#and that's what it means to me!!! that's why Bonanza is so dear to me!!! and it breaks my heart that I was scared to be more self-indulgent

[burymeinwillow]

-

[randomoranges]

fits as au and canon

finally, the third and last idea from that one song from the other day lamao

Bright Red Lipstick  [And We’ll All Sing Along]

  It’s the last holiday show and Kate is a mixture of emotions. On the one hand, she’ll miss the fanfare of the holiday bonanza and presenting these particular numbers, but on the other, she can’t wait to find her usual costumes and put every rendition of All I Want for Christmas and Santa Baby behind her. She loves her friends who work with her dearly, but she’s officially reached her limit. She’s tired and exhausted, but she’s also very much well aware that in a week’s time, she’ll miss the vibrant backstage atmosphere and the thrill of performing. It’s her yearly conundrum and she’s far too used to it to do anything about it.

  Kate makes sure her wig is ready, before she brings it up to her vanity mirror to see how it looks. So far, the hair clips with the decorative holly are holding up nicely and they really make the wig look festive. She’s about to start on her makeup, figuring she can ask one of her friends to help her with the zipper on her dress, when there’s a very distinctive knock at her door. She puts her cream down and walks over to the door, opening it to reveal her boyfriend.

  How it is that Étienne manages to sneak backstage time and again is beyond her, but she’s ever so pleased to see him and she ushers him in, closing the door behind them both. She supposes that by now, most of her friends have at least ran into Étienne once and there is the fact that Étienne can be very persuasive and charismatic when he wants to, even if the fact remains that he shouldn’t sneak around backstage. But, she’s not about to complain, if it means that she can have a few more minutes with her beau.

  For starters, it isn’t every day that her boyfriend can come and see her perform, despite what they would both like and the fact that he’s here, for the last show of the holiday special, does give her an extra boost of energy. After tonight, she’ll be off until her birthday and she’ll get to spend that time with her beloved Étienne. She’s definitely looking forward to that.

  “These are for you, my dear,” Étienne says, holding out a bouquet of flowers like he always does when he comes to see her shows. She pretends that she’s flustered by the gesture, if only for the sake of appearances, but she still retrieves the vase she keeps under the vanity for such occasions and fills it with water from the adjacent sink. She places the flowers on the side of her dresser and looks at them for a moment, smiling softly.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you in your preparation,” Étienne mentions and she dismisses him with a hand as she returns to her mirror. There’s a reason she arrives extra early to prepare. Well – there are many reasons as to why she arrives early. Notably, she likes to give herself time to rehearse her number or numbers at least three more times and she doesn’t want to rush her preparation. Kate likes having the time to get dressed and do her makeup and if ever something doesn’t collaborate along the way, then she has the time to get it right. Plus, there’s always someone having some crisis or other and by being here, she can give a helping hand and not fall behind on her own preparation.  Finally, on the nights that Étienne gets to see her perform, she can indulge in his company for a few minutes, before shooing him away.

  “Absolutely not; you can help me with the dress.” She motions to the zipper and Étienne steps up behind her to do it up. He then hooks his chin over her shoulder and wraps his arms around her waist, all the while watching her start her transformation. He knows not to bother her and Kate has come to find out that Étienne can actually stay still and simply watch, so she lets him.

  Étienne kisses her shoulder and she smiles at him through the reflection in the mirror. He leans his head back on her shoulders and quietly watches, mesmerized, as she transforms masculine traits into more feminine ones; exaggerating some along the way and picking the shades of eye shadow that’ll give her the look she wants. He likes watching the transformation, fascinated by the spectacle and the skill set needed. He is, and remains, an artist, after all and he is captivated by the magic happening before his eyes.

  Kate keeps the conversation light, as she picks up one brush and another, glad Étienne gets to be here and watch her perform for the holiday specials. For as much as she misses her old numbers and familiar dresses, there is also something special with this particular holiday dress. The design had been Étienne’s and they had spent many a late night conversation going over details and corrections, between fits of giggles, as Étienne had done his very best to put her vision to paper. He had offered to make the dress, but she had politely declined, preferring to have it done on location. It would be easier that way for fittings and alterations. She could have put something together herself, but she’d been given carte blanche for this and had wanted to do something a little bit different and bold.

  “Green suits you, my dear.” Étienne murmurs into her neck. There’s a pleased little besotted look to his face that warms Kate’s insides, despite what she may say. She indulges him, giving the hand resting on her abdomen a squeeze, before she applies the last line of eye shadow.

  “You say that because it’s your colour.”

  Étienne chuckles; a cat caught with its paw in the cream, and denies nothing. Instead, he holds her a little closer and lets out a content little happy sigh, as if there’s no other place he’d rather be at the moment.

  There’s just her lipstick left, when Kate gets an idea. She wiggles out of Étienne’s embrace and sits on the vanity counter, motioning to her boyfriend to step closer. He does as he’s told, curious, and leans in, closing the gap between them. Kate applies the lipstick, no longer needing to look in a mirror, having done this so many times that she could do it with her eyes closed, before she presses a kiss to Étienne’s right cheek, leaving a bright red stain where her lips had been.

  “What are you doing?” Étienne asks, chuckling as Kate starts over with her process and then does the same with the other cheek.

  “Giving you Christmas kisses,” She answers, as if it’s the most obvious of things, before placing a third kiss to the corner of Étienne’s lips.

  Her boyfriend lets her do as she pleases, and Kate only stops when she believes that she’s left enough bright red kiss marks on Étienne’s face.

  She sits back, pleased with herself, and observes her handiwork for a moment. Étienne looks lovely this way and utterly content to have been kissed silly by her.

  “You know what you should do,” She starts, cupping his chin with her hand, “You should leave these on when you go out to watch the show.”

  Étienne gives her a look, pondering, and she knows that he’ll end up doing it. He likes to please her and this is the type of thing he would not mind doing at all. In a way, it would be a very public way of letting others around him know that Kat e has chosen him and he’s bound to announce this fact like a proud peacock.

  “With pleasure,” He says, proving her point.

  She beams at him and pecks his lips one more time, before sending him off to find his seat. With a final wave, Étienne wishes her luck and promises to find her after the show, and then lets her finish up her preparations.

  FIN

[chyrstis]

WIP Saturday!

Tagged by @shallow-gravy @chazz-anova @adelaidedrubman and @starsandskies thoughtout the week, and while I feel like I’m playing a bit of catch up right now, I didn’t want to miss out on this at all. Thank you all! <3

@writerofblocks @hunnybadgerv @painterofhorizons @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @ma-sulevin @tommymillers @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @redroci @unlikelynick @fadedjacket @faithchel @risenlucifer @tomexraider @weekend-writer @vasiktomis @consumedkings @scarlettkat86 @aceghosts  but no worries or obligations intended either!

I’ve been having fun dipping back into an earlier idea with Hana and Sharky, mostly because it was supposed to be a simple chat over a cigarette (and a silly exchange about tootsie roll pops), but it decided to get a little more serious than that, and I can’t be mad about that at all. 

---

“Now that’s impressive.”

“Huh? What is?”

“Hurk.” Sharky’s eyebrows rose, and she laughed. “I’ve had a few partners before that snored, but this? This would’ve had me on the couch in ten minutes flat. There’s no set of ear plugs strong enough to block that out, not that they’re selling anyway.”

“Huh.”

“You’re fine, though,” she added quickly.

Sharky had been scratching his goatee, lost in thought, but snapped back to attention. “Wait? For real?”

“Yeah, you’ve never-I never noticed. Not enough to smack the pillow or poke you at least.”

There might’ve been a time shortly after they’d started traveling together where he’d rolled over during the night, all but snoring in her ear, but she’d dealt with it. Maybe even let him repeat it once or twice, and wasn’t about to bring that up now. 

“Never thought much of it before.” He went back to mulling it over, and jabbed a thumb towards Hurk. “I mean, Hurk’s always been like that, rattling blinds and shit once he really gets going.”

“You don’t say?” Hana winced, and it didn’t take much to imagine the sound. 

“Yeah, but that’s after we have a real rager. The kind everyone talks about, and it’s been way too fucking long since we’ve pulled one off.”

“’Cause of the cult?”

“’Cause of the cult. A few of them got real bent out of shape even at Nick’s barbeque a couple years back - which was one kick-ass place to be - and that didn’t even have half of the shit they say they have problems with. Just good food, good company, and some pretty all right tunes, short of whatever the hell the Seeds were trying to pass off as food.” He sighed, and his whole body sagged with it. “Cults, man. Ruining shit for everyone since day one. Ain’t that right, cuz?”

Hurk snorted almost in perfect time to agree, but stayed exactly as he was. Sleeping better than anyone had a right to out in the woods like this. 

---

Also, another excerpt from the John the jerk bonanza, maybe? Sorry, Han :( and part of me’s tempted to add just a bit more to it so I can go ahead and post it on its own b/c it’s still pretty far down the fic timeline

---

“Which should be first? Greed? Envy? Pride? Lust? We have some fine candidates to consider, but to choose…oh, to choose. ”

He kept on going. Kept talking, monologuing, raising his hands to add emphasis to every word, and it was all drowned out. All through the blood rushing through her ears.

But it eventually died down. Eased off just enough for her to breathe and be able to think again, catching a few scattered words of his that filtered through, even as John gesticulated for no other reason than he wanted to, and she made a promise to herself then and there.

She’d make it through this. Push past it and find a way to Joey somehow, because that was all that mattered.

So if he wanted to do this - and the sinking feeling in her gut told her that this was only the tip of the mindscrew - she’d do it on her own terms, dammit. Diving in feet first if she had to.

“….John, just get it over with.”

“-thout sin, and you-” John paused, and raised one eyebrow then the other at her. “Hmm?”

Canting her head at him, Hana blew at the bangs that had fallen into her eyes, scattering a handful of the dark red strands without really moving them, and settled as hard a stare on him as possible.

“Sure we could have a field day with the others, but you’re already getting off on this, so why not start with the old L-word. You know the one. Lust,” she breathed, letting her head fall back as she arched into it, only to snap another sharp look off at him. “Just go straight for the shameful shit and run right down the laundry list of people I’ve fucked, since you’re going to want every last dirty detail anyway.”

John opened his mouth, but slowly closed it, narrowing his eyes at her. “Deputy, what do you think I’m going to ask? How many partners you’ve had? Specific acts? Preferred positions?”

Yes. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying it, and hated how her face burned in response. “You’ve got to have something to judge, might as well. Direct demonstrations are right the fuck out, however.”

---

And just a short bit that I’ve added to an earlier John and Faith idea where I was trying to feel a potential intro out, and I think I can totally work with this. 

---

She was late.

John checked his watch. Could almost hear the seconds tick by as he stood out on the balcony, drumming his fingers along the wooden railing.

While not uncommon, it always dug in just enough. Being forced to wait when he’d already put everything else on hold for her, even if she promised him it would be worth it.

His dear sister tried, but very few things were worth that loss of time, and that was one of their most precious resources nowadays. The only thing he couldn’t measure, weigh, or record, and not even Joseph could give him more than an indeterminate soon at best in terms of when it would finally run out.

So, with soon weighing over all of them, the Collapse reduced to nothing else but that, he was left to stand here.

To wait.

To welcome his sister’s visit with open arms - and he would still, even now - when he’d been left idle long enough for anyone, not just the Deputy to take advantage of it.

The tapping stopped, and John let his fingers lay flat. Let them start to dig the slightest into the surface of the wood.

And where was she now? That deputy...

He’d lost track over the past day, with nothing useful coming in through the cameras or his Chosen. She didn’t disappear. Couldn’t, not with how she dressed, how she looked, or the company she kept, but she’d somehow managed it, and hadn’t headed north or to the east.

[shinymooncolor]

I’m so sorry for how long this has been taking!! Work is just stupid 😖

Anyways.

As always @lumosinlove’s sweater weather is the shit.

Sweater weather chat #8

Nado has kinky food sex. Timmy’s words. Not mine. Dolores is the best car. Olli feels bad. Remus is sarcastic af. But I love him. So does Sirius. And Dumo. Sergei talks about the good old days. James organizes a prank.

—

Tuesday 9.32 pm

Nado: hey k, where’s the whipped cream? Kinda important here

Kuny: what? I eat it

Nado: wait the whole thing? I NEED it

Kuny: I eat with Timmy and Olli. We have pancake

Nado: fuck they’re here now?

Kuny: little left want it?

Nado: fuck just put it on the stairs and don’t look. I’ll come get it

Kuny: hehe food sex. Hot

Nado: shut up

——

Tuesday 9.44 pm

Timmyforrealz: oiii!!! Guess who’s being kinky with food sex tonight

Prongstar: what? Who? Olli? 😳😳😳😳

Ollibear: no.

KrisVolley: do we want to know?

RussianGod: Nado play with food haha

Blizzard: Are you all involved? Is it an orgy kind of thing? I’m a little concerned at your level of involvement here

Dumodad: I’m too old for this

Timmyforrealz: it’s Tuesday we’re having halo night. Nado bailed for some date. Our resident giant Russian baby suddenly had pancake cravings so we went out to get chocolate chips. When we got back Dolores was back and there was a nice trail of clothes leading upstairs. 😏

Ollibear: that was a lot of unnecessary commentary. Nado picked up a girl and is mad at kuny for eating the can of whipped cream haha. Also we hid his clothes and stole his car keys.

Blizzard: I don’t believe you.

Kaneyoudigit: hahahahahah blizzard will need photographic evidence. 😂

Ollibear: there’s nothing to prove. Nado is having food sex and we’re playing halo. The only other exciting thing was Kuny’s mom calling to yell at him for getting that 5 minute misconduct for that last sucker punch. Apparently it was unnecessary and he should know better. It was fun.

Sergei_81: so no orgy? 👀 also Kuny’s mama is scary. She used to play hockey.

Ollibear: no Sergei. Also you’re a dad and old. This is weird . But yeah she’s terrifying. But she called me an angel so I’ll take it as a compliment 😇

Sunnysideup: leave Sergei alone! I’ll have you youngsters know that your shenanigans is nothing compared to the shit we used to pull. Just ask dumo about Prague! 😂🙈

Sergei_81: I still have scar on my face hehe

Prongstar: WHAT HAPPNEED IN PRAGUE???

Dumodad: that, my dear James, is between me, sunny, Sergei and the Czech.

Sunnysideup: good ol’ days. 🤣

Prongstar: I will not rest till I know.

——

Tuesday 10.27 pm

James created new group chat

James added Kuny, Sirius, Walker, Dumo, Olli, Timmers and Remus to the group chat

James named the group chat let’s WHIP Nado

James: heheheh so. I just had an excellent prank idea. Given Nado’s newfound appreciation for canned whipped cream 🥴🥴

Remus: why am I part of this?

Sirius: why am I?

Dumo: shush lovebirds and let the man speak 😙

James: many thanks dad! Alright listen up you ruffians - we’re gonna order him a massive order of whipped cream delivered to the rink and then we’re gonna fill up his stall with the cans. And charge it to his own card. 😏

Olli: are you spraying it onto the stall?

James: no but that is an excellent idea!!

Olli: I just though in his helmet, his gloves and you know how fussy he is with his gear. Haha that’d be fun.

Walker: who are you? And what have you done with our precious innocent Ollibear?😍🙊

Timmers: oi just because he looks like a saint doesn’t mean he is one. He’s a little shit.

Sirius: I’m impressed. But why not both? If he thinks the prank is just the massive amount, he won’t suspect the other stuff. 😜

Kuny: remmy can put in his gloves on ice also go cap

James: nah that’s too easy. I have a plan. So. I’m gonna fake a crash with walker - remmy will pull us both off. Kuny you then have to drag Nado into a stupid bet where he leaves his helmet and gloves. Sirius and dumo will fill them by the bench while we three go mad in his stall hehehehe. 😈😈

Kuny: ok. But no whip on Dolores she not been bad. I challenge to handstand on ice

Dumo: not a bad plan. Although you are both oddly committed to that car.

Kuny: she good car. 🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Remus: I don’t wanna be part of this. 🙈

James: I didn’t hear that. Ok you all got it?

Walker: ohh sounds fun!!! What’s Olli and timmers job?

Timmers: lookin’ good baby 😘

James: you always do honey! But timmers is the most important - you still have his card details from when you had to run out and buy him clothes when that girl stole his. You need to order and setup the delivery 🤓🤓🤓🤓

Remus: I’m not happy with this. It’s messy. And the poor gloves

Kuny: ha ha not worry remmy gloves have seen badder things 😛

Sirius: we don’t want to know. 😖

Wednesday 8.33 am

James: good morning my fellow pranksters. Behold - the whipped cream bonanza is on the horizon. Everyone know what they’re doing?

Olli: we just charged a ridiculous amount of money for overnight shipping of whipped cream. I don’t even know how timmers did it. It’s a lot of money. 😖

Remus: oh if only you were all hockey millionaires......😳

Dumo: 😂 oh remus I love you!

Sirius: hands off dumo. You got Celeste.

Remus: I love you too dumo. But the vein on pads forehead is not looking good. Lay off

Timmers: ohhhh you don’t wanna share remmy????????? You know he’s seen us all naked a lot. He had to do physio on Kuny when he pulled his groin a few months ago. Also that was not an ice injury - I still want to know what happened 👀👀👀

Kuny: heheheh eheheh not tell 😛😛😛😛

Olli: timmy lay off. We’ve all seen Kuny naked and not just in the showers. I believe Russians are allergic to clothes. And don’t tease cap.

Sirius: thanks Olli. I knew you had my back.

Remus: Kuny’s excessive nudity aside. Are you sure this is a good idea? He’s going to be pissed 😬

Timmers: Olli!!! I thought you were my best friend and brother 😭 you wound me

Olli: shut up and gear up. It’s suspicious we’re all texting and I swear to god @kuny stop giggling like a girl. He knows something is up. He’s trying to read over your shoulder 🤣

Kuny: oh I fix this 😈👻

James: okay lets move. Kuny got him in a headlock. Great job buddy. Let’s just wait till he’s dragged him out of the locker room.

——-

Wednesday 2.11 pm

Nadotheman: you are ALL fucking dickheads. I’ll give you the fucking massive box of whipped cream was fun. But whoever thought it was funny to put in my gloves is dead. I will find you and I will kill you. 😡

Prongstar: whatever do you mean, dear boy? 😇

Nadotheman: fuck off you jerk. I KNOW you were part of this. And I know mr the English language fails me when convenient over there was too 😡

RussianGod: Nado is mad.😂🙈

Blizzard: I swear the video of you is golden. That’s going on YouTube and it’s gonna be an instant hit. 🤪

Eliascookie: I just loved how he pulled on one glove and then the next. Like it wouldn’t be there too?

Nadotheman: i swear to fucking Godzilla if anyone put this on Dolores I’ll cut of your dick and shove it in your ear.

Bradygunz: calm down. You’re such a diva. Also how would that work?

Nadotheman: am not. And shut up. It’s a metaphor

Dumodad: yes. Now shush and let’s watch the tape. Coach is talking 🤓

KrisVolley: that’s a bad metaphor. 🤓

——

Wednesday 2.33 pm

Nado: hey Remus. I wanna get back at them. Can I have some tiger balm?

Remus: no. You’re not doing that one. It’s bad. And that’s not funny.

Nado: I wasn’t going to. Just okay fine but I wanna get back at them? Who did it. I know James and kunty but. Who else?

Remus: I don’t wanna be involved in your prank war ☺️ and I would make sure to check your credit statement

Nado: pleaseeee.

Nado: waIT WHAT? You weRE IN ON THIS? Remus??!!!!!! I thought we were firendsss

Remus: I have no idea what you’re talking about 😆

Nado: 😳😳😳����😳😳 first Olli now you. Is no one safe in this world anymore? I swear if the two of you ganged up. We’d not stand a chance.

——

[sweetfuse]

God Only Knows What I’d Be Without You

AO3 link

Rating: Teen & Up

Words: 3,521

Former high school sweethearts Mulder and Scully have a chance encounter almost 20 years later

______________________________________________________________

Sometimes he still thought about her. Not too often, but often enough that he allowed himself to wonder, to ponder all the “what-ifs”. Maybe, if they stayed together, he wouldn’t feel so damn lost.

Being back in the Vineyard was something new enough. D.C. hadn’t worked out, not the way he’d wanted it to, and there was something kind of comforting about the house he grew up in. Still, he felt lost. Imagining where his life would be now if he’d just said something different, or done something different was a constant pastime for him. If he'd just changed one thing, where would he be now?

…

Dana hadn’t been back to Massachusetts in, oh, how long had it been? Two years? Her parents had moved to Florida, Missy to Washington state and her younger brother Charlie had landed some big finance job in New York. Bill and his wife were the only ones who had stayed. He’d called her last month to announce the birth of his third child, a baby girl. She was sorry that she wasn't able to be there sooner, that she couldn’t get away to fly out when the baby was born. Better late than never, she figured as she packed a wrapped baby gift in her suitcase.

…

Mulder was starting to regret that he had grabbed such a small basket. That old adage about never going shopping while hungry was proving true as he continued to stuff more and more frozen dinners into the already full basket. Heading to the front for checkout, he noticed a woman, petite, standing on her tiptoes with arms straining to reach a can of formula. “You need some help?” he offered.

“Mulder?” When the woman turned, smiling awkwardly at him, he was flooded with emotions. Scully. He hadn’t seen her in what, almost twenty years? Had it been that long? It sure didn’t feel like it. He could remember it all like it was yesterday. “Scully!,” he said, a little too loud, “You come here often?” He grimaced at his own horrible joke, but she let out a soft, genuine chuckle anyway. That was him alright. “I’m just here visiting. Bill and Tara just welcomed a new baby last month. I’m the only one in the family who hasn’t met her yet. I hear that she’s adorable though. Well, I know she is. They’ve sent me a ton of pictures and-“ She was rambling. Shut up, Dana, shut up! “Anyway, I was just here to get a few things for them. Baby formula and uh, chocolate, I think it was? But as you can see,” she gestured up at the baby formula. “I can.” He smiled at her and set his basket down before easily reaching up and swiping a tin down from the top shelf. “So, uh, how ya been?” He tried to smile but it didn’t seem right. Had he forgotten how? “Good. I’ve, um, I’ve been good. You?” She was rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers fiddling with the hem of her blouse.

...

When she noticed that the car parked next to hers in the lot had a SETI sticker on the back windshield, and another sticker proudly proclaiming “MY OTHER CAR IS A UFO” on the bumper, she smiled to herself. There was only one person she could think of who would drive something so ridiculous. Just when she turned around, she was met with a familiar face. “Ah, and just when I thought I’d finally escaped you!” “Shut up, Mulder.” She laughed, showing a more genuine smile this time. He could never forget that smile. Taking their second encounter of the day as some sort of sign, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and cast her gaze down at the asphalt. She spoke slowly, deliberately. “Mulder, would you like to grab some lunch?” “Why, Scully, how forward! I thought you’d never ask.”

...

The diner was the same. The plate of fries, the glass of iced tea, the decor, the menus -- even the company he kept today were all the same. He could remember them coming here all the time when they were younger. After sports games, before and after prom, for lunch on weekends, anytime they wanted something to eat, it seemed. “So, Mulder, what brings you back to the Vineyard?” she asked, stuffing a fry into her mouth. He had been expecting her to ask, he just didn’t want to answer. “Just, uh…just visiting. Just wanted to see the house before we sold it.” This was a lie, Scully could tell. Still, though, he would tell her in due time, just like he used to.

Eating lunch with Dana Scully was like some sort of dream. He had wondered what it would be like, almost two decades later, to be with her, spend time together like they used to. She smirked at him from across the table, and he was suddenly struck by a vision of her, of how she was then, being swallowed by an oversized Smiths t-shirt, eyes wide and playful, looking at him from across the booth. She had changed, sure, opting to wear clothes that fit her and had since grown into her babyface. That look, though. He would still do anything for her as if he were the same sweaty-palmed teenager, head over heels in love.

The waiter came over to hand them their checks. "Fox? Dana?" A tall, stocky bald man stood before them, eyes wide in surprise behind his wireframe glasses. "Skinman?" the two said, almost in unison. They had been such frequent customers in the past that they were on a nickname basis with the owner. "I always told you not to call me that! It’s Skinner," he groaned, though any annoyance he felt quickly faded back into a huge grin. "The two of you are still together, right? Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?" Scully surprised everyone by reaching across the table and grabbing Mulder's hand. "That's Mr. and Mrs. Spooky to you." She smiled at Mulder, silently telling him to play along. "Congratulations! How many years has it been?" Mulder took the lead this time. "It'll be fifteen years tomorrow, actually! We got married on Lake Okoboji. She'd always wanted to go. Spent our honeymoon driving around the country to different UFO hotspots. Can you believe Dana is still into all that crap?" He laughed, proud of his lie. Scully glared at him and threw a fry at his head. “Treat your wife right or I’ll charge you double, Mr. Spooky,” Skinner said, winking at Scully.

...

“I have to get back to Bill and Tara soon but--” Scully said, lingering next to the entrance of the diner. “No! Of course! I’m sorry I kept you so long. I’m sure the baby is getting hungry.” She lingered next to him, a bag of groceries in one hand. This was surreal, almost, like some kind of dream sequence. He even smelled the same. “Can I stop by your house first? If that’s okay, I mean. Since you said you were going to sell it and all. I’d just like to see it one last time.”

…

The house was just like she remembered it being. The (now peeling) paint was the same, the furniture, everything. It smelled the same, too, like Mulder. She hadn’t been there since she’d broken up with him. Pushing the memory down, she allowed herself to go deeper into the house. Kitchen, living room, dining room, before stopping at the door to his room. “May I?” she asked. “Sure. It’s the same as it was when I left. My mom left it as it was and I haven’t really been through any of it yet.” He hadn’t been joking. “You still have the magic eye poster?!,” she laughed. She was sure she had spent hours as a teen staring at it as they lazed around in his bed. “This whole room is like a time capsule, huh Scully?” He poked his head in the door and pulled a few sunflower seeds from his pocket. Great, she thought, he still eats those, too. She traced her hands over spines on the bookcase next to his bed, taking note of the dusty magazines and hand-labeled VHS tapes. “Hey, hey! Don’t look too closely at those!” he rushed over to try to pull her away. She picked up one of the tapes — Busty Blondes BJ Bonanza. Classy.

She'd found his keepsake box in his closet and was leafing through notes -- drawings his sister had done, an old class schedule from high school, a photograph of the two of them. They'd looked so young, him with his shaggy hair and giant headphones around his neck, her with her long auburn hair braided in two pigtails with over-sized glasses, Mulder's arm wrapped protectively around her middle. She found another picture with him in a tux and her in a handmade mint green prom dress with an a-line skirt falling a few inches below her knees, both smiling widely with eyes sparkling. Next was a slip of paper with the words, "Call me, Spooky," with a heart and her old home phone number written neatly next to it. She couldn't believe he had kept the note she'd slipped him in the cafeteria in 10th grade. She was about to say something when she heard her phone ring. She glanced at the screen for a moment. “I have to take this, sorry!” she apologized as she hurried out of the room. He could hear her out in the hall.

Hey, Ethan! How are you? I’m doing okay. I’m sorry I forgot to call, I went to the store to pick up some things for Bill and Tara and I ran into someone. Oh, just an old friend. Just, uh, just a girl I went to high school with is all. We got caught up talking and I guess I just got distracted. Yes, yes, sorry. No, no, I love you too. Goodbye.

She walked back into the room, smiling as though nothing had happened. “Sorry, Bill called. He was wondering where I was.” Two lies, he noted. Lying to him and to whoever Ethan was. Mulder flopped onto his bed. “Put some music on, Scully! I’m sure there’s some great stuff in there.” “What are you in the mood for, Mulder? Looks like you’ve got a little Paul Simon, The Cure…The Waitresses? Dear God, Mulder, this room makes me feel old.” She picked up an LP and took out the worn record, remembering how many times they must’ve played Thirteen by Big Star and how many times Mulder had quoted the lyrics to her. “Don’t be silly, Scully! You don’t look a day over…,” he took a moment to count on his fingers, “thirty-five!” he finished, triumphant over figuring out her age. She glared at him as she put the record on to play and he gave her a cheesy fake grin in return. She snorted and affection swelled in his chest, thrilled that he could make her laugh the same as he used to. He had to stop the urge to kiss her. She fell onto the bed next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He drew a sharp breath before asking, “Scully? Who is Ethan?”

She didn’t seem disturbed that she was caught in a lie, instead opting to remain where she was, still leaned against him. “Oh, you heard? Sorry. He’s my, uh, he’s my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for a couple years now. He actually proposed to me the day before I left.” “Oh, congratulations. When’s the wedding?” He did his best to mask the disappointment he felt. “I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say anything, really. I said I wanted to think about it.” “You hadn’t thought about it before?” “No, I guess I hadn’t. We moved in together last fall and things have been…they’re good. They’re, um, they’re really good. I have no reason to say no, but….” “You have no reason to say yes, either?” “Something like that.” She smiled sadly. He understood her. The understanding and compassion he showed her then felt unparalleled to anything Ethan or any other man she’d been with had ever shown her. “I just feel like maybe he’s as good as I’m going to get, you know? I’m thirty-five. He’s nice, handsome, has a good job. He loves me. That should be enough.” “But it isn’t, is it?” She only shook her head in response.

Scully stood suddenly as if trying to break free from the feeling of discontent. She started rooting through his closet and pulled out a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her clothes. “I remember wearing this when we used to ride our bikes down to the beach. Remember the night we built a fire and ended up falling asleep and how worried my mom was? I was wearing this then, too.” Mulder was surprised to hear that she remembered just as much, if not more, about their time together than he did. Truth be told, in her time with Ethan, time with Jack, time with other men who had left her unfulfilled, she would think back on summers spent with Mulder eating ice cream on the pier or exchanging gifts at Christmastime or going to the prom. Rationally, logically, she knew this was nostalgia and that everything she remembered was tinted with a rosy hue. Statistically speaking, high school relationships don’t last. The odds of finding your soulmate at sixteen are slim to none. If she hadn’t ended things with him then, they would’ve surely broken up for another reason, right? But nothing beats the magic of first love.

“Mulder?” Her voice was soft, quiet. “I wish I could go back and live it all again.”

“Scully?” “Yeah, Mulder?” “I love you.”

She buried her face in his chest for a moment and allowed him to hold her. Holy shit, holy shit. Mulder wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. “I want to go down to the beach,” she said. “I haven’t been to the beach in years.”

The night air was cool and crisp and the water was calm. Scully hiked up her skirt and waded in the sea, laughing and waving at Mulder as he watched from a blanket a few feet away. She seemed so young still, like the same person she was back then. Mulder watched her and felt young again, too. She came up and laid down next to him and rested her head on his chest. He moved to put his arm around her and rubbed small circles into her shoulder with his thumb. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Bill. I think he still hates you. Remember when you got into a fistfight at Thanksgiving?” She laughed at the memory. “Hey! He threw the first punch, and all I did was defend myself. I stand by that!” “You had that black eye for a month! I couldn’t take you anywhere, Mulder!” She was all smiles and laughter until suddenly her face turned somber.

“Do you think I made a mistake? Nothing feels the same as it did with you. Every other relationship has felt empty.” She remembered how small she felt all those years ago when she told him she was leaving him. Mulder shook his head. “You did what you thought was right at the time. I know what you mean though. I feel like I’ve been searching for it this whole time, whatever it was we had. I think you’re the only person who’s ever really seen me.” “Mulder?” “Yeah?” “Can I kiss you?” He said nothing and stayed stock still, staring at her with wide eyes. She nodded. “I mean it.” He didn’t answer, only moved in to kiss her first. He was slow, unsure at first. When she reciprocated he allowed himself to go in deeper, to savor it, to allow his hand to rest ever so lightly on her waist. When he finally pulled away, he laughed. “What’s so funny, Mulder?” His laughter was infectious. “Remember our first kiss? When I dragged you out here to watch for UFOs?” She nodded. “I lied about expecting to see UFOs though. I just couldn’t think of a better date than arguing with you about aliens.” “You wouldn’t’ve seen anything anyway," she protested. "You were too busy staring at me.”

“You’re more spectacular than any UFO I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s only because you haven’t seen any.” She playfully punched his arm and he grinned. “Mulder? I think that-” She was interrupted by her phone ringing. “Ethan?” Mulder asked, disappointment audible. “No, no,” she said, “it’s Bill. I think I need to go. I think that I might do something I’ll regret if I stay.” She rushed to her feet and turned towards the house. It was already dark and she was starting to get herself in trouble. He grabbed at the hem of her skirt. “Scully, wait. I want to say something.” “Mulder, I don’t think—“ “Scully, I love you.” “Mulder, that isn't true.” “Yes, Scully, it is! I always have. It’s always been you.” “That’s not true. You haven’t seen me in almost twenty years, Mulder! You don’t know me anymore. You haven’t known me since I was 17. You haven’t known me since I left. Do you have any idea how much I’ve been through, how much I’ve changed? You don’t, Mulder!” Her voice was soft and shaking, despite the power of her words.

She was right, he couldn’t refute it.

“Why did you come here then, Scully? Just to jerk me around?” His voice was pleading. She sat back down next to him. “No, Mulder. I was happy to see you. I still think about you. But that’s just how brains and memories work. I’m only remembering the good parts. If I still love you, it is only the idea of you as you were then.” She was always so damn rational, always scared to show her emotions, less God forbid someone mistook them as a sign of weakness. That much clearly hadn’t changed. Still, though, she had always been unusually open with him and it seemed that she still was. Some things don’t change, he figured. “You’re the only one I’ve told,” she said. “About what?” “About Ethan. I haven’t even told anyone he proposed. I just feel like it’ll be too embarrassing if I turn him down later. My family loves him, my friends love him. Everyone loves him but me.” “Well, I guess I gotta make it even then, Scully.” “What do you mean?” “Back in D.C. I had a girlfriend. A fiancee, actually. Diana. My mother gave me a family heirloom to propose with. She was saving it for Samantha but I guess since she’s not here she figured I was the next best thing. Turns out, she was having an affair with a guy from my work, of all places. Came home early one day and caught them. It’s crazy, you know? I’m way more handsome than that guy. He had some stupid ass haircut and the most punchable face I’d ever seen. Like, what did that guy have that I didn’t? But he had Diana.” “Mulder, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” “Don’t apologize, Scully. Better it happened before we tied the knot, right? Plus I was able to get most of my deposits back so all's well that ends well I guess.” He still had that carefree attitude. “Come on, Scully, I’ll take you back to your car. Bill and Tara are waiting.” He took her hand and led her back to the house.

...

“Mulder, thank you for tonight. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’m sorry about...” She fished her keys out of her purse to unlock her car. “Don’t marry him, Scully. Don’t marry him if you aren’t sure.” “Well, Mulder, there’s nothing he has that you don’t.” She gave him a playful smile and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek before getting in her car and driving off, leaving him there, stunned.

He had a lot on his mind as he trotted back to the house. He thought about her, about Diana, about himself, about where he was going. He spent the whole walk home in a daze that was only broken by a blaring car horn and an angry driver yelling at him to watch where the fuck he’s going. He unlocked the front door and made his way to the bedroom where he returned the forgotten record to the sleeve before noticing a slip of paper sticking out where she’d taken the record out hours ago. She’d always done that, marking the place where she’d taken an LP out in an effort to keep things organized. He grabbed at the slip of paper and started to crumple it up before he noticed something written on it.

“Call me, Spooky” in the same neat print and a new phone number with a heart next to it.

[disappearinginq]

Tag Game

Tag Game

I was tagged by both @amandagaelic and @waitingforthestarstofall

1. What was the last movie you watched in theaters? I think...either Little Women or Knives Out (for the second time). 

2. What’s your favorite game to play? One that I call Murder Mansion, but I think is actually called Betrayal at House on the Hill or one called Bang! - mostly because it was the most hilarious introduction to a game I have ever had where I got to play a trigger happy unlimited round packing Sheriff who everyone was trying to kill and my besties from the dawn of time were in fact my loyal deputies. 

3. Chocolate or vanilla? Vanilla, if I must only pick between those two.

4. What’s the last show you binge-watched? Yellowstone or Locke & Key

5. Do you have any pets? Oh dear. Yes. Three cats, two horses, and three dogs (though technically I might own a third horse, who knows at this point?).  

6. What’s your favorite fairy tale? Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. 

7. Who’s your favorite superhero? Batman - not the one that they keep portraying as an abusive asshole like Howard Stark, but the one who legit went to court to keep Jason Todd as his son and dipped out from being Batman and Bruce Wayne social obligations when Jason needed him and collected orphans and tried to make sure they wouldn’t turn out like him. 

8. Who’s you favorite Disney Princess? Pocahontas or Tiger Lily probably, though I was never really a fan of the princess movies. I liked Treasure Planet and Great Mouse Detective where there were zero romantic subplots or princesses. 

9. Where’s the first place you’re going to go after the social distancing is over? ALASKA. BECAUSE THAT WAS THE PLAN BEFORE THIS HYAH! SHITSHOW! 

10. Cookies or Cake? Cookies. I am weirdly not a fan of cake. 

+ 10 questions from @teenwolf-theoriginals:

1. which show could you watch over and over? Lucifer, Daredevil (and add-ons), Republic of Doyle

2. favourite song lyric? " I choose my eyes wide open/And my heart half-broken every time/Over the gilded golden shackle/And the reassuring sentimental lie.”

3. favourite season of your favourite tv show? Lucifer season 4, Daredevil Season 1, and...whatever season ends with Jake Doyle getting kidnapped and locked unconscious in a shipping container bound for Mexico

4. what never fails to make you smile/happy? Cirque De Sewer videos on Facebook (ren fair comedy show with cats and rats and a former ballerina). 

5. how are you doing with all that’s going on in the world (virus, having to do social distancing, etc)? I feel really weird saying this, but the quarantine is working out freakishly well for me. My sister, who hasn’t lived nearby since 2010, came to visit for our mom’s 70th birthday just before the travel ban, so she’s been here for a little over 2 weeks now, which is the most I have seen her in 10 years. We live in a small town on a farm, so I have a lot to keep me busy outdoors without having to go to public outdoor places. My job is 100% capable of being 100% remote, we always buy from the warehouses when we have coupons so we have plenty of food and paper goods, we have puzzles out the wazoo to keep us busy when the weather is bad, we have a huge garden every year so if this keeps up we’ll have all our own food and eleventy billion movies and crochet projects, etc. I’m also a hella hermit normally, so this is not really all that new. Little mad I can’t go help a friend paint their house, but eh. Small price compared to a lot of others.  

6. we all love new music to listen to, name an artist that is underrated/you think people should check out? Janet Devlin. Irish/English folk singer I found on Spotify. 

7. tv show or movie? TV show. I love the level of character development that can happen when given the opportunity. 

8. favourite holiday? Thanksgiving. All the food. And less work than Fourth of July, because July means I get roped into directing the town parade and half a dozen other things because my parents get me to. 

9. a song that describes you? “Psycho” by Ava Max. 

10. describe your tumblr in three words? Themed = for chumps.

+5 questions from @macspaperclips

1. What is your favorite hobby? Crocheting, or writing

2. What is your favorite book? Or/and a really good book you’ve read recently? Six of Crows duology - a heist series that I got sucked into thanks to fan art and then finding out the main male lead can’t stand human touch and I was like SOLD. 

3. What is your favorite Ship that will never happen (Or hasn’t happened yet)? Not a shipper. I hate ships, because inevitably, ship wars ruin everything. And in some cases, really make me question sanity or mental health of some people. Said I didn’t like a female romantic lead, next thing I get is death threats, and I am totally the type to back track a URL, hunt you down in the real world, and brain you with a hammer. It’s not good for my anger management. 

4. If you could spend the day with any living celebrity, who would it be?  Harrison Ford, because it would be on his ranch in Jackson Hole. 

5. The best worst movie you’ve ever seen. A movie that you know objectively is trash but you can’t help but really enjoy it. The new Robin Hood with Taron Edgerton, or the Four Musketeers.

My questions (answer these if you’re tagged, then come up with some questions of your own, and then tag people):

1) What is your MBTI and/or Enneagram Number? MBTI - I had to look this up - INFJ or ENFJ, depending on how you want to interpret that first letter. 

2) What TV episode is your all-time favorite? The Hay Burner on Bonanza, 

3) What does happiness mean to you? Lack of desire

and tagged on because I was in fact tagged by two people @amandagaelicquestions: 

1) If you’re a fic writer, do you reply to every review? And if so, how long do you wait? I have only recently started getting over my weird phobia of responding to reviews (I also am rather new to AO3 and it was a little hard or impossible to do in FFN.net), so some stories in the smaller fandoms like Magnum, I have tried to respond to all of them, and it takes anywhere from a day to a month, but in Lucifer...oh dear. It’s daunting, and I keep freaking out because I haven’t finished the behemoth that is Damnatio despite it being years, so I don’t want to respond back to everyone saying “I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN I AM FINISHING THIS” in between severe writers’ block. 

2) What color Starburst is the best? Of the original? Pink. Of the options of outward packaging? Blue. 

3) Skittles or M&Ms? M&M’s

4) If you were to learn any new language, which one would you choose and why? Bold of you to assume I would learn only one. I am actually taking...four lessons through Duolingo? Irish, Welsh, Spanish, and Hawaiian (Was learning Navajo, but I made it to food and WTF....nope, kicked my ass). 

My questions: 

If you could be anything else, what would you be? 

If you’re a fic writer, what would you guilty pleasure fic idea that you won’t write because you don’t think anyone else would read it?

Is there something you wish you knew more about, and if so, what is it?

tagging: @dragonnan, @rohanrider3, @sofasurf, @buckky, @ariaadagio, @get-whumped, @itsjustdg 

If you’re busy or otherwise not feeling it - as always, feel free not to play. If you weren’t tagged, I also mean you. You can come play too. 

[marvelhead17]

Miracle (Original Female Character x Cable Fic)

Chapter 11

Summary: “How did you fix it?” he asked. “Ask Ellen the Teenage Warhead,” Wade shrugged as he stood up, “As for baby Hitler he ended up having a diaper change, funny story I was actually going to call Cable since he was so keen on killing Russel, I thought this would be like taking candy from a baby, if that means replacing it with a bullet that is,” Warnings to cover the whole fic: Graphic depictions of violence, use of weapons, mild to strong language, mentions of rape, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, referenced torture and psychological abuse/manipulation, nightmares and night terrors, sexual humour, sexual content.

Word Count: 1.9k

The Future

“DADDY!” she leapt into his arms and he hugged her so tightly that she squirmed and giggled, “Daddy you’re squeezing me too tight!” he let her go slightly and kissed her several times on the head.

“Sorry sweetheart, I just missed you, a whole lot,”

“I missed you too Daddy,” she let go and he did as well, rather reluctantly.

“I’m just going to talk to your mom sweetheart, don’t go anywhere, alright?” he smiled and brushed her hair from her face.

“Alright Daddy,” she grinned and watched as Nathan walked away to her mot her standing a few feet away.

 “I’m taking her out so don’t try and come back and insist that there’s something important with you and Chet so that you can take her, this is my weekend with her and I intend to spend every minute I can with her,” he said with an air of confidence that he himself was surprised at.

“Nathan you can’t just-”

“She’s my daughter too, I have the right to see her,” he strode to his daughter and scooped her into his metal arm and grabbed her packed bags with the other.

“Yay weekend with Daddy!” she cheered, he smiled as he flung the bags over his shoulder and opened the door before slamming it behind him.

                                                          * * *

  Present Day

“Jesus Christ!” she placed her hand on her chest as Nathan popped into the room unexpectedly, a small girl and bags in his arms.

“Hope, this is a friend of mine, Hades,” he said as he lowered her to the floor.

She stared up at Hayden with excitement, “That’s such a cool name! My Daddy told me you’re taking us to a carnival, we heard about them in school, are they really fun?”

“Um…” Hayden looked dumbfounded as she stared at Hope.

“Hope sweetheart, why don’t you go have a seat over there for me, I’ll join you just now,” he pointed to the couches.

“Okay Daddy,” she bounded off and hopped onto the nearest couch.

 “Wow, a kid. She’s, wow. Yours,” Hayden couldn’t formulate full sentences.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she?” he smiled.

“I- yeah, me taking carnival?” she said stupidly as she looked over at Hope and then back at Nathan.

“Yeah- I was actually meaning to ask if you could come with us, I have no idea what’s good or not at a carnival, and having someone who is more socially appropriate around will make things easier for me,” he said sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck.

“I-” she shook her head, “Yeah I’d love to,” which made Nathan smile again, “but one condition, I’m bringing Wade along as well.” She said, Nathan sighed. “But only because he’s going to whine worse than an actual child about not going to a carnival, he loves them,”

“Fine, just keep him in check and make sure that trap of his doesn’t curse around my little girl, and we have a deal,”

“Deal,” she stuck out her hand and they shook in agreement.

                                                               * * *

 “I still don’t see why you brought me along on your date; we can go to the carnival anytime we want,”

Hayden elbowed Wade in the ribs, “It’s not a date idiot; his daughter is here too,”

“That’s exactly why it is a date my Dear Hayden- Hades,” he corrected himself as she gave him a look, “Single parents have to take their kids with them on dates to see if the relationship that they want to get into has potential depending on how well they get along with the kid,”

“That’s crap, you so made that up right now,”

“It’s so not!”

“Hey, are you two coming or what?” Nathan called to them, his daughter Hope standing at his side and holding his hand, she was looking all around her trying to take the colourful scenery in.

“Cool your jets old man we’re coming,” Wade said as he walked through the entrance.

 Hayden stared up at the entrance banner, it was bright and colourful and inviting, and she turned her gaze to the crowds and took in the scene before her. It was noisy and busy, something she would normally not walk straight into; however, today she was in good company and felt safer than she had been in a long time.

“Haydes?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” she smiled and walked to Wade, they caught up to Nathan and Hope, she was bouncing on the spot impatiently.

“So, where to first?” Nathan asked Hayden, she looked to Wade for help.

“Uh, why don’t we start over there and work our way around?” he pointed to a water themed booth.

“We’re following your lead,” Nathan said, Hope turned to see where Wade was pointing and immediately ran to the booth, Nathan moved to follow her with a worried expression on his face.

  Hope’s hands held the edge of the booth that was named as ‘Aqua Snipers’ and she peered over, the attendee smiled and leaned over to talk to her.

“Hope, don’t run away like that, there are too many people here, I don’t want to lose you.” Nathan chided.

“Daddy the man says that it’s five dollars to play one game,” she looked at him hopefully.

“Alright,” he pulled out a few crumpled notes from his pocket and placed it on the table, “How do we play?”

“Why it’s simple sir, all you have to do is aim this here plastic gun at the clown’s mouth over there, and once the balloon attached bursts you win,”

“Seems easy enough,” Nathan shrugged but Wade grabbed the money on the table.

“Hold on Carnie, what’s the catch?”

“No catch, just a two minute time limit,” he held his palm out.

“Hmm, fine,” Wade placed the money in his hand; the attendee closed it quickly and put the money in his tin, “Let’s kick some butt.”

                              They were each given a plastic gun that was attached to a water filled tank, Nathan showed Hope how to hold the toy properly and then the attendee started the game; the three of them were easily filling the balloon given their experience with guns. However, Hope was struggling to hold it with it being so heavy and shooting a strong spray of water, and the three of managed to pop their balloons while Hope’s balloon fizzled out.

She put the toy gun down and looked unhappily at the ground, Nathan quickly rubbed her backside and told her it was okay that she didn’t get it the first time, then he put more money on the table before showing her how to hold it steadier for her turn again. This time she won and she grinned happily.

“Thank you Daddy!” she giggled as she walked holding her new stuffed panda, the others each holding their own stuffed toy that they had won.

“Don’t thank me Hope, you did it all by yourself,” he ruffled her hair.

“I think my heart just grew three sizes,” Wade teased with a hand covering his heart, “And here I thought you were always a hard- butt. Hard-butt,”

Nathan grunted, “Nice save.”

Hayden smiled at seeing Nathan interact with Hope, Wade was right he normally was a bit of a hard ass but seeing this softer side of him, it made her feel at ease for some reason.

  They played the Basketball Bonanza next, the adults playing before Hope so that she could see how the game worked, when she tossed her first ball she missed by a great distance. Nathan didn’t want her to be discouraged so he lifted her up in his muscular arms; he winced briefly enough for Hayden to notice, with the added height she was able to score and won another stuffed animal prize.

After dominating the Ring Toss Extraordinaire with use of some super abilities and calculative cyborg vision, they defeated the Milk Bottle Slammers, Hope was overwhelmed with all the stuffed animals that she now had for her collection, and although she hadn’t been very good at the games herself she enjoyed watching the others play.

They seated themselves on the outskirts of the carnival that was made into a makeshift hay-bale farm style courtyard specifically for the food booths. Hope was attempting to suckle down on a large candy apple, Wade happily chewed down on his seventh chimichanga, Hayden opted for the classic caramel popcorn and Nathan settled for a corndog (after Wade insisted that it was a must-have for ten solid minutes).

 “So did you enjoy your first carnival?” Wade asked after swallowing another bite.

“It was awesome! The games were so fun and the people are so loud and everything is so fun in the past! I wish it was like this back home,” Hope said and gave her candy apple another lick.

“Oh, that’s nice Hope,” Wade looked down at Hope and then looked back up again, “but I was actually asking Haydes,”

Nathan turned to Hayden, “This was your first carnival too?”

“I- uh, yeah,”

“That’s why you brought Wade along, because you didn’t know what to do at carnivals.” He said in realisation.

“Well sue me for not having a normal childhood, I suggested it because Wade told me that one was coming to town and I, I just wanted to know what the big deal was,”

“And?” Nathan asked.

“With you two idiots and Hope, I could do it another hundred times over,”

“She’s a lot more fun than Mommy,” Hope said with a grin, “I like her.”

 “I like you too Hope,” she smiled down at the girl.

“Hope, it’s not nice to say mean things about your mother,” Wade chided making the other two turn their heads, “On the other hand your father-”

“Daddy is the best Daddy in the world, I could never say anything mean about him!” she seemed shocked by the very idea, “But Chet-”

“Who’s Chet?” Wade asked taking another bite of his snack.

“Chet is… my ex-wife’s new husband,” Nathan said with a hint of bitterness.

“You’re divorced?” Wade asked surprised, “The way you talked about her I- sorry man.”

“And I hate him,” Hope continued, crossing her arms. “He always sends me to my room so he can be alone with Mommy and the baby,”

“Hope-” Nathan started.

“No, let her talk it out,” Hayden said looking at Hope with full attention, “Hope?”

 “I feel like Mommy loves the baby more than me, it’s like she doesn’t want me anymore,”

“Sweetheart, your mother still loves you, they’re just excited that the baby is here,” Nathan assured her.

“But I’m here, they’re replacing me,” a tear fell down her cheek.

“No one could ever replace you,” Nathan touched her face gently, “Do you understand? A lot of attention is going to be towards the baby now that it’s here because it’s too small to take care of itself, not like you, you’re my big strong girl aren’t you?” he wiped away her tears.

“Yes,”

“Look at me,” he lifted her chin, “Your mother and I still love you, we just don’t love each other anymore, but just because we don’t love each other anymore doesn’t mean we’re leaving you behind, alright?”

Hayden felt unconvinced about Nathan not loving his ex-wife anymore as he had emphasised the ‘we’ a little too much for her liking.

“Alright Daddy,” she managed to smile.

“Aren’t you glad I suggested she talk it out?” Hayden asked smugly, “Hope, don’t be afraid of telling someone you trust how you’re feeling, alright? Sometimes it helps you to feel better,” she looked at Wade who smiled with a mouthful of chimichanga and nodded.

________________________________________________________________

>> Chapter 12 <<

[bbclesmis]

The Guardian: Les Misérables finale recap – beautiful, if interminable

This extended ending felt like it lasted several lifetimes, and exhausted the BBC’s fake blood supply. Still, let’s salute these stars for their heartbreaking turns in a strange show 

Spoiler alert: this recap is for people watching Les Misérables on the BBC. Please do not read on if you are not up to date.

Wow. So that’s it. What a strange and, ultimately, great episode, but boy oh boy did we take a long time to get to the end. It started with an unusual approach to revolution: “Smug marrieds and breadwinners, you may go home.” But it unfurled beautifully, if interminably. Here was a 75-minute bonanza which exhausted the BBC’s fake blood supply, the prop department’s collection of French street signs and Dominic West’s lifetime allocation of “woe is me” expressions. It all came good – or, rather, bad – in the end.

I tend to agree with commenters who suggested the BBC could have learned from War and Peace and given this eight or 10 episodes. But much of this latter part of the plot was taken up with revolutionary firebrands we don’t know or care about. Let’s protect our blood pressure and not get too annoyed about the fact that Jean Valjean just happens to find the barricade where Marius is, and that that was just the start of the coincidences. (“Oh who is this, mere yards away from Javert when he jumps into the river …? Why, it’s Thenardiers!”)

The highlight of the series? West as Valjean. Although David Oyelowo’s obsessive, brooding Javert comes a close second: “Everything I ever believed to be true … Everything I lived my life by … And he … He … No matter.” Oyelowo is one of those actors whose performance is so compelling that you feel as if the camera is zooming in on his facial expression even when it isn’t. He draws you to him. “If he lives, he intends to rob me of all my happiness.” “And yet you … Are you insane?” “No, I don’t think so.” I think we know you’re both insane by this point. The question is which one of you is more sympathetic as a human being. In the end, Javert just could not live with his own humanity. 

West should also get an award for acting in a sewage tunnel. This was incredible and terrifying but narratively (blaming Victor Hugo here) I just kept thinking, “For the love of magnificent trousers, has this man not suffered enough?” Still, his bestial roar of rage was astonishing. Wherever there’s a stink, Thenardiers is not far away. “You ruined my life. I had my own inn. Now I live like a rat in the shitty darkness.” Oh dear; we all feel like that some days, mate.

All the massive questions raised by Hugo had to be encapsulated in just a few moments. What does it mean to have everything you believe in vanish in a flash? What does it feel like to lose the one person to whom you have given everything? Why is the choice to be a good person such a lonely one? This series has been a difficult task for the actors to pull off. The scenes are short, sometimes only seconds long. The narrative moves at breakneck speed and ridiculous coincidences drive the plot constantly. To maintain the viewer’s suspension of disbelief is no easy ask. But they all rose to it brilliantly, inspired, I suspect, by West, who appeared to live and breathe that character. Valjean, we salute you and wish you the sweet sleep of angels. You were never a thief to us.

Least convincing romantic encounter

The bromance between Valjean and Marius took a while to warm up, but we got there in the end as Marius was dragged into the cellar. Cosette and Marius’ relationship became the focus by the end, but I still struggled to believe in it. The real love affair is the platonic relationship between Valjean and Cosette, which is a stand-in for what he felt for Fantine. There was a lovely moment when Marius’ grandfather insisted on suggesting that if only he were 15 years younger, he would be in with a chance. “What’s the matter? Can’t I be in love with her too? It’s only natural.” Try 70 years younger, my friend, and with a complete personality transplant.

The Gwyneth Paltrow onion for tears on demand

Broken Javert! Be still my beating heart. We didn’t have enough time to see Javert’s undoing because he jumped in the river, but this was an extraordinary moment. Long before all this, the scene with Gavroche jumping among the corpses was beautifully done and very moving. This was Marius’ finest hour. Of course, another parallel here: where Pontmercy was saved by Thenardiers, now the son of Pontmercy tries to save the son of Thenardiers. And the dead son (Gavroche) is carried away by the man (Valjean) who lives with his foster sister (Cosette).

I had the stirrings of a tear when Marius was brought home but, like so many emotional moments here, it was cut short. “You had to do it. You had to break an old man’s heart.” The weepiest bit, however, was easily Valjean in the garden with grey hair. “That’s because I’m going to die soon … Do you really love me?” Don’t die, Valjean. You said you were coming to England!

“Ecoutez et répétez!” Classic miserable lines

• “This barricade is made of more than just cobblestones and bedsteads. It is made of ideals, of hope, of love of our fellow men. We fight for the wretched of the earth and if we go to our deaths, we go to our deaths with joy.” Yes, yes, we get it. Now get everyone out of the pub and fight.

• “My darling, I’m now on the barricades with my friends. If I die, I die loving you.” Oh shut up, Marius. We all know Valjean is way more heroic.

• “Love. Agreed. I couldn’t be happier, my beloved child.” I could have been happier if this had been split into two episodes, but still.

• “Do you want the blindfold?” “I piss on your blindfold.” Says it all.

(x)

[weeklyhumorist]

The Son From ‘Cats in The Cradle’ Would Like To Correct The Narrative

“My child arrived just the other day

He came to the world in the usual way”

  Actually, my birth story’s quite harrowing. Dad, like most mid-twentieth century men, wasn’t even in the room. Mom was in labor for fifteen brutal hours. Far from “usual,” I’d say. 

  But as you’ll see, cutting mom out of the family portrait is an ongoing issue. 

  “But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay

He learned to walk while I was away”

  One doesn’t learn to walk in a day. Yes, dad was gone for the specific moment I took my first step, but it’s not like he missed my early mobility entirely. I have grainy home movies of me shaking diapered booty in every imaginable way. Dad’s very much there.

  Also, what’s with him portraying himself as some sort of jetsetting Don Draper burning up the Pan-Am miles? My father was an insurance salesman. He went on maybe two planes a year, at most. Usually to visit aunt Clara, not to pay bills. But I digress. 

  “And he was talking ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew

He’d say ‘I’m gonna be like you, dad’

‘You know I’m gonna be like you’”

  Others I was “gonna be like” at age three: Stretch Armstrong, Grimace, and Lassie. Toddlers’ expectations are famously untethered from reality and not in any way predictive.

  “And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon

Little boy blue and the man in the moon

‘When you coming home, dad?’ ‘I don’t know when’

But we’ll get together then

You know we’ll have a good time then”

  Pop’s really hung up on this “when you coming home, dad?” conceit. To be fair, I did ask it a lot. Like when he went golfing. Or to the bank to deposit that bill-paying money. Or sometimes just to the backyard. It’s actually a really mundane thing for kids to ask. Dad makes its sound like I was in belabored agony longing for patriarchal security. In truth, I just wanted to know how long I had before he commandeered the TV with tedious Bonanza reruns. 

  “My son turned ten just the other day

He said, thanks for the ball, dad, come on let’s play

Can you teach me to throw, I said, not today

I got a lot to do, he said, that’s okay”

  You know what I don’t remember, like at all? My tenth birthday. Nine is memorable because I had one of those sweet ass seventies McDonald’s parties with orange drink and Happy Meals and dangerous playgrounds. Eleven is family lore because I embarrassingly vomited all over my Carvel cake. But ten? Total blank. I trust I did get a ball, if dad says I did, but I’m 99% sure I knew how to throw said ball before reaching double digits. Isn’t that a kindergarten skill?

  “And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed

It said, I’m gonna be like him, yeah

You know I’m gonna be like him”

  Really, pops? My smile spoke to you? That’s a thing that happened? Guess you took fuller advantage of the seventies than I realized!

  Honestly, this whole story makes me sound like a damn idiot. Here I am at ten, unable to throw a ball but apparently with a smile like a crystal ball. And then when pops steps away to clean the garage or perform some other man-chore, that’s the catalyst that leads me to attach my life’s aspirations to him? What? Why?

  I am, however, happy to know that after this one, apparently hyper informative day, nothing happened during the next eight years to trigger dad’s guilt. I myself remember adolescence as a bit of a roller coaster, but for dad it seems to have been smooth sailing. He went through an early ‘80s yoga phase, so maybe that’s it.

  Fast forward to college.

  “Well, he came from college just the other day

So much like a man I just had to say

Son, I’m proud of you, can you sit for a while?”

  Now this I do remember. School was hundreds of miles away, and I drove a really crappy VW with no air, no stereo, and only about half an engine. I walk up to my doorstep after this exhausting drive, massive bag of laundry in tow, and before I can even ring the bell, dad’s immediately—and I do mean immediately—all up in my face like, “hey son, whatdya know? Like our new furniture? Want to sit on it? Have some Tang?”

  But I couldn’t do any of that because I had an errand at a store that closed in twenty minutes. Or as dad chooses to remember it:

  “He shook his head, and he said with a smile

What I’d really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys

See you later, can I have them please?”

  Yes, with my shitty car basically busted, I did ask to borrow the family wagoneer. And where was I going, you ask? That would be to the bakery to pick up an anniversary cake. Because ya see, dad had again forgotten my other parent, as he’s wont to do (but I guess that’s another song, eh dad?).

  I was back in ten and spent the rest of this weekend at home. If anything, it was a little too much in the father/son bonding department.

  Years then pass without incident, until one arbitrary phone call eventually re-triggers dad.

  “I’ve long since retired and my son’s moved away

I called him up just the other day”

“I said, I’d like to see you if you don’t mind”

  Note that he didn’t ask to see me. It’s all about him. He’d like to see me. I’ve been summoned.  

  Nevertheless, I’m polite. 

  “He said, I’d love to, dad, if I could find the time

You see, my new job’s a hassle, and the kids have the flu

But it’s sure nice talking to you, dad

It’s been sure nice talking to you”

  Cue another self-centered pity party.

  “And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me

He’d grown up just like me

My boy was just like me”

  My god, what a narcissist! I mean, I love him and I’m glad he’s taken up the retirement hobby of songwriting, as it keeps his mind sharp. But seriously, why the unrelenting solipsism?!

  Sorry your grandkids had the flu, dad (they’re fine now, by the way). Sorry I had a hard deadline. Sorry I politely reminded you how nice it was to hear your voice. Sorry I didn’t realize my entire life was under a microscope built by your own guilt or that one lone phone call would serve as allegory for our relationship. Sorry I couldn’t call you back until the very next morning. 

  But mostly, dear father, I’m sorry you’re so hard on yourself. While you were a good dad who taught me much, the most important lesson you’ve given me is to not define either my parenting or my children by my own selective memories from a tiny handful of days. 

  Rest assured that I’m not gonna be like you, dad. You know I’m much more like mom. 

  The Son From ‘Cats in The Cradle’ Would Like To Correct The Narrative was originally published on Weekly Humorist

[seriouslyhooked]

Souvenirs (A CS AU) Part 9/14

A Modern CS AU where Emma has grown up in Maine her whole life and runs a store with Ruby and MM. Killian Jones is the new guy in town, who just bought the local bar. Only Emma and Killian have met before and now she can’t help but wonder if their past has influenced his plans for the future. Includes tons of fluff and a happily ever after. Rated M.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

A/N: This chapter, Emma and Killian are moving her stuff into his house. Emma notes how well their stuff already meshes, but there are a few rooms where she thinks they could use some changes. Killian’s response? Going on an impromptu paint and furniture-shopping trip. Because why not just have domestic fluff bonanza? We deserve it. Anyway thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy!

God I love this house, Emma thought a few months later as she placed a box down in the kitchen filled with odds and ends that she’d brought from her old apartment. Right behind her was Killian, lugging in the huge artisan mixer that she’d insisted on bringing too. And this man, I really love this man.

Emma had never done this, never taken the plunge of sharing a place with a guy. As a foster kid, all she had ever wanted was a place to call home where she wasn’t surrounded by swarms of people. So when she grew up, she was a little territorial over what was hers, and that included her space. She didn’t really do the roommate thing, never wanted to mesh her things with someone else’s, so to move in with someone, that was probably going to be a lot to handle. Only it didn’t feel that way. Standing in Killian’s house in the early afternoon of a beautiful Saturday felt right and starting to blend her belongings in with his was exhilarating instead of terrifying.

“Are we really doing this right now?” Killian smiled at her question and came around the island to take her into his arms.

“We really, are, Swan.”

He looked almost predatory with the heat in his eyes and Emma thought she was in real trouble of getting sidetracked from the move in the name of pleasure. Not that she’d mind at all, but Killian had gone so far as to higher a team of movers who were less than five minutes behind them. Optimistic as she was recently, she doubted anything truly satisfying could happen in five minutes.

“You love that you’re my first time, don’t you.” She watched his body tense a bit and knew her word choice had turned him on that much more, and then he nodded, bridging the gap between her for a searing kiss.

“You’re first and last.”

The gravel in his voice had Emma inching in closer, trying to get the friction of Killian’s hard body against her. She was succumbing to his raw sex appeal as she always did, and though moments ago she’d been saying it was impossible, Emma now couldn’t seem to care about the potential interruption anymore.

“First and last,” Emma confirmed. She was just about to pull him down for more when the moving truck groaned to a stop outside. With the moment broken, Killian traced his thumb over her bottom lip and looked at her now with a mix of lust and love, her favorite cocktail of emotions.

“We’ll pick this up later.”

“This had better be the fastest move in history.”

Killian laughed heartily at that and took her hand in his, as they let in the movers and directed them with the bits and pieces of furniture that were making the trip from Emma’s house. They’d done their fair share of planning already, and so the move was manageable. Nothing too horrendous, but after a few hours of organizing, Emma still felt like something was slightly off. There were just certain rooms that didn’t fit as well as she’d hoped, or maybe needed a completely different look.

“Everything okay, love?”

“It’s just gonna take some time, I think. To make it really ours.” He looked at her, clearly confused. “Well, I just mean, like there’s some rooms that we might want to consider restyling in a way that would make the things that we both have and love flow better together.”

“So like repainting and getting some new furniture?” Emma smiled, relieved that he understood.

“Exactly!”

“Why would we have to wait for that? Come on love, the day is young, let’s make this house our home today.” Emma let him pull her hand to the door, shocked at his statement.

“You want to get it all done today?” Killian nodded. “There’s no way, we can’t do that. The painting alone for three - no four – rooms would take us at least a week.”

“Ah, but we are more than just us, aren’t we Swan?”

Killian pulled out his phone as they made their way to the porch and down the steps. He opened the door of the car for Emma and then walked around to start it and head out. As he did, he spoke to Graham about procuring some of his workers for the next two days. He’d pay double for some basic painting and though Emma thought he was crazy, she also loved how dedicated he was to seeing her happy and comfortable.

“We’re off to get the colors right now.” Killian looked at Emma to check that was okay and she nodded, secretly delighted that he was so invested in this.

“Great, thanks mate, see you then.” Killian hung up the phone and turned his attention and his grin towards Emma.

“Graham will meet us at the hardware store in an hour and he and his guys can get any necessary work done by end of day tomorrow. Whatever you want, Emma.”

“You have no preferences?” He shook his head.

“Only that you choose whatever strikes your fancy, and that your selections make you feel comfortable in our home.”

“But it’s ours. You should contribute too.” He smirked at that.

“I will, Emma, but I also know that you’ll go out into the world thinking of this place as ours. You know me by now, and I trust your instincts implicitly.” He extended his right hand and she took it willingly, moving closer to rest her head on his shoulder for a moment.

This was really one of the greatest gifts he could give her, because as an artist, and someone whose whole life was considering what worked and what didn’t work aesthetically for her, having things not exactly so would cause some friction in her mind. The fact that Killian knew that, and that he seemed to understand meant the world and she was so grateful for the fact that he would take the day and go with her to make these choices. Emma was struck again by just how wonderful life was now that she had him back.

“I love you.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss gently.

“As I love you, Swan.”

…………

Storybrooke Hardware was a place that Emma knew very well. As an independent kind of person, she’d often opted to handle any projects that came along in her home and her shop herself. Emma was the kind of person who would repaint the rooms in her apartment at least once a year, just to keep things fresh and exciting. Couple that with the fact that Leroy, the owner, had gone out of his way to keep finer metal working tools in stock for her specifically, and she was as close to a regular here as one could be.

When she entered today, with Killian in tow, it had not gone unnoticed, and they hadn’t set ten feet into the store when Leroy called out to her.

“So you finally brought the boyfriend. Good for you, kid. Just don’t let him break anything.” Killian looked slightly aghast at the comment, and when Leroy left their immediate proximity he commented to Emma.

“First of all, strange that he calls you ‘kid.’ Surely he’s not that old. And second, Leroy has fast become a fixture in my bar, but suddenly I’m just the boyfriend. This is a strange town you’ve chosen for us, Swan.” Emma laughed at that, because really, how could she argue with that? Storybrooke was unique and a little bizarre for sure, but she loved it, and she could tell that Killian was quickly growing just as fond of it as she was.

They moved through the aisles until finally making it to the paints, and Emma felt the rush of excitement that came every time she got to infuse her style into something. Part of her was a little saddened by the fact that they wouldn’t be doing the actual painting, but then she remembered the stink of the fumes and how though she always had fun, she also always had a headache by days end. This time she could avoid that, which was certainly something to appreciate. She and Killian discussed different ideas, tossing out their own opinions, which almost always lined up, but Emma noticed that his presence opened a lot of interruptions from the other shoppers. Usually when she was here, people left her alone, this time however, it was like every single patron of the little store had to have a conversation.

“You kids are just so cute.” Mrs. Keebler’s comment was not the first of its kind, though Emma did appreciate the old woman’s kindness. That being said, how did one respond to that?

“Thank you, I think I’ll keep him.” She joked and Mrs. Keebler laughed.

“See that you do, dear. I heard from Milly McDonald that Graham Huntsman and his crew have been hired for some last minute work thanks to your beau here. This is a very romantic gesture. You are a very lucky girl.” With that, she left Emma with Killian who was grinning like an idiot.

“Hear that, Swan? You’re a very lucky girl to have me as your beau.”

“You know, I’m aware of that, but it would be nice to hear some of these old ladies saying that you’re the lucky one.” Killian wrapped his arms around her.

“I think it simply goes without saying that there is no man on earth blessed with as much as I am in having your love, Emma.”

And just like that she melted, besides the paint cans and the wooden stirrers. Killian had that kind of power over her, sure and precise and unthreatening. The words, as cheesy as they could have been construed, sparked that last bit of inspiration.

“Hold that thought.” Emma moved behind him to the swatches she’d just been pouring over and selected three gradations of brown until finally finding the right one.

“Pirate’s Promise.” She flashed the lighter shade at him and he smiled.

“It’s a lovely color, Emma, I grant you, but what could possibly have prompted that from what I said.” She shrugged and smiled.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do, love.” He moved closer, placing a hand on her hip and she warmed at his touch.

“Sometimes you just talk like a pirate.”

“My professions of love pass my lips and you hear, ‘argh matey?’” She laughed, running a hand over his chest.

“No, I was thinking more Westley from the Princess Bride, devilishly handsome, hopelessly in love with a feisty blonde. Ringing a bell at all?” Killian pulled her in for a kiss so hot, there was no way it should have happened in a hardware store, but regardless of place, Emma was lost in it, aching for closeness and needing the feel of him all over her.

“Our story is so much better, love. I promise.” Emma sighed at that, she dug her fingers into the cotton of his shirt, wishing terribly that they were back home so she could show him just how much she loved his words.

“Mr. Jones, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Graham sent me over to pick up the paints you’ve chosen.” Emma looked over at the college-aged boy who was clearly a bit embarrassed to have to do this and laughter bubbled in her chest.

“Right then, here they are.” Killian gently took the three swatches from Emma and handed them over telling him which went in each room. With just a slight bow, the boy left them alone once more.

“Now, Swan. I believe we have a few more stops to make don’t we?” He offered his arm and she gladly took it, following him out of the store and off on the next domestic adventure.

…………

This had easily become one of Emma’s favorite days, filled with laughter and cute moments, but this might actually the cake. She was standing in the middle of the furniture gallery, surrounded by a sea of sofas, as Killian was being informed what Netflix and chill was by the young man trying to sell them the right couch.

“You know, man, sometimes you put on the movie but what you really wanted was…” Killian looked confused and the expression on his face was so adorable, that Emma had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling.

“To chill?” Killian’s response had the sales guy looking relieved.

“Exactly, man. But like it’s a euphemism.”

“For what?” Emma pulled Killian down closer to her and whispered in his ear.

“Sex, Killian. Substitute the chill for sex.”

“Oh, right, well.”

Killian was scratching behind his ear with a little bit of bashfulness and Emma took pity on him despite her overwhelming desire to laugh, telling the sales rep what there color scheme was and the dimensions they were looking for. She kept it light and professional, no more euphemisms, but when she looked at Killian for his opinion on every couch, he kept quiet as a fire burned brighter in his gaze.

“You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” Killian shook his head.

“No, love. Now the question has become less about what goes with the overall look and what would be the best one to take you on.” Emma flushed a deep red at the statement.

“Of course, so what are the criteria? Strength, comfort and size?”

“Aye, love. When it comes to more than those three things, I’m operating at a loss.”

“Here, this one has all that. Tell me what you think?” Emma took a seat, instantly falling in love with this sofa and really wanting him to say yes. He sat down beside her, pulling her close and whispering in her ear.

“I can see many a night spent here, watching Netflix, and having very little chill between us.” Emma cleared her throat and tore her gaze from his burning blue eyes, looking at the associate.

“We’ll take this one.” The guy walked off to make a note of it and add that to the other inventory they’d selected and Emma felt Killian’s arms around her tighten just a bit, but she stood up, not wanting them to get sidetracked.

“Let’s go look at the last room, just make sure there isn’t anything else we want.” Killian’s responding smirk had Emma pressing her legs together, and she was damn sure that he could read her like a book in this moment, but he went along with her suggestion.

In the final room, Emma saw deeper, richer woods than had been in the earlier galleries, and a craftsmanship that made every piece seem homemade instead of off an assembly line. While their home’s personal style didn’t require all unique pieces, this smaller room was striking, and from a design standpoint, she could definitely appreciate the work and effort that would go in to each and every piece. Emma took a stroll around the room, admiring the work, but turned to find that Killian was not beside her, instead, he had stayed back towards the entrance near a beautifully ornate rocking chair. Emma went back to ask him about it.

“You want to try it out?” Emma asked and Killian shook his head.

“No, love, I want you to try it out.” Emma’s brow rose in surprise but she did just that, loving the feel of the hard wood that was crafted beautifully into a comfortable chair. It rocked just enough, the action smooth and sure, and Emma smiled, enjoying the feeling.

“I never really thought to have a rocking chair. Always assumed that was more a golden years thing.” But her teasing didn’t light up his features the way she expected. He seemed so serious, so full of emotion that she had to reach out her hand and take his.

“Talk to me: are we liking this, are we not liking it? What’s going on inside your head right now?” Emma watched as Killian shifted uneasily before coming out with it.

“My mother had one of these, to get Liam and I back to sleep after a rough night, or calm us in a moment of sadness. I always pictured having one for my kids as well.” Emma smiled at that, not knowing such a connection to the chair herself, but understanding how just the action of rocking could have such impact.

“So it’s a happy feeling, but you still look so… strange right now.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s just hit me that I’ll never need this unless I can have it with you, Emma. You’re the only woman in the world I could ever imagine raising a family with, the only one I love enough to want these happy memories. I prefer to be honest with you love, I don’t say this to scare you, but every fiber of my being is crying out to buy this so that someday, if you’ll let me, we can use it for our kids.”

Emma rose from the seat and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him and making sure he was looking right at her, so that he could see she meant every word of what she was about to say.

“I love kids, and I want them too. Only with you, because you’re the only person I could ever trust enough to not let me mess it up. So we’re getting this chair, and even if it goes unused for a long time, that’s okay. It’ll be the representation of that dream that we both have, okay?”

He nodded and she pulled him down for a kiss, truly not giving the slightest care that they were in the middle of the gallery. It was hot and real and true, and when they finally pulled back, Emma flagged down their attendant, told him they’d take it, and hastily led Killian out of the store. After a day of brimming emotions, she was desperately in the mood to practice for this newfound dream of theirs.

Post-Note: Hope that you guys liked this installment! Cute couple moments in a hardware store and then picking out furniture are exactly what I want for Captain Swan. Unfortunately, they specialize in fighting off magical foe, so we will likely never see that on the show, but heck, that’s what fics are for right?

[biofunmy]

The Death of Chintz – The New York Times

When Mario Buatta died in 2018, a few days shy of his 83rd birthday, he left no will. Which is not to say that he didn’t leave anything behind. “I am the original hoarder,” he would tell you.

He had a ferocious appetite for collecting that started when he was 11 and bought an 18th-century lap desk for $12 on layaway and continued until just months before his death. (There are invoices to prove it.)

It was a habit that filled every square foot of his parlor-floor townhouse apartment on East 80th Street (famously off-limits until the end), three storage units in Harlem, two in Staten Island and a Victorian gothic house in Thompson, Conn.

An avatar of the English country style, and of 1980s excess, Mr. Buatta was perhaps the only decorator to achieve fame on the East Coast, West Coast and all points between, during a time when the wealthy found their footing with their decorators, not their art advisers.

The Prince of Chintz, as a television reporter named Mr. Buatta in 1984, designed interiors for a certain kind of American royalty — for Doubledays, Forbes and Newhouses, two presidents and Mariah Carey.

He had a rigorous eye and a sharp sense of color, and he was exacting about the spaces he decorated, dizzy with pattern and swagged in fabric and trim though they were. And yet Mr. Buatta lived, as his friend Christopher Mason put it, in “exotic disarray.”

Collecting is biography (objects can be proxies for all sorts of things), and Mr. Buatta’s particular story, and the bygone age he presided over with impish humor, went on view at Sotheby’s in New York City on Jan. 16. The 950 lots, delivered in 19 trucks, will be auctioned off on Jan. 23 and Jan. 24.

Collecting is also a form of seeing, and Mr. Buatta had a hungry eye, along with a drive for perfection he said came from his father’s lack of approval.

Mr. Buatta would tell you that his father, a bandleader, could never figure out just what his son did for a living. And growing up in an all-white Art Deco house on Staten Island, with a neatnik mother who died when he was 23, Mr. Buatta developed an allergy to minimalism.

Dog Paintings and $100,000 Palms

Perhaps in compensation, he stockpiled 19th-century dog paintings (“my ancestors,” he liked to joke), lacquered furniture, Delft china, obelisks, porcelain vegetables, botanical prints and Regency furniture. Also architectural fragments, like a George III fireplace surround with matching columns carved into swoopy palm fronds that lived propped up in his bedroom, a cluttered nest with glazed purple walls, ceiling-high bookcases and a Chinese four poster bed with a canopy like an Ottoman dome.

“Are you insane?” Patricia Altschul remembered saying to him as he pursued the palms at an auction in London. She was stunned at the price he paid (over $100,000), and that he wanted them for himself, not a client. “It will make me happy,” he told her.

Ms. Altschul, a star of the reality series “Southern Charm,” was a client and shopping partner of Mr. Buatta’s for more three decades. He once let her have it for a soap dish she introduced into one of the pristine spaces he had made for her.

“He told me, ‘We haven’t worked this hard to make this beautiful showplace for you to have an ugly soap dish to ruin it all,’” she said. “It wasn’t anything hideous. I mean, I’ve got pretty good taste, but it offended him and he immediately threw it away.”

At his home, though, everything stayed.

Beyond antiques, his appetites extended to decorating and design books, which he stacked in hip-high zigzags, gag props (enormous pairs of underpants and black wigs), Turnbull & Asser shirts (why launder when you can buy more?) and newspaper and magazine clippings about himself.

Like Andy Warhol, another ravenous collector, Mr. Buatta saved everything: decades-old taxi receipts, theater programs, letters and invoices, as well as a fully decorated Christmas tree (fake) surrounded by beautifully wrapped presents, all of which was napped in dust, since Mr. Buatta’s prohibition against visitors extended to housekeepers.

“Dust is a protective coating” Mr. Buatta was fond of saying. “I like it in big balls.”

His Overstuffed ‘Protective Cocoon’

In his last years, Emily Evans Eerdmans, a design historian who was Mr. Buatta’s co-author on his 2013 monograph (Mr. Buatta called it the Buattapedia), and others urged him to winnow, and tried to help him do so.

The Christmas tree got the heave-ho, as did the palm fronds because he was tripping over them, but little else. As he told Ms. Eerdmans, “‘You have Andrew’” — referring to Ms. Eerdmans’s husband — “‘I have my things.’”

Of his stuff, she said: “It was his lover and his family. It was a protective cocoon.”

Yet shopping for Mr. Buatta was more than just “filling the Grand Canyon of the soul,” said Todd Romano, his friend and former assistant. It was both sport and distraction. The bidding and the badinage was “his own form of daytime cabaret,” said Angus Wilkie, an antiques dealer.

Margaret Kennedy, a former editor of House Beautiful, said: “Mario gave his clients the dream. It is the decorator’s job to create a beautiful world, a fantasy, but for him it got out of control.”

Mr. Buatta’s heir is his brother, Joseph, but it has been Ms. Eerdmans’s role to sift through the acreage of stuff that Mr. Buatta left behind, a job that began last March and is continuing, with 12-hour days and a lot of Advil Cold & Sinus.

She has given 615 ties to Housing Works. The envelope stuffed with clippings of his work and addressed to his father (but never sent) she hopes will be donated, along with 80 boxes of his papers, to an organization yet to be determined.

The Connecticut house, in a state of atmospheric decay that veered toward collapse, took six weeks to clear out. Ms. Eerdmans described rooms devoted solely to lamps, pillows, tables and 300 rolls of fabric. Mr. Buatta had enraged some of his neighbors there, having neglected the place for years, because of ill health and overwork. He was notoriously hard on assistants and mostly operated by himself, particularly as he got older.

Ms. Eerdmans has been hired by the estate to undertake what has been a grubby, exhausting and emotional ordeal that she nonetheless described as a labor of love, and an honor.

She knew what Mr. Buatta wanted: a bonanza auction, a new flurry of press. And she knew how to do it, much as she and others knew how to take care of him in those final years, wheeling him to doctor’s appointments and fending off his cantankerous explosions and menu demands, like Italian pastries from his favorite bakery chosen over the phone from texted photos.

It is no joke getting old, particularly for stubborn, vivacious personalities like Mr. Buatta, and he chafed against its indignities. He and Ms. Eerdmans had not spoken in three months when a friend called in July of 2018 and said, as she remembered, “‘Mario isn’t answering his phone, can you go over there and see if he’s O.K.?’”

Despite the exhortations of friends, Mr. Buatta was not eager to focus on the aftermath of his death, which made for an unusual arrangement with Sotheby’s.

“I’ve never done a sale of this magnitude,” said Dennis Harrington, the head of the Sotheby’s English and European furniture department in New York, describing how most collectors inventory their possessions during their lifetimes — and have less stuff. “Everything was exactly his taste, and exactly what he loved.”

A Beautiful Yellow Room

Beyond those nostalgic for Mr. Buatta’s bygone world, and the many who are missing the man himself, what is the market these days for porcelain asparagus spears, Chinese side tables and tufted chintz slipper chairs?

When “antiques” has become such a dirty word that the Winter Antiques Show, once a glittering social event of which Mr. Buatta was the chairman for more than a decade, has been rebranded as the Winter Show, who will buy the “Louie-hooey chairs,” as Mr. Buatta liked to say of that former living-room staple? (The estimates in the sale, which has the nickname Harold, for the plastic cockroaches he was fond of deploying, range from $500 to $50,000, and the auction is estimated to bring in more than $1.9 million.)

Working in Ms. Eerdmans’s wake, Mr. Harrington and his colleagues culled about half of what they found. “Like every collector, Mario was obsessive, and his obsession was that he could never stop acquiring things,” Mr. Harrington said.

“He also had a horror vacui of a plain surface,” he added, noting that he had never seen so many painted and decorated objects. Or needlepoint pillows with arch sayings on them.

Mr. Buatta was mischievous, and he liked to poke fun at the affectations of the world he inhabited, but he was serious about his work and relentless in his pursuit of perfection there.

Like the character in the John Cheever novel “Bullet Park,” Mr. Buatta had as his emotional touchstone a beautiful yellow room, in his case found in the London apartment of Nancy Lancaster, the Virginia-born decorator who helped foment the English country house style. That “buttah yellah,” as rendered in her Southern accent, was what inspired his own living room, its yellow walls sliced with fat blue satin bows and armies of dog paintings.

That room has been recreated at Sotheby’s, right down to those bows. An early black-and-white photo of Mr. Buatta, looking movie star glamorous, has been blown up to fill a wall, along with the show’s title: “Mario Buatta, Prince of Interiors.”

Other rooms designed to match those in his apartment were among the gallery spaces. In the bedroom area, the walls had been painted deep purple, and there was Mr. Buatta’s beloved canopy bed and his bookshelves, filled with (a small fraction) of his books. “A Life in Decoration,” by Keith Irvine, the New York-based English decorator who was one of Mr. Buatta’s first employers, had been inscribed by its author.

“Still in business, dear?” Mr. Irvine had written wickedly.

Sahred From Source link Real Estate

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The Death of Chintz – The New York Times

When Mario Buatta died in 2018, a few days shy of his 83rd birthday, he left no will. Which is not to say that he didn’t leave anything behind. “I am the original hoarder,” he would tell you.

He had a ferocious appetite for collecting that started when he was 11 and bought an 18th-century lap desk for $12 on layaway and continued until just months before his death. (There are invoices to prove it.)

It was a habit that filled every square foot of his parlor-floor townhouse apartment on East 80th Street (famously off-limits until the end), three storage units in Harlem, two in Staten Island and a Victorian gothic house in Thompson, Conn.

An avatar of the English country style, and of 1980s excess, Mr. Buatta was perhaps the only decorator to achieve fame on the East Coast, West Coast and all points between, during a time when the wealthy found their footing with their decorators, not their art advisers.

The Prince of Chintz, as a television reporter named Mr. Buatta in 1984, designed interiors for a certain kind of American royalty — for Doubledays, Forbes and Newhouses, two presidents and Mariah Carey.

He had a rigorous eye and a sharp sense of color, and he was exacting about the spaces he decorated, dizzy with pattern and swagged in fabric and trim though they were. And yet Mr. Buatta lived, as his friend Christopher Mason put it, in “exotic disarray.”

Collecting is biography (objects can be proxies for all sorts of things), and Mr. Buatta’s particular story, and the bygone age he presided over with impish humor, went on view at Sotheby’s in New York City on Jan. 16. The 950 lots, delivered in 19 trucks, will be auctioned off on Jan. 23 and Jan. 24.

Collecting is also a form of seeing, and Mr. Buatta had a hungry eye, along with a drive for perfection he said came from his father’s lack of approval.

Mr. Buatta would tell you that his father, a bandleader, could never figure out just what his son did for a living. And growing up in an all-white Art Deco house on Staten Island, with a neatnik mother who died when he was 23, Mr. Buatta developed an allergy to minimalism.

Dog Paintings and $100,000 Palms

Perhaps in compensation, he stockpiled 19th-century dog paintings (“my ancestors,” he liked to joke), lacquered furniture, Delft china, obelisks, porcelain vegetables, botanical prints and Regency furniture. Also architectural fragments, like a George III fireplace surround with matching columns carved into swoopy palm fronds that lived propped up in his bedroom, a cluttered nest with glazed purple walls, ceiling-high bookcases and a Chinese four poster bed with a canopy like an Ottoman dome.

“Are you insane?” Patricia Altschul remembered saying to him as he pursued the palms at an auction in London. She was stunned at the price he paid (over $100,000), and that he wanted them for himself, not a client. “It will make me happy,” he told her.

Ms. Altschul, a star of the reality series “Southern Charm,” was a client and shopping partner of Mr. Buatta’s for more three decades. He once let her have it for a soap dish she introduced into one of the pristine spaces he had made for her.

“He told me, ‘We haven’t worked this hard to make this beautiful showplace for you to have an ugly soap dish to ruin it all,’” she said. “It wasn’t anything hideous. I mean, I’ve got pretty good taste, but it offended him and he immediately threw it away.”

At his home, though, everything stayed.

Beyond antiques, his appetites extended to decorating and design books, which he stacked in hip-high zigzags, gag props (enormous pairs of underpants and black wigs), Turnbull & Asser shirts (why launder when you can buy more?) and newspaper and magazine clippings about himself.

Like Andy Warhol, another ravenous collector, Mr. Buatta saved everything: decades-old taxi receipts, theater programs, letters and invoices, as well as a fully decorated Christmas tree (fake) surrounded by beautifully wrapped presents, all of which was napped in dust, since Mr. Buatta’s prohibition against visitors extended to housekeepers.

“Dust is a protective coating” Mr. Buatta was fond of saying. “I like it in big balls.”

His Overstuffed ‘Protective Cocoon’

In his last years, Emily Evans Eerdmans, a design historian who was Mr. Buatta’s co-author on his 2013 monograph (Mr. Buatta called it the Buattapedia), and others urged him to winnow, and tried to help him do so.

The Christmas tree got the heave-ho, as did the palm fronds because he was tripping over them, but little else. As he told Ms. Eerdmans, “‘You have Andrew’” — referring to Ms. Eerdmans’s husband — “‘I have my things.’”

Of his stuff, she said: “It was his lover and his family. It was a protective cocoon.”

Yet shopping for Mr. Buatta was more than just “filling the Grand Canyon of the soul,” said Todd Romano, his friend and former assistant. It was both sport and distraction. The bidding and the badinage was “his own form of daytime cabaret,” said Angus Wilkie, an antiques dealer.

Margaret Kennedy, a former editor of House Beautiful, said: “Mario gave his clients the dream. It is the decorator’s job to create a beautiful world, a fantasy, but for him it got out of control.”

Mr. Buatta’s heir is his brother, Joseph, but it has been Ms. Eerdmans’s role to sift through the acreage of stuff that Mr. Buatta left behind, a job that began last March and is continuing, with 12-hour days and a lot of Advil Cold & Sinus.

She has given 615 ties to Housing Works. The envelope stuffed with clippings of his work and addressed to his father (but never sent) she hopes will be donated, along with 80 boxes of his papers, to an organization yet to be determined.

The Connecticut house, in a state of atmospheric decay that veered toward collapse, took six weeks to clear out. Ms. Eerdmans described rooms devoted solely to lamps, pillows, tables and 300 rolls of fabric. Mr. Buatta had enraged some of his neighbors there, having neglected the place for years, because of ill health and overwork. He was notoriously hard on assistants and mostly operated by himself, particularly as he got older.

Ms. Eerdmans has been hired by the estate to undertake what has been a grubby, exhausting and emotional ordeal that she nonetheless described as a labor of love, and an honor.

She knew what Mr. Buatta wanted: a bonanza auction, a new flurry of press. And she knew how to do it, much as she and others knew how to take care of him in those final years, wheeling him to doctor’s appointments and fending off his cantankerous explosions and menu demands, like Italian pastries from his favorite bakery chosen over the phone from texted photos.

It is no joke getting old, particularly for stubborn, vivacious personalities like Mr. Buatta, and he chafed against its indignities. He and Ms. Eerdmans had not spoken in three months when a friend called in July of 2018 and said, as she remembered, “‘Mario isn’t answering his phone, can you go over there and see if he’s O.K.?’”

Despite the exhortations of friends, Mr. Buatta was not eager to focus on the aftermath of his death, which made for an unusual arrangement with Sotheby’s.

“I’ve never done a sale of this magnitude,” said Dennis Harrington, the head of the Sotheby’s English and European furniture department in New York, describing how most collectors inventory their possessions during their lifetimes — and have less stuff. “Everything was exactly his taste, and exactly what he loved.”

A Beautiful Yellow Room

Beyond those nostalgic for Mr. Buatta’s bygone world, and the many who are missing the man himself, what is the market these days for porcelain asparagus spears, Chinese side tables and tufted chintz slipper chairs?

When “antiques” has become such a dirty word that the Winter Antiques Show, once a glittering social event of which Mr. Buatta was the chairman for more than a decade, has been rebranded as the Winter Show, who will buy the “Louie-hooey chairs,” as Mr. Buatta liked to say of that former living-room staple? (The estimates in the sale, which has the nickname Harold, for the plastic cockroaches he was fond of deploying, range from $500 to $50,000, and the auction is estimated to bring in more than $1.9 million.)

Working in Ms. Eerdmans’s wake, Mr. Harrington and his colleagues culled about half of what they found. “Like every collector, Mario was obsessive, and his obsession was that he could never stop acquiring things,” Mr. Harrington said.

“He also had a horror vacui of a plain surface,” he added, noting that he had never seen so many painted and decorated objects. Or needlepoint pillows with arch sayings on them.

Mr. Buatta was mischievous, and he liked to poke fun at the affectations of the world he inhabited, but he was serious about his work and relentless in his pursuit of perfection there.

Like the character in the John Cheever novel “Bullet Park,” Mr. Buatta had as his emotional touchstone a beautiful yellow room, in his case found in the London apartment of Nancy Lancaster, the Virginia-born decorator who helped foment the English country house style. That “buttah yellah,” as rendered in her Southern accent, was what inspired his own living room, its yellow walls sliced with fat blue satin bows and armies of dog paintings.

That room has been recreated at Sotheby’s, right down to those bows. An early black-and-white photo of Mr. Buatta, looking movie star glamorous, has been blown up to fill a wall, along with the show’s title: “Mario Buatta, Prince of Interiors.”

Other rooms designed to match those in his apartment were among the gallery spaces. In the bedroom area, the walls had been painted deep purple, and there was Mr. Buatta’s beloved canopy bed and his bookshelves, filled with (a small fraction) of his books. “A Life in Decoration,” by Keith Irvine, the New York-based English decorator who was one of Mr. Buatta’s first employers, had been inscribed by its author.

“Still in business, dear?” Mr. Irvine had written wickedly.

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Reindeer Quotes

Official Website: Reindeer Quotes

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• All right, you’re a reindeer. Here’s your motivation: Your name is Rudolph, you’re a freak with a red nose, and no one likes you. Then, one day, Santa picks you and you save Christmas. No, forget that part. We’ll improvise. just keep it kind of loosey-goosey. You HATE Christmas! You’re gonna steal it. Saving Christmas is a lousy ending, way too commercial. ACTION! – Unknown • Americanomics works, and I won’t argue that is true. But if the economy is getting better, getting better for who? Well, if you ask me, I’m doing much worse than before, With the welfare cuts, I don’t eat no more. So if I did wanna go out, I couldn’t go nowhere, Cause I ate every last one of them reindeer. Rudolph first, I went down the list, I got so hungry, I just couldn’t resist. I ate Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Dixon, Fried them up and then started to mix them. And before you knew it, they were all gone, I wonder what y’all gonna do about my reindeer song! – Kool Moe Dee • Because we need Christmas we had better understand what it is and what it isn’t. Gifts, holly, mistletoe, and red-nosed reindeer are fun as traditions, but they are not what Christmas is really all about. Christmas pertains to that glorious moment when the Son of our Father joined his divinity to our imperfect humanity. – Hugh W. Pinnock • Camels are snobbish and sheep, unintelligent; water buffaloes, neurasthenic– even murderous. Reindeer seem over-serious. – Marianne Moore • From now on, gang, we won’t let Rudolph join in any reindeer games. – Unknown • Having to act like an adult because I was directing a big movie but also feeling like a child because we had reindeer and big cameras and they had fake snow. I just wanted to go play in the snow. – Todd Strauss-Schulson • Herds of reindeer move across Miles and miles of golden moss – W. H. Auden • I actually share her view and understand her frustration when any government attempts to ban secular symbols like Santa Claus or Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer or Christmas lights. – Steve Israel • I am always amazed by the novel angles that people come up with for kids’ Christmas books. Even if a family is not religious, who could resist, say, “Olive, the Other Reindeer,” about Olive the dog who thinks the song refers to her and heads for the North Pole to help Santa out? – Jabari Asim • I detest ‘Jingle Bells,’ ‘White Christmas,’ ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,’ and the obscene spending bonanza that nowadays seems to occupy not just December, but November and much of October, too. – Richard Dawkins • I don’t like reindeer. They seem like regular deer, only more dangerous. – John Green • I had to get a driver’s license and drive to St. Louis to find the punk-rock scene that was happening there. And there was a punk-rock scene. It was sweet. It was real. It was like everywhere else in the county. It was a handful of people who were feeling the same pull, and, of course, it was like the Island of Misfit Toys in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer [1964]. Just the freaks, the fags, the fat girls, the unbelievable eccentrics . – Michael Stipe • I love Christmas. Frosty the Snowman, peace on Earth and mangers, Salvation Army bell ringers and reindeer, the movie ‘Meet Me in St. Louis,’ office parties and cookies. – Mo Rocca • I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of rare treasures, fireplaces large enough to roast a reindeer, ships of Swedish maple. – Janet Fitch • I wasn’t exposed to art as I was growing up, and can’t recall the first time I saw a work of art. However, I remember very clearly a vision I had of a little green reindeer when I was a child, and visions emanate from the same mythical area where painting resides. Whatever the reason, I immediately felt comfortable working with visual materials. – William S. Burroughs • If Mitt Romney was Santa Claus, he would fire the reindeer and outsource the elves. – Ted Strickland • If you look at Christmas movies, there are certain things in them that lend themselves to a ‘Harold & Kumar’ movie. In particular, the more out-of-this-world things like Santa Claus and flying reindeer. – Unknown • I’m like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. If I’m not ready, the sled isn’t going to go. – Kevin Garnett • I’m Santa Claus to these hoes without a reindeer. – Nicki Minaj • I’ve been very successful doing voices in movies. I did Olive, the Other Reindeer, with Drew Barrymore, and I did Cats and Dogs. My children came to some of the sessions. – Joe Pantoliano • Multiculturalism means your kid has to learn some wretched tribal dirge for the school holiday concert instead of getting to sing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’ – Henry Hazlitt • My favorite holiday memory was sitting at home all day in my pajamas during winter break for school watching a bunch of old Christmas movies like ‘Jack Frost’ and ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ with my siblings and parents. – Unknown • Once upon a time, the Reindeer took a running leap and jumped over the Northern Lights. But he jumped too low, and the long fur of his beautiful flowing tail got singed by the rainbow fires of the aurora. To this day the reindeer has no tail to speak of. But he is too busy pulling the Important Sleigh to notice what is lost. And he certainly doesn’t complain. What’s your excuse? – Vera Nazarian • Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, dead at 53. Over Barcelona today, the famed reindeer was hit by a flock of seagulls and a 747. Eyewitnesses report, that the reindeer in Spain was hit mainly by the plane. – Colin Mochrie • Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows. – Johnny Marks • Santa knows Physics: Of all colors, Red Light penetrates fog best. That’s why Benny the Blue-nosed reindeer never got the gig. – Neil deGrasse Tyson • Santa will be showing up with Rudolph the Red-Eyed Reindeer. – Conan O’Brien • The ones here know I own this place and they give it space. After all, unlike the Dark-Hunters, I’m not banned from hitting or killing them, and they know it. (Sin) You’re just such a sweetie pie. I can’t imagine why the other Dark-Hunters won’t let you play their reindeer games. Shame on them all. (Kat) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • The Sun, each second, transforms four million tons of itself into light, giving itself over to become energy that we, with every meal, partake of. For four million years, humans have been feasting on the Sun’s energy stored in the form of wheat or reindeer. Brian Swimme – Rob Brezsny • To really make it look like Santa came, I put reindeer poop on the roof. It’s just so cold up there with my pants down. – Dana Gould • Well, pull up an ice block and lend an ear. Now you know how Santa uses these flying reindeer to pull his sleigh. – Unknown • When I was out for the Christmas Holidays in school, I would go skiing up to the mountains and there they had Santa on a sled. Pulled by horses and other reindeer, it was a very, very picturesque time and that struck me very emphatically then and has remained with me all this time. – William Shatner • When it came right down to it, the reindeer would eat you. – Unknown • Why did the reindeer wear black boots? Because his brown ones were all muddy! – Unknown • Why does Scrooge love Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? Because every buck is dear to him. – Unknown [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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Reindeer Quotes

Official Website: Reindeer Quotes

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• All right, you’re a reindeer. Here’s your motivation: Your name is Rudolph, you’re a freak with a red nose, and no one likes you. Then, one day, Santa picks you and you save Christmas. No, forget that part. We’ll improvise. just keep it kind of loosey-goosey. You HATE Christmas! You’re gonna steal it. Saving Christmas is a lousy ending, way too commercial. ACTION! – Unknown • Americanomics works, and I won’t argue that is true. But if the economy is getting better, getting better for who? Well, if you ask me, I’m doing much worse than before, With the welfare cuts, I don’t eat no more. So if I did wanna go out, I couldn’t go nowhere, Cause I ate every last one of them reindeer. Rudolph first, I went down the list, I got so hungry, I just couldn’t resist. I ate Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Dixon, Fried them up and then started to mix them. And before you knew it, they were all gone, I wonder what y’all gonna do about my reindeer song! – Kool Moe Dee • Because we need Christmas we had better understand what it is and what it isn’t. Gifts, holly, mistletoe, and red-nosed reindeer are fun as traditions, but they are not what Christmas is really all about. Christmas pertains to that glorious moment when the Son of our Father joined his divinity to our imperfect humanity. – Hugh W. Pinnock • Camels are snobbish and sheep, unintelligent; water buffaloes, neurasthenic– even murderous. Reindeer seem over-serious. – Marianne Moore • From now on, gang, we won’t let Rudolph join in any reindeer games. – Unknown • Having to act like an adult because I was directing a big movie but also feeling like a child because we had reindeer and big cameras and they had fake snow. I just wanted to go play in the snow. – Todd Strauss-Schulson • Herds of reindeer move across Miles and miles of golden moss – W. H. Auden • I actually share her view and understand her frustration when any government attempts to ban secular symbols like Santa Claus or Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer or Christmas lights. – Steve Israel • I am always amazed by the novel angles that people come up with for kids’ Christmas books. Even if a family is not religious, who could resist, say, “Olive, the Other Reindeer,” about Olive the dog who thinks the song refers to her and heads for the North Pole to help Santa out? – Jabari Asim • I detest ‘Jingle Bells,’ ‘White Christmas,’ ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,’ and the obscene spending bonanza that nowadays seems to occupy not just December, but November and much of October, too. – Richard Dawkins • I don’t like reindeer. They seem like regular deer, only more dangerous. – John Green • I had to get a driver’s license and drive to St. Louis to find the punk-rock scene that was happening there. And there was a punk-rock scene. It was sweet. It was real. It was like everywhere else in the county. It was a handful of people who were feeling the same pull, and, of course, it was like the Island of Misfit Toys in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer [1964]. Just the freaks, the fags, the fat girls, the unbelievable eccentrics . – Michael Stipe • I love Christmas. Frosty the Snowman, peace on Earth and mangers, Salvation Army bell ringers and reindeer, the movie ‘Meet Me in St. Louis,’ office parties and cookies. – Mo Rocca • I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of rare treasures, fireplaces large enough to roast a reindeer, ships of Swedish maple. – Janet Fitch • I wasn’t exposed to art as I was growing up, and can’t recall the first time I saw a work of art. However, I remember very clearly a vision I had of a little green reindeer when I was a child, and visions emanate from the same mythical area where painting resides. Whatever the reason, I immediately felt comfortable working with visual materials. – William S. Burroughs • If Mitt Romney was Santa Claus, he would fire the reindeer and outsource the elves. – Ted Strickland • If you look at Christmas movies, there are certain things in them that lend themselves to a ‘Harold & Kumar’ movie. In particular, the more out-of-this-world things like Santa Claus and flying reindeer. – Unknown • I’m like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. If I’m not ready, the sled isn’t going to go. – Kevin Garnett • I’m Santa Claus to these hoes without a reindeer. – Nicki Minaj • I’ve been very successful doing voices in movies. I did Olive, the Other Reindeer, with Drew Barrymore, and I did Cats and Dogs. My children came to some of the sessions. – Joe Pantoliano • Multiculturalism means your kid has to learn some wretched tribal dirge for the school holiday concert instead of getting to sing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’ – Henry Hazlitt • My favorite holiday memory was sitting at home all day in my pajamas during winter break for school watching a bunch of old Christmas movies like ‘Jack Frost’ and ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ with my siblings and parents. – Unknown • Once upon a time, the Reindeer took a running leap and jumped over the Northern Lights. But he jumped too low, and the long fur of his beautiful flowing tail got singed by the rainbow fires of the aurora. To this day the reindeer has no tail to speak of. But he is too busy pulling the Important Sleigh to notice what is lost. And he certainly doesn’t complain. What’s your excuse? – Vera Nazarian • Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, dead at 53. Over Barcelona today, the famed reindeer was hit by a flock of seagulls and a 747. Eyewitnesses report, that the reindeer in Spain was hit mainly by the plane. – Colin Mochrie • Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows. – Johnny Marks • Santa knows Physics: Of all colors, Red Light penetrates fog best. That’s why Benny the Blue-nosed reindeer never got the gig. – Neil deGrasse Tyson • Santa will be showing up with Rudolph the Red-Eyed Reindeer. – Conan O’Brien • The ones here know I own this place and they give it space. After all, unlike the Dark-Hunters, I’m not banned from hitting or killing them, and they know it. (Sin) You’re just such a sweetie pie. I can’t imagine why the other Dark-Hunters won’t let you play their reindeer games. Shame on them all. (Kat) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • The Sun, each second, transforms four million tons of itself into light, giving itself over to become energy that we, with every meal, partake of. For four million years, humans have been feasting on the Sun’s energy stored in the form of wheat or reindeer. Brian Swimme – Rob Brezsny • To really make it look like Santa came, I put reindeer poop on the roof. It’s just so cold up there with my pants down. – Dana Gould • Well, pull up an ice block and lend an ear. Now you know how Santa uses these flying reindeer to pull his sleigh. – Unknown • When I was out for the Christmas Holidays in school, I would go skiing up to the mountains and there they had Santa on a sled. Pulled by horses and other reindeer, it was a very, very picturesque time and that struck me very emphatically then and has remained with me all this time. – William Shatner • When it came right down to it, the reindeer would eat you. – Unknown • Why did the reindeer wear black boots? Because his brown ones were all muddy! – Unknown • Why does Scrooge love Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? Because every buck is dear to him. – Unknown [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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[mrmichaelchadler]

"An Event...": On 1974's "Earthquake"

A recent viewing of all my old 1970s disaster movie DVDs has led me to conclude that Mark Robson’s "Earthquake" (1974) is a film worth discussing, even if it is clearly far from the best of its genre. The movie was a critical disappointment when it came out and Leonard Maltin’s Guide went as far as to assign a “Bomb” rating. Still, there are too many cinematic lessons to be learned from a movie like “Earthquake” to ignore.

“Earthquake” was made by producer Jennings Lang, the man behind the “Airport” movies. It is mostly remembered for having been released with the Academy Award-winning, ground breaking, Sensurround system which basically consisted of placing a gigantic subwoofer in theaters, causing all sorts of havoc such as falling chunks of plaster, nose bleeds in audience members and unwelcome trembling in adjoining theaters at multiplexes. All for a process that was to be used in only three later movies (“Midway,” “Rollercoaster” and “Battlestar Galactica”). Come to think of it, a few weeks ago I dozed off while watching the new “Jumanji” movie at a theatre and was rudely woken up by the noise from the theater next door which was showing a movie in 4D; for a moment I truly thought we were going through a real earthquake. Thus, I think it’s safe to say that 4D has been the closest I’ve come to re-experiencing Sensurround.   

“Earthquake” was mostly structured like an average disaster film of the 1970s. Several interlocking characters are introduced early and, unlike the recent entries of the genre such as “San Andreas” (2015) and those by Roland Emmerich, their attitude towards the catastrophe in hand was dead serious, leaving very little room for humor. Our film deals with the world class engineer Stuart Graff (Charlton Heston), whose marriage to Remy (Ava Gardner) is clearly on the outs, so much that it is impossible to imagine they could have ever been even remotely happy together. Remy is the daughter of Stuart’s boss Royce played by "Bonanza" patriarch Lorne Greene. With just a few hours before catastrophe strikes, Stuart starts dating widowed Denise (played by Genevieve Bujold). These are the basic dynamics of a cinematic love triangle that makes the one in Michael Bay’s “Pearl Harbor” (2001) feel like the one in Michael Curtiz’s “Casablanca” by comparison. 

I don’t believe the general outline of “Earthquake” is by any means terrible, even if it's not particularly original for an entry that debuted right in the middle of the 1970s disaster movie craze, which itself is like a shorter-lived version of today’s comic book epidemic. The characters are first introduced, followed by a small tremor detonates the usual warnings that go unanswered and the big earthquake destroys the city in spectacular fashion. The Heston/George Kennedy duo then proceeds to rescue several extras in heroic fashion, while the bursting of a dam provides the opportunity for a spectacular watery escape, reminiscent of the one in “The Poseidon Adventure” (1972) and even that in 1978’s “Superman” (also penned by screenwriter Mario Puzo). All that’s missing from the typical entry of this genre are the usual warnings against greed as the source of Man’s doom and a character spontaneously bursting into song. I suppose the filmmakers just couldn’t find the right spot.

On the plus side, the movie has some terrific special effects, especially those involving the progressive destruction of Los Angeles in miniature (as seen from Royce’s office) as well as some falling vehicles from a collapsing freeway (here’s a hint: if you are driving during an earthquake, it may not be a bad idea to hit the brakes!). These types of effects have more weight and end up being more convincing than most of those made with CGI these days. The film's technicians came up with some of the most incredibly looking models, on par with those from the ship in “The Poseidon Adventure” and the skyscraper from “The Towering Inferno.” 

The first of “Earthquake’s” main faults is that it also happens to include some really shabby manual effects, particularly those that involve real sized elements. If there is one thing I’ve never seen in a real earthquake it's flying columns, beams and signs falling in the middle of the street. By relying so heavily on the Sensurround system during “The Event,” in many instances the filmmakers forgot to include the necessary sound effects to go along with their collapse or their rupture, making it hard to avoid the fact they are mostly made out of Styrofoam. There’s also the hilarious shot of the woman with shards of glass stuck in her face, even before a glass pane falls on her head. “Earthquake” includes some other laughable sequences such as the one involving a cook falling alongside a stove at the precise moment when a giant boiling pot falls and empties all of its contents on top him (that image looks just like something out of the “World’s Dumbest Videos” TV show). Even worse is the visual of guy looking for gas leaks with a cigarette in his mouth. Smokers have routinely been treated rather harshly in movies (think of the man who loses his arm to a shark in “Deep Blue Sea”) but even as a warning on how not to encounter this type of situation, the image here is beyond stupid.

The film’s second mistake was including too many scenes and characters that just don’t belong. Did a disaster movie really need a sequence involving a motorcycle stunt show or a car chase that includes the requisite baby carriage and Zsa Zsa Gabor’s prized gardens? Did it really need a bar fight with drunks smashing into racks full of pool sticks? And what exactly could have been the point of filling any disaster entry with such an assortment of bizarre characters like the Marjoe Gortner sex deviate who looks as if he came right out of the “Pulp Fiction” sadomasochist basement? Also hard to explain are the presence of Gortner & Ava Gardner’s strange wigs and Gortner & Victoria Principal’s matching perms. I suppose it's no mystery that anything and everything from the 1970s has dated horribly (think of Charton Heston’s “portable” car phone and his ever-moving toupee) but these examples seem to have been done fully on purpose. Then there’s Walter Matthau's prolonged drunken cameo, which seems to rely on the old “funny by repetition” trick. In other words, he just gets more annoying by the minute.

A special mention in the film’s main problems has to go to the Ava Gardner & Charlton Heston relationship. It’s safe to say that screenwriter Mario Puzo has done a better job writing about human relations in his other films. The problem is not so much that Gardner’s screen father is only seven years older than her, (after all, Sean Connery was only 12 years older than his Harrison Ford son in “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”) but there’s something intrinsically odd about Gardner calling Lorne Greene “Daddy” that makes it impossible not to snicker. She plays her part as if she had seen Elizabeth Taylor in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” a few too many times and remains insufferable from start to finish. At the end of the day, basing the film’s emotional closure on the sacrificing of Charlton Heston’s life for someone so utterly unpleasant made for the film’s biggest weakness. I’m aware of how a similar approach with the Gene Hackman character brought weight to “The Poseidon Adventure’” conclusion but perhaps director Robson could have included a flashback of happier times or at least provide any hint whatsoever of why Heston should have ever sacrificed certain happiness, at least two sides of this film’s love triangle.

Most of the shortcomings mentioned here derive from a lack of conviction and the love of the game that could always be felt in the works of Irwin Allen, even though he eventually simply ran out of worthy stories of catastrophe. Instead of going for broke by casting a smashing duo the likes of Steve McQueen and Paul Newman in “The Towering Inferno” Jennings Lang settled with the very ordinary Heston /Kennedy duo from “Airport 1975” (all that’s missing here is the usual “Airport” tagline “… and George Kennedy as Patroni”!). The simple comparison of the posters from these two movies speaks volumes about their respective ambitions. Both share the same type of disaster artwork as well as images of their characters boxed in the small squares both while “The Towering Inferno” includes them in all sorts of emotional expressions and tags them with the grandiose likes of “The Fire Chief!, The Architect!, the Builder! (and the female leads with the more modest The Girlfriend! the Wife! The Widow!”) All we get in “Earthquake” are the expressions of a group of actors yet again going through the motions.

“Earthquake” was originally promoted using the ambitious slogan “An Event... ”; needless to say it didn’t fully live up to that hype. Oddly enough, attending “Earthquake” as a sixth grader when it opened here in Mexico on a Wednesday in 1975 was one of those rare times where I couldn’t get in the theater during my first couple of tries, as scalpers managed to grab all the tickets for the opening day shows. But while I suppose the film was never really worth such an effort, I have to admit I still can’t help but smile at such moments as when Genevieve Bujold’s holds to a tree for dear life while her beer & chicken-eating neighbor slides down a cliff, followed by all of his possessions (and his still-supported home!), or even at the very amateurish way director Robson conveys the carnage after some elevator passengers fall to their doom, by splattering drops of fake blood on the camera lens. After all these years it’s hard for me to say if “Earthquake” is either a guilty pleasure or a movie so bad that it’s good. Perhaps the line between both attributes is too thin, or maybe they are one and the same.

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[trentteti]

The Logical Rose-ning Section: Your Recap of The Bachelorette, Episode 5

Rachel Lindsay is a practicing attorney who once took the LSAT. And you, dear reader, are an aspiring attorney who will soon take the LSAT. Rachel Lindsay is also an aspiring married person, serving as the Bachelorette on this season of The Bachelorette, the love story these depraved times deserve. And you, dear reader, may also be an aspiring married person? Either way, you definitely have at least a few things in common with Rachel. So every Tuesday (edit: and/or Wednesday), we’re going to be tracking Rachel’s romantic journey on The Bachelorette, and see what we can learn about love, loss, and the LSAT. Welcome back to the Logical Rose-ning Section.

Last time: We got a lot of racially charged bickering between Lee and like every contestant who didn’t share his complexion, making for a particularly uncomfortable two hours of television that overshadowed the, say, blimp-bound one-on-one with Dean where he pretended to be afraid of heights (a claim that we at Most Strongly Supported believe was full of hot air) (sorry). Anyway, the most important part was the “Next time on,” when they told us that we’d be getting two episodes—4 hours (!)—of The Bachelorette. Look, ABC and Warner Bros. Production, I don’t want to tell you how to run your television show (though perhaps someone should). But I’ve written like 10,000 words on this season already and even I think this is too much Bachelorette. Let’s scale back.

So this week, we got an amount of content that would make even Fyodor Dostoyevsky blush, so we’re just gonna do a quick hit on every section of this week’s four hour bonanza of The Bachelorette.

Spelling Bee Group Date

We’re somehow start this episode still on the spelling bee group date from last year, where Kenny and Lee are really getting into it. While those guys are getting into a racially-charged debate, Bryan is offering Rachel bon mots like, “I feel like … If you think I’m too good to be true for you, and if I think you’re too good to be true for me … and I thought about it and you know, I think it’s a very simple solution. We’re the perfect match.” Rachel digs that Bryan uses his time in the house to make equivocal arguments and not fixate on the other cases, and awards Bryan with the group date rose.

Kenny, in ostensibly congratulating Bryan, gives Lee the least sub-by subtweet of all time when he commends Bryan for doing it the “right way” and not “snaking any dudes.” “It’s very important, not being a bitch-ass dude,” Kenny concludes. Even Lee’s lizardy brain can figure out Kenny’s intent and the two cuss a lot. This only gets us like 15 minutes into the episode.

One-on-One Date with Jack Stone

After the drama with Kenny and Lee in the group date, Rachel settles into a one-on-one date with Jack Stone who, as we learn during this date, is the most boring dude in the world. “Jack and I have a lot in common. We’re both attorneys. We’re both around the same age. We both live in Dallas,” Rachel says with all the conviction of a prospect-less 37 year-old psyching herself up for a Tinder date with guy whose profile prominently features a MAGA hat. Rachel, though, is very much not a prospect-less woman. She’s got nothing but prospects right now. Like 15 prospects at this point.

We’ll never know why the producers insisted on calling Jack Stone “Jack Stone,” when they didn’t give anyone else the full name treatment and when there aren’t any other Jacks here. But we will be able to figure out why Jack got the boot on this date. The date could not have gone worse for Jack Stone, who has a manic, crazy-eyed vibe and delusional ideas about how well the date is going.

I don’t know what Jack Stone did to piss off the producers, but their wrath is on display throughout this date. Over the course of this date, the producers keep juxtaposing his confidence in the date against Rachel’s obvious disinterest. Their complete lack of chemistry even bores the camera guy, who seems to get like drunk on the job, winding up with perfect shots like this.

The producers then show Jack Stone awkwardly kissing Rachel. Like really awkwardly. Like enough to make you never want to try to kiss anyone ever again. In his confessional, he admits to “falling for Rachel,” and his look of absolute obliviousness is held for forty beats too long.

But most of this is Jack’s fault, turning this into a 10-minute televisual face palm emoji. Rachel admits to wanting to see his passion. He starts talking about her dad’s sense of humor … dude.

Rachel asks where Jack would take her if they were back in Dallas. Jack’s first thought is to take her back to his apartment, “lock the door,” and lay in bed and talk. That, somehow, did not appeal to Rachel, who finally decides to put Jack and all of us out of our misery by sending Jack home. Jack walks directly into the Harbor River, sinking to the bottom to live with the stingrays and loggerhead turtles of the island.

Rose Ceremony

Rachel displays an absolute ruthlessness in the cutting guys this week, starting with the first of three rose ceremonies this episode. Despite half these guys being palpably thirsty for more time with Rachel, Rachel decides to forgo the cocktail party, and go straight to the ceremonial beheading of the contestants unworthy of her time or affection.

Eric, Peter, Adam, Will (who gets a catchphrase going, saying “I Will [accept this rose]”), Matt (who is a guy that’s been on this show, apparently), Josiah, Anthony, Kenny, and Lee get roses, joining Dean and Bryan, who were already sitting pretty with the date roses.

This means that Iggy and Jonathan are sent packing. Jonathan assaults Rachel one last time by tickling her on his way out. I guess making tickling your brand isn’t the best way to find a wife. Iggy realizes he should have spent less time with guy drama and more time with Rachel. Iggy and Jonathan are then sent to the nearby set of Gullah Gullah Island, where they will be forced to satisfy the sensual proclivities of Binyah Binyah Polliwog for the rest of their days.

After the ceremony, Rachel announces they’re heading to Oslo. Who of these guys could tell us offhand that Oslo is in Norway? I think Will, Anthony, Josiah, and maybe Dean would actually know that without the aid of Wikipedia. Anyway, the guys get excited for Norway, the land of the Lillehammer Olympics (and forgotten Netflix series of the same name), smoked salmon, and the good wood that inspired a Beatles song about a disturbed arsonist who gets so angry at a woman for going to bed early that he sets her house on fire.

Which of these guys are Oslo in Rachel’s estimation, and which of these guys are Norway in danger of going home? Onto the land of cured fish, cross-country skiing, and democratic socialism to find out.

One-on-One Date with Bryan

Upon meeting the guys in Scandanavia, Rachel gives the boys the most adorable Young M.A. “OOOOUUUU” shout out, and then gives Bryan the first one-on-one date card.

Dean, feeling himself way too much despite wearing a ripped pink sweater, declares that he wouldn’t be surprised if Bryan didn’t return.

Bryan and Rachel have the romantic date of repelling down the Holmenkollbakken Olympic ski jump. Rachel, experienced attorney and/or apparent Snoop fan, notes the coincidence that it’s 187 feet high—the California Penal Code statute for murder. Is she saying that that she feels like the producers are trying to murder her? Is she planning on murdering Bryan? The whole affair seemed pretty safe, the closest thing to murder being pretty unflattering angle the producers use to film Rachel and Bryan’s descent.

Rachel opens up to Bryan about insecurities about not feeling pretty growing up next to her sister. Bryan does the same, referencing his awkward high school days. Bryan becomes the first guy to drop the “falling in love with you” bomb. Rachel seems taken aback, but gives him the rose nonetheless.

Handball Group Date

Adam, Dean, Anthony, Piggo, Matt, Will, Alex, Eric, and Josiah get invited to a group date, leaving Kenny and Lee for their inevitable two-on-one.

The dudes play the Olympic-version handball, which is a bit different than the handball game the cool kids in the third grade wouldn’t let me play. Rachel calls handball a combination of football, basketball, and water polo, despite the fact that there’s no contact or water. Handball is basically swaggerless basketball, but it’s kind of cool because it involves jumping and throwing things very hard.

The guys split up in the red team and blue team to play. Rachel joins the red team. Piggo clearly a fouls Rachel when he tries to sneak in a little grab-action during the course of play. The referees, clearly not as familiar Rule 8.2 (b) of the International Handball Federations Rules of the Game as some astute viewers, let this clear foul (and potential display of sexual harassment) slide.

Will is apparently a bona fide handball savage, and gets a not-totally-undeserved comparison to Jordan in the ‘97 Finals from Rachel. The U.S. has never medaled in handball in the Olympics, but this might change once Will joins the national team.

Afterwards, at the polet portion of the date, Will further confides in Rachel about past loves lost, and gets some kysee time with Rachel. Alex macks on Rachel with a handwritten letter and Matt sews lyrics on a purple sheet, which Rachel seems to dig. Josiah, however, gets a little intense, discussing how Rachel’s beauty “emanates from [her] core” and talks about how she is the woman of his dreams. Rachel is taken aback about how disingenuous this all seems. We’re taken aback by extreme Josiah face.

Piggo the Perceptive impresses her by reading her eye contact. He gets some exclusive one-on-one hot tub action with Rachel, despite the aforementioned handball foul.

Will gets the group date rose. He again says “I absolutely Will” accept the offered rose. Cool catchphrase, dude.

Two-on-One Date with Kenny and Lee

The nadir of this four-hour marathon is this two-on-one date with Kenny and Lee. We’re reminded of the rules: Two guys, one rose, loser goes home. Look, Kenny and Lee argue a bunch. Lee appears to lie a whole bunch. He lies about Kenny dragging him out of a van (something the producers never showed us, even though they probably would have spent 17 hours on it if it actually happened), about Kenny admitting to having a “dark side” when he drinks, about Kenny threatening him during the date (which may have happened—most of what Kenny said was censored in his discussions with Lee), about telling Rachel that Kenny threatened him. Lee, look into how cameras work, man.

Kenny “wins” this date and Lee is thankfully sent packing. Who are these two-on-one dates for though? They’re never as “explosive” as the promos promise, so the audience doesn’t win. The Bachelor or Bachelorette never seem to have any fun on it. The winner of the two-on-one never actually wins the whole thing. Kenny at this point is basically the Utah Jazz upsetting the LA Clippers. Moral victory and he lives to see the next day, but he’s still facing an inevitable drubbing by the Golden State Warriors in the next round.

Rose Ceremony

In our second of three rose ceremonies, Rachel gives Dean, Eric, Piggo, Alex, Adam, and Matt roses, who join the aforementioned Will. Anthony (whom I had pegged as a real contender) and Josiah are sent packing home.

Anthony handles it with class, and Josiah … does not. “Something wrong with her brain,” noted neurologist Josiah notes. Josiah proceeds to calls out Alex for being a KGB agent (Alex is Russian) and Adam (who brought a doll named Adam Jr.) for bringing a “Michael Myers” doll (which, to be fair, is the only trait we’ve learned about Adam thus far).

Rachel announces they’re then taking a jaunt south to Copenhagen, Denmark, where the producers decide to let their pun game really fly.

One-on-One Date with Eric

The first date card in Copenhagen read “I’m cOPEN to love.” Eric, whose constant need of attention and affirmation is more or less his defining personality trait, is given this attention and affirmation via this one-on-one date.

Rachel pulls up in a boat on the Nyhavn canal, a body of water large enough to quench the immense thirst Eric feels at all times. They cruise down the canal and recite interesting facts about the waterfront houses like “sailors used to live in the houses here.” They then go to like a hot tub bar where a guy exposes his little Hamlet, and then to an amusement park, which we’re told is the second-most visited amusement park in the world. Honestly, it looks a little basic to my American eyes. Denmark, your citizens may be happier and more educated than ours, you may have one of the best restaurants in the world, but you’re still not on our level, theme park-wise. At dinner, where two enormous burgers sit untouched and uneaten, Eric opens up about not receiving a love from his mother, which affected his ability to accept love in romantic relationships. He gets a rose, which he seems more than willing to accept.

Viking Group Date

Dean, Kenny, Matt, Adam, and Piggo are the contestants on the next group date. “I’ve taken a Viking to you,” the date card reads. The producers are just on fire with the date card puns this episode.

The dudes go to a big field where they act like Vikings. Upon arrival, the Danish Viking reenactor says, “They don’t really look like Vikings,” problematically. They do some Viking stuff to find out who is the best Viking, I guess. They row a big boat and sword fight. Kenny, whose eye gash has been teased for like five weeks now and was suggested to be a product of Lee, gets a cut when battling with Adam in the finals of the Vikings games. Kenny nonetheless wins the match, and become the Viking Champion, an oxymoron to anyone in the greater Minneapolis area.

At the cocktail party, Bryan and Piggo have a handsome-off. Rachel is positively smitten with both. Matt appears to be drinking a spritzer while wearing a shabby brown polo. He spends all the time with Rachel talking about Kenny. How is this guy still on? Speaking of Kenny, the dude deteriorates on this date—he doesn’t think the relationship has grown at the rate the other guys’ have, he is missing his daughter, and he is sporting a Nelly band-aid on his face 15 years after its expiration date. Rachel strongly suggests that he should good home to be with his daughter, and he obliges. Kenny, you may have been embroiled in the dumb Lee stuff for weeks now, but I’ll nonetheless miss you. Shouts to you and doting dads everywhere.

Piggo gets the group date rose. Bryan takes this news really well.

One-on-One with Will

Finally, we have a one-on-one date with Will. “Will you be my Swedey,” the card reads. Double pun! The two take a quick day trip to Helsingborg, Sweden, where Will’s lack of physical intimacy leaves Rachel colder than a winter’s night in Gothenburg. During the date, Will slowly transforms back into Urkel. It’s rough. Rachel drops the “I think you’re so great, so amazing, but …” Will does not get the rose. He absolutely Will not be seeing Rachel anymore.

Rose Ceremony

Finally, after what was four hours of The Bachelorette (but felt like at least fifteen), we get to the third of three rose ceremonies. Rachel has been tossing guys out like uneaten lutefisk this week, but she claims this will be the hardest goodbye she had to say.

Bryan, Matt, Dean, and Adam get the roses, joining Eric. Alex, wearing the inexcusable high-school-sophomore-at-the-homecoming-dance look with a black suit, black shirt and solid pink tie, is sent packing.

Are you exhausted? I’m exhausted. Four hours is a long time. But guess what, that’s how long the LSAT is. If you could make it through this absolute grind of an episode, the LSAT will be no prob for you.

The Logical Rose-ning Section: Your Recap of The Bachelorette, Episode 5 was originally published on LSAT Blog