#and why is douglas fine

[shelli-gator]

Been writing some Donald x Duck content with a fellow train enjoyer, because God I need more of them. And I get to write for Donald and Douglas!

So here, have what I wrote, feeling pretty chuffed with how its going so far. Woe, Scotts be upon thee! 🫴🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🚂🚂

Context: One by one, a number of engines are suddenly taken ill. Usually the picture of health and hearty endurance, Donald is reluctant to admit anything is wrong, even to himself.

As it would turn out, it's Donald and Douglas who've been called in to pick up the slack. They'd already been on their way back to Tidmouth yard from Vicarstown with a heavy goods train, and it was no fuss (bar Douglas' initial reluctance to add to their load) to collect Edward's train from the siding- a heavy goods train may as well be slow goods, and with ease the Scottish twins had repositioned themselves around it.

Or at least, it should have been easy.

At the front of the now most notably long train, Donald feels something more than the uncomfortable strain on his tender coupling. His breathing feels laboured as he chuffs, and as hard as he tries to notch up to even out the hardness of his puffing, it does nothing for him. And by now, the ache that's been gnawing away at the inside of his smokebox all day has blossomed into something ugly.

The Scottish twin grimaces, screwing his eyes shut, but the only voice he gives to his discomfort is a low, muffled growl behind tightly pressed lips. Keep on keeping on. It's gonna take more than some bad steaming to send him crawling to the Steamworks.

But his weak steam hasn't gone unnoticed, much to his irritation- his brother's words are needly to the No. 9 as he jeers from the back of their train, his tone jovial but decidedly pointed.

"For all yer bluster, yer nae pullin' at all, man! 'We'll pull this wee train nae bother, Dougie'! Och, what muckle nonsense!"

"Ack, away n' wheesht!" Donald shouts back at him with a long suffering roll of his eyes skyward, but he has to suck in a breath soon after, his expression pinched with the effort it had taken to yell at all. And he doesn't like how disconcerting that feels. He's usually quite good at yelling. He has to be to yell over his brother.

For a beat, there's nothing, and he thinks that will be the end of that. Until-

"What?!" Douglas hollers back, confused.

"I said," Donald tries again, taking in a ragged gasp, "Away n' whee-"

But he can't finish. The black goods engine stumbles as it feels like his steam leaves him all at once, and his driving wheels suddenly slip with shrieks and sparks. The train jolts and slows as the leading twin falters, and Douglas yells out in surprise as, just like that, the entirety of the weight is suddenly left to him. He can't shoulder it so suddenly, and he puts his brakes hard on to bring them to a stop, the trucks bouncing back and forth against one another to make them shriek and cackle.

"Donnie?!" He hears Douglas call out, but Donald can't find it in himself to answer, trying to ground himself on the rails. He sucks in small shaky breaths, as if too ashamed to gasp for air, as much as he might need it, and it makes the ache in his smokebox flare so sharply it makes him giddy.

Keep the heid, Donald. He thinks to himself shakily, swallowing, and his blastpipe feels uncomfortably dry as he watches the rails beyond his buffers waver. That's new.

It isn't long at all before he hears the approaching chuffing of his twin, but can't quite bring himself to look up at him as he wills the world to steady itself. And against his backhead he can feel his driver fiddling with his controls, perhaps trying to right whatever it is that's throwing his engine off kilter.

"What was that about then?!" Douglas demands angrily, ready to believe his brother had thrown a wobbly for his teasing. It wouldn't be the first time, so Donald can hardly blame him. He'd have thought the same.

But their eyes meet, and Donald watches his brother's face fall, earthy brown eyes that mirror his own darting over his pale face. And he feels himself tense up in response- he really doesn't want to have to explain himself.

"Donnie? Ye dinnae look so good." Douglas says dubiously, watching the steam leak from him in a wheesh of discontent.

"I'm fine." Donald shoots back stubbornly, hackles raised, but Douglas will not be deterred so easily.

"Oh no, dinnae dae that," his brother admonishes, but there's no sting to his words, "Talk to me, man. Ye'v nae bin yerself all day."

Was he really that transparent? He knew he wasn't well, but had he really fallen so short? Just like that the fire and brimstone leaves the No.9, and he releases steam in defeat, a wheezy sigh sending it dancing in flurries.

"Ack... aye Dougie. I dinnae feel so good. I’m fair puckled..." As if to prove his point he has to draw in another sharp breath before the words are even out his mouth, and he tsks with a frown, growling at himself for his weakness.

"Can ye keep going?"

"Aye." Donald is quick to affirm, and he leaves no room for argument in his tone. He's not about to go to the Steamworks when another wee engine just got sent there, and here they are collecting his train. What a right muckle comedy of errors would that be?

Douglas seems to echo the sentiment, not at all keen to see his brother get shipped off to the works. So he puffs himself up with a laugh, his smile confident, "Dinnae fash yerself then, Donnie. I've got ye, man. I've got puff in me fir the both of us!" He blasts his whistle in a grand display, and Donald is quick to answer with a chuckle, sending out an answering whistle that joins in with Douglas' own. And with that, the other Caledonian engine steams forward to find a point. 

Soon enough he's backing up to double head with his twin, and Donald can't help but think it's a little like it was back then, once upon a time when a Scottish engine had stolen his twin away with him to their new home far away. And with his brother to lean on, they can hide that he's having any steaming trouble at all.

It takes some work and strain to get the train moving again, but Donald isn't completely useless. He puts every ounce of puff he has into supporting his twin's gallant effort, ignoring how tired it makes him, and finally, they're heading for home again. And to anyone watching, it would seem the twins are working in tandem as usual, even if Douglas looks a little pinker in the face for it.

"Dae ye ken what's wrong?" Douglas asks eventually over his strong chuffing, working hard to pick up his brother's slack. But Donald grunts in response, eying the back of his buffers to avoid looking at the scenery as it flies by, wary of it making him feel sicker still.

"Ah dinnae ken, no." 

"Maybe it's something in the water?" Douglas offers, and Donald perks up to arch a brow at him, leaning to the side like his brother might be able to catch a glimpse of his skeptical look, "We passed wee Percy looking proper done in on Gordon's Hill, mind, and now Edward's at the Steamworks, all out of puff."

Donald dares to think he has a point, what are the odds that three engines run into steaming trouble on the same day, "Aye, maybe yer right!" The thought gives him some reprieve- if it's just water, that's a temporary issue, one that he can wait out till the next day. And Donald feels his spirits bolster.

"Och aye, I usually am!" Douglas quips dryly, and Donald rolls his eyes fondly, giving his twin a bump from behind to jostle him.

Despite the hiccup, the pair make good time to Tidmouth, steaming through tunnels and past rolling fields. The sky is just starting to tinge pink and orange as they approach the station, and Donald finds himself leaning in an attempt to see past his brother, not so subtly looking for a familiar shape that so often stops there, green and broad and sturdy, with a long, elegant funnel. He could recognize him anywhere, from his pert bunker to his distinctive waddle as he bustles about on his branch line.

So when Douglas whistles to announce their arrival, Donald joins in with a whistle of his own, with a hope that they'll soon hear a third whistle echo back just for them, proper and, to Donald, endearingly bird-like.

'Ye there, Duckie?'

--------

And that's all she wrote!

[qhostcaptain]

larry playing edith is just him putting on this random ass roman generals voice that he played in a sketch in horrible histories…..

[fideidefenswhore]

i've been thinking about this and i feel like the difference btwn anne and mary boleyn is actually most evident in the early 1520s; if anne had been more like mary she probably would have married percy regardless, damn the consequences. it doesn't make one 'better' than the other, i think just different...

altho sometimes i think mary's decision to wed stafford in 1534 in particular is understandable in context, it wasn't done to marry without royal consent of course but mary had been a widow for like six years and widows had a considerable amount of freedom in their marriage choices, certainly more than wards or women of nobility making their first marriage, had she not been the sister of the queen it might have been more easily forgiven.

also there's arguably precedent to some extent, she was hviii's sister in law whereas his actual sister had been able to make her own choice in her second marriage once widowed, of course she had to pay fines for this transgression and all this but she was invited back to court eventually after asking wolsey to intercede with her which parallels how mary wrote to cromwell, wolsey's 'successor' iyw, for her own intercession for royal forgiveness/mercy.

[alicenpai]

princess tutu: die jahreszeiten 🌸

kind of a companion piece to my 2022 ptutu drawing | it's on inprnt

this print was at anime north; next con is otakuthon!

oops so my hand slipped and i made another princess tutu drawing. i admittedly don't watch that much anime so my catalogue of work is gonna be the same 5 animes LMAO. what can i say, i love "dark" fairy tales, and i've been really enjoying the more fine art approach to a lot of my drawings as of late (and the watercolour brush i've been using has been so perfect for that...!)

as my first princess tutu drawing is now 2 years old, there are some areas i've grown to have ... qualms with... although both drawings as a whole are pretty much exactly what i envisioned, and that's always satisfying!

both of these were drawn in roughly a week's time (yes really...) for con crunch period (and i went back to this drawing after the con to touch up some areas that were a bit rough!). i wanted a different approach to this new pt drawing, with the focus on the line work, rather than on colours and lighting in the 2022 drawing.

this drawing had 2 goals: to continue the style i adopted in my witch hat atelier "lantern bearers" drawing (which i promise i'll post in full soon as soon as all of the zine artists get their go-ahead to post their pieces!), and to emulate the art nouveau movement's heavy emphasis on line work, albeit not a 1:1 style replication of course.

the seasons also aren't a 1:1 representation, as i didn't necessarily pick flowers or colours that are most strongly associated with the season (e.g. summer being a dark tone is a bold choice?). but it's kinda whatever, as i said before i drew this in a week, there may be more appropriate flowers with better meanings. i couldn't spend too too much time drafting and researching.

FLOWER SYMBOLISM:

- spring: apple blossoms, tulips - the apple blossom is a quintessential spring flower, and thus symbolize the arrival of spring. spring is a season of change, which ahiru/princess tutu is a force of, instigating change in her friends and unravelling the story around her. the flowers below her are tulips, and there are many meanings to tulips depending on the colour, due to their ubiquitous nature. i narrowed on one, and intended for them to symbolize happiness. princess tutu's pose is one in which that is open, inviting, and warm - reflecting her nurturing nature in the series, and her willingness to help others achieve happiness.

- summer: deadly nightshade flower, yellow rose - i chose for rue/princess kraehe to symbolize a fiery summer's night instead of the typical dazzling heat of a summer's day, a rather bold and unusual choice. the warmth of sunshine didn't quite fit, as the character is quite dramatic and passionate, with her intentions often hidden in shadow. next, the deadly nightshade - atropa belladonna - has a lot of mythological associations, a lot to do with poisoning, as the flower is toxic. the flowers bloom at night (another reason why i picked a nighttime backdrop for "summer") and also outwardly match rue's dark design scheme, as the cherry on top. yellow roses, at the bottom of her frame, are the archetypal flower depicting jealousy (as with many yellow flowers are), and at one point in the story, rue only wished for her own happiness at the misfortune of others.

- autumn: douglas fir needles, orange calla lily - autumn is another season of change - although much more tumultuous, as this season is traditionally taken to prepare for a long winter ahead - fitting for fakir as the role of the storyteller. the douglas fir is not a flower of course, but is a tree - with many different parts of this tree offering many benefits in advance of the winter season. i wanted the versatile nature of the douglas fir to reflect on fakir's dependable personality. next up, the calla lily is a flower with a dual meaning - on one hand you have life, on the other you have death. a storyteller quite literally can grant both at the tip of their fingers.

- winter: birch tree, snowdrop - winter is a rather still and unchanging season, a lull in the passage of time. this symbolizes mytho's passive nature at the start of the series, especially with his doleful pose here, as if almost in hibernation. to contrast, mytho is perched on the branches of a birch tree, which means new beginnings and renewal - as mytho is one of the characters that undergo the most change throughout the series (i'd argue the most?), regaining pieces of his heart. under mytho's frame is the snowdrop flower - and if you've read my witch hat atelier: seasons piece symbolisms, one of the snowdrop's meanings is rebirth, with connotations to the bible, bringing hope, when all had forsaken eve. the snowdrop is one of the first flowers to bloom even when the snow has not yet fully melted, further echoing mytho as an analogy for rebirth.

[broke-on-books]

I put in an answer and my math program has been loading for 5 minutes. That's just the power of 42 I guess

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The art of Daniel Danger

[Image ID: Daniel Danger's art print, 'To all who home to this happy place,' depicting a ruined Disneyland castle in a post-apocalyptic landscape with a statue of Walt and Mickey in the rubble.]

There’s this behavioral economics study that completely changed the way i thought about art, teaching, and critique: it’s a 1993 study called “Introspecting about Reasons can Reduce Post-Choice Satisfaction” by Timothy D Wilson, Douglas J Lisle, Jonathan Schooler, Sara Hodges, Kristen Klaaren and Suzanne LaFleur:

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/240281868_Introspecting_about_Reasons_can_Reduce_Post-Choice_Satisfaction

The experimenters asked subjects to preference-rank some art posters; half the posters were cute cartoony posters, and the other half were fine art posters. One group of subjects assigned a simple numeric rank to the posters, and the other had to rank them and explain their ranking. Once they were done, they got to keep their posters.

There was a stark difference in the two groups’ preferences: the group that had to explain their choices picked the cartoony images, while the group that basically got to point at their favorite and say, “Ooh, I like that!” chose the fine art posters.

Then, months later, the experimenters followed up and asked the subjects what they’d done with the poster they got to take home. The ones who’d had to explain their choices and had brought home cartoony images had thrown those posters away. The ones who didn’t have to explain what they liked about their choice, who’d chosen fine art, had hung them up at home and kept them there.

The implication is that it’s hard to explain what makes art good, and the better art is, the harder it is to put your finger on what makes it so good. More: the obvious, easy-to-articulate virtues of art are the less important virtues. Art’s virtues are easy to spot and hard to explain.

The reason this stuck with me is that I learned to be a writer through writing workshops where we would go around in a circle and explain what we liked and didn’t like about someone’s story, and suggest ways to make it better. I started as a teenager in workshops organized by Judith Merril in Toronto, then through my high-school workshop (which Judy had actually founded a decade-plus earlier through a writer in the schools grant), and then at the Clarion workshop in 1992. I went on to teach many of these workshops: Clarion, Clarion West and Viable Paradise.

So I’ve spent a lot of time trying to explain what was and wasn’t good about other peoples’ art (and my own!), and how to make it better. There’s a kind of checklist to help with this: when a story is falling short in some way, writers roll out these “rules” for what makes for good and bad prose. There are a bunch of these rulesets (think of Strunk & White’s Elements of Style), including some genre-specific ones like the Turkey City Lexicon:

https://www.sfwa.org/2009/06/18/turkey-city-lexicon-a-primer-for-sf-workshops/

A few years ago, I was teaching on the Writing Excuses cruise and a student said something like, “Hey, I know all these rules for writing good stories, but I keep reading these stories I really like and they break the rules. When can I break the rules?”

There’s a stock answer a writing teacher is supposed to give here: “Well, first you have to master the rules, then you can break them. You can’t improvise a jazz solo without first learning your scales.”

But in that moment, I thought back to the study with the posters and I had a revelation. These weren’t “rules” at all — they were just things that are hard and therefore easy to screw up. No one really knows why a story isn’t working, but they absolutely know when it doesn’t, and so, like the experimental subject called upon to explain their preferences, they reach for simple answers: “there’s too much exposition,” or “you don’t foreshadow the ending enough.”

There are lots of amazing stories that are full of exposition (readers of mine will not be shocked to learn I hold this view). There are lots of twist endings that are incredible — and not despite coming out of left field, but because of it.

The thing is, if you can’t say what’s wrong, but you know something is wrong, it’s perfectly reasonable to say, “Well, why don’t you try to replace or polish the things that are hardest to do right. Whatever it is that isn’t working here, chances are it’s the thing that’s hardest to make work”:

https://locusmag.com/2020/05/cory-doctorow-rules-for-writers/

But if I could change one thing about how we talk about writing and its “rules,” it would be to draw this distinction, characterizing certain literary feats as easier to screw up than others, having the humility to admit that we just don’t know what’s wrong with a story, and then helping the writer create probabilistically ranked lists of the things they could tinker with to try and improve their execution.

Which is all a very, very long-winded way to explain why I bought a giant, gorgeous art-print at Comic-Con this weekend, even though I have nowhere to hang it and had sworn I would absolutely not buy any art at the con.

I was walking the floor, peeking into booths, when I happened on Daniel Danger’s booth (#5034, if you’re at the con today), and I was just fuckin’ poleaxed by his work.

http://www.tinymediaempire.com/

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘It stopped being about the panic,’ depicting a ruined mansion interwoven with the skeletal branches of a tree, with a weeping statue and two human figures]

Now, see above. I can’t tell you why I loved this work so much (and that’s OK!), but boy oh boy did it speak to me. I just kind of stood there with my mouth open, slowly moving from print to print, admiring works like “It stopped being about the panic.”

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/2022-sdcc-it-stopped-being-about-the-panic-v4

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘headlight in the path of,’ depicting a ruined mall with a pair of stags standing at the top of the escalator.]

On the surface, this is moody, post-apocalyptic stuff, heavily influenced by classic monster/haunter tropes, but it’s shot through with hope and renewal and the sense of something beautiful growing out of the ashes of something that has toppled. There’s real “(Nothing But) Flowers” energy in “Headlight in the path of”:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/sdcc2023-headlight-in-the-path-of-v2

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘We are no longer able to protect you,’ depicting a ruined factory with a coming-apart sign reading ‘We can no longer protect you forever,’ and a statue of a sword-bearing angel.]

Danger isn’t just a

very

talented artist, he’s also an

extremely

talented craftsman. As a recovering pre-press geek, I was (nearly) as impressed by the wild use of spot color and foils as I was by the art, like in “We are no longer able to protect you”:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/sdcc-2022-we-can-no-longer-protect-you-forever-v3

[Image  ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘made of smoke and chains,’ depicting a ruined landscape with a pair of derelict subway trains at the foot of a hill on whose peak is a rotting mansion. A pair of human figures, holding hands, are approaching the mansion.]

Danger himself calls this work “weird sad hyper-detailed artwork of dreamy buildings of ghosts and trees,” which is a very apt description of this work, as you can see in “Made of smoke and chains”:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/made-of-smoke-and-chains-mist-preorder

So I looked at this stuff and sternly reminded myself that there was no way I was going to buy any art at the con. Then I walked away. I got about two aisles over when I realized I had to go back and ask permission to take some pictures so I could put a little link to Danger in my blog’s linkdump, which he graciously permitted:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?sort=interestingness-desc&safe_search=1&tags=danieldanger&min_taken_date=1687478400&max_taken_date=1690156799&view_all=1

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s art print, ‘To all who home to this happy place,’ depicting a ruined Disneyland castle in a post-apocalyptic landscape with a statue of Walt and Mickey in the rubble.]

But then I got all the way ass over to the other ass end of the convention center and I realized I had to go back and buy one of these prints. Which I did, “To all who come to this happy place,” because fuckin’ wow:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/sdcc2023-this-happy-place-v6-foil

This was unequivocally the best thing I saw at this year’s SDCC, but I also got some very good news while there, namely, that Emil Ferris’s long, long-awaited My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Vol 2 is finally on the schedule from Fantagraphics:

https://www.fantagraphics.com/collections/emil-ferris/products/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-book-two

It’s coming out in April, which gives you plenty of time to read volume one, which I called, “a haunting diary of a young girl as a dazzling graphic novel”:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/06/20/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-a-haunting-diary-of-a-young-girl-as-a-dazzling-graphic-novel/

If you are or were a monster kid or a haunter, this is your goddamned must-read of the summer. It’s a fully queered, stunning memoir for anyone whose erotic imagination intersected with Famous Monsters of Filmland.

(Also, if you’re that kind of person and you’re in the region, you should know about Midsummer Scream, a giant haunter show in Long Beach; I’ll be there on Sunday, July 30, for a panel about the Ghost Post, the legendary Haunted Mansion puzzle-boxes I helped make:

https://midsummerscream.org/

Now Favorite Thing book two was the best news, but the best experience was watching Felicia Day get her Inkpot Award and give a moving speech:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inkpot_Award

And then learning that Raina Telgemeier also got an Inkpot; I love Raina’s work so much:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/10/04/ghosts-raina-telgemeiers-upbeat-tale-of-death-assimilation-and-cystic-fibrosis/

[Image ID: A photo of me with Chuck Tingle, who wears a pink bag over his head on which he has written ‘Love is Real.’]

To cap yesterday off, I also ran into @ChuckTingle, which is as fine a capstone to a successful con as anyone could ask for:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/53065500076/in/dateposted/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/23/but-i-know-what-i-like/#daniel-danger

[as-is-yours]

happy 2024 summer olympics!

some tog watching the olympics hcs for the soul because i love the olympics and i decided they do too:

andy competed in the ORIGINAL greek olympics. yes she did

with the guard being as competitive as they are, the olympics are a BIG deal in the safe house - it’s like the football world cup but all day every day for three weeks straight

it’s obviously too dangerous for the guard to attend the olympics these days with all of the cameras and media, so they hunker down in a safehouse and watch as much as they can on TV

they used to go most years though, nicky even told nile that he considered competing in olympic shooting back in the mid 1900s but it was too high profile to risk it

quynh was in the ocean when they brought back the olympic games as we know them today. her first olympics year back with the guard she asks andy why everyone is clothed and where the victors wreaths are

nile LOVES the olympics so she fits right into the dynamic when the first olympics of her time with the guard roll around

she was a little nervous about coming on too strong that first year, but when she saw how hard they roast each other and how much they goaded her into being just as competitive and aggressive as they were, she settled in easily

they would later regret unlocking that part of her once they realize how painful watching the olympics with an american is

nile keeps a scoreboard on the wall next to the TV where she updates the medal counts daily and reminds everyone who’s winning (the usa)

joe, quynh, and booker prefer the summer olympics while nile and andy prefer the winter olympics. nicky is just happy to make some money off of booker when france loses, no matter the season

“andy im getting us a peacock account to watch the olympics, they’re starting next week” “peacock account? what the hell is peacock? like the bird??”

there’s ALWAYS a bet going on. for the full duration of the olympic games there is never not a bet going on

nile will be doing joe’s dishes for a month after kaylia nemour beat suni lee in the uneven bars final

booker owes nicky €300 after italy advanced out of the first round of the women’s doubles tennis tournament (france did not) and another €1000 for italy winning the gold medal

andy stays out of the betting for the most part, or just picks the best athlete rather than one representing her home nation

“andy, that’s cheating—” “the scythians were nomadic. i don’t even remember where i was born so i’ll pick whichever athlete i damn well please, and you—” “okay, fine! we get it!”

andy found quynh wandering in a desert, quynh doesn’t really remember where she’s from either so she picks her favorite athletes based on vibe and which countries were her favorites to travel around with andy

there aren’t nearly as many north african athletes as there are italian, french, and american so joe starts adopting the athletes with the most heartwarming comeback/underdog stories as his faves

i feel like nile LOVES usa gymnastics having been a teen watching gabby douglas and simone biles!

that girl was SAT for every gymnastics event cheering on team usa like it was her job

andy has broken her neck attempting to pull off the stunts she sees in olympic snowboarding, gymnastics, skateboarding, figure skating, etc…. but sometimes she nails them. and it’s sick as fuck

nile is from the midwest i know she’s an ice hockey enjoyer. she pregames the winter olympics by making the guard watch miracle (2004) (nicky cries)

booker makes a drinking game for watching the games. he prints out the rules and pins them up next to nile’s medal count. take a sip when an announcer starts yelling, a shot when a random celebrity is shown on the broadcast, and finish your drink when a medalist cries

whenever great britan places below one of the guard’s countries, copley receives a very vulgar and unsportsmanlike text from them

no, quynh does not watch swimming events. thank you for asking

the couch is NOT a safe space. anything goes during the olympics. anyone who gets too mean (or whose athlete loses) can and will be pushed off the couch and exiled to the armchair

i will surely update this as the olympics continue and my friends and i get up to more hijinks. stay tuned and enjoy the greatest sporting event ever conceived

[rozunderpressure]

TBH what I really hate about the way Thomas Astruc speaks about MLB is the fact he sounds like a fanfic writer who is dedicated to canon compliance AND NOT as the person who WRITES THE ACTUAL SHOW!

It makes sense for a very canon compliant fanfic author to be very on top of it about keeping character consistency, they want to be loyal to the original, they don't want to rock the boat too much, when you're the person WRITING THE STORY you can do anything you want! Does a character realistic WOULDN'T CHANGE? Well, sir, good news: You are in charge of reality! You can alter literally ALL the circumstances around them! With the magic of writing, you change the world--

Literally-- Like, literally the whole world

Just admit you don't want to...

Why not say: "This character won't change because I PREFER the way it is, its better for the story *I* want to tell, and this is MY story to tell!" because, you know what? It IS YOUR story, IT IS yours to tell! That is fine!

Several writers got flack for the choices they made with their characters (specially the endings tbh)! Louisa May Alcott, K.A. Applegate, (sometimes by accident, like in Douglas Adam's case, whose last Hitchhiker's book was a real downer, even he admitted he was depressed when he wrote it, but he sadly passed away before he could write another one) even Joane KR, all of them did things to their stories the fans did NOT LIKE, from redeeming people the fans felt did not deserve it, to giving sad endings to certain characters, to not giving them their seemingly obvious ship, but they OWNED IT!

Just say it... Just say you don't want to do it, its okay

[boldlyvoid]

Come Together

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: Ever since the academy, Aaron and Y/N have been at each other's throats for a spot on the BAU. He got it, She didn't. Now they have to plan the Bureau's Holiday party together without killing each other.

Warnings: angst, fighting, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, Aaron had a crush on her while married. why he and haley broke up, miscarriage mentions, divorced Aaron, flirting, teasing, kissing, fingering, hate sex, p in v smut, rough sex, no condoms used

Word Count: 4.8k

Penelope is usually the one to plan holiday parties… but after last year's spiked punch— that ruined a lot of upper agents' sobriety, which wasn’t her fault at all, the director delegated to having two random people plan it together. He pulled names from a hat that just happened to be Aaron Hotchner and Y/N Y/L/N. 

She was happy to do it, and he was fine with doing it… they just weren’t happy about doing it together. The two agents couldn’t stand each other and it goes all the way back to being in the same year at the academy. 

They were tied for the top of the class, duking it out to be the chosen one for Agent Rossi’s new right-hand man. And of course, it went to a man. It didn’t matter to them that she was fantastic at what she did, or that her final score was 0.2% higher than his. He was a man so he got it. 

She got a job in CARD which, she liked, it was still an opportunity to solve cases and bring kids home to their parents… she just had to work with the BAU more than she liked and take orders from them. And then Rossi left, Gideon stepped down and Aaron Hotchner was the fucking Head of the BAU. 

She was taking orders from him. Him and his goon squad of pretty people he picked over her. 

She would’ve pushed everything aside and dealt with him, she would’ve mended things if he accepted her into the team. But he never did. After 5 applications and being looked over for everything while he hired younger and younger, she finally gave up and started to hate his guts even more. 

Now she’s in the elevator, pushing the button for floor 6 and shaking the thoughts of strangling him out of her head so she can deal with him for half an hour. He’s always so busy that she’s been waiting all week just to talk about this stupid fucking party, and the only time he has is at 8:30 pm on a Friday when she should be at home. 

She walks right into the bullpen, up the stairs and knocks on his door. “come in?” He calls. 

“Hey,” she says with a deep sigh. “Can we talk about the party?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, waving her in. “Come sit, I already have some ideas.” 

“Okay…” she sits down in front of him, ignoring all his plaques and accolades and staring down at her clipboard. “I called around and there are 3 places available that are big enough to hold us, on the 3rd Saturday of the month.” 

“Awesome, I already called a friend of mine with a Christmas tree farm and acquired 3 trees— Douglas furs, all pretty and big, we’ll just need a ceiling over 12 feet to house them,” he explains. 

“And who’s going to decorate them?” She asks. 

He shrugs, “We’ve got a big budget, we can hire someone to do it.” 

“Who did Penelope use?” 

“Herself,” he smiles that devilishly condescending smile. “I’m sure if we ask she’d want to help out again. She loves Christmas.” 

“Did you ever figure out who spiked the punch last year?” She asks, genuinely feeling sorry for Penelope. 

Penny was the only one on the team that she actually liked. 

He nods, “Dax Cooper up in counter-terrorism.” 

“Yeah, he’s an asshole.” 

“Worse than me?” He teases. “Seriously, when are you going to stop being mad at me?” 

“When you admit you hate me!” She fights back. “I did nothing to you. You’re the one who conspired with Dave and got hired here and then you purposely lost all my applications and never let me know why you wouldn’t even interview me.”

“I didn’t lose them, I put them to the side,” he shrugs. “You weren’t ready to be on our team.” 

“But the walking calculator and teen Mrs. USA are?” She laughs.

“Reid and JJ are wonderful assets,” he snaps, jaw tight and eyes full of fury. “This is why I don’t want you. You wouldn’t be a team player. Not until you get rid of the attitude and accept that this job is about more than numbers. Yes, they’re young, yes you beat me by a fraction of a percent, but that doesn’t mean you have what it takes to do what we do.” 

“I look at cases full of missing, dead and raped kids all day, how is that any different?” She honestly can’t believe it. 

“Because you look at a screen all day with facts and witness statements and I go out into the field and I talk to parents and I deal with the cops and I don’t start fights over petty bullshit,” he reminds her. “I have never called you names or signalled you out. All you do, every time we're on a scene together, is whisper and gossip and try to undermine me. You need to grow up.” 

She just shakes her head, holding in a comment that could hurt him because… and she hates to say it, but he’s right. “Whatever. Should I call one of these places and book it tomorrow or what?” 

“Do whatever you want, just give me the address so I can have the trees and decorations sent over,” he honestly doesn’t care. “I trust your judgement on a caterer, I’ll pick a band… what else would we need?” 

“Invitations, which I can handle,” she assures as she stands up to walk to his door. “I’ll cc you on everything and include the director for oversight. I’ll call you if I have questions.” 

“Y/N,” he calls out to her before she leaves. “I’m going to be looking for a new agent in a few months…” 

“And?” 

“If we can work this out by then… maybe things will be different when you apply this time?” He suggests, giving her innocent eyes and genuinely meaning it. 

“Okay.” 

—

“Did you see her last night?” Dave asks, walking right into Aaron's office with two coffees right at 8am. 

He nods, “I did… you don’t have any connections to a band I can book for Christmas, do you?” 

“The Jazz club might be able to lend us some members,” he suggests. “I’ll make a call… but I take it things went well?” 

“As well as they could go, she’s still so mad at me for getting this position over her,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to make her realize she just wasn’t ready. Our working together would’ve been awful. It would’ve—

“Ruined your marriage that just ended?” Dave teases. “I know you liked her, I saw the way you two looked at each other and I saw the teasing and the way you talked about her. She was more than a friend to you… I couldn’t have her on the team like that. I couldn’t see you go through what I did with Caroline.” 

“I hate thinking about how different things could’ve been if she was on the team though,” he shakes his head and stares off out the window. “We almost broke up back then, you know? We almost never had Jack…” 

“You know it’s perfectly normal for marriages not to work out, it doesn’t mean you loved her any less, it just wasn’t meant to be forever,” Dave reminds him. “You’re still friends, there’s no ill will. You never cheated, she didn’t either. You just grew apart. It happens.” 

“But now I’m single and I can pursue Y/N… but she hates me,” he sighs. “I don’t think she’ll ever stop hating me.” 

“Nasty hate sex is fun,” Dave teases, making them both laugh. “I’m serious… you wouldn’t believe the women I’ve—

“I know, actually,” Aaron shakes his head. “Strauss can’t look at you the same anymore.” 

“Hey… that wasn’t hate, it was just indifference,” he teases. 

“Whatever,” Aaron can’t help but smirk. “Can you work on the band for me?”

“I will, I’ll get them to throw in some love songs too,” Dave teases on his way out. 

This was going to be interesting. 

—

Two weeks of planning and emails blow by in the blink of an eye. 

He gets ready for the party early, having to be there to check things over and meet the band and shake hands with the higher-ups as they arrive. He has a nice suit on, a red tie for Christmas and dark green socks that no one will ever notice. But he wants to look nice. 

For her. 

He walks up to her where she’s hiding in the corner. Adorning the most stunning golden dress and holding her clipboard, making sure everything gets delivered and set up in time for the start time at 7. They still have 4 hours till then, but she’s an overachiever. And a worrier. She needed this to be perfect. 

She looked perfect. Like the 2000 Holiday Barbie brought to life. He’s absolutely astounded by her beauty he just stares for a moment before he says anything. 

“You know, you look very pretty today,” he compliments but she doesn’t take it that way. 

She looks at him like he just insulted her mother. “What?” 

“That dress, it looks nice on you,” he looks her up and down. Smiling like he has some tricks up his sleeve. “What? Can’t I think you look nice? Haven’t we spent enough time talking this last month to let me compliment you?” 

“Don’t you have a wife?” She asks, disgusted he’d hit on her. “And a kid?” 

“We got divorced back in April,” he shrugs. “And you say you want to be a profiler, yet you haven’t looked at my hands in months?” 

She looks now, noticing that he doesn’t have a ring and the tan line that should be there is long gone, which means he’s telling the truth. “Oh… sorry.” 

“It’s better this way,” he nods, giving her a sweet smile. “Is everything going to plan?” 

She nods too, “Yeah. Just waiting on your band… please tell me they’re good?” 

He laughs, “They’re great. Dave’s got this Jazz bar he basically owns with how much money he’s spent there so they owe him one… You’ll like them.” 

“Jazz, at Christmas?” She can’t believe it. “Hotch—

“Aaron,” he corrects her. “Please, for the love of god, call me Aaron again.”

“Why?” She laughs, “We’re not close.” 

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You can’t tell me that before everything went down, we didn’t have something going on? We were friendly, I almost thought you had a crush on me?” 

She looks at him with a brow raised, “You thought I had a crush on you?” 

He nods, “And then you found out I was married.” 

“So you’re saying if you weren’t married we could’ve hooked up at the academy?” She asks. “Sounds like you liked me too, regardless of the wife.” 

“No—

“Be honest,” she begs, stepping into his space even more. “If things were different- if you didn’t have a wife and we fucked back then, would you have screwed me over for the job?” 

“I didn’t screw you over, I simply already knew Dave,” he finally admits after 10 long years. “I knew he was about to leave, he knew Gideon didn’t want to be in charge. He wanted someone to run the whole unit who wouldn’t choke— not saying you’d choke, he just knew I was already hard on the inside, I wasn’t going to lose my mind with all the shit we see.” 

“You could’ve put in a good word for me, Aaron, I would’ve been fine working under you. I would’ve loved even just an office job in the BAU, I want to work with more than just missing kids,” she begs. “I’ve done it for 10 years, now. You know that makes me strong. You have a kid of your own, you know it’s not easy to think about them missing, let alone deal with it.” 

“I know… and I was serious, I have a new position opening up and I want to give this another try,” he admits. “I want you on the team.” 

She shakes her head, “how can I be on the team when this—” she points between them. “This, whatever this is, is going on?” 

“The sexual tension?” He teases and she swats his arm. “We’ll be fine.” 

She shakes her head. “Just, give me some time to think about it?” 

“I can do that…” 

—

She watches him from afar most of the night. Talking only when they needed to, like in front of the director or on stage while introducing the band and thanking everyone for being there… she was having a very hard time being in the same room as him with all she knew now. 

She was still mad at him. 

Mad because she’s wasted so much of her life hating him when they could’ve been happy together… but at the same time she was sad for his ex-wife. She wondered how long the marriage was loveless. Did she know? Did she suspect? Who broke it off? Does he see his son? She knew he was a good man back then but, what kind of good man has a crush on someone else while married? Would he just do that to her if they got together? 

She had so many questions in her mind and they wouldn’t shut up. 

He approaches her again while she’s deep in thought, staring at the floor while she sips on a drink she doesn’t even like. 

“Having fun?” He asks. 

She shakes her head, “No.” she puts her drink down on the table just behind her and turns back to him as he begins to speak.

“Something not going according to pl—

“Why the fuck did you have to tell me you like me?” She snaps. “I was so okay with hating you for the rest of my life because I couldn’t be on the team I always wanted to join and then you tell me you like me? That if you didn’t have a wife you’d want to be with me back then?” 

He steps more into her space so they can keep their voices down and between each other, “because you deserve to know.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” she fights back. “You were never worried about me being too immature for the team, you were scared you’d end up cheating on your wife with me. I didn’t even know you had a wife until I developed feelings for you. You never wore your ring to class, we spent every day sitting together in class or at the library and you came back to my dorm a few times… you pursued me as much as I was pursuing you and then you made it my fault.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he bows his head, ashamed. “My wife and I weren’t in a good place, we were talking about getting separated… then she got pregnant.” 

“I thought Jack was only—

“We lost a couple babies before him,” he admits. “I didn’t want to be like my dad. I didn’t want to knock her up and leave her so I stayed. I stayed but I wasn’t a good dad anyway. I was always at work, I missed important things with my son and she was the one to end it because she deserved someone who wanted to be home with her and my son deserved to grow up knowing his dad wasn’t always going to be there but loves him enough to be as present as possible when he is home. I couldn’t be that when I was with his mom. we’re so much better apart, I love having weekends alone with my son and doing things we like and not worrying about fighting with his mother in front of him. And she’s happier now with her new boyfriend and Jack's happy with the prospect of a stepdad who can step up in all the areas I lack.” 

“That’s a really mature thing to do for him,” she manages to give him a small, press-lipped smile. “Still doesn’t make me feel better about what you did to me.” 

“I’ve wanted to tell you the truth and that I’m sorry for so long, but when we’re together it’s always a fight. I can never get an honest minute with you, you always just come in guns blazing and my instinct is to tease you back,” he admits. “I am sorry. I wish things were different. I would like to start over if you’d allow me to.” 

“I don’t want a job on your team,” she says, stepping in even closer. Close enough to kiss him. “I can’t work with you like this.” 

“Why?” He smirks. 

“Because Strauss hates you enough as is without you fucking your subordinate,” she whispers. “I’m not throwing myself under the bus… just to be under you.”

He lunges for a kiss, pressing his lips against hers as he cups her face. She backs up slightly in surprise, bumping into the table behind herself. Aaron’s instincts are sharp, he reaches behind her and steadies it so the drink doesn’t crash against the floor and draw more attention to them. She knows the few people in this corner are already looking at them, but she doesn’t care. 

This is a kiss she’s waited a decade for. 

Her hands go inside his suit jacket, she reaches around to grasp his back and pulls him flush against herself. They break the kiss just to breathe, going in for another and another until their tongues meet and they’re the odd couple making out in the corner of the party. 

His hand slips from her cheek to her jaw, along the side of her neck and then she pulls away, “not here,” she reminds him they’re in public and he can’t touch her anywhere he wants to. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “How long do we have to stay here?” 

“I have to stay for shutdown tonight,” she sighs. “But…. Come with me.” 

She pats his side and moves past him, leading him out of the little corner they’re in and towards the main room. He follows her up a staircase, past people they both know and respect and they catch a few eyes but, she puts on a fake pissed-off look and they think she’s leading him somewhere to yell at him… cause that’s what they do. 

“Hey man, where are you going?” Derek asks as they pass him and Penelope sharing a plate of hors d’oeuvres. 

He’s quick on his feet, “One of the vendors fucked up, we have to chat with their boss and discuss how they can make it up to us.” 

“Oh, damn, well… have fun,” he teases. Letting them go on down the small corridor towards some offices. 

She leads him to the only open office she has access to, flicks on the light, lets him in and locks the door behind them. He’s quick to crowd her space, press her up against the door and grip her chin to tilt her attention up toward his eyes once more. She’s back inside his suit jacket, he’s so toasty-warm in there she can only imagine what it’ll be like to be naked with him.

“What were you saying about fucking up and making up for it?” She teases him. 

He smirks, “I will… but first we need to find a way to release all that pent-up frustration we have against each other.” 

She tries her best not to laugh, just shaking her head with a smile as she lets out a little huff, “Ah yes, fuck me like you hate me so we can restart fresh.” 

He cups her face with both hands, eyes darkening with lust, “you’ve been such a brat for so long.” 

“And I’m sure you know the cure for that?” She teases, pulling him in closer. One of her legs slips out of the slit of her dress and she brings it up to wrap around his hip, he’s quick to drop one of the hands from her cheek to grip her thigh. 

“I do,” he whispers, his voice so deep it makes her stomach drop with anticipation. 

He kisses her abruptly, she grips his back pulling him as if they could possibly get any closer but they can’t. Not yet. He grinds against her as their tongues meet again, his hand on her leg goes a little higher until he’s gripping her ass. The hand on her cheek starts to slip again, caressing her chest, she lightly moans into his mouth at the feeling. He’s everywhere, boxing her in against the door, but she wants more. She wants him buried deep inside of her, pounding her against the table over there, letting her know just how much he’s wanted her this whole time. 

He kisses the side of her mouth, her jaw and down her neck, letting her catch her breath just to knock it all out of her again when he starts to lightly suck on her skin. “Aaron, don’t you fucking dare,” she scolds him. 

“I won’t,” he speaks against her, just lightly nipping and sucking at her skin on his way down to her cleavage. 

She pulls her hands out from inside his jacket to roam his shoulders until one hand ends up at the nape of his neck to play with his hair. Her head is tossed back against the door, and he kisses every inch of available skin on her chest. 

He reaches down and gets both of his hands under her ass, making her jump up so he can carry her. Still kissing her neck, he moves them over to the table and sets her down. She’s just the tiniest bit taller now, he kisses her cheek again, looking her in the eye once more as he spreads her legs and runs his fingers along her thighs, realizing now she has nylons on. His hands go further, towards her aching cunt, he grips her thighs while both thumbs play with the seam of her nylons. 

“I’m gonna rip these,” he announces, finding the weakest part of the seam and tearing it open enough to fit his cock through, without completely ruining them. He moves her thong to the side and drags his index finger over her clit. “You’re fucking soaked…”

She tosses her head back, both hands gripping the table like her ice depends on it when two of his fingers plunge into her. “Oh, fuck,” she moans a little too loud. 

Attaching his lips to her neck again, he sucks on her pulse point while fucking her on his fingers. It’s hard and quick, covering the palm of his hand with her slick as his thumb rubs her clit. She’s always known his hands would be good for this, if nothing else.

“Please, Aaron? Oh my god,” She starts to beg.

“Words, princess,” he teases against her neck, teeth grazing her skin, his breath hot, it sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Wanna cum,” she whispers, breathy and so close. “On your cock.” 

“Okay,” he pulls out, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking his palm up to his fingers. He sucks them into his mouth with a groan. His cock twitches between them, jumping with excitement. 

She whines again while he undoes the zipper and tugs his cock out, “please?” 

“Hold on,” he spreads the excess wetness over his cock, stroking himself twice while biting his tongue. It clearly felt so fucking good but she knew her tight cunt was going to be better. 

He slips in slowly and her grip changes, letting go of the counter, she wraps her legs around him and grips his back with her fingernails dug into the skin. “Better?” He whispers into her ear. 

She whimpers when he doesn’t move, feeling so full, “fuck me, please? Fuck me the way I deserve.” 

He hums, kissing her cheek before looking into her eyes, all watery and blown out, her mascara started to run a bit. He tilts his head to the side, “how hard?” 

“Hard,” she looks him dead in the face. 

He slips out, pulls her off the table and turns her around so her chest is against the cold hardwood table-top and flips her dress skirt up and out of the way. He rips her nylons even more, all the way up the back so her ass is exposed. He takes her ass cheeks in his hands and spreads her apart, amazed at how her pussy clenched in anticipation. 

“Please,” she whined, almost stomping her feet with desperation. 

He slams into her without warning, making her gasp loud enough to be heard by anyone wandering the hallway outside.

He pulls out a bit and slams back into her again and again and again until the noises she’s making are complete nonsense. She whines and moans and leans against the table for dear life while pushing back against him. He slaps her ass a few times, making the sound reverberate around the room like an echo. 

He needs more friction, so his thrusts get less powerful and more rhythmic, he uses her like a toy bouncing her on his cock like a rag doll. She felt like her main purpose in life was to be fucked by him like this, it felt so good, it felt incredibly right, and she loved every fucking second of it. All those years of fighting paid the fuck off.

He slams into her cervix over and over, the head of his cock kissing the puckered spot inside again and again. Her hungry cunt sucks him in so deep, never wanting him to leave, and he can tell she’s close just from the way she clamps around him like a vice. He reached around to her stomach and drags his hand down her mound to rub her clit with his middle finger. The rhythm barely matches, but she loves the way it feels. It’s unpredictable, it’s all under his control, she just sits there and takes it like the good girl he’s raised her to be. 

“Cum on the cock you hate so much,” he insists, “I wanna feel it. I want you to cover my cock in your cum before I fill you up to the fucking brim.” 

Too fucked out to really respond she reaches one hand behind her back so he’ll hold it. He intertwines their fingers and leans forward to kiss her shoulder as his hips snap against hers with force. She starts to shake, her legs barely able to keep her up as her orgasm hits her and rattles through her body. He feels the spasm from the inside, her cunt flutters as she releases all the built-up tension in her body She’s so fucking tight he’s barely able to register his own orgasm approaching when he topples over her on the table. 

He fucks into her as deep as he can go and then stills. She can feel rope after rope of his cum pump into her, they can hear the dribbles on the floor between them as it overflows and drips out of her, along with her own. 

He kisses her back, breathing hard against her. She’s just trapped there under him, legs quaking in her heels, “holy fuck?” 

“Sorry,” he pulls back and out of her, “shit… we didn’t think this through.” 

She sighs, holding her dress up so she doesn’t make a mess. “Are there any tissues in here?” 

He looks around, “Yeah… but it’s just that brown paper towel roll like we have at work.” 

“It’ll do,” she shrugs. Watching him walk over to the dispenser near the sink in the corner of the room, he takes a bit out and cleans himself up quickly, putting himself back in his boxers before her gets some more.

He leans her forward again, kneeling behind her, he cleans her up to the best of his ability and then he repositions her thong. He even wipes up the floor before tossing the paper out. “I can’t believe there was so much…” 

She laughs, dropping her dress back down and fluffing it so it looks normal again. “10 years worth of—

“Okay,” he shakes his head with a smirk, stepping back into her space, he wraps her up and kisses her forehead, “you did so good.” 

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly, she feels so different. There’s so much affection in her chest as she looks up at him once more. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.” 

“I’ll stay with you here while they’re cleaning up,” he assures. “And maybe later I can show you how sorry I am for keeping secrets all these years?” 

“I’d really like that… but I’m still not working for you,” she teases. 

“I guess I’ll just have to take on more CARD cases so you’re forced to see me,” he teases right back, smiling at her. 

This is going to be fun. 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[loudrats]

Loud Rats Book Club 2023

This year the rats became literate!

We suggested a number of books each month and then voted on one to read (somehow Fish managed to read all 12 of them… wild!). The ones in red are the winners, but there are some other really good books in there.

Hopefully you can find your next favourite read below! :)

January

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson

The Butchering Art by Lindsay Fitzharris

Earthlings by Sayaka Murata

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk

Why Fish Don't Exist by Lulu Miller

The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy

Fledgling by Octavia Butler

Pirates and Prejudice by Kara Louise

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin

February

Adua by Igiaba Scego

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

The Passion by Jeanette Winterson

Upright Women Wanted by Sarah Gailey

March

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

The Humans by Matt Haig

Cane by Jean Toomer

Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa

The Fifth Season by N. K. Jemisin (#1 Broken Earth Trilogy)

Young Mungo by Douglas Stewart

April

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrel

Dubliners by James Joyce

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake

May

Mary: An Awakening of Terror by Nat Cassidy

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield

Where You Come From by Saša Stanišić

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

Gwen and Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

June

Death in Her Hands by Ottessa Moshfegh

Our Hideous Progeny by C. E. McGill

Swimming in the dark by Tomasz Jędrowski

Girls like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko

Diary of a Wimpy Kid 17 by Jeff Kinney

Zami: A New Spelling of my Name by Audre Lorde

Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century by Kim Fu

The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

July

Kid Youtuber 9: Everything is Fine by Marcus Emerson, Noah Child

Bored Gay Werewolf by Tony Santorella

Hit Parade Of Tears by Izumi Suzuki

When Death Takes Something from You Give It Back: Carl's Book by Naja Marie Aidt

Pandora's Jar by Natalie Haynes

The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson

Mapping the Interior by Stephan Graham Jones

August

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Small Game by Blair Braverman

Free: Coming of Age at the End of History by Lea Ypi

September

Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood

The Employees: A workplace novel of the 22nd century by Olga Ravn

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

October

Linghun by Ai Jiang

Eyes Guts Throat Bones by Moira Fowley-Doyle

The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers

The Half Life of Valery K by Natasha Pulley

Catch the Rabbit by Lana Bastašić

Kindred by Octavia Butler

November

Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Life For Sale by Yukio Mishima

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

Liberation Day by George Saunders

Ripe by Sarah Rose Etter

Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

December

Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes by Maurice Leblanc

The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien

Minor Detail by Adania Shibli

Prophet Song by Paul Lynch

Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy

[octuscle]

Changed circumstances

Jonathan Douglas was annoyed. His father and his older brother, the crown prince, had both been in a bad mood for days. His mother could not be reached, she had probably gone off to the Cote d'Azur with some lover. And Jonathan was bored in his penthouse in New York. The weather was terrible, his mood miserable. But then he had to change something. The family's permanent suite at Las Brisas in Acapulco had just been renovated and the weather forecast for Mexico was excellent. What was keeping him in Manhattan in the sleet?

He called his father's assistant and asked for a jet to be waiting at the airport. And he needed a helicopter, he didn't fancy the after-work traffic right now. And it would also be nice if she could inform Miguel from Las Brisas that he had an hour of personal training every morning at 09:00 for the next two weeks. The answer should have been a warning to him that something was wrong. There was no jet or helicopter available, but a driver would be waiting for him in fifteen minutes. And she had booked a flight for him with Netjets. He would have to contact the hotel directly about the personal training, but she didn't have time for that now. Jonathan was outraged! That was impertinent! But don't get upset, he would just have to get on with it. Even if he hated Netjet. The idea that anyone could have sat in his seat disgusted him.

His anger was somewhat dissipated when, after an exhausting journey, he was finally sitting in the hotel's beach club and looking out to sea. Friends always flew this route on scheduled flights. Unimaginable. He would need a week to recover from the stress.

The next few days were great. Miguel got Jonathan back in shape, the weather was glorious and the parties were great fun. Only his family was annoying. After days of no one being available or having time for him before he left for Mexico, he was now constantly getting calls and emails from his father and brother. But Jonathan was now on vacation. He didn't have time to deal with any boring issues. And he didn't feel like being reproached for not being involved in the family holding company. That was a mistake.

The debacle was already looming when he got up in the morning. 23 new e-mails from his father, his brother and various managers at the holding company. But not a single missed call. Funny, the phone was dead too. Only wifi connection. He had to take care of that after his manicure.

Rosalita got his fingernails back into perfect shape. In between, she whispered with a colleague. When the treatment was finished, she asked Jonathan to pay straight away. For technical reasons, he couldn't write the bill on the room. Damn it, why didn't any of his credit cards work? Exasperated, he put USD 100 on the counter for Rosalita and said that would be fine. Rosalita gave him back USD 20.00 and said that he might still need it. Confused, Jonathan pocketed the bill.

The day got better and better. His door card no longer worked. So Jonathan got into his jeep and drove to reception to have the card recoded. The receptionist asked him to follow her to the hotel manager's office. And then a nightmare began to unfold. The hotel manager informed Jonathan that, in view of the adverse circumstances, he would unfortunately have to demand that the current arrears be settled immediately. Jonathan looked at him questioningly. The hotel manager said that there were currently two months' worth of outstanding bills amounting to USD 60,000.00. And even if he regretted the development and even if Jonathan was a very valued guest, he would have to insist that he receive this money immediately. And if Jonathan wanted to stay in his suite, he would always have to pay the bill a week in advance.

Jonathan asked what the hell was going on. And the hotel manager handed him the New York Times. The spectacular collapse of the family empire was the subject of the front page. Jonathan turned pale.

An hour later, Jonathan was sitting in front of the staff entrance gate, surrounded by his suitcases and a few boxes of things from his suite. On his wrist was the Tudor that he would only wear on the beach at best. But he had left his platinum Rolex Daytona at the hotel to pay off his debt. He still had a little cash, a few watches, some jewelry… But apart from that, he was obviously broke. His cell phone was locked, so he could no longer listen to his voicemail. But there was still enough signal here at the gate to read his e-mails. He should probably have done that earlier. His family and the managers of the family companies on whose board he sat had been desperately trying to reach him for days. In a catastrophic chain reaction, the stock market value of the company had virtually vanished into thin air and the resulting over-indebtedness had led to its collapse. And apparently the family's entire private assets had been frozen as a result.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting here at the gate. He was hungry, thirsty and sweaty. But damn it, his fingernails were freshly manicured. Certainly didn't happen to many homeless people. "Hermano, I heard what happened to you. Can I help you?" Miguel stood in front of him. Not in his gym uniform. In jeans and an undershirt, with a red scarf wrapped around his head. He looked a bit like a little gangster. Jonathan was completely stripped of his sovereignty. He couldn't help it. He started to cry. Miguel took him in his arms and told him to wait here. He would be right back. And he came back with an old rusty pickup truck. Together they loaded up the rest of Jonathan's belongings and drove to Miguel's apartment. Jonathan could stay here for a few days.

The few days turned into weeks. Little by little, Jonathan, who had taken the precaution of calling himself John, sold most of his valuables. To pay Miguel his share of the rent. But also for tobacco and tequila. And for a few clothes that would make him less conspicuous when he hung out with his new pals in cheap bars during the day. By now, only a few items of clothing from his old life remained. Most of the rest had been sold.

When Miguel came home from work, he exploded. John sat in front of the TV again with a beer and watched some soap opera. "¡Pedazo de mierda autocompasiva!" he yelled at John. "Get your ass off the sofa and get to work." John burped and said he was depressed. "You're not depressed, you're just incredibly lazy and spoiled," Miguel replied. "I've got a job for you tomorrow. A rich American tourist is looking for someone to show him around the real Acapulco. I need someone who knows their way around here and speaks Spanish." "But I don't speak any Spanish," John whined. "Estúpido pedazo de mierda. ¿En qué idioma hemos estado hablando durante semanas?" Damn it, Miguel was right.

The kick in the ass was probably just what John needed. He was actually the perfect city guide for the rich and beautiful from Las Brisas. He knew their wishes and problems from his past. And he knew how to satisfy sensationalism in the slums. He knew who to avoid and where to recover stolen watches and wallets. He knew where to get an authentic lunch. And where to find almost every drug on the planet. And since he started showering and brushing his teeth regularly again, he was also occasionally given money to suck a rich tourist's cock and fuck his ass.

It had been a few years since Jonathan had to move out of his suite. Jonathan no longer existed. Jonathan had been flushed into the sewers of New York with the remnants of a corporate empire. Instead, there was Juan. And Juan was a celebrity among the guests at Las Brisas. He knew everyone in Acapulco, could organize everything and get everything. Anyone who wanted to break out of the hotel's artificial world of luxury would discreetly ask for Juan's contact details. Yes, his services were not cheap. But worth every dollar.

Inspired by @randomnobodyandfriends. Pics found @boytoyinrolex, @stargazerguy and @yeahthatsmypapi

[petrssecrethideout]

"Alright everyone we are back! And y'know what, instead of trying to do more of an intro, I'm just gonna leave it to you Dale."

"What? Why?"

"...you're kidding right? It's December second there's no way you're not gonna spend the whole podcast talking about cu-"

"OHHHHH YEAH! I almost forgot. Thanks for reminding me. Well folks, the cum drum challenge is finally over, and I... well I have some bad news. I didn't fill a whole barrel."

"What?"

"Yeah dude I'm really bummed about it, I feel like i let a whole bunch of people down and--SIKE! I ACTUALLY FILLED TWO!"

"Oh my god, you--"

"Hahaaaaah, I got you there didn't I? You were so worried!, but don't worry y'all, when Dale says he's going to deliver, he fucking DELIVERS!"

"So how the fuck did you manage that?"

"Ok so you know how i said I had to cum 10 times a day to make my goal, well 10 quickly turned into 14, then 23, then 34, and after that I lost count because I got this machine from a friend that jerked me off while I was sleeping, so even after I was cumming 34 times a day there was more after that."

"Jesus Christ dude, that's crazy."

"I know, I was in this constant horny haze, it felt so good, like outside of the podcast all I was doing was lifting, eating and jerkin it! Kind of felt like a vacation honestly."

"How did it affect your gains?"

"Get this: I gained 20 pounds of muscle in a month."

"NO FUCKING WAY!"

"i KNOW RIGHT! And like, I'm fucking huge so every pound at this point is an uphill battle, so, like 20!? its crazy."

"Fuck, man."

"And I'm not the only one either, I got some dms about guys who also took the challenge, and dude holy shit look at this."

"Who is that!?"

"That is.. well I'm not gonna give out full names but Douglas from North Carolina, who was a former bodybuilder, kinda got out of it, tried out the challenge, and gained.... you're not ready for this: 134 pounds in one month."

"That--there's no way that isn't possible."

"I'm telling you dude, I thought it was fake, but he's been posting on Instagram every day and its not only real, but its SO fucking hot. He said something about competing again and, dude PLEASE. I would love to flex on stage with you."

"Ok stop trying to flirt with the fans."

"Hey, we just proved that cumming as much as possible makes me get fucking huge, I think we should let me be as horny as I want now."

"Okay, fine I guess I can't argue with that anymore, but how are you feeling now?"

"My balls hurt."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think its like the lack of stimulation. Honestly I might have to up my rates a bit. Oh, also that reminds me I have a business idea for you. You know how those people did the bathwater thing? Well I was thinking we could maybe sel--"

"No. Absolutely not. That's probably illegal."

"Ok but if it isn't can we do it? I know I'd be able to keep up with demand, and once I add a jerking off schedule to your workout plan you'd definitely be able to help"

"MY WHAT SCHEDULE??"

[numberonefenchurchhater]

Why do you hate Fenchurch?

Poor writing tbh, she was introduced as though she was gonna be crazy and wacky and interesting with conspiracy theories and revaluations, contrasting nicely with Arthur's character... Only for her to be the blandest, boring-ist and overall worstest character in the whole hhgttg series :(

She was just there to be an object for Arthur to drool over, and he was so creepy about it????? The first time he saw her he was like "man I gotta get her out of those clothes" while she was lying UNCONSCIOUS in the back of her brother's car??? Then he called up random hospitals to find her??? Then just completely stalked her like a total creep!!! WHICH SHE WAS FINE WITH??? that's not a healthy foundation for a relationship 😭

(Which was super out of character imo)

Their relationship wasn't even well written? All we heard was "man I wanna fuck her" and "cool we just fucked in the sky and are so in love" but never been given an example of anything about their actual relationship? Their actual dynamic? I don't see how allegedly good they are together, because I've never been shown!

I just think Douglas Adams did her dirty writing wise.

I'm also the #1 forthur lover and she gets in the way.

(tysm for asking, I love ranting about stuff!)

[crazyk-imagine]

The Future Mrs

Pairing: Walt Finnegan x Female!reader

Characters: Walt Finnegan, Female!reader, Jake Bradford, Kenny Roper, Dale Douglas, Tyrone Plummber, Janet the bitch, Aunt Theresa (we don't speak of her)

Warnings: Fluff, questionable angst, cursing, moves, the boys are nice, some aren't, cousin eddie to the rescue, finn is a sweetheart, I love writing for the boys, the house parties are too lit, reader can be nice, reader is also lowkey a bitch, not me literally needing to rewrite and post this when I first wrote it, eddie and reader are the best cousins

Word Count: 1,041

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

Your cousin pulls his car up beside you and hollers for you. You roll your eyes and walk over towards him. “What do you want now?”

He smiles and leans closer to your nuisance, Finnegan. “Why are you giving your favorite cousin attitude?”

You bend down, leaning against the door. “Because my so-called favorite wants me to do his dirty laundry, quite literally I might add.”

You glance back, noticing the two freshmen and your favorite player on the team, “hey Dave.”

He smirks, knowing you say hi to him to annoy Finnegan. “Hey.”

Roper scoffs, “how dare- okay fine. But I have an offer.”

“Which is?” You ask with a raised brow.

“I’ll take care of the rats in your dorm, if you help me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“See I told she’d get annoyed and wouldn’t go for it,” Finnegan chimes in.

“Still standing here Finnegan and I can confirm that you’re the annoying one.” You glance over at your cousin, “and you, be ready. I’m not packing your shit again.”

“It was one time.”

“You’re a fucking liar and you know it. This is the third time you've asked me… this week, Rope.”

“Have I told you I’m sorry?” He gives you that one smile he uses on all the girls (it never works on you, no matter how many times he tries).

“Try again next time.”

One of the girls who made high school miserable calls out to you, Roper knows and learned (the hard way) not to interfere anymore.

He lowers his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose and narrows his eyes to her.

You turn, flipping her the bird with a kind smile. “Be ready,” you mutter to him.

“I see you still have that lame car,” she shouts.

You roll your eyes and push yourself off the door, unintentionally giving the blond a good view of your ass. “How about you fuck off Janet? No one cares about your idiotic opinion.”

“It’s idiot, stupid.”

You cross your arms. “Did daddy pay for you to get in here or did you blow the principal... again?”

She screams and turns away.

You chuckle, leaning back down. “You’re dealing with the rats. I’ll pack your shit, deal?”

“Fine.”

“And, little warning,” you look at all the boys in the car, “any of you try to fuck her, make sure your wrapped. God knows what she has. Just no one marry her, that’s all I ask.” You pat the car and walk away.

Your one and only true friend Dee, short for Alexandria, hops on your back.

You grab her thighs keeping her on you. “Why must you do this every time?”

“It’s fun.”

She hops off, “come meet my roommate.”

“I have plans.”

“She’s right next to you.”

You groan, “fine. If I must.”

-

Jake leans forward, “that’s your cousin?”

“Yeah,” he turns around giving the two freshmen a hard look. “Neither of you can fuck her. She’s off limits.”

“Yeah,” Dale laughs, “to anyone but Finnegan. If he can even get past her pissy nature.”

Roper rolls his eyes and pulls away, “she’s just- I annoyed her, okay?”

“You barely talked to her, and she was pissed. She’s got one of those, guys are the worst ever mentalities or something.”

“She puts on that personality, so she doesn’t get hurt.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Jake glances at Plummer who shrugs.

“She’ll come to her senses eventually,” Finnegan adds.

“You say that because you want to fuck her.”

The blond smirks, “I mean, yeah, I do. I won’t lie about that man, but I mean, she’ll stop being so defensive around us.”

Roper glances at him from the corner of his eye. “You mean, you hope she’ll stop being so defensive around you.”

-

You walk out of the room and head for the roof, sitting beside the window, listening to the music.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

You turn and find Finnegan in the window. “Don’t you have some lonely chick to fuck?”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t want to talk to me. Keep me company?” Finnigan says with that stupid smile on his face.

You purse your lips, giving him an annoyed, fake smile. “Hard pass.”

“Oh, come on. You know you love me… I’ll take care of the rats, if you want?”

You raise your brows. “You willing to take care of the rats in my place just to get in my pants?”

He chuckles. “Babe, I’d train them to do your laundry if it meant I could take you out.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve said that to at least three other girls tonight.”

“Surprisingly you’re the first.”

You shake your head, “go back to the party. This is no place for a popular guy like yourself.”

“And leave you out in the cold on your own, no thanks. Roper would kill me and,” he sets his hand down beside yours, “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

-

You groan and cover your eyes, “would you perverts shut up already?”

Roper steps forward, “why are you in his bed?”

“I don’t mom, you tell me.”

“Don’t make me call Aunt Theresa.”

“I dare you,” you open an eye and glare at him.

He breaks, “come on, just- please tell me nothing happened.”

You push yourself up on one elbow and glance at the perky Finnegan. “Nothing happened.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m wearing all my clothes, even my socks,” you pull the sheets down and climb out of bed. “See?”

“He doesn’t have a shirt on.”

“Well, look at that. Neither do you because that’s how you sleep, Rope.”

Dale grabs his buddy and pulls him outside the room. “I’m gonna take him outside to take… this all in.” He stops to give his teammate a high five.

You roll your eyes and search for your shoes.

“Where are you going?” He sits up, eyeing you.

“I’m going back to my dorm so I can make myself look semi presentable to those who weren’t in this room.”

He fakes pouts, “don’t go.”

“I’m going. I need to change.”

He sighs, “if you must.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “don’t be like that, I’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

You roll your eyes, “yes, I promise.” 

[veliseraptor]

June Reading Recap

Slower reading month on account of I got distracted by cdramas.

King Hereafter by Dorothy Dunnett. I don't know what to do with this book!!! It was by turns magnificent and difficult to get through. It definitely didn't hit me the way the Lymond Chronicles did/does, but even when I wasn't personally feeling it I can recognize a magisterial piece of work when I read one. The Thorfinn/Rognvald dynamic was probably one of the highlights for me, while it lasted. The premise of this one combines the life of the historical King Macbeth and that of Thorfinn Sigurdsson, positing that they were the same person. I did a lot of Wikipedia diving while reading, unsurprisingly. I recommend it for Dunnett readers, I think is what I'd ultimately say, or for historical fiction aficionados, but perhaps not more generally than that.

How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying by Django Wexler. I keep reading Django Wexler because I enjoy his work, and keep finding that while I enjoy it and find it fun there's not a lot of real substance. But this book's gimmick (combining "time loop" and "villain protagonist") was too pointed directly at me for me to not give it a try. And I'm glad I did! It was very fun, and yet again it felt like the real substance was not quite there. However, I probably still will be reading the sequel when it comes out. So you know, I can't be too hard on it.

Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood. I feel like I did not exactly "enjoy" the experience of reading this set of interconnected short stories but I still want to recommend it to others, if that makes sense as a perspective. It also really made me want to read more generally about this period of time, both in fiction and nonfiction.

Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer. This was totally a "let's just try something new for the heck of it" choice - fantasy romances are everywhere right now, this one was floating around in them and sounded potentially like fun in terms of concept, it was an impulse. I can't say it paid off. It wasn't an awful experience but I did find myself repeatedly going "why isn't this fluffy romance not digging more into its characters or implications" and the answer there is "that's not the point, Lise", I guess, and yeah, I think (English language) romance novels are probably just not for me.

The Law of Blood: Thinking and Acting as a Nazi by Johann Chapoutot. This was a really interesting book. It very much takes its point as "what if we take Nazi philosophy seriously as philosophy." I really haven't read anything quite like it before and it was definitely disturbing to read in terms of really...getting into the heads of How Nazis Thought They Were Supposed to Live, but fascinating for those reasons too, and the reasons of exploring how implications of ideology leads to specific real-world policy-making.

Translation State by Ann Leckie. Still haven't read anything else by Ann Leckie that gets close to the high of the original trilogy but I did really enjoy this one. It did make me feel like I need to reread the original trilogy because I've definitely forgotten a lot, and usually when reading something makes me go "I should reread this other work by the same author" it speaks at least somewhat well of it.

Qi Ye by Priest. Hard not to compare this one to TYK since, you know, same author and same universe, and ultimately this one I didn't like quite as much. I think I...wanted the whole "trauma from living multiple lives" to come up more and more often than I felt like it really did here, and the relationship between Wu Xi and Jing Beiyuan was fine but didn't have what I needed to particularly compel me.

Extinction: How Life on Earth Nearly Ended 250 Million Years Ago by Douglas H. Erwin. As something of a mass extinction afficionado (as it were), for the most part there was nothing in this book that was really new to me except for one little brief glancing note at the end of the book about the possibility that we are not yet into the throes of a true mass extinction event and that's good, because if we were it would probably be too late to really do anything about it. Overall, though, it feels like this book falls somewhere in a confusing gap between "true academia" and "slightly too academic for general audiences" in terms of the specific analytical techniques it analyzes when assessing different arguments for extinction causes." Interesting, but not one I'd make a casual recommendation.

Sha Po Lang by Priest. I was feeling sort of middling on this one while I was reading it in official translation release time so I decided to just read the whole thing to see if I wanted to keep buying it, and I think after doing so I've come down on the side of "probably not." It was good, but, to be blunt, not quite good enough to grab me in the way I needed it to for the financial outlay. I still feel like I'm chasing the magic I got out of Faraway Wanderers and (what I've read of) LHJC from Priest and haven't found it again yet. I think part of the gap here was that I really liked Gu Yun but struggled to care very much about Chang Geng. I did kind of love the Pope being a major antagonist, though.

So probably the other reason I didn't read much last month is because I'm having a hard time finding something to read to really get into.

I'm currently reading too many books at the same time due to a confluence of factors including "travel" and "difficulty getting into one of them." The list is: The Grass Crown by Colleen McCullough, A Fire Upon the Deep by Vernor Vinge, Silent Reading by Priest, and (on the side) Black Midnight Holds the BE Script by Teng Luo Wei Zhi. so hopefully I'll finish at least one of those this July.

[amethystunarmed]

What Do You Say?

Word Count: 1753 AO3 Part 1 Written for Hatchetfield Rarepair Week Day 3: Memories Duke and Ted work on the case to get Ted custody of Peter. Duke gets a very normal migraine and Ted has a very normal reaction.

“I got your abomination of a drink,” Ted tells him. He’s only twenty minutes late to their meeting, which is honestly a record for him. Duke has started scheduling everything at least a half hour before he actually intends on starting. “Why on earth you need to add four sugars to a fucking white chocolate mocha, I’ll never understand.” Ted continues, taking a swig from what Duke hopes is his own cup. “Fair warning, it’s from Beanie’s, so it probably sucks.”

He places the cup in front of Duke, and falls into the chair for his clients on the other side of the desk. Ted says “Nothing can replace Miss Retro’s,” just as Duke picks up the cup and says, “Thanks darlin’.”

And something in Duke’s brain snaps.

Static. 

It almost makes you forget about all that.

It’s all static. 

It feels nice to be the hero, for once. 

Forget.

Miss Holloway had a good run. 

Forget, Douglas Keane. 

That’s not fair.

F O R G E T.

I couldn’t forget you, even if I tried. 

He hasn’t forgotten anything.

I’m trying to say good-bye.  

There is nothing to remember.

Can I?

So then why does it hurt so goddamn bad. 

When he next becomes aware of something other than the splitting pain searing his skull, he realizes he is no longer sitting in his chair. There is a steady hum of noise in the room. He’s on the ground, on his hands and knees. They’re warm and distantly achy. He realizes he is sitting in a puddle of hot coffee, that he must have spilled it when the migraine hit. The bizarre flare of pain recedes as quickly as it struck, just like they always do. With the migraine gone, Duke is able to parse out that the stream of noise beside him is Ted cursing.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, what the fuck, come on, man-”

“I’m fine,” Duke interrupts, voice sore. He pushes back on his hands so he can sit against his desk. The pain may have already faded, but the migraine has left him disoriented and breathless. They don’t happen often, but they leave him off-kilter. Sometimes he feels out of it for days after a bad one.

And this, this was a bad one.

“No you fucking aren’t!” Ted yells, voice squeaky with panic, “You just had like, a seizure or something. Have you had one before? We need to call 911-”

Ted pulls his phone out of his pocket like a man on a mission and Duke can’t believe he seems to be trapped in some weird temporal flux that makes Ted Spankoffski give a shit about other people. And, despite how much he would love to encourage this odd change in behavior, he  really doesn't want to go to the hospital. “Ted. It's really, really fine. It wasn't a seizure.” Ted glares at him, clearly doubtful. Duke bites his lip. “I get... Migraines.”

“Dude, that was not a migraine. You fell to your hands and knees and started screaming.” 

“That happens sometimes.” 

Ted gapes at him like he has absolutely lost his mind, and Duke supposes that, in a way, he has. 

He swallows. He doesn't like talking about it. He doesn’t think it’s anyone’s business. Right now, only three people know about his episodes: his general physician, Miss Holiday, and Duke himself. But most people haven’t seen him collapse on the ground and go nonresponsive. Most people haven’t seen the worst episode he’s ever had in person.

Ted apparently takes Duke’s silence as a sign of something further being wrong, because he unlocks his phone. “Fuck this, I’m calling an ambulance.” Duke sees Ted dial “9” and the thought of seeing an ambulance makes the static swell in his brain. 

He reaches out and places a hand over Ted’s phone. “Really, I’m fine. It’s already passed.”

Ted gives him a look of blatant disbelief.

“Look,” Duke says, “I...” He quickly thinks of a half-lie, something that will explain without going into the empty hole that Miss Holloway has left in his life, about the debilitating grief he can barely feel for a woman he hardly remembers. “I was... in an accident, a while ago. My doctor knows about these attacks, and I have been checked out for them, okay? I’m fine. That was just... a bad one.” 

“Okay...” Ted says, sounding like he isn’t okay at all. “...Are you sure we shouldn’t call someone?” He flips his phone anxiously in his hand. He has that panicked look, the same one he got right before asking Duke for help all those weeks ago. And suddenly Duke realizes he is missing something. Something important.

“Ted...” Duke says slowly. He has a feeling that if he gets this wrong, whatever moment is developing will crumble like sand. “Is something else going on here?”

“Psh, no,” Ted scoffs, “You must have hit your head when you fell.” He flips his phone quicker. He reminds Duke of the cagey high schoolers he is called to help, the ones who think they are too cool to show actual emotions. It almost makes Duke grin.

“You know, it’s fine if it scared you,” Duke reassures him, “Especially if you haven’t witnessed a medical emergency like that before.” 

Ted barks out a startled laugh. “It’s kind of the exact opposite.”

Duke frowns at him, any amusement he was feeling rapidly evaporating. “What does that mean?”

Ted sighs. He tucks his phone in his pocket and leans back on his hands. There is something intimate, the two of them sitting on the floor beside Duke’s desk. It makes Duke lean in, like he is privy to something special. But still, he is not prepared for the words that come out of Ted’s mouth.

“Peter had a seizure. Came over for dinner and we ended up spending the night in the ER. Apparently our parents didn't have time to pick up his insulin refill and he didn't want to 'worry me.’” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that didn't work. Fucking moron.” His voice is calm, but he brings his knees to his chest and hugs them, tightly. Duke can see the tension in his arms. “I thought he was dying.” The unspoken I thought you were dying, hangs in the air. “I thought my parents had finally killed him.” Ted chuckles, like that can disarm the absolute bomb he just dropped. “But at least he didn’t have to go to Abstinence Camp? So that’s something. We both missed out on the Honey Festival though, so, you win some, you lose some.”

It’s supposed to be a joke. An out Duke can take to make light of the situation. Duke doesn’t take it. He can’t imagine just continuing and making light of this situation, like it was something normal, a wild weekend that could be mocked. 

Duke could have passed their room in St. Damien’s when he went looking for Miss Holloway’s body in the morgue.

So instead, Duke doesn’t say anything. It’s a helpful trick he has learned over the years, to just let a silence be. He reaches up and grabs some napkins from the drink tray. He begins mopping up the coffee he knocked over, and lets Ted sit.

(Besides, he doesn’t know what he would say anyways.)

“Our parents... They're not bad people. They're just distant.” Ted continues after a few minutes, almost defensively. It feels involuntary, as innate a response as shivering in the cold. Duke wonders how often he's told this lie, that he truly believes it. “So for an independent kid like me, it was fine, you know? I took care of myself when I needed to.” 

And Duke has words to say about that, has heard plenty of hurt kids say the same thing, but Ted just plows through before he can get a word in. “But Peter... Peter isn't the kind of kid you can half-ass. He's too fucking good to die because my fucking parents can't bother to drive to the pharmacy. He needs someone who can actually take care of him.” Ted laughs bitterly and gives Duke a self-deprecating smile. “Guess he really inherited the Spankoffski luck if he's stuck with me.”

“I think he's plenty lucky,” Duke says without thinking. He means it though. Peter is lucky to have someone like Ted looking out for him.

Ted blinks at him, seeming utterly dumbstruck. He blushes, a bit, and isn’t that a wonder. Ted Spankoffski. Blushing. He clears his throat. “Well, you'd be about the only one.” 

Duke smiles at him. “Let's get back to work so you can show the rest of Hatchetfield then, huh?” With the information Ted just gave him about Peter’s health, Duke figures they would have a pretty solid case for medical neglect. If Peter was taken to the children’s ward, Duke may be able to have Becky Barnes come in as a witness. She has always been a fantastic resource for him in past cases-

“Oh no,” Ted says, interrupting Duke's train of thought. He clambers to his feet, and holds out a hand to help Duke up. “You are going to take a fucking break, that’s what is about to happen!” 

Duke blinks at him, even as he takes Ted’s hand. “Ted, I told, you, I’m fine-”

“Can it,” Ted interjects, and pokes his finger at Duke’s chest. “We’re not fucking up my little brother’s life because you were too out of it to file the proper paperwork. We’re stopping until I’m sure you’re not about to keel over.” 

And just a few weeks ago, Duke would have been annoyed. But somewhere along the line, Duke has realized that Ted is physically incapable of being emotionally vulnerable, even about his brother who he so clearly cares for. Most of his worrying about Peter comes out in complaints and bitching. And Duke thinks that, maybe this is just Ted’s version of caring.

He finds himself oddly touched. 

Duke feels a fond little smile creep onto his face. “Sure,” he says, “Seems like we need to pick up more coffee anyways.”

Ted looks down at the puddle of coffee-soaked napkins at Duke's feet.

“To be honest, this is probably for the best. I think both our drinks had spit in them. The baristas at Beanie's do not like me.”

And, for a brief, impossible moment, Duke finds himself wondering why.

“I mean, the crabby one is not NEARLY hot enough to be as mean as she is.”

Ah. Right.