the eccentricities of his coworkers not only in stride but in good humor and flexibility towards his plans — and a pretty water-tight excuse for falling behind (procrastination — everyone knows artists and other creative types are the Worst Procrastinators) to help him pull off the vast majority of his plan without anyone being the wiser.

In short, Elliott is exactly the kind of character that this game needed, and his presence is a joy — even if (or perhaps especially because) he’s the villain.

Ingrid Corey is the chief engineer of Captain’s Cove, a graduate of OSU, and resident hippy-dippy “nutritionist” who can diagnose a B3 deficiency just by looking at Nancy. She’s a little crazy to talk to, but seems like at first she could just be using that to throw our resident teen detective off the trail.

As a suspect, Ingrid checks all the boxes once again, and not just because she, like everyone else, does something wrong. Ingrid, genius engineer that she is, decides to let a friend borrow the roller coaster’s blueprints to study them for a hefty fee, garnering her enough money for a 20K$ watch and enough left over to look for a new car.

Nancy also suspects her of insurance fraud with a man who got injured on the roller coaster when Joy sabotaged it, but it turns out in a show of startling naiveté, Ingrid just wanted to recommend a neck cream to the unfortunate man rather than help him profit off of his injury.

She doesn’t really become Nancy’s buddy, but she is remarkable in that she sort of disappears for most of the game. At the beginning, it makes her look a bit suspicious, but towards the end it just becomes clear that the game is less focused in Ingrid, who doesn’t really support the theme or move the plot along, and more worried about establishing its meaning and helping Nancy solve the case in time.

The Favorite:

While it should be obvious that my favorite part of this game is its theme and the associated thematic elements, I’ll try to branch out here a bit….though not so far out as to ignore the Hardy Boys, who are once again wonderful in this game. Honestly, most games with the Hardy Boys present are better than most games without the Hardy Boys. (Though of course, there are a few exceptions (notably ASH and SPY).)

CAR has one of my favorite casts (and favorite villains) of the entire series, so they’ll be here as well. It’s such a nice change of pace from games like FIN and DOG where the casts are lackluster to go to games like CAR that are so strong in making you care about the characters.

My single favorite thing about CAR, however, is the presence of a protagonist in Joy Trent. The first games (and quite a few of the middle games, it should be noted) treat Nancy as the main character and lack a protagonist completely, ignoring the fact that Nancy really can’t be a main character in the half-ghost (personality-wise) state she’s in, especially given that most of her dialogue is “ask a question, get an answer” rather than showing any real personality or particular motive beyond solving the case. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why that was the case given the limitations of the early 2000s and of HER in particular, but it does remove any possibility of Nancy being able to be the protagonist.

That’s why Joy’s presence is such a delight, honestly. She’s the character with the problem to solve — her past traumas — and the game carries Nancy through helping her in a way that Nancy’s never really helped anyone before. Sure, Nancy solves the mystery, but what she really does is offer peace to Joy, who can now grow up a little further and move on. CAR gives Nancy a purpose that will be improved and expanded upon in games like CLK, CRY, HAU, and GTH.

My favorite puzzle is the entire puzzle track with the carousel (including the conversation with Tink, who is a wonderful phone friend). There’s something super cool about going inside a carousel and finding out how the magic works, and there’s so much to explore in it that it’s really a magical place, even though it’s not actually anything supernatural.

My favorite moment in the game (other than the final ‘battle’) is the conversation with the Hardy Boys after Nancy nearly gets run over due to her own clumsiness. A classic.

The Un-Favorite:

Because of the care taken with CAR, there won’t be a lot in this section.

My least favorite puzzle is probably the mini-plot revolving around fixing Barnacle Blast — and then playing Barnacle Blast. While it’s not a horrible game in and of itself, it just doesn’t really fit the overall aesthetic of the puzzles of Captain’s Cove, and for me it sticks out quite a bit as a “oh we need a puzzle here what can we think of that the kids like” and came up with an arcade game in a vintage-style amusement park. It’s a bit off.

The stenography isn’t a great one as well, but I give it props for fitting the atmosphere and theme, so it’s not my least favorite.

My least favorite moment in the game…is probably where Nancy knocks over Elliott’s paint, as it seems to be a Big Moment but — Nancy doesn’t actually ruin anything, and it makes Elliott look a little silly.

I know that most of the games (especially as early as CAR) didn’t want to have Nancy do anything wrong in the non-second-chance story of the game, but actually having Elliot forgive her for messing up something important would have been a big step in establishing his character and throwing suspicion off of him — not to mention justifying his even further behind schedule as the game goes on.

The Fix:

So how would I fix CAR?

There’s not a lot of work to be done here, honestly. Take out Barnacle Blast and substitute it with a more on-theme mini-game, lengthen out the game a bit by playing up Ingrid’s plotline along with everyone else’s and perhaps giving Elliott something to do in the latter half of the game so it’s not so obvious by that point that he’s the Villain, and you’ve pretty much clinched it without any real re-working.

Like I said in the last paragraph of the above section, a tweak of the cutscene with “ruining” Elliott’s work would help his and Nancy’s storyline to have a different and improved feel, but that’s pretty much it as far as concrete changes go.

The beauty of CAR is that its simplicity actually works, rather than feeling bare-bones or underwritten. It’s not a difficult or complex mystery, but that’s not the point of Nancy’s being there or of the game as a thematic whole.

Sure, CAR deals with some pretty heavy themes such as loss, loyalty, debt, revenge, trauma, shades of mental illness, and even the question of is a bad person necessarily a mean person, but it accepts those bad things in stride and knows that they’re necessary in order to tell a tale of resilience and a happy ending. Miles the Magnificent Memory Machine delivers that theme to both Nancy and to the player, after all: “even bad memories have a place in a good life”.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #the haunted carousel #nancy drew meta #my meta #CAR #video games

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crushedbyhyperbole · 6 years ago

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Feeling’s Mutual

Summary: When Bucky Barnes agreed to join The Avengers he didn’t know what to expect. There was kindness and support, more than he could have hoped for, and understanding. There was also misunderstanding. Dr Veronica Edwards is a hurdle Bucky can’t seem to get past. Why she doesn’t like him, he has no clue but it’s obvious to him that she really doesn’t. When routine testing on the new prosthetic arm puts him in Dr Edwards med-suite he finds himself angry at the lengths his new team will go to in order to keep him on a leash. After that, Bucky decides that maybe he doesn’t like her much either.

Word Count: 4284

Warnings: Self-loathing and a smattering of PTSD with some mild language thrown in.

A/N: This is part one of my Muscle memory series..POV Bucky Barnes, first person. Set between CA:CW and A:IW, with some of the later story mixed in. I do what I want, okaaayyyy.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

Dr Veronica Edwards’ smooth voice surprised me. She was standing in for Dr Harvey while he was off sick with a stomach virus. I wasn’t expecting to see any of the ladies here this morning, so I hadn’t bothered with anything more vigorous than a quick wash and a cursory brush of my teeth. You know how you regret not doing something just when it’s too late? Yeah, this was one of those.

Being dapper had been part of my persona, from back before Hydra, before trigger codes and before the war; a man should always make an effort when ladies are present. I supposed that was all out the window now my reputation had changed and I wasn’t James Buchannan Barnes, ladies man, any more. I was Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier.

I winced as the shadow of a memory flickered in my minds eye like a film reel running too fast, showing snippets of the film in between its skips and jumps on the projector; a murder here, a massacre there, they all flowed together in a tapestry that was as blurry as it was busy. The reel skipped off completely and I refocused on her face.

Dr Edwards smiled warmly, moist-looking nude lips curling upward gently making the peachy complexion of her cheeks seem radiant and her green eyes sparkle with kindness. I knew that was just her bed-side manner, so to speak, to be kind and considerate to all of the people she assisted, but honestly it made me feel a little uneasy. In my extensive experience, niceness was either a weakness, a grave miscalculation or a form of manipulation, and I trusted none of it. But I was trying to change that with the help of Steve and the folks here at Avengers Central.

Striding further into the room, looking thoroughly classy in my black jersey sweatpants and crumpled white t-shirt, I squared my shoulders and tried to push the uneasy feeling aside. I regretted wearing the two-day-old clothes, but the Doc didn’t seem to care how scruffy I was.

Dr Edwards was always pleasant, courteous and respectful. She was also confident and empowered, and it made me feel pretty vulnerable. She knew who she was, and what she wanted. That kind of strength was rare and it made me feel, uhhh, inadequate.

“Shirt off please.” She held eye contact for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Take a seat when you’re ready.” She gestured to the blue, leather-cushioned examination table to her right.

Hopping up, as instructed, I stripped my shirt off to reveal musculature that I was proud of (super-soldier serum aside - I’d worked hard to stay in shape), and the scarred juncture where my flesh ended and the arm began. I bunched the shirt up at my side and shook out both arms, getting ready for the exam.

Dr Edwards, had conducted my monthly exam only three times in the past. Each time she had neither been impressed nor distracted by my semi-naked glory. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why she made me uneasy. In the past, women had always thrown themselves at my feet, without my asking them, they’d been there flirting and giggling and vying for attention.

Not Veronica, she was in her own category, she didn’t even bite at the little flirtatious jibes I sometimes made towards the ladies on the team. With the exception of Nat, Wanda, and Pepper, all of the female SHIELD agents and Stark Industries staff were either terrified of or swooned after me. Well, me, Steve and Thor. It was hard to compete with the two big blonde guys but Nat said I still had it. Whatever it was.

Shame my sex drive wasn’t the same as it had been before, well, before hydra.

“How are you finding the latest modification?” Dr Edwards said, holding her hand out casually asking for permission to examine the arm.

I lifted the tech arm, laying the wrist into her palm lightly. I could feel so much more through the articulated metal casing than I could before, it almost felt like she was really touching my skin. Her hands were cool, smooth and soft, and her fingers were delicate as she deftly turned the metal hand over in hers until our palms were touching.

“It’s fine.” I said gruffly, the feel of her skin on the metal was distracting and oddly intimate.

“It’s taking you a while to get used to the enhanced tactile responses I take it?”

I’d worn a leather glove over the metal hand since Shuri had come up with this new upgrade. It was like sensory overload, overwhelming me with intense feeling that my brain could hardly cope with.

I simply nodded, for want of a better response. She was so intuitive. I’d hardly spoken with her but it was like she could see right inside me and pick out the parts that she needed to know. How could anyone defend against that? Maybe she had a telepathic power. Steve would know. I decided I’d ask him later when we both hit the gym.

“It’s ok to be overwhelmed. I can turn the sensitivity down for you today if you’d prefer, or you can continue wearing the glove and just ease yourself in slowly?”

In truth, I didn’t really like to be tinkered with. And I only went along with this monthly exam because Steve had made it mandatory in order to make everyone feel safer, and for my own good, apparently. That’s what he’d said anyway. I couldn’t argue with his reasoning really. I had a past that was impossible to escape and a reputation for murder and brutality that went with it.

“I’ll just do it myself.” I’d succeeded on my own for so long, so I should be able to overcome a few issues with feeling things.

“No problem.” Veronica said, plugging a ribbon cable into the port just inside my metal armpit. “Right then, show me your range of motion. Start with fingers, then wrist, elbow, and shoulder. I’m looking for improved flexibility in the rotator cuff from last time when we fixed the pinching at the shoulder.”

I wiggled all the parts she asked me to with no discomfort at all. The tech felt the smoothest it had ever been, almost like it was a real arm but I would always see it as foreign, never think of it as mine. It was something I wore, like shoes, necessary and functional. I knew I’d feel off-balance without it, and fighting would be difficult.

With the arm Bucky Barnes was a fully functioning member of The Avengers. Without it he was a pity case, or at least that’s how it felt.

“Step up to the testing machine, please Sergeant Barnes.” She didn’t look up from her tablet, but she stepped confidently to the control panel with the ease of someone who had memorised the space and knew exactly what was where.

I had never seen that machine before. It looked a little like a mini hydraulic crusher. Eying it suspiciously, I slid off the exam bench and approached, shirt forgotten on the table. The diagnostic cable was still plugged in under the arm and although I couldn’t feel the physical connection, I could feel the flow of power as data passed from the arm to the tablet in Dr Edwards’ hands.

“This is new.” I licked my lips, slightly nervous.

New things made me uneasy. New things were variables, variables were risks, risks were dangerous.

“It’s a custom-made tensile strength machine, made just for you.” She smiled brightly as if I should be flattered that they’d come up with a new way to scrutinize me. “Only instead of testing the strength of the metal your arm is made from, it measures the crushing ability and the strength of your arm in a way we can compare easily with other things for example the tensile strength of structural steel is around five hundred mega pascals. Human skin is around twenty mega pascals. Vibranium, well, vibranium is significantly higher at fifty giga pascals but that doesn’t reflect the force you can apply with your arm, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t. Not really, but I wasn’t about to ask her to elaborate. She was smarter than most of the techs working at Stark Industries, I’d heard the iron-skin-suit call her brilliant but until now I’d never seen her as anything more than a junior tech.

“You made it?” I asked with a frown.

“Helped design it yes.” She held my gaze almost as if she sensed my disapproval.

Trust a woman to come up with new ways to test and torture me. As if I hadn’t had enough of that my whole super-soldier life.

“What do I have to do?”

Veronica ran through the protocols and procedures, and I got the feeling she dumbed it down a little when she described it as ‘weight training for your enhanced limb’.

Slotting the arm into the device, I patiently waited for her to check and double-check the alignment and safety measures. The commands of pull and squeeze seemed simple enough to follow.

“Are you ready to start the test, Sergeant Barnes?”

I nodded with another frown. She was going to start thinking I hated her, and probably start calling me ‘him’ instead of just my military title. It wasn’t lost on me that Veronica was one of very few people who never called me by my preferred name ‘Bucky’, she was always so formal.

“Ok, and pull for me.”

I compressed the arm in a bicep curl, feeling the machine’s tension counteracting my efforts. It was like pulling an oar through water to begin with.

“And again.” She commanded. “Keep repeating until you meet maximum resistance.”

“How will I know when that is?” I curled again, feeling the weight against the arm increase.

“You and the machine will reach an impasse. You won’t be able to pull any more.”

I mumbled a nondescript acknowledgement and continue to work the arm. At first it was easy, I curled quickly but after a few minutes I found it much tougher. The machine ramped up the difficulty quickly after my initial efforts and then I was grunting, sweating, and straining against the mechanism.

“Good. Good!” She praised and I felt a little hotter in the face with either a blush or sweat, it was hard to tell right then. “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

After a few more curls the machine locked up and I couldn’t move it any further. I strained and yanked at it, grinding the mechanism until the arm was locked up too. I glanced at Veronica, panting and flustered from my exertion. She disengaged the machine and, with a hiss, the hydraulics powered down. She took notes quickly before setting up the next task.

With the arm still fixed in the device, I couldn’t move anywhere. It was like that time that Steve caught me in some factory machinery and forced me to remember who I was. I was eternally grateful to him for never giving up on me but the feeling of helplessness wasn’t something I enjoyed a replay of.

Sweating, and with regret, I wished I could reach my shirt to blot my face. I hadn’t realised the exam was going to be so physical, and goddamn if I hadn’t been clenching just about every muscle in my whole body whilst fighting against the damn thing. Even my crack felt sweaty.

“Is there anything I can get you before we start the next stage?” Her voice was soft with concern. It was unnerving how well she read me. “Do you need to rest?”

“I’m good.” I said, pride making a fool of me.

“Ok, well let me dry you off a bit. The port is still connected and should be dry when open.”

I blushed hard at that. She was telling me that I was too sweaty. Gross. I frowned, embarrassed, and shied away from her touch when she brought a wad of paper towels to my brow. It had been the very thing I had wanted but not from her.

Her hands were still quite cool but she felt colder against my heated skin. Too close, she leant over me to smooth the moisture from my body. Swiping the tissues over my face, neck, shoulders and chest, Dr Edwards watched me curiously. She had to know she was tormenting me. How could she not notice my flared nostrils and ragged breathing? This kind of physical contact wasn’t something I felt comfortable with.

Tense and scowling, I held my breath, tolerating the contact as much as I could. She continued with her ministrations until she was satisfied with the dryness of my skin. It had been too personal in contrast to the formality of her pervious interactions with me. Never more than polite yet professional conversation, zero contact outside of the examination room or combat training, limited off-duty interaction. It made me feel confused and uneasy. There was something about her that put me on edge, made me listless.

“The second part of the test is to gage the pressure you can generate with your hand.” She said, creating space between us that I welcomed. “I’ll do come calibrations after that if needed and we can have a chat about your needs.”

“My needs?”

My heart thudded once, twice, three times before I got it under control. Why did I have to talk about myself with her? Dr Harvey was unassuming and easy to ignore. I didn’t mind talking to him because… Why? Because I didn’t feel… Feel what? Because he wasn’t… Wasn’t what? Because she made me feel… Oh for Christ sakes, WHAT?

She made me feel threatened, made me feel nervous. Veronica made me feel like she didn’t really like me all that much. The coldness she gave me when she was friendly with everyone else, first names, laughing, joking, and the ease of casual contact.

“Come again?” I sought clarification.

Oh, Buck, why did you have to make it sound like that. Like what? Like that?

The way she eyed me then, I didn’t know if it was hatred or something more predatory.

“I don’t follow.”

“Some people prefer to have prostheses that do what they tell them. Unless you have a penchant for crushing instead of caressing.”

I’m sure my mouth was flapping in the non-existent breeze. Agape and floundering, I had nothing to say. Stuck in the idea that flirting and bitterness were one and the same thing to her, or maybe it was too subtle a difference for me to separate the two, I blushed crimson. Then it struck me that maybe she was goading me about my past. It was no secret that The Winter Soldier had crushed more than a few windpipes in his time.

“Fine.” I said, swallowing dryly. “I’m ready to carry on.”

“Very well.” And just like that, her stone-faced stoicism was back, with polite professionalism draped over the top. “Please let your hand relax and fall open. Good.”

A device with five finger shaped recesses arranged around a silvery ball lowered and rested in the palm the metal hand. I could feel the metal on metal contact creating a strange thrumming vibration through the arm. It felt like when I had handled Steve’s shield; a tell-tale sign that vibranium had been used to make this device.

“I’m going to ask you to hold an object, and I would like you to use your muscle memory to create the pressure with your prosthesis. The machine will respond, mimic the item and measure the results. It sounds harder than it is. Ready?”

I nodded, just wanting to get this over and done with. The sooner this was over, the sooner we could have our ‘chat’ about my needs, and the sooner I could hit the gym with Steve. The punching bag was definitely going to get ruined today.

“An apple.”

The device in the not-my hand seemed to have the same resistance against my grip as would a firm green apple. I held it, turning it in the not-my fingers.

“Good. See, you got it.”

Dr Edwards’s praise was both frustrating and pleasant. I didn’t like the feeling of wanting to please her, but at the same time it was nice to hear her soften towards me, even slightly.

“An egg.”

The machine adjusted slightly and I could feel the fragility of it against the prosthetic fingers.

“A feather.”

I pinched my thumb and forefinger, holding the imaginary feather in between.

“The hand of a loved one.”

Well, shit, if that didn’t throw me for six. The way the machine moved around my hand gave me chills. It slid between my fingers, and almost felt real for a second before I managed to distinguish the materials from real skin. I hardly touched skin with the prosthetic anymore, except my own.

“A mouse.”

The machine wriggled against my palm. I held it loosely in the cage of my fingers, just firm enough that it couldn’t escape.

“Excellent.”

The test carried on like that for several more minutes before Dr Edwards removed the mimicking device and switched to something that looked like a hand dynamometer.

“Ok Sergeant, I’m going to ask you to squeeze as hard as you can. This will create a maximum pressure output for me to work with. What I’m going to do afterwards is set some values into the prosthesis’ programming that will allow you to quickly achieve an exact pressure to accomplish a task.”

“Like what? Break a bone?” I scoffed, and before I even looked at her face I knew that was exactly what she had meant.

“Not just that. But also how not to break a bone.” She had the sense to look a little abashed.

Dr Edwards had read my file, of course she had, they all had. She knew when she agreed to run these tests that she were going to be programming instant kills into me or programming me to stop just short. My money was on the latter.

“And you couldn’t just tell me that this was what it was all about? Nerfing me so I don’t lash out and kill someone.” Irritation seethed up my spine and settled as heat in my face. “I get it, I really do. But I’m a person, not a tool. Would it kill ya to include me in decisions about, well, me?”

“James…”

“Don’t.” I shut her down. “Get the test finished. I’m done after that.”

When she said my name, my heart almost stopped. Gone was her formal, guarded façade. In its place was concern and a look of such sadness that I just didn’t know what to do with myself. How do you deal with a switch like that? And fuck me if I wasn’t simultaneously happy as a school boy on the first day of the summer holidays and irritated enough to rip that damn machine apart and storm out of the med wing. Steve was gonna get a tongue lashing from me before the day was done.

Her face was pale and remorseful as she started the machine off on its cycle. I squeezed that damn thing as if I was squeezing the life out of the sonofabitch who turned me into a killing machine, squeezed like I was crushing all of the hatred I felt for myself, squeezed like my life depended on it. Who knew, maybe one day it would.

Dr Edwards sent the data to my prosthesis and closed me up. She was silent but continued to search my face for something, hope maybe, I dunno. She wasn’t going to find anything. I was about ready to shut down and stay the fuck away from everyone and everything until I got a chance to have things out with Steve.

I got up to leave, scooping my crumpled white tee off the exam table as I went.

“Good day, Sergeant.”

I closed my eyes as her coldness returned. Stood in the doorway shirtless and feeling used, I paused, not looking back.

“Dr Edwards.” I nodded curtly, showing my face in profile only, before striding off in search of something to beat on. She didn’t need to receive my frustration, she wasn’t the only person, or even the main person, to oversee everything ‘Bucky’. Rogers and Stark, each had equal hands in this.

“We didn’t think about it that way, Buck, I’m sorry.” Steve said.

He held the Everlast bag still for me as I slogged into it.

“That’s the thing about being a weapon most of your life.” I said smacking the bag hard enough to make the stuffing start to crumble out of the seams. “Everyone sees you as inhuman, even yourself.”

“That’s not how I see you, man. You’re my best friend. I want what’s best for you.”

“And what’s best for me, Steve? Programming? A kill-switch? Cyanide implant? You’re acting just like HYDRA.”

“Whoa! No-one said kill switch or cyanide.”

I pummelled the bag until the seam split completely and the broken filling plumed out onto the floor. Stepping back, I saw Steve was genuinely upset.

“Sorry punk. I didn’t really mean that.” I held my hand out. “I’m just pissed off.”

He tagged me and smiled dryly. All was forgiven.

“I’ll get them to lay off on the hardcore controls. To be honest I didn’t even see that mandate in the requisition forms so I’ll look at that again. Just please tell me you didn’t terrorise Vee. She’s one of the best we have and she’s cool.”

“Dr Edwards?”

“Yeah Veronica. You didn’t scare her, did you?”

“Nah, I was angry but not that angry.” Had I scared her though? “I doubt she’d take much notice of anything I said anyway, she doesn’t like me…”

“Whatever, dude.” He said dismissively.

“…And she’s not the sort to rely on the opinions of others to fashion her idea of her own self-worth.”

“Wow.” Steve half laughed, blinking his shock away. “You know her well.”

“We hardly speak. She’s always so formal. With you it’s Steve this and Steve that, or Cap, yeah she calls you Cap. And you’re like ‘oh Vee you have to see this movie’ or ‘Vee can you come explain this report to me’.” I nattered like a bitchy college girl slating her BFF. “With me it’s Sergeant Barnes, or just Sergeant.”

Steve laughed. “Are you jealous, Buck? Have you found a woman who you can’t charm?”

“Haven’t tried. You know when you can tell that someone hates your guts? Besides, my charming days are over.” I waggled the metal arm.

“Some people are gonna find that hot.” A sultry voice interrupted. “Can you make it vibrate?”

Natasha flashed a flirtatiously shocked ‘oooh sir!’ face which had me busting out laughing and Steve groaning.

“Don’t worry Barnes. You’ve still got it.” She licked her finger and touched her chest, making a ‘tsssss’ sound before she mouthed the word ‘hot’ and sauntered away to the locker room.

“She really knows how to play on my insecurities.” I said deadpan, making Steve crack up.

By the time we both stopped laughing, I actually felt better. The kind of camaraderie we shared was one of the things that kept me going, through all of this. Nat was one of my closest friends and even though she loved to mess with me she also knew when not to push. That stunt she had pulled, maybe an hour earlier, might not have gone down so well. Her timing was impeccable, unlike mine.

After cleaning up and winding down I met Steve back in the kitchen where he was making a protein smoothie.

“Want one?”

I nodded, sitting at the counter. I wasn’t gonna turn down a free smoothie. Life was full of little gifts, like food you didn’t have to make yourself and, apparently, people who wouldn’t drop a damn topic.

“Seriously though, you need to get over this thing where you automatically assume people don’t like you, man. Maybe try to open up a little. Have a little fun.”

“Yeah, ok, Marilyn Hickey. Sure, a little bit of good old Christian fun sounds like just the ticket.” I slapped my thigh and winked.

“Fuck off, Buck!” He blitzed the smoothie maker, trying to drown out my retort, no doubt.

“Ooooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I said, chuckling. “I miss Nick, where is he when you need him, huh?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, buddy.”

“Not what, who.” He slid the smoothie-filled glass over to me. “Talk to her.”

“Drop it, Steve. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. I’m getting along just fine without an extra person up in my business.”

I downed the thick pinkish goop in the glass, it didn’t taste half bad but it wasn’t a steak.

“And to be honest, all this extra stuff with the arm and the testing just makes it easier for me not to like her right back.”

The noise of a door closing loudly made me jump. Steve was out of his seat and rushing out of the kitchen only to return a few minutes later with a grim look on his face.

“You’re an asshat.” He said picking up his glass and walking away.

It didn’t take much to put two and two together and figure out that Dr Edwards had overheard me talking about her, but did it really make a difference? So what if we both didn’t like each other.

It is what it is.

#Bucky Barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x OFC #bucky barnes recovering #muscle memory #frenemies to lovers #slow burn #mcu fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky is bae #denial of feelings #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky pov #my writing #cloudy's writing

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forever-more-never-again · 6 years ago

Text

Venom of a Viper (Scene Five/?)

Slow Burn : (Winter Soldier)Bucky Barnes X (Mutant!)Reader X (Black Widow) Natasha Romanoff

Word Count:1245

Warnings: none?

Scene Prologue / Scene One / Scene Two / Scene Three / Scene Four

Masterlist

The weekend crept up faster than you thought. And before you knew it, you were standing in front of the coffee shop that had become Bucky and your’s place with a suitcase packed standing beside you. Filled with stolen clothes, but oh well.

You had been unbelievably lucky. Your handler, Misha had been called back to central command and you had orders to watch and surveillance the Winter Soldier. So you hadn’t needed to tell them what was happening this weekend.

You felt kinda dirty. Lying to both Bucky and Cronus. Knowing that if either found out, you would most likely be dead. But the way your heart started beating erratically as you caught sight of Bucky, and his megawatt smile as he waved to you from down the street, had you deciding it was a risk worth taking.

“Hey, [Y/n]! Ready?” Bucky asked, as he grabbed your suitcase, his own duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

You smiled up at him, a hand reaching up to play with his long brown locks, “Ready!”

Bucky’s eyes twinkled as he kept hold of your gaze and pulled you down the street to where the car was parked.

A half hour in and you couldn’t stop laughing from your spot in the passenger seat.

“It’s true! I see these history teachers who think they know what they’re talking about and they get in arguments with me before they realize who I am!”

Your laughter spiraled until you suddenly snorted. Gasping, you covered your mouth with your hands, eyes staring over at Bucky with horror.

But he was laughing just as hard, “You! That was adorable!”

Hands slowly lowered and you chuckled. Leaning back, you watched the scenery fly past through the windows.

Soft music playing from the speakers.

One of your hands started scratching at the sleeve on your left arm. You normally didn’t keep your scales covered for long. Being part Viper also meant dealing with the cold blooded tendencies that came with it.

With the sun shining and feeling the warmth through the fabric covering you, your skin was practically tingling and begging to be in direct sunlight.

Bucky seemed to notice you trailing off in silence.

“[Y/n]? Don’t go falling asleep on me, we have another hour and a half to go.” His voice teasing, but soft. Hesitant.

Your heart strings vibrated as you looked over at him. This gentle man who had only known you for a week. After spilling coffee on you.

The man who wanted to be known for something other than the Winter Soldier, who was working to be someone better.

And here you were, an assassin from the organization that tried to destroy and manipulate him. Planning his murder and trying to frame one of his teammates.

Guilt surged through you, but you kept your face calm. Years of training taking over so that no inner emotions would show.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired. I’m really excited to spend this weekend with you.” A soft smile.

Bucky’s shoulders seemed to sag with relief as he returned your smile. “Sam said I was moving too fast. Inviting someone to a weekend getaway after just meeting them. But there’s something about you..” He glanced sideways towards you before returning his gaze to the road ahead, “I think it could be the start of an adventure.”

Your brain whirred as nauseating thoughts ran through your head.

Yeah, A new adventure. People sometimes called Death the last frontier. The things you were ordered to do to this man. And here he was, practically saying that he wanted to start a future. Damn Cronus. Damn Misha.

A shrill ring interrupted your thoughts. Startled, you jerked, your seat belt tightening in reaction.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his gorgeous lips as he clicked accept on his phone where it was perched on the dash.

“James. Have you seen my pistols? I swore I left them in my locker after our last sparring practice.” The silky smooth tone of Natasha Romanoff filled the car.

Bucky grimaced and mouthed a ‘sorry’ to you.

You waved him off. To him, you were merely a civilian. But the assassin in you automatically went into intel mode.

Returning with a worn out sigh, Bucky grumbled, “Tony said something about upgrades.” Before Natasha could reply with what you no doubt thought would be annoyance, Bucky continued, “I thought I left a note saying to not disturb me this weekend. I’m taking [Y/n] out.”

That grabbed your attention. Your eyes widened as you looked at Bucky. He had already told the Avengers about you? This was bad. If Cronus found out…

Again your thoughts were derailed as Natasha’s sticky sweet, obviously fake voice, filtered through the staticy phone, “Oh, was that what that note was about? Where are the pair of you headed? I don’t like it James. I don’t trust this [Y/n] character. And you never used to accept any of Tony’s gifts.” Suspicion and jealousy.

Easy for you to read. But Bucky seemed oblivious.

His sigh simply got deeper as he replied, eyes constantly seeking to portray an apology to you, “[Y/n] is a sweet girl and You were there for the..” He trailed off.

Your interest was piqued. She was there for the what?

But he simply continued, “And anyways. I’m not telling you where we’re headed because I don’t want you and Clint and Steve to show up suddenly and scare the poor girl. Goodbye Nat.” And he clicked end call before she could respond.

He rolled his shoulders. Shutting his eyes for a moment as the car rolled to a stop at a red light.

You reached over and rested a hand on his arm, “You okay?” He smiled, looking over at you, your hand was resting on his metal arm, and he never got over the surprise and hope that the small action instilled in him.

“Nat just..been tiring. I don’t know what’s been going on with her, but she seems more nosy and irritated than usual.”

You pursed your lips and made a sound of sympathy.

“What were you about to say to her? About her being there for something?” You asked, nonchalantly as if you were just curious.

The stop light turned green and the car once again began speeding towards New Jersey.

Bucky frowned, “I didn’t want you to hear that.”

Your heart stuttered. Mind frozen with terror.

“Tony wanted to make sure you weren’t a threat so he ran a background check on you in a team meeting. I’m sorry. I tried to make everyone leave, but they insisted on staying so...well now the Avengers all know that you were a band geek and honor student..” His little smile of abash and guilt was so cute you couldn’t help but giggle.

The giggle was also out of relief. You had forgotten about your fake identity that was public. All it took was a simple name change through Cronus’s servers to your real name, which you still mentally kicked yourself for that slip up, and suddenly [Y/n] was a normal citizen.

“It’s okay Buck.” You assured him.

“Anyways, back to lighter topics. I hope you packed a swimsuit because Tony told me there was a hot tub.”

You laughed, eyes watching the light catch the soft blond intertwined with the auburn of his hair. Inwardly knowing that you were so, so screwed.

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @mcuimxgine @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger

Bucky Taglist:

@evyiione

Avengers Taglist:

@jadepc

Venom of a Viper Series Taglist:

@leslie2898 @negative-love @shannonr2003 @lostnliterature

#Avengers #avengers tower #Bucky Barnes #buckynat #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #Bucky x reader x Natasha #imagine #avenger imagines #reader insert #hydra #tag list #please give credit #please give feedback #rose writes

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coweatman · 6 years ago

Text

EMILY DREYFUSS

THE CASE AGAINST WATCHING THE REST OF GAME OF THRONES

Fans have been waiting years for the living to confront the Night King on Game of Thrones. Now what?HBO

FIRST, A FAIR warning: This piece has Game of Thrones spoilers. If you didn't watch last night and don't want to know what happens, close this tab.

Now that they are gone, and it's just us, the shell-shocked, left to consider last night's 1.5-hour episode,, let's talk honestly: That sure felt like a finale, didn't it?

The Night King, the supervillain, evil incarnate, the threat to all humanity is … dead. He was killed in spectacular fashion in episode three of the final season. With his death, the great war, the big battle, the thing the whole show, the whole book series, has been working toward—the struggle between darkness and light, life and death—is just … over.

Now we have three episodes left to watch as these badass death-slayers fight against each other over who gets to sit on a crusty old Iron Throne. But after last night's episode, who cares? You could easily skip the rest. The battle that mattered is already won.

The premature conclusion of the fight between life and death feels like a serious misreading of the books and of the fans, perhaps even a betrayal of them. That's odd, given that the showrunners seemingly went out of their way to appease the fandom by keeping their favorite characters alive. (Although, RIP Lyanna and Jorah. What does this show have against the Mormonts, anyway?)

I was prepared for far more loss, far more sacrifice. In George R. R. Martin fashion, I was braced for Tyrion or Sansa to die, for either Brienne to die saving Jamie or vice versa. Hell, I don't think they even killed Grey Worm! Instead they sacrificed the entire Dothraki horde and many of the Unsullied, which was both awful and not surprising, smacked of genocidal racial politics, and yet still didn’t count as killing a "main character." Instead, all the major players lived. The show even hinted, weirdly, that Sansa and Tyrion have love for each other, and for a brief moment, as the crypts were full of the dead arisen, it seemed like they actually might kiss, which would have been, uh, slightly inappropriate timing.

In keeping all the Starks, Targaryens, and most of their allies alive, HBO broke with Martin's penchant for active hostility to fan expectations.

Where the show did subvert expectation was by inverting the central Game of Thrones priorities. All along, Martin's series The Song of Ice and Fire, on which the show is based, has driven home the point that the battle for the Iron Throne is a game. Games, by nature, are trivial. The battle between ice and fire, on the other hand? That is existential. The point has always been that what really mattered was who would win in the ultimate face-off between good and evil.

That has led to one of the best fan theories of the show, which is that it's an allegory for climate change. In that reading, the White Walkers represent the looming extinction-level threat facing Earth, and the war for the Iron Throne is the trifling political maneuvering that nations focus on to our peril.

Whether Martin meant for Ice and Fire to be a climate change metaphor or not, it's a compelling reading that makes the stakes clear. With last night's episode, HBO turned that on its head. Life and death? Solved. The real meat, as far as the show is concerned, is in the characters working out their petty political pursuits.

It feels very wrong. Maybe that inversion is a commentary on how life is essentially petty, and even when the ultimate species-annihilating threat brings people together, eventually minor social squabbles will tear everyone apart again.

If I stop now, I know everything I need to. The final final question—of who will take control of the Seven Kingdoms—can be left unanswered.

No matter what the point ends up being, I'm not sure I care. Until this moment, watching Game of Thrones has been a compulsion. I had to know. Even when Daenerys spent approximately a thousand years in Mereen and it wasn't clear if it would ever pay off, I was driven to watch every second, to read every word, back when the books were ahead of the story.

The question that kept me coming back was: How will the ultimate battle unfold?

Now I know. Arya killed the Night King, just as I always dreamed she would. I love that the showrunners gave us that! It was a perfect ending. The second it happened, I clapped. As Arya stabbed the Night King, and the reanimated dead shattered all around, and goodness persevered, and life won, I was released. Released from my compulsion to know.

Last week, a WIRED colleague at admitted he sometimes doesn't watch series finales, preferring to leave the last question unanswered. In that way, he suggested, the show could live on in his mind. He never had to deal, for instance, with the tragedy of the final 30 seconds of The Sopranos. In his mind, the whole Sopranos family is doing well living their lives in New Jersey.

In my politest possible tone I told him that tactic was insane. But you know what? In its way, episode three of the final season of Game of Thrones is a fantastic argument for following his lead.

If I stop now, I know everything I need to. The final final question—of who will take control of the Seven Kingdoms—can be left unanswered. If I keep watching, it'll only be to make Twitter tolerable on Monday mornings, and because what else am I going to do on Sunday nights for the next month? It won't be because I need to. That gnawing in my gut that used to happen as I waited for a new book, or a new season, dissipated with Arya's knife plunge.

Will Jon die? Will Sansa rule the North? Will Dany ever compromise? I'm no longer dying to know.

#game of thrones #fuck paywalls

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thisislizheather · 2 years ago

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April Activities 2023

Above Photo: Central Park, April 2023

Spring is in full force and I couldn’t be happier about it. It usually feels like the shortest season since summer arrives obnoxiously early, but this year it’s been magical. Chilly nights, sweaters instead of winter coats, tons of rain, birds chirping their asses off, there’s nothing better. Here’s what happened in April!

Above Photo: Baby Dog in Central Park

Above Photo: Baby Dog in Central Park, again

The best tweets of April can be found over here.

I visited a tulip farm in New Jersey and had the greatest meatballs from the Your Sister’s Balls food truck.

Above Photo: Holland Ridge Farms with Diana in New Jersey

I toured the gorgeous Kings Theatre in Brooklyn.

Above Photo: The lobby of Kings Theatre in Brooklyn, New York

Above Photo: Mirrors + me = BFF

I went to the Museum of Failure with my friend Casey in Industry City.

I helped review some Last Crumb cookies on my friend Paul’s TikTok.

I made one of my favourite steak recipes for the first time (steak Diane) and it was really, really good. I didn’t really ignite it properly since that’s the part that scares me the most, but there were partial flames so I’m counting this as a success.

Above Photo: Steak Diane ingredients

Notice: you’re using your potato peeler wrong.

The Alison Roman chocolate chip shortbread cookies are fast becoming a staple in our home.

Above Photo: Chocolate chip shortbread cookies

I physically cannot stop making this asparagus soup (the cream is optional), it’s so good. Best to double up the recipe if you’re making it for more than two people.

When will I learn that fancy coffee shops simply don’t do it for me? I went to Ten Thousand Coffee and it was fine, but definitely overrated. One day we’ll all revolt against coffee costing over $5 and I vow to lead the revolution.

Speaking of coffee, have I already mentioned the incredible hazelnut beans we order from San Francisco Bay Coffee? Best beans I’ve ever used for iced coffee at home, by far. All you need is a french press, a small spice grinder and beans. The fact that we’re not all making iced coffee at home each day is mind boggling.

Some things I watched:

Surviving R. Kelly (the newest season): Nathan and I watched two episodes and then abandoned it. It’s so hard to watch and really makes you wonder, “Why the hell am I watching this if it makes me feel this way?”

Dave (newest season): Words can’t express how much I love this show. Every episode is better than the last.

Succession: Okay, yes I already complained about this show. But the thing is - I haven’t hate-watched a new show in a really long time, so I think that’s why I keep going with it. The dialogue is objectively bad and I think the real appeal of the show is the fact that you can’t binge it all at once, we’re all so desperate for the days of cable and once-a-week viewing. And small side note: Adrian Brody is not a good actor, so of course he had to appear in an episode.

The Intern: What is wrong with me? Why was this on my list of movies to watch? It was so bad, but IT LOOKED BAD. Hated Anne Hathaway’s character. There was ZERO chemistry between her and De Niro. And it’s a mind-numbingly boring script. Christ.

Who Done It: The Clue Documentary: Okay, if you even kind of liked the movie Clue (1985), then you really have to watch this. It’s fan-made, but it’s so good. I didn’t know that so many playwrights attempted to write it, I had no idea that Carrie Fisher was supposed to be Miss Scarlett but couldn’t because of her drug problem?? Absolutely adored Jonathan Lynn. And loved all of Michael McKean’s anecdotes.

Above Photo: Who Done It: The Clue Documentary

How many beach blankets does one person need? And why is this Target one so damn perfect?

I’ve made so much green garlic butter, I’m considering starting a butter stand outside my building.

Above Photo: Green garlic from the Union Square Greenmarket, NYC

This month in good-but-nothing-special restaurants I’ve tried: Hawksmoor (flashy and beautiful inside, but no real substance) and Pete’s Tavern (space is great, food is fine and service was attentive but odd).

That being said, I also ate at some wonderful places! Saint George Bistro in Hastings had great escargot even if the service wasn’t great, Figlia in Astoria was as good as everyone says it is so I’ll definitely return, Sunken Harbor Club was beautiful and had great drinks and it felt like you weren’t in NYC but in a good way, Amelie Wine Bar was perfect and had $13 wine flights with stellar service, and finally Satis Bistro in Jersey City which was so lovely (the duck croquettes, my god, I’ll dream about those until I return).

Above Photo: Outside Saint George Bistro in Hastings, New York with Diana & Crystal

Above Photo: Amelie Wine Bar with Jessie, West Village

I got a facial at Glow Bar and I really don’t see the big deal with facials. This sounds psychotic, but maybe my face doesn’t… need… facials…?

My brother Gary sent me this Happy & Polly stamp of Baby Dog’s face and I can’t get over it. It’s horrifyingly perfect.

I went to a sample sale for Rent The Runway put on by 260 and it was depressing as hell, it was all so disorganized and chaotic. Think that might be the last sample sale for me.

I visited the exterior of Alder Manor since I was in the area and it’s so beautiful from the outside, I can’t imagine how gorgeous the interior must be.

Above Photo: Alder Manor in Yonkers, New York

Dying over the entire Adidas x Farm Rio collaboration (thanks Marla for telling me about it!).

Speaking of my friend Marla, she mentioned how she gives her young sons a small amount of money for birthday gifts for people in their lives and then each kid comes up with an idea based on what that person enjoys and buys the gift. And honestly, what a perfect idea. Gift giving is a skill and absolutely should be taught to young kids (especially boys) since it’s such an important part of living. Love this so, so much. Every parent should be doing this.

I am so in love with the rhubarb and strawberry soda from Trader Joe’s that I think I might finally be ready to try rhubarb for real.

Above Photo: Rhubarb and strawberry soda from Trader Joe’s

I’d never heard about the children’s book In The Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak but it was mentioned in that performance about Philip Glass I saw last month, so I bought the book and it’s incredible.

And finally, behold my new favourite photo of Baby Dog.

Above Photo: Hahahahah this expression! She’s so sick of my shit I love it.

Things I’m looking forward to this month: I’m going to do a post about my recent visit to the abandoned City Hall subway station, I’m definitely going to go see the new fashion exhibit that opens at The Met, I know that H&M is shit now but I’m gonna have to take a look at this Mugler collab in person, I kinda need to eat these duck fries in Toronto and I absolutely need to track down these Lichtenstein stamps ASAP.

If you’ve got any interest in reading last month’s roundup, you can see what went down in March over here.

Above Photo: She brought her boyfriend (Walrus) beside her to get some sun

#Liz Heather #this is liz heather #Best of NYC #Best restaurant nyc #monthly post #monthly roundup #nyc #new york city #nyc recommendations #nyc spots #nyc spring #nyc spring 2023 #nyc things to do #baby dog

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leighmhis03 · 4 years ago

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40 Things You (Probably) Didn't Know About 더킹카지노

Earlier this century, it was claimed that there was a connection between the four-suited European pack and the four-handed game of chess played in India, but this theory has now been discredited in the light of the connection with the Islamic world. If you think that your hand will beat the Dealer and you must make another bet that is double your original Ante. If you do not want to play the hand, you must Fold by placing your cards face down on the table and the Dealer will take your Ante Bet. The player who hits bingo after the desired ball count does not win the jackpot but does win a consolation prize. If player folds he forfeits his cards, ante bet, and side bet (if made)-If player raises then he must make a raise wager exactly equal to twice the ante-The dealer will turn over his other four cards-The dealer must have an ace and a king or higher to qualify.

The commune has a large forest in the east with the rest of the commune mixed forest and farmland. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/?search=엠카지노 Without this knowledge there is no way to win on the long term. Casinos typically accept all bets made by patrons within an established limit, so that a patron cannot win more than a casino can afford to pay. The Las Vegas Valley has the largest concentration of casinos in the United States. Based on revenue, Atlantic City, New Jersey ranks second, and the Chicago region third.

In the Japanese game “Hanafuda,” a variety of the game “Karuta,” flower cards play a central role. On a come-out roll, a place bet is considered to be not in effect unless the player who made it specifies otherwise. This bet may be removed or reduced at any time until it loses; in the latter case, the player must abide by any table minimums. For example, in “chip tracking,” betting chips with built-in microcircuitry interact with electronic systems in the tables to enable casinos to oversee the exact amounts wagered minute-by-minute and to be warned of any anomaly; Your goal is to have the better hand, but you’ll also have the chance to walk away if you don’t like what you see. Playing Caribbean Stud Poker for real money features two bets—an initial Ante bet and a Call bet. The Ante bet is mandatory, but the Call bet is only required if you’re confident in your hand. The Call bet is often called a Raise bet, but it varies from site to site.

Shapes and Sizes of Playing Cards-Rounded corners where introduced in 1858, by Baptiste-Paul Grimaud. A rounding radius R at the four corners reduces the card's surface area by (4-p) R2 with respect to the unrounded rectangular area. The most commonly encountered commercial sizes of playing cards are tabulated below, together with rarely-used standard "B" sizes (ISO 216). Also included, for good measure, are the series of Archimedes and Fibonacci sizes, which are only of theoretical interest at this time (with the possible exception of the 62.5 by 100 mm format, which is very close to the 62 by 100 size of some novelty decks by Cartamundi). Cards of more than 105 square centimeters are considered oversized. Conversely, the surface area of miniature cards is less than 35 cm2. Oversized , Regular and Miniature Card Sizes (rounded corners of radius R) Many establishments advertise with a billboard when the progressive jackpot is high enough. The bet wins if the highest hand at the table, whether it belongs to a player or the dealer, is three-of-a-kind or better.Payouts are dynamic: they change depending on the number of players in the round.Everything which falls beneath it is under its jursidiction or "sovereignty". It derives its authority from both moral philosophy and the strength of the people (represented by the roman fasces).

Unlike tarot, however, pips were surely meant as diversion instead of divination. Whirl or World: A five-unit bet that is a combination of a horn and any-seven bet, with the idea that if a seven is rolled the bet is a push, because the money won on the seven is lost on the horn portions of the bet. Party per fesse, 1 Gules a dexter arm hand Carnation armed Argent holding a sword the same hilt and pommel Or between two roundels the same; 2 Azure a goblet Argent.루비게임In number ranges from 1 to 10 and 19 to 28, odd numbers are red and even are black. In ranges from 11 to 18 and 29 to 36, odd numbers are black and even are red.

Payback percentage expresses the long-term expected value of the player's wager as a percentage if the game is played perfectly. Players possessing sufficient skills to eliminate the inherent long-term disadvantage (the house edge or vigorish) in a casino game are referred to as advantage players. If some of your other preconceived notions about casinos are a little out of whack, here's a guide to what you should expect on the gambling floor.Other casinos will take the bet on the pass line after a point has been established, known as put betting, which is a disadvantage to the player (since the seven is the most common roll and likely to happen before the "point").

At table games, each table has a rectangular sign detailing minimum and maximum bets. The terms probability and expectation are quite theoretical because an average gambler will never play that many games in order to get significant statistics over his decisions. Going to a casino is a form of entertainment, but can become harmful.There are special ways in which a hand can score more than nine points.

Most Bingo parlors in Las Vegas use hand held machines on which the games are played, except the Station Casino, the Fiesta Casino which has paper bingo cards and no machines. The yakuza (organized crime) were formerly often involved in prize exchange, but a great deal of police effort beginning in the 1960s and ramping up in the 1990s has largely done away with their influence. If the dealer has a low card of 2 or 3 then choose to keep hitting until you reach 13 or above.Other card games are seldom played in casino gambling, although most American casinos have table games in the form of poker variants such as Caribbean stud.

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n0resistance · 4 years ago

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Last time at home

I graduated a semester later than my class because I studied abroad in Italy and had to finish Calculus to graduate. I had to fight for my credits as the University would say that the entire semester didn't count towards my degree. At the end of my senior year, after my graduation day, I found out that I had to take 1 more class to finish my degree. My apartment's lease was about to be over, we were all going our separate ways, and I didn't know where to live.

I had my internship on Gold Street left and wasn't getting promoted to a proper job with them. I made a resume and put that I was a Sales Associate and got a job at The Jane Hotel at the Front Desk and Night Manager Relief position. When my lease was over I decided to move home to save money and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. So I moved to Iselin and I saved about $6,000, finished Calculus to finally get the degree, quit The Jane Hotel, and still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. During that time of saving money while making $12 an hour and taking the train to NYC every day from Central Jersey, I was miserable living in my parents basement. I wasn't comfortable and I didn't have my own space and planned to get a job on a cruise ship or move to California.

I was dumped, quit the job I had with all these artistic people, and went to live on my sister's couch in San Francisco. I lasted a month. I couldn't get a job. It was a new city and I had no connections. I just missed New York and missed what it felt to be independent. My hotel experience wasn't enough for San Francisco, and the wages would guarantee you to be poor. I kept comparing it to New York.

After San Francisco, I went with my siblings to the Philippines for my mother's 10th year death anniversary for about 3 weeks and when I got back I was going to restart in NYC. My hobbies in SF included watching TV and running, and I tried my best to not spend money because I wasn't making any and not working just doesn’t feel good. Working at a job you don’t like and having a fulfilling time outside of work is better than not working. There’s no freedom in not working. Being inspired by the movies I was watching I had this calling to be an actor. The movie that made me want to do film was Good Fellas. Great story, great director, actors, and NYC. I wanted to be the director, the actor, the writer because I loved this movie so much. It was funny, it was violent, it was real, it was New York and I just knew I wanted to act. Now that I know what I want I really needed to go after it.

So I had to rush back to NYC, but the transition to finally being independent was so difficult. I came back to my parents’ house and they gave me 30 days to find an apartment and a job or I’d have to pay them rent. I wanted to get out of Jersey and be back in the City. So I did it. I found a place in Bedstuy and a job at a hotel in Williamsburg. I started over. I had my own room for the first time for 3 months but the girl I lived with was a hoarder. Every room was filled to the top with everything and anything. I had to make my bedroom my oasis. I needed something stable to get a job. Also, the job I got was 16/ hour only and I was struggling to get a monthly metrocard. I invested in a bike which was a shorter distance than the train because from Bedstuy to Williamsburg. With the train you have to take the train into Manhattan and then back down to Williamsburg for 40 minutes while biking is only 20 mins. However, you have to go through some bad parts of Bedstuy back in 2014, where one time a kid threw a white castle cup filled with soda at me, while I was on a bike.

My friends were luckily looking for a place to live at the same time I was trying to get a new place too, I was paying 750 at the time for a room. I never forgot when my friend said, since he was living at home, I don’t want us to pay more than $500 a month. Which you would think is impossible in New York City. But we got it.

It was a shared room, a railroad style tenement building. The other room was 850, and myself and my roommate got a room that was separated by a curtain and paid $450 a month each cash, which was perfect, because at the time at 22 years old, that was what I made in a week. So it allowed me to save or pay my student loans. I didn’t know how long this journey was going to be, but it was a lot better than what I was doing. I lived in a really old building that was falling apart in the middle of the universe, Chinatown, New York. On the right was all the good bars in Lower East Side, I could bike anywhere in Manhattan, I was finally paying my own way and being independent. I was ready to pursue art.

#alltheplaces #howtolove

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

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We’ll Take a Cup (defense) of Kindness (2/2)

It’s one night. New Year’s Eve. And a whole list of rules. Because Regina might have actually lost her mind. Or maybe that’s just Emma. Because they’ve played a million games in two days, or it’s at least felt that way, and planning an outdoor practice a few weeks before the Olympics seemed like a good idea at one point. Now it just seems insane. So she’s going to wear this dress and kiss her boyfriend. A lot.

He’s good. Better than good. Great. The greatest. It’s New Year’s Day and, yeah, sure it’s freezing, but Killian hasn’t actually tried to push Scarlet on the Subway tracks yet so that seems like a step in the right direction. So he’s a little distracted a few weeks before the Olympics, but that’s fine. It’s good. Or it’ll be good. Eventually. Soon. In the meantime he’s probably just going to kiss his girlfriend. A lot.

Rating: Mature. They swear. They apologize about the swearing to Roland. They kiss. Killian and Will banter on the Subway platform. Word Count: 9K’ish. I just like words. AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR, INTERNET! It seems fairly fitting that this crazy, jam-packed full of characters hockey ‘verse gets updated on the very first day of 2018 because this whole story sort of defined my 2017 fandom experience. I started writing Blue Line about a year ago and the response to my insane idea to fuel my love of the New York Rangers into my love of Emma Swan and Killian Jones making out continues to absolutely blow my mind every day. I cannot thank you guys enough for every click, comment, message, art you’ve made (!!!) or general flail. Every single one has meant the world to me and kept me writing more of this. Let’s go to the Olympics later this month, huh? A very loud shoutout to @distant-rose & @laurnorder & @beautiful-swan without whom this ‘verse would not be possible. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“Scarlet, if you hit me with your stick again, I’m going to push you off this platform.”

Will narrowed his eyes – and then hit Killian with his stick again, tapping on the back of his calves and just above his skates and it was an almost impressive feat since he was also holding a phone, glancing at the screen every few minutes because there was, apparently, some kind of audience for this.

“You’re a real bad sport, Cap,” Will sighed, staring at him like he wasn’t following the rules of a pick-up game they’d organized instead of arguing whatever bruise was forming on his leg at that very moment. “People are enjoying this.”

Killian bit his lip, trying to swallow back his immediate retort and well aware that people probably were enjoying this because it was a pretty cool event and he’d been the first one to tell Emma to plan it, Swan when she brought it up two months before.

And, really, it was one of the few fan events they were going to get to do that year.

There wasn’t an All-Star break that season or Casino Night – which might have been some kind of blessing in disguise when Emma realized she wouldn’t have to go to New Jersey to get things out of storage again – because they would be on the other side of the world, playing in games that didn’t really do much for the NHL except make all the front office bigwigs worry about injuries, for two weeks in February and the league wasn’t willing to give up more days or more profit.

Which almost made the six games in nine days thing, even during the so-called Christmas holiday, understandable.

Almost.

If he wasn’t so goddamn tired. And sore. God, every inch of him hurt. And he hadn’t really gotten much sleep the night before.

“Can you at least look like you’re not super pissed off to be here?” Will continued, leaning his elbow on the top of his stick and holding his phone up with his left hand. “Ah, shit, where’s Gina? I need one of those battery things.”

Killian groaned. Or maybe that was Ruby. Or possibly Emma. It was definitely Emma.

“Scarlet,” she muttered, taking a step forward and kicking at his shins. He nearly tripped over his own skates trying to back up. “You are on camera. How did none of the rules stick?” “He broke all the rules yesterday, Em,” Robin reasoned. Will was still trying to backtrack, perilously close to the stairs in the middle of the platform and, a few weeks before, taking the train to an open, outdoor practice in Central Park actually sounded kind of fun and a bit nostalgic, but now Killian was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and he really wanted to still be at home, in bed, with his girlfriend.

Lucas was right – he was a total homebody.

“Totally made the awards thing weird,” Emma added and Will rolled his eyes when he sank onto one of the steps of a staircase that probably hadn’t been cleaned in, at least, four decades. “God, don’t sit on that! You’re going to screw up your uniform.” Will’s lips quirked as soon as the quasi-swear was out of her mouth and Emma rolled her whole head back, something that sounded suspiciously like a growl working its way out of her. Ruby, at least, tried to make her laughter sound like...something else.

It didn’t work.

Killian took a step forward, leaving his stick propped up against a pillar and he could only imagine the amount of paperwork Emma had signed for all of this. There were cameras everywhere – local TV and possibly the NHL Network and some guy that he was fairly certain worked with Dor at Sports Illustrated, which seemed a bit like media cheating, but he absolutely was not going to point that out.

Emma’s head landed on his shoulder when he came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and Will didn’t move his phone.

He’d probably have to thank him for that later.

“How would sitting down screw up my uniform?” he asked instead, tilting his head and flashing a smile Emma’s direction when she met his gaze again. Ruby was mumbling under her breath about germs.

Emma just exhaled, something that was a bit closer to a huff than it probably should have been at eleven in the morning, but she hadn’t really wanted to get out of bed either – even for her own event and a questionable amount of paperwork and waivers for a small group of kids that were supposed to get out on the ice after practice.

They weren’t really going to practice.

If Arthur had been even remotely coherent the night before he probably would have brought that up several times – reminding his roster that they couldn’t actually run real plays or go after Jeff too hard in net and one of them probably would have mentioned that he was a paranoid weirdo because he wouldn’t make them skate blue lines in front of an audience.

It was a glorified morning skate and Arthur was definitely going to be hungover.

He’d brought four bottles of that very expensive champagne.

And they drank them all.

And then got, approximately, one hour and forty-five minutes of sleep.

Killian would do it again and probably spend the majority of the next week thinking about Emma’s dress and the ring around her neck that was obvious in every single photo they’d taken and posted on various social media sites and there were a lot of photos and a lot of kissing and he was going to have a difficult time staying upright on his skates that afternoon.

“Still with us, Cap?” Robin called, the laughter in his voice making it almost painfully obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get Killian’s attention.

Emma laughed again, leaning forward to try and tug her hair back over her shoulders, but that only served to move a very specific way against Killian and this was ridiculous.

They were going to end up on the cover of The Post.

Killian nodded when Robin widened his eyes again. “Yeah,” he promised. “Definitely still here. Where else would I go?” It was the wrong question to ask – Ruby didn’t even try and mask her laughter at all and Will was probably going to give several Facebook LIVE viewers vertigo if he kept shaking the phone like that.

“I have absolutely no idea, Cap,” Robin said, but his eyes darted towards Will and neither one of them were very good at disguising whatever conversation they were having.

Killian hummed and his hand tightened a bit, thumb tapping out a slightly impatient rhythm on Emma’s hip. “Can we complain about the MTA on this video?” he asked, determined to change the subject and the growing certainty that everyone he knew was talking about him. “You think we’ll get fined for that?” “You’ve got that great, big contract now, Cap,” Will shrugged and the phone was back, no longer shaking and pointed directly in Killian’s face. “Does that mean you’re just going to pay for all of our fun when we're at the Games next month?” Killian leveled him – or his phone, God – with a look he hoped didn’t show how absolutely frustrated he was, but it probably didn’t work because Emma clicked her tongue and stalked towards Will, sinking down onto the step next to him.

“God, we didn’t have to worry about the flu from sharing champagne,” Ruby muttered, but she was leaning against a pillar too, arms crossed and impatience practically rolling off her. This was the slowest uptown-one in the history of the New York public transportation system. “We’re all going to contract some deadly disease from standing on this platform for the rest of our lives.” Emma growled again, scrunching her nose and they were definitely starting to draw a crowd, but there were also a few NYPD officers who were supposed to trail all of them on their several-dozen block ride uptown and no one started shouting about subReddit posts or point totals.

They were in third in the Metro anyway – there wasn’t anything to complain about yet.

“Can we not talk about deadly diseases while we’re still live?” Emma asked, shoulders moving when she took a deep breath that might have just been a yawn. “You’re going to scare away all the fans.” Will chuckled, hitting something on his phone and Emma’s eyes widened when she realized she was on camera with him. She waved.

And Killian’s heart might have stopped.

Or started in quadruple time.

“I don’t think we can scare ‘em away,” Will grinned, twisting slightly to glance at Emma. “There’s a lot of people waiting for us to do something interesting on this stream.” She let out a low whistle and Killian could only imagine how absolutely insufferable Will was going to be about the number of fans his face drew or something equally ridiculous. “We would be able to do something interesting if this train didn’t take eight-hundred years to get here,” Emma mumbled, drawing a laugh out of Robin and a cackle out of Ruby and Killian was somewhere in the realm of impressed.

“Ah, now you’ve done it, Em,” Ruby muttered. “You guys are going to have to resell that very fancy apartment so you can pay whatever fine we’re all going to get wrecked with.” Emma lifted her eyebrows. The fans were starting to get louder. Mulan was still taking pictures of them. “Is that grammatically correct?’ she asked. “Can we get wrecked by something that isn’t actually real?” “I mean the money you’ll have to pay to apologize to the MTA will definitely be real.” “God, stop using the actual name,” Robin groaned. “If we just allude to whoever is in charge of the Subway system, maybe none of us will get fined.” “Yeah, I think we’re past that point,” Will muttered, nodding towards his phone screen and Emma made a noise that was inching dangerously close to distraught.

Killian took another step forward, grabbing the phone out of Will’s hand and ignoring the immediate sounds of protest, glancing at the string of comments and they had, apparently, started some kind of discourse about the woeful incompetence of the MTA.

Or so BlueshirtBanter1926 wrote two seconds before.

GardenFaithful3494 agreed.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered and that drew another string of comments and a few others that were mostly about his face and does Cap look kind of tired and the schedule this month has been insane and someone was pulling the phone away from him.

They should throw the goddamn thing on the tracks.

That would probably just fuck up the train.

“Now you’ve done it, Cap,” Ruby laughed, digging the toe of her heel into the platform floor and she had her own phone out. “Get ready to list that apartment.” He shook his head. “See, you’re saying that like we’d have to sell our apartment to pay a fine. Why jump straight to the apartment?” “That’s the best thing you own.” “We are not selling our apartment,” Emma mumbled, eyes focused on the screen while Will tried to do some sort of damage control, but it didn’t seem to work when he kept breaking out into hysterics. She glanced up when Killian didn’t say anything, but he was too busy thinking in some sort of great, big major way to be concerned with just about anything else and she smiled when she met his gaze.

“Team don’t sell the apartment for a fine I’m fairly sure doesn’t exist, but maybe we try and redirect the conversation a little bit?” she asked and Killian couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her if he tried.

Or flirting with her.

It definitely felt like flirting – still and always and, possibly, indefinitely and it was no wonder he’d gotten less than two hours of sleep the night before. If he wasn’t trying to spend most of his time kissing Emma, he was thinking things and considering other things and she’d spent at least forty minutes the night before crouched in the corner of the loft with Roland and Henry cheering at whatever hockey game they were watching.

It was Boston University.

He looked it up before they went downtown that morning.

They won, beat Harvard in some kind of holiday tournament that Liam probably knew all about, but Killian kept thinking about the way Emma tried to teach Henry and Roland BU cheers, eyes just a shade brighter when they met his and mumbled some kind of trash talk about Minnesota that didn’t quite make sense.

He was surprised he was still standing when she announced the kids are with me and all three of them explained why Minnesota hadn’t won a national championship in nearly a decade.

He was thinking way too much.

“It’s kind of wordy,” Killian grinned, working a laugh out of Emma that seemed to linger in the very center of him and maybe that’d keep them all warm on the ice because he was fairly positive it was close to freezing outside.

And they were all a bit hungover.

“No worse than whatever grammatically incorrect name we had for last night’s party,” Emma challenged.

Killian shrugged. “That’s a fair point. Also, is that going to become an actual annual thing? Because we’ve got way too many things on this team.” “You didn’t seem to mind so much after all the champagne last night, Cap,” Ruby pointed out, the grin on her face taking a slightly predatory turn and he kind of wanted to be holding his stick again. “Almost looked like you were enjoying yourself around midnight.” He quirked an eyebrow, but Ruby was Ruby and she was never going to back down from anything – even with a Facebook LIVE stream that was probably going to spark several dozen internet rumors or a crowd that was beginning to give the NYPD more trouble than they’d originally anticipated.

Robin groaned under his breath, mumbling about acting like children and something that sounded a bit like slander and Will moved on the edge of the step so all three of them could fit together in one spot.

“You need to relax, Dad,” Will said. “Wave hello to the internet, Locksley.”

He did as instructed, if not a little stiffly when he was still holding his stick in front of him, propped up on the steps and they probably weren’t supposed to be blocking the stairs like that. “Hello, internet,” Robin muttered.

Will cackled – or possibly guffawed – head thrown back until he was dangerously close to hitting himself on the step behind him. Emma moved her hand behind his hair, trying to make sure one of them didn’t actually concuss themselves on stairs covered in, likely, several different type of bacteria.

“God, Scarlet,” she groaned, pushing back against his head until he sat up and his whole body was still shaking. Robin was talking to the screen, answering questions and redirecting the conversation and Emma flashed Killian something that was almost a smile, but might have just been a silent plea to get back to their apartment as quickly as possible.

And the whole concussion thing was still slightly shaky ground for both of them – memories of November and Arizona and an absolutely frantic Ariel sprinting into the training room with her phone pressed against her ear and demands to find out if Killian was ok because Emma is totally freaking out.

He might have been too.

“Em, you need to do some breathing exercises with Cap,” Will said, ducking his head back into the frame of his phone screen. Killian was going to strangle him. Or check him on the ice. Probably the second one.

Definitely the second one.

“And,” he added. “Help me answer some of these Olympic questions because people have questions about the Olympics.” “You’re the one playing, not me,” Emma argued, trying to get as far away from the phone without actually standing back up.

“Ah, but you’re there to make sure we all stay in line or something.” “I am not your mother or your minder, Scarlet.” Will clicked his tongue, squeezing one eye shut and even Robin made a noise that might have been a disagreement. “Eh,” he said. Emma glared at both of them. “I’m just saying, if Scarlet is thinking about being an idiot, he’s going to reconsider those thoughts if you’re around, Emma. Or Cap. So really, you guys hold all the pre-Olympic power.” Emma didn’t look impressed.

Killian tried to figure out how he could check Scarlet without a, likely, hungover Arthur and a crowd of several thousand, freezing cold fans who’d waited several hours to see them, noticing.

“He’s not even going to be in the same place as us,” Ruby pointed out, not bothering to take her eyes away from her phone when she rejoined the conversation. “Seriously, where the hell is this train?” “Language, Lucas,” Killian muttered and she kicked at him. She was several feet away. “And Phillip will make sure Scarlet reigns in on his terror-causing tendencies.” He glanced at Emma, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth even when Will stood back up and grabbed Killian’s stick. He hit him with his own stick. “Good alliteration,” Emma smiled and his mind raced back to thoughts and ideas and plans and he’d been nervous that a slightly drunk Liam and Elsa were going to give him away the night before.

And, really, half of those thoughts were absolutely Liam and Elsa’s fault because Christmas at the brownstone had happened and Lizzie absolutely stole everyone’s attention and watching the goddamn Muppet Christmas Carol while Emma held onto a six-month old had done a number on his ability to think about...anything else.

“Ok, first of all,” Will started, stopping next to Killian and he hadn’t actually let go of his stick. “I do not have terror tendencies. I have...fun tendencies.”

“Terror-causing tendencies,” Robin corrected. Will scowled at the internet. “I’m just saying if you’re going to be an ass about this, then at least do it right.” “Can you all please stop swearing on camera?” Emma asked. “We’re still live and I really don’t want to end up in Zelena’s office because someone in Illinois is upset at your distinct lack of morals.”

“That was oddly specific.” “And,” Will added. “I’m, like, at least ninety-nine percent positive Zelena is going to be out of commission for several days because, at one point last night, she and Arthur were just doing shots of the shittiest vodka I’ve ever had to drink.” Ruby lowered her eyebrows. “We are on camera. When did you do shots?” “Are you upset you missed out on the fun, Lucas?” “I mean obviously not if it was garbage. I’m just wondering when I managed to miss that. Also, circling back around to Cap’s question? Is that a thing now? This New Year’s Eve thing? Because if we’re ever allowed to play in the Winter Classic again, doing this every year is going to be kind of problematic.”

“We probably wouldn’t get acceptably drunk if we were playing a game the next day, Lucas,” Killian pointed out and Emma had moved at some point, pacing on the platform because the train, somehow, still hadn’t shown up yet.

“I’m just wondering,” Ruby continued. “If we’re making certain things permanent. In a forever type of way.” He pressed his lips together, teeth digging into the side of his tongue so he wouldn’t start yelling or just punching things and there wasn’t anything to punch. Ruby smiled, the look moving across her face slowly like she could read his mind and Killian wouldn’t have been surprised if she could.

Ruby Lucas knew everything. At all times.

God.

Robin snapped his jaw, looking like he was planning on getting five minutes for slashing. Or possibly a game misconduct. He still wasn’t standing up. “Did we not all have fun last night?” he asked sharply and the rest of them shrugged. “Oh my God, do not pull that. You guys all had fun and Scarlet totally bought that tuxedo.” “I told you that in confidence,” Will shouted. “You were wearing a tophat, Locksley!”

“Yeah, but that was classy. You looked like you were trying to be Mr. V at Casino Night.”

Killian hissed in air, slinging an arm around Emma’s shoulders – mostly so he wouldn’t lose his footing on his own skates. “That’s rough, Locksley,” he laughed. “You’re going to have buy them all something from the Games now.” “I thought we decided you were this great, big rich hockey player now, Cap. Weren’t you going to buy us all food or something?” “Just like...one time? We’re there for two weeks, Locksley.” “Plus,” Emma muttered, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd when the goddamn uptown one, finally, showed up. She hadn’t moved away from Killian’s side. Robin finally stood up. “If you guys want to get technical, there won’t be much time for a ton of team bonding that isn’t, you know, incredible planned.” Will deflated. “What?” he cried and Emma let her head fall against Killian’s shoulder. He kissed her. He probably shouldn’t have done that. They were still on camera. The Sports Illustrated person might have said something. “Em,” Will continued, the two letters sounding particularly distressed. “We’ve got to have a full Olympic experience! We can’t do the bidding of the league at all times.” “Camera, Scarlet,” Killian and Robin mumbled at the same time. He waved a dismissive hand through the air – nearly taking out Ruby because he was still holding Killian’s stick.

“Is there really an Olympic schedule?” Will asked.

Emma shrugged. “What do you think I’ve been doing most of this season?” “Planning Rangers stuff.” “Well, yeah,” she admitted, rocking her head slightly and Killian resisted the urge to kiss her in public again.

They’d gotten those few days off after the parade and the contract and interviews about both the parade and the contract, but there were still events during the offseason and a trip to Colorado and that led to more thoughts and more plans and then they were moving into the apartment and trying to hide trophies they absolutely weren’t supposed to have – deleting photos off Will’s phone at one point – and then the season started and there were a questionable number of games and more back-to-backs than usual so they could go be Olympians and Emma kept working.

She kept planning and coming up with ideas and schedules and it seemed kind of ridiculous to announce that he was proud of his girlfriend, but that’s exactly what Killian was and probably always would be...if he could just organize some of his thoughts.

Ruby was still staring knowingly at him.

And he really wanted to go back home.

“So then why the Olympic schedules?” Will pressed, ignoring Robin’s quiet mumblings of something that sounded a lot like shut up, Scarlet.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Because there are two weeks of time we need to organize and a ton of games and players that aren’t just Rangers that you guys have to, at least, pretend to like and we’ve got tickets to some sports that don’t exist if there aren’t Olympics and you want to stay in the Village.”

“Phillip and I decided that together. It’s the experience.” “I’m not arguing that. I am just telling you I have put a ton of work into this and am only dimly aware of what day it actually is, so you will follow my schedule and you will enjoy it.”

Will didn’t laugh – which might have actually been some kind of miracle – and Killian glanced towards Robin questioningly. He just shrugged. And then Will saluted.

“Idiot,” Killian mumbled, but Will’s smile grew as he stepped into the train, holding his phone as high above his head as he could so he could fit all of them into the frame.

“Just FYI, everyone,” Ruby said. “David’s going to battle the internet again and, apparently, the crowd at Central Park. It’s very cold out, I guess.” Emma’s head snapped up, eyes wide and just a bit hopeful and Killian almost forgot about whatever fine they were probably going to have to pay for insulting a government agency and the National Hockey League on the internet.

He wrapped his arm back around her and she was wearing the same hat she’d had on when they went skating at Central Park.

It felt like a sign. He wasn’t sure for what, but it was definitely there.

“Alright, well, we’re, finally, heading uptown now,” Will said to the camera and Killian reached forward to grab his stick. He hit Will’s ankles. “And if Cap is done beating me up, we’ll see all of you guys in Central Park where I’ll probably amaze all of you with my ability to juke in front of both Jeff and anyone trying to defend me.” “You’re a defenseman, Scarlet,” Killian hissed, but it didn’t really matter because the comments were still coming in and they’d all broken every rule the night before and then on camera, but maybe outdoor practice would be fun.

And he also might try and juke anyone who tried to defend him in some not-quite misplaced attempt to impress his own girlfriend.

“Whatever,” Will brushed off. “Wave goodbye to the fans, everyone!”

They all did as instructed, the NYPD and the small press contingent following them into to the car as soon as an automated voice remind them to stand clear of the closing doors.

Arthur wasn’t just hungover by the time they got on the ice – he was, apparently, determined to put on some sort of show.

He brought his whistle.

To Central Park.

In the goddamn freezing cold.

“Is it even safe for us to be out here?”Will asked, not even ten minutes into skating and it wasn’t the first time he’d asked that.

“You’re really trying to drop gloves aren’t you?” Killian muttered. He dug the toe of his skate into the ice and he wasn’t sure how facilities worked in Central Park, but they were probably going to have to pay for that too because they were absolutely going to practice breakaways.

The crowd would, as they say, go wild.

Will shook his head, disbelief etched into the pinch between his eyebrows. “And end up with Emma mad at me? No thanks, Cap. Plus you guys were making eyes on the platform. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Killian didn’t say anything, mostly because he couldn’t argue the very obvious fact that he was, very obviously, making eyes at Emma on the platform and she was somewhere in the crowd with Mary Margaret and David and, hopefully, some form of hot chocolate.

Mary Margaret absolutely brought hot chocolate to Central Park.

“Honestly though,” Will continued, seemingly undeterred by Killian’s silence. “Where’s A? I bet she’ll tell us some really good facts about frostbite.”

“You are not going to get frostbite. God.”

“You don’t know that, Cap. What do you know about frostbite?” “That it probably has to be below freezing to occur.” Will twisted his mouth at that, shoulders shifting under his pads and Arthur’s whistle should probably be put in a museum as some kind of vague torture device, used to destroy the general morale of a third-place hockey team just a few hours after they’d all consumed far too much alcohol in the middle of the season.

“I mean that’s just stupid science,” Will blustered, hooking the curve of his stick under the closest puck and bouncing it a few inches in the air.

Several fans cheered.

“Stupid science,” Robin echoed, making a face when Killian glanced in his direction. “And just think, he graduated college.”

“This whole day is going to do dangerous things to his ego,” Killian said and Robin hummed in agreement. He was stickhandling an imaginary puck. And Arthur must have brought extra oxygen with him to blow the whistle that hard. “Fucking hell,” Robin sighed. “You think we can use the whistle to practice breakaways?”

“If not I’m just going to stomp on it with my skate.” “You could probably get Lucas to do some damage with her heel, honestly,” Will suggested and that might have been the most intelligent thing he’d said all day.

Phillip bit his lip a few feet away, leaning up against the boards with his weight resting on the back of his heels and bags under his eyes that probably could have rivaled just about anyone in the entire world at that point.

“Why are you so tired, Rook?” Robin asked knowingly. Phillip glared at him.

“I don’t have to explain that,” he muttered, ignoring the not-quite-correct nickname anymore. “And also because Mary Margaret is a very nice human being and actually volunteered to discuss wedding appetizers at some point last night. Did you guys get any of that shit vodka Zelena brought?”

Killian shook his head, the laugh working out of him before he could even consider stopping it. Will and Robin glanced at each other again. “Where are your kids, Locksley?” Killian asked, doing his best to try and redirect the conversation and Arthur was yelling about taking shots.

None of them moved.

“Why you worried about my kids, Cap? And they’re with Mary Margaret and David because Mary Margaret said she was going to bring hot chocolate.” “I knew it.” “The kids or Mary Margaret?” “Both.” Robin nodded slowly, like he was trying to put together pieces of a puzzle that Killian wasn’t even sure existed yet. He was going to yell at his brother. He was fairly certain this was his fault.

And the twins were...somewhere.

Probably with Mary Margaret and the hot chocolate. And Emma. Emma was definitely with all of them, likely fine-tuning another cheer and the entire crowd was shouting now, demanding shots and practice and they had to move before Killian just started planning the next forty years.

At least.

Probably longer.

God, he needed to sleep for several days.

He nearly jumped a foot in the air when Robin tapped the side of his stick against Killian’s skate, eyes wide and mouth hanging open like he’d actually run uptown and that probably would have been faster than the goddamn train.

“You should probably take some shots, Cap,” Robin said knowingly and he got the distinct impression he was about to be grounded or something. “Work out some of that residual energy. I bet Henry and Rol even came up with a cheer.” “They did,” Phillip promised, drawing three confused glances his way. He shrugged. “While you guys were doing whatever it was you were doing on Facebook, insulting the entire city and, like, most of hockey and the international sporting community, the rest of us were ushered up here in temperature controlled cars where we probably could have gotten some sleep if it weren’t for some painfully adorable kids shouting trash talk about gophers.”

Killian wasn’t sure who laughed louder – him or Will, but it didn’t really matter because it looked like Robin was actually crying, his whole body shaking when he tried to support himself on his stick. Arthur blew his whistle again.

“Am I missing something?” Phillip asked, flashing a grin at Will when he knocked the puck off his stick. “Keep your wrists tighter. God.” “Shut up, Rook,” Will snapped. “I won us that game two nights ago.” “Lucky shot. You know Lucas told me last night I was one of the most searched NHL players in the league last season. Google told her or something.” Killian lowered his eyebrows. “Google told her? That’s a direct quote, then?”

“Well, technically, I think the league told her and she was supposed to tell reporters, but then, you know, we’ve played eight-hundred games in the last two days and then had a party to go to and I’m fairly certain she forgot.” “I think she’s trying to tell you something,” Robin muttered and Killian’s laugh wasn’t so much a laugh as it was just choking on air.

Arthur was skating towards them. “What the hell?” he growled, whistle held in one hand and a stick held loosely in the other and Will just barely leapt out of the way to avoid being slashed in the shin. “Did you not hear the whistle?” “They heard the whistle in Battery Park,” Killian mumbled. He was far too tired to even move away from the slash.

If he didn’t get to try and shoot something soon he was going to throw his gloves into the crowd.

They were probably supposed to do that anyway.

“Is Phillip complaining about his appetizer choices again?” Arthur continued and he didn’t blink when three quarters of his starting lineup nearly collapsed on the ice in Central Park. The crowd made noise. It probably looked like they were all having some kind of emotional episode.

They kind of were.

“How could you possibly know that?” Phillip demanded, voice just a bit harsher than it had ever been before and the point streak he was on was doing dangerous things to his ego. That also might have been the very obvious hangover he was still nursing.

“Did A try and convince you that you should have your reception at the restaurant, yet?” Will asked, not quite able to disguise the slight snicker in his voice. Phillip glared at him. Arthur laughed.

“Have we all dissolved into some other parallel universe?” Phillip asked, twisting his wrists when he started stickhandling as well. “And, yeah, I mean, obviously. But there’s probably not going to be enough space there. I think she was super offended by that. Something about supporting her kid’s future.” “I think that means you’re out of the running for A’s kid’s favorite.”

Phillip rolled his eyes again. Mulan was probably getting some absolutely ridiculous photos out of this.

Arthur shrugged. “Your fiancée was very vocal about your wedding plans last night. We all heard about it. Even when we were trying not to.” Phillip gaped at him, but Arthur wasn’t done yet. He spun on the spot, turning towards Killian with something that felt a little like fire in his gaze. The ice suddenly felt less stable. “Figure out your life, Jones.” Killian blinked.

And his neck cracked when he snapped his gaze between Robin and Will, both of them equally surprised by whatever proclamation Arthur had just made.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Killian asked, but he also had sort of an idea and he wondered if Liam was capable of keeping his mouth shut.

Probably not.

This practice needed to be over.

Arthur didn’t answer, just blew the whistle again and announced they were starting drills, now and Killian was fairly certain he was frozen to the ice.

“That was kind of terrifying,” Will muttered and Robin hummed in agreement. Phillip laughed.

Killian twisted, spraying Phillip’s skates with ice in the process and lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “The truth, Rook. Also are you going to make sure Scarlet doesn’t embarrass the entire country when we’re at the Games? Because Emma’s kind of worried about that.” “Obviously,” Phillip answered, drowning out Will’s muttered string of curses and insults. “And, as previously mentioned, there were gopher chants involved in the car ride up here. That Arthur was also sitting in. And when Rol and Henry were asked where they learned it, they both were happy to tell them that Emma helped last night.” “Ok….” Phillip widened his eyes, some unspoken something and Killian didn’t ask anymore questions.

He didn’t have to.

Because he and Emma had been living together for half a season and it was good and great and fantastic and his mind wouldn’t shut up, even when he was so exhausted he was barely able to skate. His mind kept jumping from idea to idea and maybe to possibly and hopefully and they needed to keep winning.

In some great, big metaphorical way.

Winning a gold medal would probably help that.

“So, uh…” Will started, skating around them and stealing the puck back from Phillip. “We going to go shoot at Jeff or we just going to let Cap, like, self combust on the ice?” “That’d probably freak out the fans,” Robin said.

“And, you know, your kids too, probably.” “Probably.”

Killian scoffed, but his legs were finally starting to work and they were moving back towards the other side of the ice, a small crowd of familiar faces standing just behind the boards.

Emma smiled at him, one arm slung around Henry’s shoulders and her cheek resting on the top of his head. Roland was jumping up and down next to her, shouting about gophers and living in the dirt and Liam couldn’t quite mask his smile even when Elsa started taking photos, both of the twins trying to find some kind of trash talk harmony with the Mills-Locksley kids.

He might have winked or smiled or shouted I love you and Emma’s answering smile was even bigger than the first – bright and easy and certain and she nodded, like she was agreeing to the sentiment wholeheartedly.

And Killian spent the rest of practice showing off for her.

The fans started to leave an hour or so after they got on the ice – about the same time it actually started to snow – and Killian couldn’t really blame them, slightly concerned with the possibility of frostbite as well and whatever the sun was doing to his eyes.

It was very bright out.

Although he might have just been trying to process everything that had happened in the last few hours, Arthur’s whistle seemingly echoing in between his ears and mixing in with laughter and shouts from the crowd and people made signs, cheering for all of them when they, inevitably, started taking breakaways.

He scored every time. Five hole, right under Jeff’s right leg.

“Show off!”

Killian turned, smile on his face when he moved and most of the fans were gone, but there were still a few Garden of Dreams kids and even more cameras and Henry and Roland were already wearing skates.

He did his best to brace himself when Roland slammed against his side, Henry half a step behind with his laugh hanging in the air and Regina was still stuck halfway on the ice and off, looking decidedly out of place in her own skates. Robin was kept muttering something about balance and finding your center of gravity, but it wasn’t really working and someone had given Will his phone back. “You know that seemed like kind of a challenge, Swan,” Killian said, skating towards her a bit slower than normal when Roland wouldn’t let go of his jersey.

She wasn’t quite as good at stopping in hockey skates as she was in figure skates, hands flying up towards his chest when her toes dug into ice and they were a mess of limbs and smiles and the sounds of Will’s camera shutter.

Emma shook her head and her smile didn’t waver, even when Will pulled Belle past them and Kristoff must have planned all of this.

Or Emma planned all of it.

Emma absolutely planned all of it.

“I don’t see it that way at all,” she said, tugging on fabric and the ‘C’ just under his shoulder. “I was just making an observation that you were, you know, maybe, sort of showing off just a bit. And I was a little curious why.” She’d done it for the reaction, he was positive, and he couldn’t really smirk at her when there was a kid hanging off his side, but he made an effort anyway – and got her to laugh.

He wasn’t quite as cold anymore.

“Was that not obvious?” Killian asked and Emma shrugged, lower lip sticking out slightly in a way that was nearly as distracting as the dress the night before.

Her hat was pulled low over her ears, hair falling over her shoulders and cheeks just a bit more flushed than usual and Killian didn't even mutter shut up, Scarlet when he heard Will skate by, shouting something about eyes and making them. He just ducked his head and kissed Emma.

In front of all the goddamn cameras and the kid still, literally, attached to his hip.

Emma seemed to sigh against him, pushing her hand up and someone laughed loudly when his helmet crashed onto the ice. Killian didn’t move. He hoped Roland moved.

“Your nose is freezing,” Emma muttered, barely moving away from him and it was probably a good thing he was still on the ice because he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to keep his footing on even ground.

Roland and Henry were both trying to check Will – or possibly the other way around. They were all very loud.

“We’ve been outside for nearly two hours, Swan,” Killian said, trying not to breathe in her hair when he brushed against her neck and it didn’t really work, but she made some kind of breathless noise that felt a bit like a victory.

“You’ve been outside for, like, an hour and a half, tops.” “That’s nearly two hours.” “That is way less than two hours. Those fans got here at like...nine this morning. David and Reese’s got here at like...” “You saved them seats, Swan,” he cut in, but Emma shook her head again and her hair nearly found its way into his mouth and, somehow, his eyes. “Did Mary Margaret bring hot chocolate?”

“Did you bet on it?” “I thought we had decided I was on the moral high horse there.” Emma clicked her tongue, tilting her head and it sounded as if the twins had joined the checking fray at the other blue line, Liam shouting something about form and get under his shoulder blades working across the ice.

“El is going to kill him,” Emma laughed, fingers leaving his jersey to wrap an arm around him and he absolutely breathed in her hair when he kissed the top of her head. “Also, you were not on the moral high horse. We were equally without morals while betting on New Year’s Eve parties.” “Ah, well, some kind of team, right, Swan?” She rolled her eyes, but her teeth found her lower lip and Killian was halfway between kissing her and just announcing plans like he was getting ready to broadcast them on the NHL Network camera that was absolutely taping all of this. “Yeah,” Emma said softly. “Exactly that.”

“How’d the crowd go? They sounded loud.” “Because you were showing off. I thought Jeff was actually going to snap his stick over his knee when you scored that last one. That was a gimme-save.” “First you’re suggesting I’m showing off and now you’re telling me I shouldn’t have scored, love? I’m almost insulted.” “Almost,” she repeated, a note of skepticism in her voice that did something to both of his lungs. “And the whole thing was great, aside from how absolutely freezing it is. Plus, you know, the snow. That wasn’t supposed to happen. There was no snow on weather on the 1’s this morning.” “I don’t think you can put much stock in NY1, Swan,” Killian reasoned. “Or actually try and control the weather. Plus, this is still festive. Ask Mulan, I bet the pictures look fantastic.”

Emma’s hair hit his chin when she shook her head.

And not kissing her was some kind of insane idea that probably belonged with the several other insane ideas he’d come up with since Mrs. Vankald had cornered him just before the air hockey tournament and asked him several different questions that were almost louder than Arthur’s whistle.

Liam probably knew about that too.

Liam had probably sent Mrs. Vankald with an itemized list of all the things he’d been dying to ask Killian since they went to Colorado.

“You know I really did come over here with a purpose,” Emma laughed, pulling away to rest her forehead on his shoulder and she fit very well against him. Killian probably would have mentioned that if someone else wasn’t shouting for him and he could feel her laugh when he groaned loudly.

“That was why,” she mumbled, laughter clinging to the words when Killian started cursing whoever was calling for him to several different underworlds. “That’s not festive at all, Jones.” “Forget festive. You want to go home, Swan?”

She pulled back up, eyes distractingly green and bright and that might have just been the sunlight reflecting off the ice. He hoped they never played in a Winter Classic – he’d never be able to score.

“That seems a bit like flirting,” Emma said, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek and Killian was nodding before she’d even finished the sentence.

“It absolutely is. Was that an answer?” “Cap,” Phillip shouted again and Killian closed his eyes, shoulders sagging under his own pads and snow that was really more like flurries and decidedly festive. “Were you going to shoot or what? Scarlet’s already talking trash and Emma had Kristoff bring out sticks.” He opened one eye to find Emma staring cautiously at him, nose scrunched and lip tugged between her teeth. “Swan…” “Well, in my defense, I didn’t know you’d be trying to get me home or attack kissing me on the ice.” “That’s just a general state of being.” “Jeez.”

“Did you plan something here, love?” Emma shrugged – or at least tried without really moving away from him and he wasn’t going to argue that...ever. “Kind of,” she said. “In that when we filled out all those forms we got the ice for the whole day because, I don’t know, Central Park is nuts and I wasn’t really counting on the freezing cold or the snow, festive or otherwise, but you guys are always practicing breakaways and I thought we could, you know, be competitive or whatever.” “Competitive?”

“Isn’t that how we all operate by default?”

Killian hummed, glancing over his shoulder when Liam shouted hurry up little brother and El had her phone out, what sounded suspiciously like Anna screaming for him to prove your worth from some mountain in Europe.

“I think that’s your cue, Jones,” Emma continued, pushing off him with a quiet oof and there was snow on the ends of her hair. “Plus, as an added bonus, I’m totally going to wreck you.”

She was gone as soon as El actually whooped, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek that he was almost positive left a mark and Phillip grinned at Killian – a knowing look that didn’t do much to silence the ideas bouncing around the back corner of his mind.

“Not a word, Rook,” Killian warned, but Phillip just held up both hands and pressed his lips together.

“I didn’t say anything, Cap. C’mon, you’ve got to stop Scarlet before he tries to steal all the talent for his side.”

It took, approximately, two seconds to realize that Scarlet had already been ousted as team captain by a very enthusiastic Roland Locksley – who already demanded “Emma is on my team, Hook, you’ve got to pick your own people.”

“I think I can do that, mate,” Killian grinned and he couldn’t actually muss Roland’s hair when he was wearing a team-branded hat.

Liam hooked his arm around the kid’s front, dragging him back against his chest and lifting his eyebrows expectantly. “You know, Rol,” he said, not looking away from Killian when he started to grin like he was issuing some kind of unspoken challenge. “I’m definitely the most talented Jones on the ice, so if you want to win whatever it is you’re actually trying to win, I think you’ve got to pick me.” Elsa stuck her tongue out and Anna probably caused an avalanche on whatever mountain she was standing out. “That is just patently wrong, Liam,” Anna said. “Where’s KJ? Is there steam coming out of his ears?” “Nah,” Liam muttered. “He’s way too busy staring at Emma and trying to figure out how he’s going to trick Jeff when he used all his moves to impress the fans during practice.” “Wasn’t that the point?” Killian asked, leaning forward to drag a wayward puck towards his stick. “Hey, Banana. What mountain you conquering today? You break any limbs yet?”

“That’s rude, KJ. I hope you lose your edge when you start trying to impress Emma.” She glanced to the side, like she could see out the phone. “Where’s Emma? Hi, Emma!”

Emma waved in response, the flush in her cheeks getting a bit redder when Will moved next to her and there were too many phones and too many people, but it was snowing and they were all still laughing and it felt like something almost permanent.

Killian tried not to smile too much – certain someone would ask about that too. “Banana, if you shout any louder, you’re going to end up under a pile of snow,” he said. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Also, Henry you’re on my team, obviously.” Henry’s whole face lit up, but both Elsa and Will grumbled several creative curses under their breath. “That’s super lame, KJ,” Elsa muttered, hooking her chin over Robin’s shoulder. “You’re playing dirty and you don’t even know what you’re playing for.” “Glory?”

“The fact that you think any of us would be willing to play for just glory is absolutely adorable,” Ruby laughed, stumbling forward when she tried to skate. She reached both her hands out, glaring at Killian when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her towards a faceoff circle.

“If not just generic glory, what are we playing for, then?” he asked. Ruby tried to make a drumroll noise with her tongue. It did not work.

“I mean glory’s not too far off the mark, actually,” Emma admitted. “But in addition to that we are playing for this fantastic, slightly dented because I forgot it was in my pocket, piece of plastic that Mer remembered to order earlier this week.”

It was a gold medal – or a slightly dented gold medal.

And she’d probably say something about attack kissing her and Anna was never going to let him live it down, would probably bring it up at every team-sponsored event or family gathering for the rest of their lives, but those things were kind of the same and Killian was moving before he’d really even considered it, one hand on Emma’s hip and his mouth on hers and Scarlet whistled.

“I love you,” Killian muttered, pointedly ignoring Anna when she yelled this is gross, KJ. Elsa shushed her.

“I love you too,” Emma said. “And Rol’s team is definitely going to be better than yours.” Liam made some noise that sounded like all the air had been forcibly removed from his lungs and Robin was only still standing because Elsa was using him as a human-wall. Will was doubled over.

“The gold medal is only for whoever wins Arthur’s critique,” Ruby said, doing her best to get the competition started. Mulan was still taking pictures. “We didn’t want to buy a whole team medals, so this is what you’re all fighting for.” “So why are we drawing teams exactly then?” Phillip asked.

“Because you have two teams in a game, right Rook?” He shrugged, shaking slightly on his skates when Mary Margaret collided with his side. It would be a miracle if they made it off the ice with all of their bones in tact.

“Arthur are you going to be fair about this?” Robin called. Arthur shrugged, still sitting on the bench with his feet propped up against the boards and his whistle clutched between his teeth. “So, that’s a no then?” “There are rules, Locksley,” Ruby continued. “You have to start from center ice, no trying to get more speed if you start from the other blue line…” “She’s talking about you, Cap,” Will interrupted, but his jaw audibly snapped closed when Ruby glared at him.

Ruby sighed. “I mean I am talking about you Cap, but, whatever, shut up Scarlet. So you start from center ice, you get no more than five moves, Arthur is going to count, and you can’t stop. Normal shootout rules. Jeff can’t come out of the crease. We all get one chance, if the puck comes off your stick, you’re screwed. Sorry, Rol.” “The puck isn’t going to come off my stick, Aunt Ruby,” Roland said, confidence rolling off him in waves and Ruby’s mouth quirked down.

“Of course it’s not, kid. Silly to think otherwise.”

It didn’t.

Roland skated from center ice with a stick that was far too big for him and a confidence that didn’t quite match up with his age and he beat Jeff with a deke just a few inches out of the crease that froze up the goalie and the entire Rangers roster.

“Holy shit,” Will breathed, his phone still held out in front of him and he must have charged it at some point. “God, sorry, Em, I swore on the stream again.” “Yeah, no, I think that was warranted,” Emma muttered. Roland grinned at them all when he spun back around, crashing against the side of the boards in a move that was just a bit too Killian for comfort. “It’s your turn, Hook,” he called, skating back towards them and he didn’t argue when Regina tugged his hat back over his ears.

“But, you know, no pressure or anything,” Emma grinned. “Don’t cheat.” Killian winked at her – an absurd move that felt almost unnatural, but still managed to work a laugh out of her and that was kind of the goal, literal or otherwise.

He didn’t cheat, started at center ice as directed, and he didn’t lose his edge or the puck, but it was difficult to get any power on his shot when Emma yelled Five hole! and it might have been the easiest save Jeff made all day.

Will and Robin were never going to stop laughing.

“You need some new moves, Cap,” Emma grinned when he skated back to the boards, handing off his stick to Phillip so he could use both hands to tug her towards his chest and he didn’t even mind losing.

That was some kind of first.

And Roland was really excited about his gold medal.

Will tried to get them to go to the restaurant once they finally got off the ice, but Killian shook his head and Emma shook her head and it only took a few seconds for him to get that message, rolling his whole tongue out to express his displeasure.

“We’ve got less than twenty-four hours before we need to be on a plane to...where do we go next?” Killian asked, throwing his arm out for a cab.

“Carolina,” Emma said. “How do you not remember that?” “It’s been a long week, Swan.” “It’s not going to get any easier. The Games are going to be some sort of almost organized disaster.” A cab skidded to a stop in front of them and he didn’t let go of her hand when they slid into the backseat, smiling when Emma’s head fell against his shoulder. “You’ve planned it all, Swan. It’s going to be fantastic.” “You think we’re going to win?” “The country or you and me?” Her body shook against his and he wouldn’t have complained if she actually fell asleep. “Either or.” “All of the above, Swan on some kind of indefinite scale.”

“Smooth,” Emma murmured, but the word came out a bit like a yawn. “God, if we fall asleep as soon as we get home is that insanely lame?”

Killian made a contradictory noise, kissing her temple and squeezing his arm around her waist. “Nah. Sounds kind of nice actually.”

“Good.”

They did fall asleep eventually – but only after they made hot chocolate and drank hot chocolate and the kissing in the kitchen led to kissing in the bedroom and there was a pile of their clothes in the hallway when he woke up for his flight the next morning.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #cs fic #captain swan ff #cup defense #blue line one shots #the vesey-hayes-skjei thing the rangers are doing now is going to influence a lot of my story-writing tendencies #just like....fyi

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