#apparently big corkboards are expensive

[legendarystarz]

the magnus protocol's going great so far

[awanderingdeal]

In which Sirius takes back Halloween

My fic for the fabulous fic -o-ween! This is not even remotely scary and is basically a big fluff ball. I hope you enjoy your Halloween as much as Sirius and co!

A big shout out to @ais-for-alex for being my beta for this fic. I did make a couple of changes as I was re-reading this morning (who can resist) so any mistakes are most likely my fault.😂

And finally, a massive thank you to @lumosinlove for lending us these wonderful characters to play with. They really have been a massive part of my lockdown sanity.

Rating: G

CW: Food mentions

“Do you think I should sell this house?” Sirius mused, tapping his long fingers against the rim of his mug.

Remus looked up slowly from his tablet, from which he’d been reading the daily news. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just so big, you know,” Sirius shrugged, taking a second to formulate his thoughts into a coherent reply. “I kind of just brought it as an act of rebellion when I got my first pay check. We’re never really here and even when we are, we use what, maybe five of the rooms.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his hair back off his face. “It just feels so soulless,” he finished, glancing at Remus to gauge his reaction. His boyfriend was as impossible to read as ever, not giving an ounce away until he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, give it soul then.” Remus said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Like you said we’re never here. But we could be. We can make memories here if you want to,” he smiled gently at the thought. “Maybe, we could start with me officially moving my stuff in here?” he added, biting into a doughnut casually. If Sirius didn’t know Remus better he would have thought that the monumentality of the question had bypassed him.

Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus's waist pulling him close, smiling into his curls at the memory. It had taken place two years ago now and of course, Remus had been right. Sirius couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now. A crunching sound interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, but didn’t comment on his boyfriend’s breakfast, a leftover toffee apple, knowing from previous experiences that it would only encourage him to make worse choices.

The conversation in his memory had been the reason that he’d first thrown his annual Halloween bonanza, a tradition (if something that had only been done twice could be called a tradition) that was quickly becoming infamous. It was a family affair with all the team bringing their loved ones to enjoy what was quite frankly, an outrageous display of wealth. Each year, Remus and he turned their back garden into a fete with, pumpkin carving, a hay maze, apple bobbing, spooky cupcake decorating and face painting to name but a few things. No expense was spared. But it wasn’t about the money really.

A soft kiss to his jawline pulled him out of his thoughts again. Remus sighed contentedly and leaned into his chest, body warmth radiating between them. Sirius glanced down at the shorter man, giving him a reassuring smile. Remus could always tell when he was in his own head.

“Just thinking about last night,” Sirius hummed, his eyes flickering to the giant corkboard on the wall. It was currently monopolized by the polaroids that had been taken the previous evening. The collection showcased exactly what the party was all about.

It was the photo of Logan, his teeth clenched around an apple, sticky liquid dripping down his chin and eyes glimmering with competition. Next to it, the photo of Katie Dumais hugging a huge, black stuffed dog, almost the same size as her.

“Logan won me a new stuffie!” she had beamed as the photo was taken. Logan, much to Katie’s distain, ruffled her hair and told her, “N’importe quoi pour vous.” Anything for you.

It was the image of a frantic James declaring, “I have lost my child!” Olli and Timmy laughing in the background because they could see a tiny Harry dressed as a pumpkin toddling around behind his father.

It was the one of Talker, for once sitting still, albeit in a chair designed for small children, his eyes closed but his mouth moving. Across from him, Noelle’s expression was fondly exasperated as she tried to finish painting his face. Another photo evidenced that she had been successful; there were two matching skeletons (Thomas and little Xavi) with faces warped by laughter.

It was the collection of photos towards the top of the corkboard. Reg and Leo. Reg and Celeste. Reg and Jules. And his personal favourite, Reg and Remus.

“I love this one,” Sirius said aloud, his fingers reaching out to brush the picture he was referring to. Even now it still baffled him to see his brother interacting with his boyfriend so casually. At this point the two men had their own relationship outside of Sirius, founded on nerdy things that he failed to understand. His heart swelled as he took in the image of the two most important people in his life.

“It’s a great photo,” Remus agreed. He and Regulus had their heads close together, hands waving as they enthusiastically discussed something. Remus had a smug expression on his face, Reg looked disgruntled. The photo captured their personalities fantastically. “I think this is my favourite,” Remus added, pointing out a different polaroid.

This one was taken inside. An entanglement of blankets and sleeping children. Smitty’s youngest, Noah, had started it. He’d crashed around 9pm after an almighty sugar rush, and his father had laid him down in the quiet of the lounge to sleep. Katya Ivanov and Katie Dumais followed soon after. Harry had put up a valiant effort not to join them. In fact, there was a photo a little to the left of Sirius rocking his godson who was fighting his drooping eyelids. Never the less, he ended up in the pile too.

“One day, we will have one of our own to add to that pile,” Remus smiled, giving Sirius a squeeze.

“One day,” Sirius agreed, wiping a thumb across Remus's lips to remove a trace of toffee. "We better go and wake those two up. Marcie will be here soon – she won’t want to clean around them,” Sirius declared, his head inclining towards the lounge. Remus chuckled in response, spinning in Sirius’s arms and taking his hand to lead him to the other room. Sirius allowed himself to be led, picking up the camera from the counter as he passed.

The camera flashed and pushed out a photo with a click. Sirius grinned, shaking the small square whilst it developed. Slowly it revealed two men curled into one another, the taller of the them had his arms wrapped around the smaller. They looked peaceful. Remus tried to wake them up gently, but apparently the small shake to Kuny’s shoulder was enough to startle the pair. A string of Russian – almost certainly profanities – left Kuny’s mouth as he pulled himself away from Nado. Sirius noted the blush that spread over Kuny’s cheeks as he realised how entwined they had been. 

“Right boys. I hate to kick you out but my housekeeper will be here soon and she does not need to be subjected to your hungover asses,” Sirius said, although he didn’t sound regretful at all.

Nado grumbled, showing Sirius his middle finger and sweeping his hair back of his face. “Come on Koon, I’ll drop you home.”

Leaving Remus to deal with their two unexpected guests, Sirius wandered back into his kitchen to pin the photo he had just taken with the rest. There wasn’t a lot of room left, but he managed to squeeze it between a photo of Natalie and Kasey holding their carved pumpkins, and a particularly sweet one of the cubs. Finn’s lips were pressed against Leo’s nose, red from the cold. Logan cocooned between them, resting his head on Finn’s chest. Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he realized that none of them were wearing the same sweaters they had arrived in, seemingly having swapped them over the course of the evening.

Remus came back soon enough, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh. Sirius didn't want to know. “They'll be gone soon. We should pick up. Marcie isn't paid enough to deal with…this" Remus said, gesturing towards the chaos of the kitchen. Sirius looked around, a grimace forming on his face before he nodded his agreement. The floor was littered with costume parts, either lost or removed as games were played and alcohol was drunk – devil horns here and iron man’s mask there. There was a stain on the rug where a bowl of perfectly spiced pumpkin soup had been spilt. Toilet paper had managed to make its way into the craziest of places, casualties of the mummy competition. Popcorn crunched under his feet – the impromptu viewing of ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ had happened two rooms over - how popcorn had ended up in the kitchen, Sirius did not know.

Despite it all, Sirius would do it all again tomorrow. Growing up, Halloween had been characterized by loneliness and jealousy. His overly religious parents had declared the holiday heinous and banned even mentions of the event. In the supermarket, they snatched offered candy out of his hand and Sirius had listened on wistfully as the other children spoke about their hauls. The memories made him a little sad, but it was okay now, Sirius had reclaimed it  – Halloween was his again.

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro

Look who’s back!

The town of Kotor in Montenegro didn’t have many claims to fame.  It had been reasonably important under the Venetian empire, but those days were long gone, and it was only just starting to find new life as a tourist attraction.  In many ways it was the exact opposite of Santorini, which had been whitewashed villages clinging precariously to the edges of cliffs, with no trees.  Kotor was dark stone and brick clustered at the bottom of a deep, fjord-like valley full of foliage.  It was much more sheltered and cool than Santorini, and Natasha decided she would rather have spent a weekend here than on that barren volcanic island.

When they arrived, there was a cruise ship anchored in the bay.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if that were the same boat we saw at Santorini?” asked Clint.

Nat shielded her eyes from the low morning sun and squinted to see the image on the ship’s superstructure.  “I think it is,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”  As the sun went behind a cloud for a moment, the light changed and Nat was able to make out the circular logo.  “There it is – Zodiac Cruise Lines, the Scorpio II.  Same as in Santorini.”

“That’s… actually not funny at all,” Clint decided.  “Think how much more fun we’d be having on our little tour of the Balkans if we were on a cruise ship!

“You’d have a way better selection of wines,” said Nat.

“Air conditioning,” Sam agreed.

“Lobsters to race,” said Jim.

“We’d have a way more expensive selection of wines,” Clint corrected.  “Santorini was expensive enough.  Speaking of which…”  He checked his phone.  “Laura says if I’m in Kotor I need to find her some smoked ham.  Apparently that’s a thing.”

“All right,” said Nat.  “We’ll save the world.  You can shop for souvenirs.”

“I’m glad you guys trust me with the important stuff,” said Clint.

Before they did anything out, they found a room at the Hotel Vadar, just a moment’s walk from the gate in the old Venetian city walls.  The hotel only had one available, due to a last-minute cancellation, and it only had one bed, but they would make do.  It would definitely be better than camping out in a construction site on Santorini, or rock-hard mattresses on the creaking cargo boat.

If Neustadt had told them to go to Kotor as part of a trap, then it probably wouldn’t have mattered if they’d all stopped to take a nap first – a mousetrap wouldn’t spring until something touched the cheese.  After their encounter with the thief on Santorini, however, they were worried that the alchemist might have decided to take matters into their own hands.  On that assumption, they ate a quick lunch and set out for the monastery at once.

The Church and Monastery of the Holy Dove were outside the northwest corner of the town, a short but arduous hike up a very steep path on the mountainside.  There were Catholic churches in Montenegro, but this one was Eastern Orthodox, identified by its domed roof and a steeple with three bells, one each for Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The Square of the Holy Dove outside was thronged with tourists and with vendors selling trinkets to them.  On the left side of the church steps was a man selling books of local history in several languages, and on the right were a pair of sisters busking, one with a guitar and the other singing English pop songs.  Stray cats and dark-coloured pigeons ran around underfoot.

Trailing behind a tour group from the cruise ship, they climbed the steps to the church and went inside.  The interior was unusually bare by Orthodox standards, which had inherited the Byzantine preference for colourful murals with lots of gold.  The Holy Dove had once been decorated that way, but the plaster had fallen off the walls in an earthquake in the 1960’s, and since there was little hope of recreating the paintings in their former splendor, the walls had simply been left as bare red limestone.  Only a few fragments of the paintings remained, and a corkboard displaying carefully colourized old photographs to suggest what it had once looked like.  The austerity had the effect of making the wall of icons at the far end stand out all the more, their gilded surfaces glittering in the shafts of light from the high windows.

A monk was busy re-lighting candles in front of these holy pictures, murmuring a prayer as he did each one.  Tourists were taking flash pictures of this, despite posted signs warning that the light might damage the remaining murals.  The group respectfully waited until he was finished before approaching him.

“Excuse me,” said Nat.  “Do you speak English?”

“Some,” the monk replied.  “Do you have questions about the church?”  He must be used to being approached by strangers.

“No,” said Natasha.  “We’re here to see Brother Luka.”

The young monk went a little pale.  “What do you want with Brother Luka?” he asked.

This was not going to go well, Nat could already tell.  “He has something a man named Neustadt needs,” she said.  “He was supposed to send it to him?”

“Wait here,” said the young monk.

He vanished through the back door of the church, leaving them to wait there a while and contemplate the crumbling paintings that remained on the insides of some of the supporting arches.  These were mainly the faces of saints, with their names in Greek lettering next to them.  By one was a man on a ladder, using some sort of glue to stabilize a bit that was about to fall apart.

The young monk returned, accompanied by the Abbot.  This man was also younger than Nat would have pictured a monk, which she tended to think of as a bunch of old men clinging to a dying institution.  He was no older than fifty, and clean-shaved, with a jowly face and a strong Eastern European nose.  His expression was worried.

“Good morning,” he said to them.  “I am Father Slavko of the Brothers of the Holy Dove.”

“Good morning,” Nat replied, and for the sake of looking legitimate, she pulled out her badge.  “I’m Dr. Natalie Jones, of the Committee for the Appraisal of Archaeological Peril.  We were told to come here and see Brother Luka.  The man we spoke to didn’t give us much information.”

“You are the second group of people in as many days who have come for Brother Luka,” said the Abbot, and Nat’s heart sank – Neustadt must have already been here.  “A man in a hat came yesterday morning and the two argued.  The visitor left angry, and Brother Luka took ill shortly afterwards.  He’s now in the hospital in Meljine.  The doctors said it was a stroke.”

Something Neustadt had done on purpose, Nat wondered, or just an old man who’d gotten too angry for his own good?  “What did they talk about?” she asked.

“I did not hear,” said the Abbot.  “It was not my business.”

“Excuse me,” the younger monk said, “I did hear.  They spoke about Aleksio the Heretic.”

Aleksio.  That was the name from Newton’s notebooks, the one who said The Principle was in the monastery.  “Who is Aleksio the Heretic?” she asked.

The Abbot looked over his shoulder at the crowded church and the tourists with their cameras, then moved closer to the group.  “Come with me,” he said.

He led them out of the church by the back door, an ornately carved wooden one with big iron hinges that must have been centuries old, and into the area where the monks lived.  Outside of the parts open to the public, the monastery was sparingly decorated and without electric lights.  The Abbot stopped by a small table and took a flashlight out of a drawer, then produced an immense iron key and unlocked another door, which looked like it might lead to a medieval torture chamber – although the taller members of the CAAP had to duck to go through it, it was made of planks six inches thick, reinforced with heavy iron bands and nails like railroad spikes.  When the Abbot opened the door, Nat could see that the nails were so long they went all the way through and protruded a few inches from the back, where they’d been hammered to the side to lie flat.

A very narrow flight of stone steps spiraled down into the darkness.

“Be careful,” said the Abbot.  “They are often wet.”

Down they went, in single file.  Sir Stephen and Sam, who were both very tall men, had to stoop.  Jim bent at the knees, walking like the Missing Link, and Allen hugged his own shoulders, trying to keep from filling the entire space.  Only Nat, the shortest, was able to stand up straight.  Anybody wishing to go back up would probably have had to go backwards, and anybody behind him or her would have had to turn back, also.

At the bottom was an equally narrow corridor.  It went a short way to another door, which the Abbot opened with a different key.  The rusted hinges squealed as they moved, thunderously loud in the tiny, quiet space.  Beyond was an underground chamber.  A little bit of light and a slight draft came in through a set of tiny grates in the floor of the church overhead.  Shadows passed by as the tourists wandered around.  At the far end of the room was a table, with a little sandbox in which several candles had been set upright to burn, and an ornamental reliquary.  In front of the table another monk was kneeling.  He’d looked up at the sound of the hinges moving, but saw it was the Abbot, and returned to his silent praying.

“Have you heard of the Cathars?” asked the Abbot.

“They were a heretical group during the Middle Ages,” Natasha replied.  “They believed that God and the Devil were equal in power, and the Earth was their battleground.  Was Aleksio the Heretic a Cathar?”

“No,” said the Abbot.  “His was a much more poisonous idea.  He believed that the Devil could not truly be evil, because all the evil he does is in the service of God’s plan.  He reasoned that evil would not exist unless God allowed it, and therefore evil can serve good purposes – he thought that Judas would go to Heaven for making Christ’s sacrifice possible, and that the Anti-Christ would be as divine as Christ himself.”

Nat had been hoping for something a little more alchemical.  As far as she could tell, this was just theological semantics, and seemed irrelevant.  “Neustadt said he had something called the Principle.”

The Abbot nodded.  “That is in here.  It’s our most holy relic.”

“So why is it hidden away, and not in a place where souls may benefit by it?” asked Sir Stephen.

“For a long time it was because of the Crusaders,” the Abbot said.  “It was the sort of treasure they would stop at nothing to possess, and so we pretended it was only a myth.  After centuries of that it was almost forgotten.  Then we had to hide it away from the heathen Turks, who would have destroyed it if they’d found it – and then there was Aleksio, who said that the Antichrist would come for it on the day of judgment.”  He looked up at the ceiling as another tourist’s shadow passed over it.  “And don’t think I haven’t wondered if the man in the hat were he.”

“He’s not the Antichrist, he’s an alchemist,” said Natasha.  Although she supposed it was possible that Aleksio had thought Newton was the Antichrist… in which case, in a mind that believed everything served God’s plan, Newton might actually be the good guy.  “Is it gold?”

“No,” said the Abbot.  “It is something infinitely more valuable than that.”

He touched the praying monk’s shoulder, and the man got up and stood aside.  The Abbot took a chain from around his own neck and removed a small, tarnished key from it, and unlocked the reliquary on the table.

[the90dayfianceblog-blog]

season 7, episode 3

Michael and Juliana

Michael’s back from Brazil. We see him with his immigration lawyer, who seems to be one of the better lawyers we’ve seen on this show. The age gap and the South American country are triggers, she explains, and it isn’t an exact science. Anyway, enough of that – we completely drop the prostitute storyline and skip right over the results of the police report to the big news: Juliana got the visa. Michael prepares for her arrival. He orders a Hummer limo (what machismo bullshit) and gets a $10 bouquet of flowers that changes into a different bouquet of flowers when he gets to the airport. Cue airport reunion. She’s crying and happy. She loves the limo. “Do you want to do a limousine porno?” he asks. He smirks at his own joke and she is, understandably, horrified. “No,” she replies, eyes glued to her phone. He pivots quickly and pulls out champagne – 1996, the year she was born. She slugs it while ogling the New York skyline. Look there’s the Empire State Building, he says, one of the tallest buildings in the world. (It’s 47th, but okay.) She’s proud of herself for making it here. She talks more about her rags-to-riches story. Well, rags-to-middle-class, anyway. He brings out the ugly five-color necklace, which she hates. If she liked it, she would have probably put it on immediately. That is what we have seen before in this show. He points out the meaning of the five colors, and she mumbles “mm-hmm,” eyes glued to her phone.

We’re in Greenwich now, he says, and you can tell because look, there’s a Bentley. This guy’s entire identity is about money. Michael calls Max, and she becomes visibly nervous. He unconvincingly reassures her when asked if his kids will like her. They pull up to a very unflashy apartment, and they walk in to find a scene straight out of Hoarders. “The house is a disaster,” she says, and it is. “We’re moving, right?” she asks and he looks sheepish and doesn’t answer. Max and Cece are charmed by her. She’s intimidated by Max and how smart he is – a reminder of just how young and immature she is. Max and Cece made an adorable spread of gummy-worm cake, eggs, fruit, cinnamon rolls, and avocados. I’ve heard on the internet that avocados are dessert in Brazil, says Max, while Cece stands there proudly. They are TOO MUCH. Cece designates seats and outs Max for helping very little with the meal. I was the taste tester, he says. Again: TOO. MUCH. Juliana is good with the kids, and her conversation with them is natural. By contrast, Michael doesn’t interact with his kids much at all, and is even kind of condescending. I wonder whether the ice cream talk was staged and what kind of relationship he really has with them. Michael tees us up the meeting between Juliana and Sarah, which is apparently happening next week. He doesn’t think they’ll get along. We see the same sound bite again with Sarah saying “I don’t want you to parent,” so I’m dubious that the talk actually goes poorly.

Alyssa predicts: again, they will totally get married. Juliana is going to live off of Michael as she jumpstarts a modeling career in the US. Work is always mentioned first for her. I don't think it will last. Laura predicts: 100% getting married. Again, the quid pro quo is still going on (money for arm candy). Wait, am I even allowed to say quid pro quo now?

New couple: Mike and Natalie

We finally meet our new couple. Mike, 34, is from….Phlegm, Washington? Oh, Sequim. In any case it’s in the middle of nowhere. We see him riding an ATV with no helmet, so we already know he has a penchant for excellent life choices. He’s 6’7” and “likes attention,” so the height thing clearly makes up a large part of his identity. His town has 7,000 people, and his family has owned a tree farm there for 100+ years. He just bought said farm from his dad, which was expensive and put him in some significant debt. Why his dad sold the farm is unclear, and we don’t hear any more about it. Work on the farm is never done, he laments, but fortunately, he has a trusty ranch hand in the form of his Uncle Beau, who has approximately two teeth and lives in the barn. I’m a young chicken, says Beau, and I live off the land. He has as many screws loose as he has missing teeth, but he is precious. Mike has always wanted to be married, and was married before. She left him for another woman. Big yikes. He used to weigh 340 pounds but then lost 80 pounds in two years. That’s objectively impressive to do on your own. He’s got some work ethic. His best friend Matt met a Ukranian girl, Svitlana (presumably on one of the sites that produces many of these couples), and Svitlana’s best friend is Natalie.  Svitlana wants all her friends to have the plush US life that she has (we assume), so Matt gets her number. Matt texts Natalie one day, one thing leads to another, and he eventually goes out to Ukraine to see her. He likes that she’s outdoorsy and full of life. She’s very pretty, blonde, and thin. He’s average-looking, but tall – and she looks pretty tall too, so that probably earns him considerable extra points. Three months later they go to Paris together, where he proposes.

We see him video-call her. He mentions how boring it is there, that all the restaurants close at 10. She looks not enthused at the possibility of this. I for one am surprised to learn that there are restaurants there at all. She’s nervous about leaving her mom, but she says her mom will feel better knowing that she’ll have grandkids soon. Mike is uncomfortable. We’ll take that one step at a time, he says. We learn that he hasn’t told her about all of his debt.

She is at her visa interview, and Mike and Beau are getting the property ready. They are putting blue paint in the pond. “Why are we doing this?” asks Beau, and I am not really sure either. She calls him looking all sad, and evidently there is a delay with the visa. About six months until I can come “home,” she says (ok, cute), and we hear nothing more. He presses her, but she says all her documents are fine. He takes this at face value. We do not. My-kull can get a visa but she can’t? They mention she has two college degrees. No way her documents are fine. Come see me in the meantime, she says, I need you. Obviously he doesn’t have the money, but it takes about 10 seconds of puppy dog eyes for him to change his mind. We see in the preview for next week that her MO for this Ukraine trip is to make a baby. Yeeeeeesh.

Alyssa predicts: I think they will eventually get married. I kind of like them... Though there needs to be more honesty in his finances.

Laura predicts: They’re definitely getting married. They seem to genuinely care about each other and seem level-headed enough to work through this big secret he’s keeping from her. But it’s early...

Tania and Syngin

They wake up at the hotel and she – and I can barely even type this – plays with his armpit hair. Violent cringe.

The four of them (yes, the friends are STILL there) go out for vegan sushi, which makes perfect sense given all the excellent restaurant choices in New York. Tania says, to his face, that her friends come before him. “Not what I wanted to hear,” he mumbles, the poor guy. Are you sick of us, one of the friends asks, and he’s quick to say no, but he admits he would really like to spend some time alone with Tania. This is ignored. The friends grill him about work. He has a few ideas – bartender, fireman, Hollywood actor – and these insufferable bitches tell him to “pick a lane.” He points out that he wants to leave his options open because he doesn’t know exactly what he wants to do. “Does Tania’s ambition make you nervous or scared?” the friend replies – are we talking about the same bartender who lives in her mom’s shed? – and he says no, it’s why he loves her. The friend comes to the kids question, and he says he’d like kids three years from now. He’s lying, says Tania, he wants them in 7 to 10 years. The friends make a judgy face for the thousandth time. Tania declares she is “popping his sperm back in her” after the first kid. He’s not thrilled withthis conversation. He didn’t even know she wanted two kids. Tania isn’t worried, though, because she “always gets her way.” Why this conversation needs to occur in front of her horrible friends is beyond me.

Later, another dinner at a nice steakhouse (where’s she getting the money for all this?), just the two of them. He’s happy to finally have some time alone with her. She declares they need a white board and a corkboard to figure all their shit out in 90 days. They proceed to argue about kids again. He declares he won’t be pressured into it, and that there’s so much that she wants to do (travel, namely) that would be far more difficult with kids.  This, as with most things he’s contributed on this topic, is fair and sensible. Tania quickly gets mad and turns it into a feminist issue – “do you think women don’t do things when they have kids? Don’t ask me that question. You wouldn’t ask a man that question.” Sorry, what? Yes, you would. “Your problem,” she continues, “is that you don’t know what it’s like to plan for anything. How many jobs have you quit?” She says I’m having kids with or without you, and I’m literally putting off having kids for you because I was going to find a sperm donor before I turned 30. We get to hear the much-awaited response from him, “It’s almost like you wrote the story and I’m just a character in it.” She starts off affronted, but it doesn’t take long for her to admit he’s right – that she has this vision of her life and he’s either in or he’s out. “Can we talk about something happy?” she says, and he looks decidedly unhappy. He doesn’t believe in scheduling life, he says, and he’s sad. Even his floppy hair looks less floppy.

Alyssa predicts: They won't get married. At least I hope they don't, for both of their sakes. They obviously have not talked about very important things. Tania lacks maturity and Syngin lacks some direction.

Laura predicts: No way they get married. Do they even know each other? Signs increasingly point to no.

Robert and Anny

We learn that they had sex in the living room while Bryson was asleep. Could have done without that info. He agrees to take her shopping when she says she doesn’t have enough clothes. He takes her to a secondhand store, which ends up being the theme of their entire segment this episode. It’s actually a really nice-looking secondhand store – not your run-of-the-mill Goodwill. But she’s pissed. She hates everything. “Lots of ugly rags,” she proclaims. She wants Chanel and Versace…names she’s heard of, I guess. She likes “elegant clothes.” A hipster sales clerk with an edgy buzz cut comes over to assist. I didn’t know there were hipsters in Florida. Anyway, she makes things worse by informing Anny that everything in the store is used. Anny is incredulous. She bought a lot of nice clothes in the DR, she says. I guess she left those all behind in anticipation of her new Chanel wardrobe. The sales clerk is still standing there for some reason making awkward faces. Anny eventually storms out. Robert is pissed in response to her attitude, and he still won’t just say what the real problem is, which is that he has no money to buy her shit. The man shares a bed with his kid, for fuck’s sake.

Later, they go to dinner. She is wearing an electric blue plastic club dres, two sizes too small, with her black bra featuring prominently. I recall the comment about “elegant clothes.” She’s still talking about the thrift store. We didn’t have these kinds of disagreements over the phone, he admits, as though that were remotely surprising. They get to the restaurant, and they start talking wedding. She wants a ceremony on the beach in Miami with a full menu full of seafood. She’d even like to move to Miami. He reacts with anger. He’s not going to give her a “boo-coo wedding,” whatever that is. “What the fuck is up with you?” he asks, and she offers to throw her glass of wine in his face in response. She points out that he promised to buy her all these things and now he’s not following through. She refuses to eat. She storms out, her wine untouched. In the car, she asks him to apologize. “I’m sorry you’re inconsiderate and a big ass crybaby,” he offers.

They get home. They begin arguing about who is going to sleep on the couch. She gets in the bed with her dress and makeup on and pulls the covers over her, pouting. They both agree they do not like this side that they’re seeing of each other. I got Bryson a babysitter, he says, so this should be a special evening. He pulls out the lingerie he bought. The mood shifts instantly and dramatically. She loves it. He admits he’s seeing a lot of red flags (yeah, a 36-hour relationship will do that), but he’s an eager participant in the sex that is implied by the ceremonial closing of the bedroom door. Gross.  

Alyssa predicts: They are not going to get married. I'm not even sure what they have told each other (again, everyone needs to be more honest about their financial situations!) and their argument was mostly degrading each other. I no longer like either of them.

Laura predicts: I have the least faith in them of any couple, even less than Mursel and Anna. Not getting married. 

Mursel and Anna

Mursel and Anna go to a park, holding hands. We see a misleading sign: “Nebraska: The Good Life.” I realize how much taller and bigger she is than he is. I also realize he carries a man purse. They pull out the translator app for a Serious Conversation. It is tedious and painful. Think Paul and Karine, but worse because they’re actually trying to have an intelligent conversation about something other than cheating and divorce. Dinner with Anna’s mom was “very sad,” Mursel admits. She presses him on the family issue. She’s afraid he’ll leave. He responds that he doesn’t think his family will find out. He explains to the camera that in Turkey, people would shame him if they knew. He says to Anna he’ll tell his family in ten years. He says to the camera he’ll tell his parents on their deathbed, because then they’ll have to forgive him. It’s not possible, she says, to keep a secret for that long. “Where do we go from here?” she asks, and he doesn’t know. “This is our destiny,” he says, and she doesn’t know what that means. “It’s your destiny, not mine,” she offers anyway. It’s not much in the way of an ultimatum, and he needs one.

Later, we see a group heart-to-heart with the boys. He tells them the truth at Anna’s insistence. He tells the boys his family wouldn’t talk to him if they knew about them. I want you to be understanding about this, he says. Joey, the oldest, is not having it. It’s Mursel’s own problem not theirs, Joey figures, since it was his choice to come to America. The six year old asks, heartbreakingly straightforward, “so you don’t care about us?” No, I want to make you happy, Mursel says unhelpfully. He’d really like to bring Anna to his precious, beautiful Turkey, and if not for the kids he would have. The boys all look really sad. Anna wonders whether she’ll have to end up choosing, and is emphatic that she would choose her kids. But she says this to the camera, not the kids, and they need to hear it.

Alyssa predicts: again, they are not going to get married. There are rumors that Mursel is like Sumit (i.e., has a wife in Turkey) but I don't necessarily believe that. There are major cultural and familial issues between these two that cannot be resolved through a phone translating app.

Laura predicts: They’re not getting married. She is realizing, albeit way too slowly, that she cannot reconcile her relationship with him and her relationship with her kids.

Sasha and Emily

Emily is in labor. The hospital looks like a horror movie. It’s dark and cramped and old. It’s a step or two above the South African hospital. She does get some painkillers, though. Sasha says he’s never been in the hospital when he had children, and that it is unusual for Russian men to do so. When his last kid was born, he was working or something, he doesn’t really remember (boy, you just heard a collective “hell no” around the globe--as quoted by one of our SOs). But he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart because she can’t speak Russian. He texts her family some updates. Emily is glad he’s there by her side. Well, if sitting in the corner far away from her counts as “there by her side.” There’s a complication, and they end up doing a C-section. It’s incredibly graphic and I do not watch most of it. When they pull the baby out, he is limp and silent, which is horrifying. But then he’s fine and they’re happy. He has lots of hair and they keep calling him “Dave,” which is not a baby name. Sasha finally shows some emotion, and Emily is strangely unemotional. I don’t understand them separately or together.

Alyssa predicts: they'll get married because I think they deserve each other. I am glad both Emily and Baby Dave are okay. I have also never met someone who didn't know where they were as their child was being born.

Laura predicts: I think they’ll get married still, but he’ll leave for the next shiny objects - or, he’ll fly with the wind blowing, or whatever. Damn it, I forgot that awesome metaphor already.