#fun and economical and uses up scraps!

[vincentbriggs]

I just needed to let you know that your patchwork coat has been living rent free in my head since I saw it and I'm seriously considering starting my own.

Yesss! Good! Will it be the same cut as the 1830's one, or more like those 1860's honeycomb ones, if you've decided yet?

I love how you've lined up the stripes on those top two pieces!

Someone on instagram recently tagged me in a post about how they're starting a triangle one too, which is quite exciting! Patchwork can look so so different in different fabrics even if it's the same pattern (as evidenced by the extremely different looking extant honeycomb ones), and I look forward to seeing finished patchwork garments! In like. Approximately 1-5 years time maybe.

(Link to my dressing gown for anyone who missed it.)

[reallyhardy]

PLAYTIME!

weird kind of a post but i just wanted to be nerdy about and highlight my summer position - while i'm a digital picture-draw-er most of the time and a bag sewist some of the time, for one little chunk of the year i'm a play facilitator at the whitworth art gallery and every august (where possible) - i'm not interested in having my own children but i love working with them and taking part in something enriching and educational and awesome. sooooo

since 2018 there's been a creative play session on for families every summer holiday. the first one ever was 'the sandpit one' where the learning engagement team turned our learning studio into this bigass sandpit - can be seen in the below video from 0:17 - 0:25:

and it was the beginning of a real shift in the gallery from like... 'make and take' arts and crafts and into creative play sessions (i joined as a volunteer juuust after the sandpit one so we always talk about it but i wasn't actually there for it.)

the next year instead of sand we did water - i was there for this one but i only facilitated a couple days of it. great fun we used a lot of the same things (beakers, sieves, ladles) to play, just in water instead of sand.

i wasn't involved in 'PLAYTIME AT HOME' during covid lockdowns but the theme was mud and i believe the learning engagement team set out ideas for how to play with the mud using stuff most people have at home:

and then another during 2021, this one's good it features annabel one of the artists here who is so much fun, i think she's the coolest. here she and lucy (the learning engagement co-ordinator) explain how it went down:

when we made it 2022 that's when i really came ON BOARD in a big way, and i got to be a play facilitator every day that we were on in something called our scrap studio - we had heaps of stuff from a place called the 'scrap centre' in leeds that rescues packaging material from manufacturing companies - and we had it all to built with and put together and play around in and it was SO much fun. my job all of last august was just to hang around and watch fun happen and it was just so, so mega. mega fun.

(for whatever reason they don't have the 2022 summer video on youtube booo but i do have a twitter link here)

and then THIS summer we're trying to link it up to the 'economics the blockbuster' exhibition currently on inside the gallery so we've got play markets and play 'currency'

and we're having kids make concoctions with our mud kitchens and it's been very cute and fun seeing them 'selling' them to their parents. and to me. it's just been a blast. i hope to just keep doing it forever. also i've been taking pics for my outfit every time and they all include this grey apron 🤣 but it's important it signifies that i'm in charge

[dragonfly0808]

Could you give us some cute fun headcannons on the underrated friendships you just mentioned :)

Stella and Timmy- They fight over who’s Bloom’s real best friend. Stella is the first to encourage Timmy whenever he has doubts about Tecna’s feelings for him. They bond over their mom’s having impossible expectations. Stella never uses her glasses so in the rare occasions she does she uses Timmy’s cloth to clean them. She gets him a bright golden silk one and he carries it around for both of them to use.

Sky and Tecna- Sky tries to read up on certain subjects he knows Tecna likes. Their friendship is mostly a quiet one, they enjoy each other’s presence even if they don’t talk in the time they’re together. If Sky’s struggling with something like economics or laws in Eraklyon he goes to Tecna for advise/try to find loopholes.

Brandon and Tecna- Brandon is one of the only ones to realize just how in love Tecna is with Timmy and teases her a lot. They will bond a lot in s3 for a reason that I can’t say cause spoilers, essentially Tecna does something for Brandon that he feels like he’ll never be able to repay and becomes just a little bit protective with her after that. You’ll see what I mean. They bond over having ‘annoying’ younger siblings they adore.

Timmy and Aisha- they bond over academics and will occasionally help each other study. Aisha teases him mercesilly over Tecna. Timmy makes her a nightlight from scrap and she almost drowns everyone in her tears.

[calmdownandcook]

Elsie's Shortcake

My Grandmother was a rockstar. There were so many legends of her that included things like “that time she went hunting alligators”. She was known for giving out full-size candy bars on Halloween. She was famous for her fudge recipe, which she was never satisfied with. She made history with my siblings and me when we learned about the time she served strawberry shortcake for dinner and dinner was dessert. Fun fact: she buttered the shortcake. It slowly came out, as we grew up, that dinner was served second so there was more of a chance of leftovers and an opportunity to get another meal out of the main dish. It was essentially an economic move but all we knew was that dessert was first. Strawberry shortcake was served for dinner. A rockstar move. The recipe for strawberry shortcake is almost in the name. You have some strawberries and shortcake (also, always whipped cream). Its beauty is in its simplicity. It’s the simple recipes that invite the most confident alterations. Begin by switching up the fruit and playing with the shortcakes.

“Strawberry Shortcake” Shortcake Serves 6

2 cups all-purpose flour 3 Tablespoons granulated sugar 2 ½ teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 1 ½ cup heavy cream

Adjust the oven rack to the upper-middle position and heat the oven to 450°F. Lightly spray a baking sheet with nonstick cooking spray. Whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Stir in the heavy cream until a dough forms, about 30 seconds. It will be a little rough and a little shaggy (It might look a bit messy). Empty the dough onto a floured surface and knead it into a smooth ball. This should take about 30 seconds. Pat the dough into a 1.5-inch thick circle. Cut biscuits using a 2.5 -inch to 3-inch biscuit cutter and place them on the prepared baking sheet. Pat out dough scraps into a 1.5-inch thick circle and cut again. Bake for 13-15 minutes, or until the biscuits are golden brown. Transfer biscuits to a wire rack to cool. Cut biscuits in half and serve with whipped cream and berries. Homemade whipped cream is good but Redi whip is completely acceptable.

For Traditional Strawberry Shortcakes 1 pint of strawberries 2 tablespoons of sugar.

Hull the strawberries (cut out or cut off the green part of the strawberry) and then cut them into quarters. Place them in a bowl and sprinkle with sugar. Toss them well and let them sit for 30 minutes to 2 hours. The sugar will draw out some juice that will soak into the shortcakes.

Start to sing the Disney song “A Whole New World” and play with this dessert. Swap out any fruit. Blueberries, Raspberries, Blackberries, or Diced Peaches. Sprinkle them all with sugar the same way you would with strawberries. Make this a little grown-up by adding 3 tablespoons of any liquor on top of your fruit. You could go as simple as bourbon or dark rum but you could get fancy with your flavors and look at Amaretto or Lemoncello. Sometimes defrosted frozen fruit works well like cherries (my favorite). You may have to drain some of the juice away after defrosting before adding the sugar step so it’s not too wet. Jam and Curd! In a pinch, a lovely jam will work to replace the fruit or you can spread a nice layer of curd with your fruit. Play with your shortcakes by swapping out ½ cup of flour for ground almonds or walnuts and putting a teaspoon of Almond Extract into your dough. Swap out ½ cup of your white flour for whole wheat to give deeper flavor. 1 tablespoon of chopped fresh thyme added to the dough will give an air of sophistication. The will be a slight vegetal flavor that enhances the fruit. Give a little crunch everywhere. Sprinkle with any kind of nuts or even pumpkin seeds. Make it for breakfast and replace whipped cream with plain yogurt and some honey.

Shortcake as Buffet I onced catered a party where there was a Shortcake Buffet. Bowls of assorted diced fruit. Canisters of whipped cream. Platters of split shortcakes. This amazed the guests. It was something they couldn’t even comprehend and it was so easy. I highly recommend giving this a try.

Just because it’s called strawberry shortcake doesn’t mean that’s exactly what it has to “be”. Take this classic dessert, twist it, and make it into something you are famous for.

[taimio]

Master the Art of Growing Your Own Vegetables: A Complete Guide to the Amazing Benefits of Homegrown Produce

The joy of biting into a fresh, juicy tomato plucked straight from your garden is an unparalleled experience. Savouring the burst of flavors that a supermarket tomato can never match, you realize that the effort you put into your homegrown garden is truly worth it. But the benefits of homegrown vegetables extend beyond taste. They promise a healthier, more sustainable lifestyle, that is both economically beneficial and environmentally friendly.

The Incredible Benefits Of Homegrown Vegetables: A Comprehensive Guide

As someone who has been growing their own vegetables for years, I can attest to the numerous benefits of having a home garden. Not only do you get to enjoy the freshest produce possible, but you also save money and reduce your carbon footprint. Plus, there's nothing quite like the satisfaction of picking your own tomatoes and cucumbers straight from the vine.

Homegrown vegetables are not only tastier and more nutritious than store-bought ones, but they also allow you to control what goes into your food. You can avoid pesticides, GMOs, and other harmful chemicals that are often used in commercial agriculture.

One of the biggest advantages of growing your own vegetables is the sense of connection to the earth and the natural world. Tending to your garden can be a therapeutic and grounding experience, helping you to de-stress and unwind after a long day. It's a great way to reconnect with nature and appreciate the beauty of the growing process.

Another benefit of homegrown vegetables is the ability to experiment with different varieties and flavors that you may not find in the supermarket. You can grow heirloom tomatoes, purple carrots, or even exotic herbs that will add a unique touch to your culinary creations. It's a fun and creative way to expand your palate and impress your friends and family with delicious, home-cooked meals.

Having a home garden also promotes sustainability and self-sufficiency. By growing your own food, you reduce your reliance on industrial agriculture and transportation, which helps to minimize your environmental impact. You can also compost your kitchen scraps and garden waste to create nutrient-rich soil, closing the loop and creating a more sustainable food system.

Overall, the benefits of homegrown vegetables are endless. From better taste and nutrition to environmental sustainability and personal satisfaction, there are so many reasons to start your own garden today. So grab your shovel, roll up your sleeves, and get ready to experience the incredible joys of growing your own food.

If you're interested in learning more about the art of home gardening, check out my related article on 5 Essential Tips for Starting Your Own Vegetable Garden. Happy planting!

Learn more about gardening with Taim.io!

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.2)

Chapter II: Exigence

✿ Word Count: 2.6k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Mitsuya POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, manga spoilers, slight angst + smut

“You look so pretty while you’re sleeping.”

The tender voice-- so gentle, so sweet-- it began to echo within his mind. He, at first, had thought he was dreaming but that voice-- oh that beautiful voice, it tempted him so dearly. He began to chase the voice, following it through the mess of his mind, his thoughts, firmly clasping it and--

It isn’t you.

He opened his eyes, closing them instantly again as the light burned them intensely. He waited a few seconds before trying again, his eyes beginning to readjust as the light became calmer and more bearable. He was face to face with a woman-- he couldn’t seem to recognize her. Her voice, her pleasant voice… it had sounded too similar to your own, he could’ve sworn it was you, laying beside him naked with your head drooping over him as you admired him sleeping. Looking closer upon the woman in front of him, he recognized her as one of his classmates and member of his Home-Economics club. It began to come back to him slowly, how exactly he ended up here. It was just the usual after all, sleeping with women to satisfy his needs-- or rather, his suppressed desires.

He happened to only share one class with you-- of course, it was Designer-101. In this class, the professor would instruct and teach you about the most trendy styles going on, or some older styles that were coming back in fashion and how to incorporate them into your works. It was a very intricate class but you both were determined to accomplish your dreams, even if it meant passing this dread of a course. However, as hard as it might be, Mitsuya fully enjoyed every aspect of the course because it was fun to clash styles, colors, and fabrics just to accomplish the final design. He had noticed you took great pride in this class, too, and even incorporated these color schemes into your lighting and filter ideas. While he’d never admit it to your face, his heart fluttered seeing your eyes gloss over your masterpiece and grin, taking a few moments to admire your work. He rarely bothered you in this case for this exact reason, although he couldn’t help the occasional tease, just to see your squirm.

┃ “Y/N, dear, are you alright? You seem to be struggling a little bit with this embroidery pattern.”

┃ “Sorry, Professor! I’ll get the hang of it quickly, I’m sure, just a small obstacle!” You reassured him, giving him the warm smile Mitsuya mourned losing and wished he could see from the receiving end just once more.

Unbeknownst to you, Mitsuya had eavesdropped on the entire conversation table next to yours. You had attempted to choose a seat that was far away from him, but he picked up on that quite quickly and decided, just out of spite, to sit the table directly horizontal from you. Desperately yearning for a small scrap of your attention, he quickly stepped besides the Professor but composed himself before saying

┃ “Professor, if I may… since Y/N seems to be having a rough time, I can help them out. If that’s with your permission, of course, sir.” He said with that bastardly shit-eating smile that made your stomach turn inside out while wrapping his arm around your shoulder. It was the smile that captivated teachers with it’s innocence and purity-- if only they knew that it was the mischievous smile that you were accustomed to seeing after he was done with you.

Before you could offer a rebuttal, your professor smiled genuinely and nodded, thanking Mitsuya before walking off and mumbling how he was such a good kid. As soon as your Professor had made it to the other side of the enormous classroom, Mitsuya turned to you, shit-eating grin beginning to form into a devious smirk as he finally had some alone-time with you.

┃ “Hey baby~” His voice came out smoothly like butter, words falling out of his mouth as if this was the entire script planned out in his head. Little did you know, it was.

┃ “You’re only helping me figure this embroidery pattern out, that’s it, no rebuttals, nothing more. Got it?” You spat harshly, making that smirk on his face quickly turn into a scowl as you once more rejected any flirtatious opportunity he threw at you.

He scoffed, not acknowledging your question with a nod or even the common courtesy of a reply, but he moved off to the other side of the table to grab the needle that was engraved in the cloth you were attempting to sew on. Even though he moved on pretty quickly, your words had stung him deeply, as it made it clear to him any romantic opportunity he had with you had been reduced and diminished into nothing. He placed it in front of you, motioning his hand for you to continue what you were doing before folding them over his chest. You growled, assuming that this was him punishing you for not reciprocating his flirts. However, it ended up being the exact opposite, as he intently observed your stitch, attempting to pinpoint where you were going wrong. Your accuracy was fine, your hands enwrapped the needle firmly but gently as you intertwined it within the cloth and there, he had picked up on what you were doing wrong. He carefully set himself behind you, having his chest press against your back as he wrapped his arms around you to hold your hands. The surprise caught your breath and made it hitch, feeling his ice-cold hands gently coddle your warm ones, balancing out the heat. Catching on to your growing flustered state, he smirked but his voice disguised it perfectly as he explained your mistake to you while beginning to guide your fingers through the cloth.

┃ “Your accuracy, your grip, all of that is perfect, sweetheart. Your mistake is you pull the needle out too early before allowing it to catch proper depth within the cloth. That’s why the final design comes out messy.” He explains, his words sounding almost like a textbook, professional, informative, while also comforting your tensed shoulders with his velvety voice and pet names as he continued to guide your hands until you reached the end of the segment.

Subconsciously, you had begun to relax in his grip, leaning your back into his chest as you finally perfected the technique with little help from his assistance as he withdrew his hands and allowed you to continue without him, setting his hands on the table and caging you in. He took the moments of silence to indulge in the warmth of your back pressing against him, a moment that came so rarely yet drove him insane every time your skin happened to graze him. You, on the other hand-- your mind was far from relaxed. You questioned why he was being so tender with you when he was so rough with you earlier, unprovokingly shoving you to the ground and humiliating you in front of your classmates. You opened your mouth to question him, but reluctantly closed it once you realized you wouldn’t get a real answer if you questioned him. After all, after being so kind the next day he’d return to normal as if nothing happened-- as if there was no spark between you both. He awoke you from your thoughts by placing his fingers below your chin, softly lifting your face to meet his own.

┃ “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe I will, soon~” he giggled to himself, grinning down at you, this time a genuine smile that expressed pure delight.

┃ “What happened to us, Mitsuya?” You bluntly asked, causing him to tense, his smile forming into a poker face as he contemplated your question carefully.

Months-- months ago, you were standing there after school after one of their club meetings next to the campus entrance, waiting for someone as she told him. He offered to wait with you but you told him it was okay-- no, you shooed him off, giving him some excuse as to why he couldn’t wait with her. A little arrow pierced through his lovestruck heart but he nodded and walked away, however he did not leave. He remained across the street hiding in the corner, far enough for her to not notice he still remained on campus grounds but close enough to still see her patiently waiting. He insisted his duty as her club president was to watch over her and ensure her safety, of course, there was nothing special about that. Any club member would do a little spying just to ensure their kohai’s well-being. She was pushing him away, that wasn’t normal, so surely something must be wrong. That was when that little shit Takemichi came along and his mouth fell open, in shock she knew a loser like him. Hanagaki Takemichi did not attend their university, however, he was a part of Toman, which was still growing in power. Takemichi had only joined recently but he had quickly won the hearts of Mikey and Draken, therefore anyone would think Mitsuya liked him too. How far from the truth that statement was-- Mitsuya despised Takemichi. His dumbass couldn’t fight for shit-- no brains nor brawn. During the fight with Valhalla, he was tasked with saving Baji and couldn’t even do so. Thankfully, Baji had survived his stab wounds, although the doctors informed Mitsuya and the others he was very lucky to have lived. On lesser issues, Takemichi also shows no signs of respect-- going as far as to punch the recently appointed 3rd division captain, Kisaki Tetta. What the fuck were you doing with someone like him? He watched your interaction so diligently, taking every note of laughter, smiles, and nods you gave Takemichi until Mitsuya began to feel himself clutching his knuckles so tight they looked like they were about to pop right out of his fists. Was everything you had gone through for the past few months nothing more than a game? Had he misunderstood your feelings-- was there really no spark between you both? The thought of this made his stomach drop, hitting him like a truck. No no, that was clearly the case, there was no other reason why you'd giggle so much around Takemichi, smile at him so fondly, or gaze at him as your eyes began to sparkle whenever he got enthusiastic about whatever the fuck it was he was talking about.

The next thing he knew, he was yelling at you after club hours the next day, shouting about how much of a dumbass you were, and how you failed to pick up on social cues around you. Many other insults came flying out his mouth, hitting you like bricks, piling up and causing the tears to build up. Truthfully, the entire situation was an entire blur to him. All he could remember was the close proximity of your faces as he yanked your chain when you attempted to talk back, which is when he noticed the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to fall if provoked any further. You were released from his grip instantly and in a calm voice, he allowed you to exit, a loud sniffle accidentally slipping out of your lips as you ran out of the room before he could see you cry. He stared at you blankly, reminiscing before releasing your chin from his gentle fingers and backing away from you as he replied:

┃ “I could ask you the same.”

You remained looking at him for a few moments, before deciding it wasn’t worth engaging with him. He watched as you carried your project back to your designated locker, locked it, and put on your backpack before asking the professor if you could leave since it was time to go. Glancing at his watch, he announced class was dismissed and you quickly rushed out before bumping into Hakkai directly outside the door to the left, who was waiting for Mitsuya. You apologized to him instantly, to which he smiled and patted your head. A conversation ensued between the two of you and as Mitusya walked out, he saw the two of you engaging and laughing. It almost identically mimicked the way you acted with Takemichi, innocently smiling and staring at him so adoringly. He envied the comfortability you both shared in your relationship, the air bubbling with chemistry. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s staring until one of his club members taps his shoulder, greeting him and complimenting his outfit.

┃ “Hey, Kashi! Love your jacket, is it new?”

Now he’s here, back at his place with one of his kohai’s as he pushes her into the wall, roughly kissing her and quickly unbuttoning her shirt as she unzips his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and soon the rest of their clothes follow. Moans and groans fill the room, although most of them are hers. He’s painfully silent throughout their session, too frustrated to really focus on her-- however, she’s too accentuated on her own pleasure to notice he’s simply using her as a stress reliever and nothing more. There’s nothing wrong with her, she’s beautiful, she’s skilled, talented, kind, but she’s simply not you. She looks nothing like you but her voice, oh god her voice, it sounded almost just like yours. Her moans made his skin heat up, imagining it was your warm silky hands embracing him, you begging him to love you more. It was enough to satisfy him for now, just enough to pretend the woman he was pleasuring so much was you. She moaned his name and he bit his lip, using all of his might to fight the instinct to moan out your name instead. His slams grew harsher and tougher, releasing all of that pent up desire and anger in single strokes. The rest of the night was a blur, as soon as he pulled off the condom he went to sleep, bored of her.

┃ “Kashi~”

He sighed, remembering his idiocy of yesterday evening and how he’d now have to gently reject this girl without letting her know he simply used her as a distraction. He spent a good minute contemplating her name before she spoke to him again.

┃ “Kashi? You alright?”

┃ “Mmh, sorry... just tired.”

┃ “Ah, it’s fine sleepyhead~ you know, yesterday was really fun, we should do it more often. How about a date tonight?.”

┃ “Awh...dear… that’s awfully sweet of you… I’m just not looking for something serious right now. I’m just into one-night stands at the moment.”

┃ “Oh… oh! Maybe we could be sex partners then?”

┃ “Ah, Sure… sure.” He privileged her with a smile of pure pity, relaxing his head back on the pillow, hoping to drift back to sleep so once he awoke she’d be long gone. The plan was if she ever reached out for sex again, he’d just come up with some excuse on how he was busy finishing a project. His mind drifted off, thinking about seeing you in class, only to remember it was a Saturday and that meant he didn’t have class with you-- in fact, Saturday’s were a relatively free day for him. He booked himself with classes every other day and decided he should have at least one day off. You know what that meant? He’d have to fucking dread it with this chick until she took the hint and left. The faster he fell asleep, the sooner this day would be over. He didn’t bother to listen to the woman as she continued speaking to him, closing his eyes as he censored her out and slowly drifted back to sleep.

tags: @haiq-trash, @blackmysticalsimp @the2ndl @bren-heron

a/n: f in the chat for anyone who thought bully! Mitsuya had healthy coping mechanisms, also you should check out @darenimo if you already haven't because she helped me proofread this chapter and gave me all of her commentary while reading it and I sobbed for a good 10 minutes straight. I love she.

[jerseydeanne]

BREAKING: US to provide another $450 million in military aid for Ukraine, including medium-range rocket systems - AP —————————————————- The Brendan gov. is providing financial and military aid to Ukraine on a weekly basis. I wish the EU luck. They will need it because only God knows in which hands that military aid will eventually turn out.

This is taxpayer money, and they'll keep printing and borrowing from the Chinese.

What this does is causes inflation.

Congress is writing bad checks. Work debt slaves, we have a WAR to fund!

Europe’s Unilateral Disarmament

Imagine you’re defending your home against a zombie invasion and have several Zombie-Removing Robots in your possession. The robots are noisy and leak poison all over the place, and sometimes they knock over the TV. At the same time, they are very effective at removing zombies. Do you:

Use the robots until the zombie invasion is over and clean up the mess later, or

Dismantle the robots and try to fight off the zombies with just like a fire poker and yelling.

If you chose 2, then you might be Europe. It is ostensibly trying to defend itself against a creeping invasion by Vladimir Putin. But in a war being fought largely with weaponized economic pain, Europe is scrapping some of its biggest assets.

Germany is shutting down nuclear plants just as energy prices are pushing it and the continent into recession. At the same time, Lionel Laurent notes, the Dutch government is shutting down the massive Groningen gas field, with an estimated $450 billion in reserves. It’s like a Zombie-Removing Robot in that it contributes to poisoning the environment and also maybe causes earthquakes? But this is hardly the moment to look a gift weapon in the mouth, Lionel points out. $450 billion worth of gas would go a long way toward easing the pain of forgoing Russian gas.

Europeans will need all the help they can get to endure more rounds of sanctions, which Clara Ferreira Marques writes will be necessary for Ukraine to fend off Putin and make Europe safe for democracy. Sanctions are already having an impact, but without more turns of the screw, Putin will eventually overcome them — at least enough to drag the war on even longer. As Hal Brands notes, that will only compound the misery the war has already caused and strain the bonds of the West. Please, for now, let’s use the robots. 

That was fun. Lots of receipts! But I'm sure you are thinking, what about us? Sorry fresh out.

Love, JD 😜💋

[bedlamsbard]

What do you think of the MCU worldbuilding regarding Asgard and the other realms?

as a fic writer who has been doing all that Asgard and Nine Realms worldbuilding from scratch, hoo boy, what's in canon across three movies makes not...ZERO sense, but has enough open space to go in any number of ways, and is SPECTACULARLY inconsistent

which, like, is great for me as a fic writer because it means I get to make it all up from the scraps of information we got onscreen and if I do it, then it will actually make sense, but it's a wee bit frustrating. but honestly I'd rather I get this freedom to do it from near-scratch and build off the bits and pieces from canon. (the great thing about Asgard and the Nine Realms being presented SO inconsistently is that I can go hog-wild with my worldbuilding brain.)

some pretty incoherent rambling below the break

I don't want to do like...a whole lot of meta worldbuilding because I'd rather keep it to be used in fic in drips and drabs rather than blurted out (and because not all of it is set right now). what I want to do is balance Asgard as something similar to a real world(-ish) imperial power but also in a very real way as, you know, they are literally gods and I'm not going to class them as exactly operating with the same socio-cultural standards or perceptions as I would a real world imperial power. when we see Asgard in the main timeline, they're late stage -- they've pulled back from open conquest or direct rule, but are still actively engaged in some amount of economic control as well as military protection. In my fic to date I always specifically label the actual formal status of the Nine Realms as the "Protectorate of the Nine Realms" (which does seem to be supported by canon -- I mean, I don't think canon uses the term "protectorate," but the way Asgard apparently functions in its defense of Vanaheim and Nidavellir, and the criticism of Asgard failing at its duty when Thor goes on his Jotunheim rampage in the first movie, the aftermath of the destruction of the Bifrost, the times we see Asgard interfering on Earth (Captain Marvel drives me crazy on this point), etc.).

for Morning, I wanted to push Hela's exile and thus her context as far back as I felt I comfortably could so that she was still operating at a point when Asgard's empire was not quite set in stone yet, at a point where Asgard was still sort of messy and really more into the conqueror stage. I think by the present day, pre-Ragnarok, there's a general galactic perception of Asgard being a has-been, but in Hela's time, the rest of the galaxy was like "wow! they're crazy. stay away from THEM." (so, like, in Roman terms, Bor's war with the Dark Elves was the rough equivalent of the Punic Wars where we were starting to really get into massive expansion ~by accident (it's never an accident, bro); Hela was running around during the conquest period of the High Empire; Odin and the boys' present day of the films is like...fifth century messiness of the late Roman Empire. (this is the period I actually specialize in so hoo boy do I not want to make that exact comparison, I know too much and it's really not equivalent.))

*flips hand* basically, canon gave me just enough rope to hang myself with, and as a scholar who specializes in Roman imperialism it's fun to play with.

[blue-eyed-giant]

my opinions on the in the hights movie (part 2)

patrick page has become "the capitalism guy" for me lmao he has a character type that's for sure but he is a linen salesman why does he want rosario's?

again i don't exactly remember where this belongs but what is the purpose of sonny's father? he shows up for one scene, says a few words and doesn't add much to the story. why did they add him?

so kevin didn't actually fire benny and since camilla isn't around and kevin is a drastically changed character neither him selling the business nor nina dropping out are huge deals. so there isn't any actual family drama. and benny and nina are good. what. the. fuck.

anthony kinda lost the awkardness usnavi has during the club scene but i'll allow it it's just one song.

benny didn't get fired but still talks about getting fired. what the hell at least cut it out.

no drama between benny and nina. the fight also doesn't happen. between this and blackout the whole thing is a badly cropped and sticked mess and nothing makes any sense.

the dancing tho. it is the only thing that makes the scene tolerable.

blackout is a mess. there are so many things wrong i can't even get my thoughts straight. kevin doesn't search for nina. benny and nina don't have a fight and make up, since there is no conflict in their relationship there won't be a resolve do the relationship stays very one-dimensional. the whole "you abandoned me" thing with vanessa and usnavi seems so shallow because usnavi didn't run to abuela as he should have and was with vanessa the whole time. the shop isn't at danger, which is a bad strike for graffiti pete's character and on top of that we don't see how dangerous this blackout is, the whole tension is scrapped away.

"hundreds of stories" is gone. it was a very nice and comedic song i think they should have kept it somewhere as a comedic scene. it also explains usnavi's name way funnier than a simple dialogue.

everyone coming together at abuela's home was very heartwarming 🥺 even though i didn't like how they made the situation more fun than scary in blackout i enjoyed this scene very much ngl

paciencia y fe was the only song i couldn't forgive the writers if anything happened to it since it is such an emotional song for me. i can gladly say that i was not dissappointed this version of paciencia y fe is the only song i like better in the movie. the visuals were amazing and olga merediz delivered the song as wonderfully as always. the theme of abuela travelling all her life and finally reaching a destination where the options are home and death was poetic cinema as i understand the term lmao. and her seeing everyone being happy without her help and understanding her goal and job on this world is accomplished was incredibly emotional. i have to confess, i cried for the first time in a long while when watching a movie.

as a note, i have a feeling if they didn't get olga merediz for abuela she wouldn't be such a powerful character in the movie. imo she is the best abuela there is and captures the essence of the character better than anyone else. not being on a stage alone for her solo but with a huge ensemble and lots of settings and props could have affected any other actress's performance but they only strengthened olga merediz's.

with "sunrise" out of picture people teasing benny about him and nina is pointless because they've been together for a long while??? it's nothing new??

so the actually important songs get cut but "when the sun goes down", a song that could be easily replaced with a sinple dialogue stays for the cool effects? smh

champagne is in past tense because of the time skip lmao dunno why i found this so funny

i like how in the movie we see vanessa and usnavi's stories get wrapped up but the uncertainty in the stageplay was also a different kind of vibe. makes me sad that usnavi couldn't realize his dreams so he imagines his barrio as his bar tho that kinda broke my heart but seeing him be happy with vanessa and their daughter immediately fixed it :) i wish we had seen what happened of sonny too

some end of movie thoughts:

i feel like they focused too much on the younger generation of the barrio and not enough on the older generation. of course the today is important but the elders (abuela, kevin, and camilla) told us the story of the past which is equally important. they carried the cultures of their homes and told us about where this barrio came from but the young ones couldn't because they spent all their lived in the us. they tried to load all that onto abuela but it just didn't feel right because her experience wasn't the same as the rosarios'.

the other thing is wardrobe choices. in the stageplay the clothes showed us the socioeconomic situation of the barriovery clearly but in the movie all the women are dressed like models which doesn't make sense when they start talking about the economic struggles they face. i especially noticed this with vanessa because she seems to wear the most pricey clothes while supposedly being the poorest.

and lastly: how the fuck did this movie end up just as long as the stageplay when all these stuff are cut out????

[otterskin]

Thoughts on the Loki (2021) Finale

On the final villain:

On....THAT...moment...

Written thoughts with spoilers below line

So...this is for the final episode, not the series as a whole, and is being written in the AM after finishing the episode. It'll be a bit of a mess.

First off, overall impressions - this felt like mostly set-up for next season. We spent a lot of time with He Who Remains, and it was pretty messily written. A lot of repetition and waffling that didn't really move the plot forward, a consistent problem in the series (and often the sign of a writer-driven product instead of a visual director-led one).

That said, even though we spent way too long on the endless monologuing, I adored Jonathan Majors in the part. He was everything you could want from a colourful comic book baddie - entertaining, stylish, charismatic, energetic, even a little nuanced, and most importantly, INCREDIBLY fun to watch. This episode belonged mostly to him, and that wasn't a bad thing, as I found myself more entertained with him hopping up and down on furniture than I have for many other stretches of the show, though I do wish they'd been more economical and compacted the writing so we had more time to focus on other aspects of the plot. As it was, it felt overly drawn out and there was only so much hopping Majors could do to keep us all entertained.

Another series-wide problem came to a head here - but there's a possibility that things might turn around in a second season (or get even worse). My complaint with the last episode is that Loki has become a passive character, without motivation of his own or the same personal vendetta that Sylvie has. It is Sylvie who drives the plot forward, causes problems, and who has the deepest lore connection to events. Loki felt pasted on top, haplessly, and while in the first two episodes his struggles to get ahold of the situation were entertaining and kept the character moving, after Sylvie's introduction he became far more docile and pretty much just acts for the benefit of Sylvie's quest, rather than for any personal reason. He just wants to make her happy, sees value in her rather than himself, and pretty much follows behind her like a puppy, eager to do as she wishes. This is very obvious at the start of the episode, where Sylvie literally leads the way and reminds Loki that this is her story, not his, and Loki allows her to make the big decisions. Heck, when confronted by Miss Minutes, Loki is thrown some shallow lines about giving him a throne and the Infinity Gauntlet or whatever, whereas Sylvie gets the promise of an emotional payoff, of happy memories and companionship.

In the conversation with He Who Remains, Sylvie is the one who feels like she's at her ultimate crisis point, and Loki is just there for the ride. However, this seems to have had a point. Loki, lacking the same emotional engagement Sylvie does in the death of HWR, is able to think of others and potential fall-out. He fights her as pacifistically as possible, and even straight up says that all he wants is to make her happy - and that's not enough. He's not enough. After a nauseating kiss (sorry, guys, but this still feels gross to me in an innate way I can't overcome), she uses the distraction to boot him out of the climax and take her revenge.

Horrible kiss aside, this is kind of interesting. Sylvie is finally acting a little like a Loki - causing chaos because of her own hurt and pain, betraying people who want to help her, acting out her emotions with violence even though that won't give her what she really wants. If this episode was mostly about HWR, the other main character was Sylvie, and she finally got some meaty stuff here. I applaud that, and am very glad of it.

Unfortunately...that did leave nothing but table scraps for our technically the main character.

In this final episode, Loki is outshone by everyone else. Sylvie gets the big emotional, self-sabotaging moment (one I think works well and goes a long way to making me warm to the character), HMR gets to be the charismatic and entertaining villain who dances and prances, and Mobius and Renslayer are off in what feels like a separate story.

But is that a bad thing?

I suppose it is if this continues into Season 2, in which case I rather they retitle the show to SYLVIE and have done with it. This was more her series than Loki's in terms of active character writing. However, I think it could be part of a larger plan.

Loki did make a mistake here, same as Sylvie. And that mistake was thus - believing in her more than he believed in himself, and putting his self-worth into how she valued him. (Hence his hurt when she said she didn't trust him - intentional or not, it reminded me vaguely of the Vault scene from Thor 1, where Loki is going though his big emotional scene and Odin is frustrated that Loki doesn't believe him when he says he loves him, except now it's Loki frustrated that he is not believed.)

If the writers intended for that to be the error, then we could have an interesting Season 2 arc for Loki, where he has to find value in himself and not through romance or a different Loki. He learned to open up and be honest in this season, similar to Thor: Ragnarok, but that vulnerability and honesty got him betrayed. What does he learn now? Forgiveness, one assumes, but also, one can hope, to move away from placing all his eggs into one Sylvie basket. Perhaps other characters can be introduced who he can have all sorts of relationships with that are far more healthy.

On top of that, he's been given a quest - to stop the ultimate Conqueror - but he needs a more emotional tie into that villain and story, and it can't just be because 'Sylvie, Sylvie, Sylvie!!!' And right now, I don't really see one, other than that Kang/HWR is the 'King of Space' he mentioned wanting to be. I assume Season 2 will have an all-out war between Lokis and Kangs, variants all, and that could be fun, but I sincerely hope Loki and Kang get some alone time without Sylvie to work out a more interesting reason for them two to be at odds. Right now, it's just philosophically, whereas Sylvie has the more interesting story.

I'm not sure making Loki a side character in his own show was the best strategy overall, though. He honestly felt more driven, interesting, and vital in the THOR films, even in Thor 2 where his addition was an afterthought. In those films, his motivation might involve Thor, Odin, Frigga, etc., but they didn't totally dominate his actions, and he didn't follow them around waiting for what they were going to do. He very much had his own agenda and desires.

This romance is very much at the root of the entire series' issues, and it is an albatross around Loki's neck (and around Sylvie's as well, she really didn't need it and it makes her less interesting and another example of a female lead in a male-named show always being the love interest). In the comics, Loki and the Enchantress have an on-again, off-again thing I'm not a huge fan of, but it is recognized as a toxic relationship that's bad for Loki and holds him back from being his best self. If the series aims to do a similar thing, with Loki breaking free of his reliance and devotion to the Enchantress to be a good person on his own instead of through Sylvie, it would help make him a more active character.

Sylvie herself could go in a few directions. I'd like to see her go down a dark path for awhile and get to have some villainous fun. The righteous hero on a revenge quest schtick in the show so far made her the dullest Loki of the lot (when really, a kid who grew up in apocalypses should be quite eccentric), and whenever an actor having fun entered the screen it was painfully obvious just how little charisma she was allowed to have. While Majors outshone her in that department again, same as Grant and Wilson in the previous episode, she did feel much more exciting and dramatic in her choices, and I think her despair after killing HWR and betraying Loki, instead of finding a clever solution like Loki was urging, could lead to an interesting arc. She's still very Thor-like in a lot of ways and I'd like to see her tap into her intelligence.

However, if she does go down a dark path and our Loki's arc is only to pull her out of it, that once again makes her the main character and our Loki a side character, caught in the wake of her great saga. And I have a feeling that's where they're going with this...

Sigh.

And now I think I've talked myself into hating it.

Hey, Writers I'm sure aren't reading this! For the Love of Odin's Beard - let Loki be the main character in the next season. Find him something that motivates him that has NOTHING to do with Sylvie.

Thor never actually wasted all the much time trailing after Loki in the Thor series or Avengers, he had a lot of other things going on. He had his own personal reasons for caring about the plot and what happened to him. He had his own journey and wasn't an afterthought in Loki's story. He had characters outside of Loki who mattered to him, too.

Let Loki have the same.

[thejilyship]

It’s just Coffee

Lily is partnered with James for an Econ project that he seems unwilling to make time for. When he shows up forty minutes late to her flat, she finds out why.

single parent, college, modern, muggle au

ff.net | ao3

Lily Evans to James Potter: You’re late. Again.

James: I know, and I’m very sorry, but it was unavoidable

Lily: Of course it was.  

James: I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Lily: If you’re any later than that, I’m going to lock the door and not let you in.

James: Completely fair! See you in a few

James: Also, I have to bring someone with me, hope that’s alright!

Lily: I s2g, it better not be Sirius

James: it’s not Sirius, he’s on a date and he’s a git and I’m never speaking to him again

James: I’ll be there soon

 Lily put her phone down and frowned. She tapped her pencil against her textbook and looked up at the clock. He’d said that he’d meet with her at six so they could finish this stupid group project that they’d been partnered by their professor to do.

James was not the person that Lily would have chosen to be her partner. Not only was it now six thirty, and he hadn’t even texted to let her know that he was running late, but he’d been late to their last meet up as well. He hadn’t even wanted to meet up the last time. He’d tried to convince her that they could just finish their project after class, even though Lily had another class to get to just thirty minutes after.

But it was fine.

She took a deep breath through her nose and then slowly let it out. This was the last time that they’d have to meet up, and then she could go back to hating this class solely for the damned TA’s unjust disdain for her and the boring source material.

She looked over what she and James had scrapped together so far, and what she’d added for the both of them since she’d been sitting here for almost forty minutes now. It was a short presentation about economic principals. The work was tedious and monotonous, she’d almost offered to just put the entire thing together on her own multiple times just because he was always acting like he had something better to do and she was annoyed with him.

But she couldn’t in good conscious, let someone else take a grade that she worked for, whether it had been difficult to get or not.

She had almost been looking forward to working with James when they were first partnered. He was cute, and he was funny, and he usually sat next to her and there had definitely been some flirting. She knew very little about him. He was a football player, he had amazing hair that he was constantly playing with, his eyes were dangerously mesmerizing, and he was late for class almost every day.

It was six thirty-nine when there was a knock on her door.

Lily felt both annoyed that he’d taken nine of the ten minutes, and a bit guilty for giving him such a hard time. People were busy, sometimes time got away from them.

But as she walked to the door, she got annoyed again because showing up forty minutes late said a lot about how little you thought of the person whose time you were wasting. Her time was valuable too, even if she wasn’t a student athlete. She could have been working on her orgo homework instead of messing around with the font sizes and wording on their presentation while she waited for him.

“I’m sorry,” James said as he walked into her flat. He always walked in like a storm. His hair was wild, his limbs moving with direction and purpose, his eyes flashing. Lily stepped back, giving him a wide girth.

Unlike every other time she’d seen him storm into a room, today, he was carrying a car seat.

“Sirius was supposed to watch Harry for me so that we could finish this project, and then he ‘forgot’ to tell me that he had a date until after I was already supposed to be here. I tried texting Remus, but he’s got his calc lab tonight and Peter’s working in the library- also I didn’t want to be this late, so I didn’t really reach out further than that.” He was talking a mile a minute, but Lily could hardly register what he was saying, she just stared at the round little face in the carrier.

“You have a baby?” She asked, and then she was crouching down so that she could get a better look. “Harry,” She reached out and took his little foot between her thumb and pointer.

“Yeah, Harry. He’s eight months old.” Lily looked up to find James’ hand in his hair. “He’ll probably fall asleep in a bit, so finishing our project shouldn’t be a problem.” He looked at the watch on his wrist and then pushed his glasses up to rub at one of his eyes.

“James, you could have just told me that tonight didn’t work for you.” Lily said, feeling guilty again. He should have communicated better, but he looked a frazzled. “If you need to take him home and put him to bed- I don’t want this stupid project to ruin his night.”

“What?” James’ glasses fell back onto his nose as he looked down at her. “No, he sleeps like a rock, so he’ll be fine. I just left his bag down in the car.” He made to lift the car seat again and Lily shook her head.

“You can leave him with me if you want. I live on the third floor of a building with no elevator. Unless you’re trying to impress someone, it’s insane to carry this thing up and down again.” She gestured to the car seat and he looked as though he was debating something. Lily almost started listing out the reasons she was qualified to be left alone with an infant.

“You’re sure?” James asked before she could tell him that she was CPR certified.  

“Of course.” Lily was sitting cross legged in front of the car seat now, smiling at Harry who was smiling right back at her. She’d already forgotten about econ.

James watched her and Harry for a moment longer and then rushed out the door.

“Well isn’t this a surprise,” Lily said, speaking with Harry as though he was an old acquaintance and not an eight-month-old. “I don’t know why your daddy thought I wouldn’t understand that he needed a bit of leeway here. I thought he just wanted to hang out with his friends or play with his hair, but he was probably with you, yes? And who wouldn’t want to be with you,” She wiggled his foot again and Harry laughed. Lily fought the urge to take the infant out of its car seat and hug him to her chest. “Why are you so cute?” She shook her head and Harry laughed again.

It didn’t take James long to run back up with Harry’s diaper bag.

“I just need a third arm and then this will be easier.” He said, closing her door behind him and setting Harry’s bag next to his own.

“I’m sure your coach doesn’t mind all the extra stairs you just had to scale.” Lily grinned, though she was still looking at Harry. “He’s like a perfect clone. Except for the eyes.”

James crouched down next to her. “You been paying attention to my eyes, Evans?”

“No, I’ve simply noticed that they’re not this brilliant shade of green.” Lily said coolly, turning to give him a look. “Green eyes aren’t nearly as common as people think. So for those of us with green eyes…”

“Sure.” James nodded, “Pretend like you don’t know what color my eyes are.” They were still looking at each other and Harry laughed again, kicking his feet. “Alright, alright, I’ll get you out of there.”

Soon, the three of them were at the table, and James was paying much more attention to their econ assignment than Lily was. But Harry was eating cheerios and kept getting them stuck to his chin and Lily couldn’t be blamed for being distracted.

“Do you want to hold him?” James asked after Lily had leaned across the table to help Harry find the cheerio that was stuck to the tip of his nose.

Lily bit the tip of her tongue and nodded. “I wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.”

James laughed and held Harry out to her across the table. Lily held out her arms, making sure that Harry wanted to come and sit with her before she took him. He reached out to her happily, grabbing a fist full of her hair almost immediately.

“I like her hair too, Harry,” James laughed, picking up a pencil now that his hands were free, and adding a few things to their notes.

“Are you using your child to flirt with me?”

“No,” James looked back up at her, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “I was flirting with you when he wasn’t here. I’m just continuing to flirt with you now that he’s here. I’m being consistent.”

“Ah,” Lily nodded as she gently pulled her hair from Harry’s grip. She tossed it up into a quick plait to prevent it from happening again and then looked over at James again. “I’m sorry I’m not helping.”

James laughed and shook his head. “I noticed that you added to it before I got here. And I brought the distraction. No need to apologize.”

“You did bring the distraction,” Lily agreed, letting Harry stand up on her lap. He started bouncing happily and Lily started singing nonsense that made him laugh some more. “I’m either hilarious, or you’re delirious.” Harry was still laughing, and Lily shook her head. “Delirious then.”

“He normally goes to bed about now.” James nodded, looking at his watch again. It was seven thirty and Lily didn’t feel like they’d been in her flat for almost an hour. She pressed her lips together for a moment and then nodded.

“There’s no reason we can’t finish up the rest of this online. We’ve already got the outline for the rest of the project done.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t mind finishing it up that way?” James asked, and it was obvious that he would prefer to take his baby home before he fell asleep, so Lily nodded, even though she was not sure that she wanted to let Harry, or his father, go just yet.

“I don’t mind at all. I told you that I didn’t want to mess with his sleep.”

“Thanks,” His shoulders relaxed, and he started packing up his bag.

“And James,” Lily nabbed his attention. “Next time you can just tell me that you need to reschedule.”

“Oh? Are you going to pretend that you haven’t been very annoyed with my being late all the time?”

“No,” Lily shook her head. “Though I can be more understanding now that I know you’re not blowing off econ just for fun.”

“Right,” James nodded. “It’s not… I mean, it can be a little awkward telling people that I have a kid. And I don’t want to use him as an excuse- unless my mates are trying to get me to go out and get shitfaced on a Tuesday.” He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “And then sometimes I go too long without telling someone that Harry is around, and then it’s awkward when they find out. I’m still trying to work out how to handle it all.”

“Completely unacceptable.” Lily deadpanned. James laughed.

“Right, well, thank you for being understanding and for not getting upset that I had to bring him with me.”

Lily narrowed her brow. “Who would get upset?”

James shrugged. “People have all kinds of weird reactions when you ask them to be accommodating.” James stood up and so Lily did too, sliding Harry deftly to her hip as they made their way toward the door.

“I suppose that’s true. But if you want to bring him to any future projects we have to do, I’ll do my best not to be annoyed.”

James snorted, “Right. You look very annoyed right now.” He put Harry’s snacks back into his pack and then held out his hands to take Harry back.

Lily gave Harry a hug first and then handed him back. “I’m only a little annoyed.”

“So, you like kids, do you?”

“What gave me away?”

James laughed and Lily grinned.

And then Harry was all strapped in and James was carrying everything he had brought with him. “Alright, well then, I’ll text you when he’s down so we can finish up our project. See in class?”

Lily nodded. “Sounds good,” She waved at Harry. “Hope to see you around too, little one.” Harry laughed at her again, but this time it was immediately followed by a big yawn. “I feel you,” She nodded.

She opened the door for James and waved again, this time at him. “See you later.”

 As Lily has thought, their project required no further face to face meetings, which she no longer thought was a relief. Now that she knew James wasn’t some inconsiderate ass who thought it was fine to show up thirty or forty minutes late, she found that she liked more than just his hair or his eyes.

James had texted her after he’d gotten Harry to sleep, only they hadn’t stopped texting after they had finished their project.

And then they never really stopped texting.

And the flirting in class came back tenfold.

She was sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the arm, her head resting on Mary’s lap, and her phone glued in front of her face when Mary tugged on her hair.

“You texting that econ boy again?” She asked.

“You know that I am.”

“I do know that. I was starting a conversation though, and I wasn’t just going to jump right into the middle, was I?”

“You’ve been known to do worse.” Lily set the phone down on her chest and looked up at her friend.

“Have you even seen him outside of class yet?” Mary asked, still looking at her own phone.

“No, but I didn’t even like him until-“

“Until he showed you his baby.” Mary sighed and looked down at her. “Babies are like crack to you.”

“I don’t like him because he has a baby.” Lily said. “I forgave him for being late so often because he has a baby. I liked him before though.”

“You mentioned his hair a couple times,” Mary nodded. “But I wasn’t really trying to give you a hard time for your weird fascination with small humans.”

“It’s not weird to like kids, Mary. You like kids.”

“Sure, and do I wish that I had been home while there had been a baby right here? Where I am every day? Yes, but I was just trying to tease you, let it go so we can get to the point.”

“If you started conversations with your point-“

“Are you going to ask this bloke out?”

Lily pressed her lips together. “Am I allowed to ask him out?”

“Do you want to?”

“I… want him to ask me out.” Mary whacked her on the arm and Lily cried out. “Only so I know that it’s okay! I’ve asked blokes out before, I’m not scared!”

“You are totally a scardy-cat, but have you considered that maybe he doesn’t think it’s okay to ask you out?”

“He said that he was still trying to figure things out with Harry.” Lily said, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

“So the two of you are just going to keep obnoxiously texting one another to no end?” Mary asked. “And look, if that is the reason that he says no to a date, will it crush you? Will you be unable to go on?”

Lily pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

“Well then…”

“Alright. Alright I get your point.”

Mary narrowed her brow and stayed quiet.

“What?”

“Well go ahead and ask him out.”

“I can’t do it now! We’re talking about how The Voice was a better show before they made all the rule changes.”

“I don’t know why you’re hung up on that-“

“They need to get Adam back, that’s why.”

“Ask out your boy, Evans. Or else.”

“I don’t like it when you say that. I never know what it means.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

“You filled my entire pillowcase with shaving cream once.”

“Well, you’re the one that didn’t listen to me, so who’s fault was that?”

Lily shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “Definitely yours.”

“You’re stalling.” Mary grabbed Lily’s wrist and moved her arm so that Lily’s phone was in front of her face again. “Ask him out. Ask him to dinner here, or for coffee or something else lowkey.”

“You think asking him to dinner here, where I’d cook for him, is lowkey?” Lily’s brow went up. “Remind me to help you out if you ever think about asking someone out.”

“I didn’t say you had to cook for him- you could order in- oh shut up and text him.”

Lily huffed and then clicked on her phone again.

James: Last season was weird anyway just because everyone knew Maelin was going to win from the beginning

Lily: Yes, so I’m going to change the subject now

James: Thank you for the warning lol

Lily: right

Lily: I know that you’re really busy, but I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime. Coffee maybe?

As soon as she hit send, she shoved her phone into the couch cushions.

“You did it already?” Mary asked, surprised.

“You told me to!” Lily pushed herself up and spun around toward Mary.

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know, I turned off my screen.”

“Well you gotta look!”

“I know that!” Lily pulled her knees up to her chest. “He’s going to say no. He’s going to tell me that he doesn’t have time.”

“You don’t know that.” Mary said. “He might say ‘yes.’”

“He might say ‘yes.’” Lily agreed and then dug her phone out of the cushions.

James: You asking me out, Evans?

“He didn’t even answer yet, he just wants to know if I’m asking him out.” Lily’s heart was in her throat.

“Well then clarify! I should have proofread your text.”

“I asked him if he wanted to go out sometime. That’s pretty clear!”

Lily: Of course, I’m asking you out.

“Is saying ‘of course’ a bit aggressive? It’s too late if you’re going to say yes because I’ve already sent the message.”

“No, it’s cute.” Lily looked at Mary. “Sort of aggressive, but in a cute way. Maybe.”

James: Right, of course you are. Why wouldn’t you?

James: I’d love to go out with you

“He said yes!”

“Okay, play it cool!” Mary was on her knees next to her now.

Lily: Love? Relax. I asked you to coffee

“That’s a bit too cool,” Mary laughed. Lily shoved her.

“Don’t read over my shoulder.”

“I’ll do what I want!” But she sat back down.

Lily bit her tongue and settled back against the couch. She really liked this bloke.

James: It’s your enthusiasm that’s bolstering me thanks

James: You free before class on Thursday?

Lily: I am.

James: You were

James: Meet you at one?

Lily: So I should show up at one thirty then?

James: I can be on time occasionally

Lily: Proof?

James: I can tell that you really do like me

James: I’m so excited for you to tease me in person

Lily: teasing is 90% of how I flirt so

Lily: I hope you don’t mind.

James: Nah, I don’t.

[socialwriter]

Ch.1- Welcome to the Moulin Rouge

Listen alongside: This and this

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Female Reader

1.5 K words

TW: Prostitution, cursing, insinuations of criminal activity

A/n: This is chapter one of my Moulin Rouge series, I hope you enjoy! This is mainly to set up the coming chapters, so it will get better!

Our story begins in Paris, at the turn of the 20th century…

 It's a crisp night, and all the patrons rush into the Moulin Rouge to escape the weather, the anticipation of what the night may hold causing a jump in their step. They would get a show complete with singing, dancing, and the fulfillment of their wildest, lust-filled fantasies. Liquor flows freely from bottle to cup, the intoxication of the guests no doubt a ploy so that all frugality may be forgotten while in the establishment. They were destined to see the performances of many, but it was unspoken common knowledge that they all came for one person. Her…

 As the lights dimmed and latecomers scrambled to their seats, Topper Thorton, the owner and MC of the establishment, made his way onstage. He had built the business from the ground up, a way to provide housing and an income for many girls with no other option, living on the streets. He had begged, borrowed, and stolen, and was willing to do anything to keep the establishment open. It may not seem like it on a surface level, but Topper deeply cared for the girls, and in fact, what he did to keep the business running, he was really doing for them. Without the Moulin Rouge, most of his performers would be left homeless and hungry, a fate that Thorton would not accept, no matter what it cost him. He was hopeful that with the plan he had enacted involving his right-hand woman and best performer, he might save the place from going under. 

 "Hello, chickens!Yes! It's me your own beloved Topper Thornton in the flesh! Welcome...To the Moulin Rouge!" He exclaimed, earning polite applause from the night's audience. 

 "Now, are you ready for our dazzling opening duo… Sarah and Kiara!"

  The curtains were pulled back, revealing the two girls clad in red corsets and black fishnets. Thornton had learned his tricks throughout the years. Put your top performers first to initially  pull the audience in, and leave the best for last so that the audience stays engaged throughout the show. Sarah and Kiara were some of his best, ruthless in their pursuit of position as the best performer of all the girls of the Moulin Rouge. They used all the tricks in the book. Their voices. Their dance moves. Their bodies. Never had they had a dissatisfied customer. They made Topper proud, never doing any wrong. Yet they could never be at the top of the pecking order. That spot was reserved for one person and one person only. 

 The Moulin Rouge was a prime example of the economic divide, with both the rich and the poor flocking there to spend whatever money they could on a fun night. The rich aristocrats with their pristine suits and crisp white shirts sat in booths, sheltered off from who they deemed the lowlife Bohemians. These lowlife Bohemians, while clad in their best attire, looked unkempt compared to the rich. Their pants donned holes and stains, while their jackets frayed at the edges. And as Topper's top priority for his business was money, he made sure that the aristocrats received the best services, copious drinks, and the best seats for entertainment, while the Bohemians were left with the scraps.

 The wealthiest and most pompous of all the aristocrats had to be Rafe Cameron, the Duke of Monroth, sat in the centermost booth. All the performers were instructed to visit him and his posse most often, as he always paid with the biggest bills. Rafe Cameron was to be used as a cash cow, milked for every penny he would give, all in an effort to save the Moulin Rouge. He was, at best, an asshole to those he disliked and at worst..well at worst, he wasn't able to be called a name at all. 

 The two Bohemians that had been a thorn in Thornton's side the entirety of his time at the Moulin Rouge were no doubt John B Routledge and Pope Heyward. The two of them always snuck in, never paying, distracting from the performances, and mooching off the wealthy for free booze. They were bad for business, but like cockroaches, they never could be exterminated, and they now had added a third member to their band of misfits: JJ Maybank.

----

 JJ ventured through the streets of Paris that afternoon, absorbing all the new city's sights. The blond was fresh off a boat from America, and he had moved to France, hoping to share his music with the world. However, his quiet walk around the city was interrupted by the bickering of two men a little ways away. They were loudly arguing and flailing their arms, but the second JJ heard them aggressively singing tunes at each other, his interest was piqued, and he approached the two men. "I'm sorry, but what exactly is going on?"

 The dark-skinned man stood up, placing his hand on JJ's shoulder, much to JJ's surprise. He had just met the men, but he had been told that the people in France were often more affectionate than those in America. "We can't decide what sounds better for our show. I think that the line should go 'the hills are alive, with the sound of clanging.'" The man with his hand on JJ's shoulder explained, to which the brown-haired man stood up, shaking his head.

 "No, it should go 'the hills are alive, with the bells and chimes."

 "See, that just sounds wrong."

 "If I'm wrong, then you're really wrong."

 JJ furrowed his brow, glancing between the two bickering men. He didn't need his musical abilities to tell you that neither option sounded good. "Um, actually, what if you went with 'the hills are alive, with the sound of music'?" He sang out, looking at the two men who both had a look of shock on their faces, mouths slightly ajar.

 "That's...genius!" The brown-haired man exclaimed, looking at his friend, both grinning. "You must work with us on our show, it's going to be the big-ticket item that gets us out of this hell hole. So, what's your name, friend?"

 He hadn't really noticed it before, but it appeared that JJ had stepped into the poorer part of the city, which was presumably where the two men lived. The paint on the walls was chipped and faded and the only bench on the entire street were the two crates that the men were sitting on earlier. It seemed like these two men just wanted to make it big and create a better life for themselves, something JJ had always hoped for. And if he got to share his music with the world while he did it..well he was sold. "JJ. My name's JJ Maybank." He said, shaking the hands of both men.

 The more affectionate man grinned, patting JJ on the back. "Well I'm Pope Heyward, and he's John B. And Mr.Maybank, we may need to use you for more than your musical talents." Pope uttered seriously, looking JJ directly in the eye. "I,um-what?"

 "You see, the Moulin Rouge is the most well known theatre in all of Paris. You get your show in there, and you're guaranteed success." John B explained to the blue eyed boy. "The problem is, our reputation," he gestured to himself and Pope, "precedes us at that place. We need a new face like yours to get our show even considered by the big dogs. We're gonna need you to talk to the it girl of the club. Thornton will do anything she wants, so you convince her, we're in. Can you do that for us JJ?" 

 Both Pope and John B looked at JJ hopefully, and JJ didn't have the heart to tell them no. Despite only knowing them for a short time, JJ had the feeling that he would grow very close to them, forging a bond of brothers. "Okay, I'll do it."

---

 The trio of Bohemians had snuck into the Moulin Rouge after the show had begun, the dark lights making it difficult to see exactly who was sneaking into the building. "All right, one of the middle booths is open." Pope whispered to the other two boys, to which John B excitedly quickened his pace to snag the seats. JJ didn't see the big deal, it was just a set for crying out loud. 

 When the three were situated, John B leaned over to JJ, filling him in on the ways of the Moulin Rouge. "You don't know it, but we just snagged the best seats in the house. This is where all the girls give their attention to, making your 'mission' that much easier." John B clarified, causing JJ to form an 'o' with his mouth. 

 "She'll be on any minute, JJ, get ready," Pope murmured, the energy at the booth going from joking and fun to serious. These boys had a mission, and JJ didn't want to let his new friends down. But nothing could have prepared him for what he was in store for.

 "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you our "Sparkling Diamond" The unique, the indomitable, the one and only! Y/n." 

 The curtain rose, and JJ's mouth instantly went dry when the most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked onstage. Immediately, butterflies erupted in his chest. He realized that this mission of his was going to be much harder than he had initially anticipated. 

 Tags-

@normatural​ @thelonewolfdies​ @bricksatanakinswindow​ @ssjiara​

ppl who expressed interest (I’m only tagging u for this chap dw)- @heliopvth​ @girlsru1eboysdroo1​ @spilledtee​ @obxmxybxnk​ @denimandcurls​ @pogue-writings​ @adoreyoudrews​ @stargazingstarkey​ @queenk00k​ @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @summerintheobx​ @shawnssongs​ @lefthandwritings​

[ruthlesslistener]

Some Lurien Headcanons

-Was originally from a low birth 

-Rose quickly in social esteem because he was born with a third eye and a minor gift of foresight/allsight, which is extremely rare. The mortals under a bug's care always have an equal chance of being born with their abilities, but certain strains of magic can only be handled by gods/have a rarer possibility of being present in mortals because they're just too damn overwhelming 

-And Lurien got slapped with two of the Pale King's rarer abilities 

-For someone who has social anxiety and a tendency to be overwhelmed when around people, this was...not fun. So he threw himself into it as an alternative means of dealing with it, and became one of the rare disciples of the Pale King very early in life, to learn to cope with the visions and tendency to zone out and end up watching fragments of city life from a perspective not his own 

-PK is a very distant, unconventional god in that he doesn't really have high priests or an organized religion dedicated to him; his worship is gathered more through people supporting him and dedicating themselves to things he represents, like free will/mind, intelligence, the pursuit of knowledge, etc. Which means that Lurien spent a lot of years in bug college studying art, economics, politics, spelltheory, spellcraft, history of magic, etc etc

-Him being deeply magically powerful and work-oriented made him rise through the ranks pretty quickly, even though he wasn't necessarily a social guy. Soon he found himself working as a professor, a job he loathed with a fiery passion, and quit to be some kind of government official tasked with spellwork, which didn't vibe with him either, so he kind of just retreated into his house and dedicated himself more to art and worship as a way to attune with his own personal magic and try to control it

-He always considered it a gift, though, even though it was sometimes hell for him. So he took on a mask that had only one eyehole- located right where his third eye was- so that he would be forced to use just his third eye and thus acclimate to how it worked 

-When looking through his third eye, he could see veils of the dream world overlaid onto the real one, he could unfocus and see different regions of the city that he had never walked in, he could hear scraps of verse alluding to the future and dream of events that would yet come to pass.

 -And even if he wasn't fond of being out in public, he loved his city and how gorgeous it was, the richness of life and history in it 

-Eventually he grew bold enough (and possibly drunk enough) to write out a whole-ass letter about this shit to the Pale King and send it in, thinking that it would get thrown out, and that it was more of a ritual than anything (like burning paper notes at an alter to commune with the dead). The letter was like 5 pages long front to back and very dense with information about his magic and all he saw and how he considered it a blessing, and once he sent it in he promptly forgot about it, bc the King never replies back 

-Guess who got a reply a week later in the King's own handwriting, requesting he go to the Palace for assessment

-As it turns out, PK's been distantly aware of Lurien for quite a while, because he's quite the dedicated follower and has a sort of magical signature to him that is distinct from most others. He just never knew who it was specifically, and didn't have the time/care to seek it out, bc this is PK and he has the social emotional skills of a fucking robot

 -But! Now he gets a detailed letter on the artistic, magical, and cultural significance of the City of Tears, from someone who is not only eloquent but also very knowledgeable on the subject, and someone who apparently has his gift of Sight, albeit on a much, much weaker scale (PK's foresight is about 10,000x more complex than Lurien's, who can only see forward like 20 years max, and it’s very blurry/in single short events). So his curiosity is piqued, and he beckons him forth to the White Palace so that he may assess him upfront, because such a person is very, very useful when given the right tools and he needs an excuse to dispose some noble lines that have outlived their usefulness anyways

-Lurien shows up dressed in his most formal wear, gives a rundown of his abilities (and he's the real deal, fuck yeah) does the usual awestruck staring most mortals do except PK can sense that he's seeing much more of his actual power than he lets show in the physical world, and is so stiffly, awkwardly formal and terrified of social situations that PK is like 'excellent, he's perfect', skims his mind to decipher what's the best way of heightening his abilities, and sends him off with a massive raise and the promise to help him attune his magic, if he promises to become his eye in minding the city 

-Lurien, of course, accepts 

-PK, staring intently at him and manipulating his foresight to see how strong he is: interesting. you show promise -Lurien, staring at the afterimage of a giant wyrm with far too many teeth rippling down its form and eyes EVERYWHERE except when they're nowhere: thank you sire

- It took Lurien like 6 months to realize just how small PK was and that's bc whenever he was fully alert and aware of everything it felt like there was a whole fucking wyrm crammed into the room watching and that PK was just the part of it visible

-Lurien is now the most politically and magically powerful bug in the City of Tears, but like, in a really shadowy assassin kind of way, and he's kinda freaked out about it

-But he settles into it really well! He gets his tower, where he can isolate himself from others, he gets a whole bunch of knights to make sure he stays unbothered, he has a magically protected telescope that allows him to use his third eye for ages without tiring, and he actually enjoys the paperwork as long as he doesn't have to interact with anyone. And then he's getting personal (really vague) lessons from the King on how to properly use and handle foresight so he's now no longer getting spasms of visions and blinding headaches

 -So he ends up becoming kind of the secret heart of the city in a way, like a mayor but more hidden and more magically veiled

-As Watcher of the city, he ended up working as a sort of judge/detective for criminals, as he could most often see crimes happening, as well as track their fallout. He’d also gather substantial amounts of information on the crime to back up whatever he Sees or doesn’t see, written in meticulous detail so that the juries could agree on whatever punishment needed to be enacted (though it was him + the King that often decided it in the end, as Lurien was often an eyewitness and PK could simply tear the information from someone’s mind)

-Despite this benefit, he’d often call for people to buy magic veiling curtains and the like bc holy SHIT there are some things he does not want to see, and he values privacy. 

-He was, in fact, famed for his privacy, and avoidance of social situations; almost no parties or unofficial gatherings were unattended by him, as he was very much a duty-only sort of bug and would much rather spend his time painting or writing instead of delving into social matters. This gave him a reputation for being cold and thinking he was above everyone, which he used to his advantage

-The only privacy he never valued was that of the Soul Sanctum, because those motherfuckers had privacy shields up all around them and literally everything they did pointed to unethical bullshit. But because he couldn’t get any eyewitness reports or silkpaper/stone data, not even enough to justify drawing the Pale King down from his workshop to do a full godly judgement on it, he was incapable of directly confronting the Soul Master, something that eventually turned into a well-known rivalry between them

-At one point, he outright told the Soul Master that he would have had him beheaded if he was able to find sufficient evidence for it, which made relations with the Soul Sanctum much more strained (and gathered a lot of respect from his butler)

-His butler was a dear friend of his, one of the only ones that he had, but he was notoriously bad at remembering his name. Luckily, said butler was also a rather timid soul who was prone to forgetting titles in fits of anxiety so he just ran with it

-Lurien is gay but notoriously bad at identifying crushes even when he was more in-tune with his feelings, which lands him somewhere on the grayaro/ace spectrum

-He may or may not have a crush on the Pale King. It gets really weird with the whole godly alluring light and with PK being more of a figurehead than an actual person, and also the emotional repression, but it’s there and it’s not going anywhere

-He has a mild fear of children as well, though this is partially due to the fact that he has no idea what to do with them

-Has fainted from stress before and will do it again, though ironically work-related stress issues hardly ever bothers him. It’s more like, being around people and trying to keep up with social rules that destroys him

-Despite his anxious disposition, he gives off an aura of calm, controlled chaos and is the most stubborn Dreamer/person in the entirety of the Pale Court. All his screaming happens on the interior, not the exterior

-Basically ran on caffeine and magic stimulants up until he took his role as a Dreamer, which meant when the spell hit him he went out the fastest 

[thealliteration]

Blog Post 8: Haikus and Sonnets

This week the class wrote Haikus and Sonnets:

Sonnet

A sonnet, according to an article on the Poetry Foundation, is “a 14-line poem with a variable rhyme scheme… the sonnet traditionally reflects upon a single sentiment, with a clarification or “turn” of thought in its concluding lines. There are many different types of sonnets” (“Sonnet”). The formal rhyme scheme in a Shakespearean sonnet is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG:

Syllables in Sonnets matter; in a typically Shakespearean poem the writer uses a combination of stressed and unstressed syllables to create their lines. In our assignment, we could either follow a Shakespearean sonnet format or create a Shakespearean sonnet that has 10 syllables per line. When deciding what to write I chose to create a sonnet with 10 syllables per line. Writing my poem was an… experience. The first thing I did was decide how I was going to split the poem in my head, I wanted to use the 14 lines 4 stanza format to create a 3 act and an epilogue structure. I find it easier to do poetry when I think about it like I am creating a story. I find it easier to wrap my head around everything, at least for the first time writing that poetry genre. I wrote out what I wanted each “act” to be before writing, it was a lot of fun deciding what to do and how to format it. I had been thinking about Lewis Carol a lot lately and wanted to create a story loosely inspired by “Alice in Wonderland.”

One of the biggest issues I came across when writing my poem was how big my ideas were compared to the size of the poem. Instantly realized that 10 syllables per line was not a lot to work with and I struggled to cut down every part of my poem to try and fit into the formal scheme. The second issue I realized was how hard it was using syllables alongside a rhyming scheme. I remember writing out a line that I was proud of and then realizing that I had forgotten to make the poem rhyme. Writing the sonnet was extremely hard, I kept scrapping and rewriting a draft over and over again until I was content.

My sonnet:

Haiku

According to Poetry Foundation, a haiku is a short 3-line poem from japan consisting of a 5 7 5 syllable scheme that is inspired by nature (“Haiku (or hokku)”). Before taking this course, I knew about haikus from a middle school class I took. I remember learning about them and never wanting to write one. I was intimidated by the short and strict format and didn’t know how I could write one. However, when starting this assignment, I was shocked at how quickly the words came to me.

The class had to choose a season to write about for the assignment, I went with my favorite season, Fall, I get engulfed in the serene atmosphere and the calming smell of the world-changing and getting cooler. I decided to link my sonnet and haiku by having the haiku set up the time of the sonnet. While I did struggle with the syllable length of the haiku, it was a lot easier than the sonnet, the thing I struggled with the most was deciding what lines to use. When drafting my haiku, I wrote many different versions of each line until I was happy with it. I ended up liking my haiku so much more than my sonnet, my younger self was worried about nothing. If I could rewrite my haiku outside of the class, I may try writing each line to be the setting of each act.

My Haiku:

Works Cited:

“Haiku (or Hokku).” Poetry Foundation. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/haiku-or-hokku.

Huey, Amorak, and W. Todd Kaneko. Poetry: A Writers’ Guide and Anthology. E-book, Bloomsbury, 2018

“Sonnet.” Poetry Foundation. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sonnet.

Photos used from:

Limericks vs Haiku: What is the difference? - King of Limericks

Getty Images

Summer Boredom Blaster 9: Pursuing Poetry (solaro.com)

Economic Botany & Cultural History: American elm | Urban Forest Initiative (uky.edu)

[bookandcranny]

Little Angels

One]

It is dark inside a wolf’s belly, but up here the air is clear and bright. Atop the tower of Paradiso, above the city of mist and gray. The roof is all caved in and shattered, scattering brilliant prisms through the fragmented skylight and across the floor. A man stands alone in the wreckage, inside the skeletal remains of this holy animal. He sifts through the books that were left behind until he finds one with a red cover and no title, but the letters A-D embossed along its spine. He flips to a certain chapter, and begins to read.

It was in another kind of tower that it happened. The Detective entered into the penthouse apartment of the Deeds family, a couple from the upper crust who were in a state of panic over their missing teenage daughter. From that first frantic phone call with the grief-ridden Gloria Deeds, Sacha knew the shape of this case inside out, backwards, and upside down. It was a classic. 

Teenage girl from a wealthy family, sheltered her whole life, the type who could do no wrong in the eyes of her doting, overbearing parents. One night she leaves without warning, to chase some guy or some band or some misplaced sense of adventure. The reasons didn’t matter as much as what they were willing to pay for the reassurance that their precious little angel would be home safe and sound.

There were just a couple of details he hadn’t counted on.

Sacha sat idling on the side of the road, looking down at the photo the Deeds’ had given him. It was a little roughed up at the edges and faded at the crease where he’d folded it. He’d forgotten how fragile these old-fashioned print photographs were. Despite the damage, the face of thirteen year old Renee Deeds still looked up at him with those same gentle brown eyes and private smile. 

The girl in the photo, however accurate it was to real life, had her hair pulled back in a crowd of twin braids that crested over thick dark curls. She wore what Sacha presumed to be church clothes-- tidy blouse and long skirt, an heirloom brooch-- and a pair of crutches braced to her forearms. Her ankles were crossed and tucked limply to one side, away from the camera’s focus.

The girl’s disability put a complication in the narrative he’d been concocting. According to the Deedses, Renee could only go so far on foot without intense pain and she disliked using her chair. It remained in the hall closet, untouched since her disappearance. Mr Deeds worked from home most days so rather than send her off to school, she was homeschooled by a well-vetted private tutor under her father’s occasional supervision. She had few friends, being a reserved child, they said. Sacha thought it probably had more to do with the gilded cage she lived in, lined with bubblewrap and goose down lest she ever bruise her precious knees. But it wasn’t his place to say.

Regardless, this left him with a very limited pool of suspects. And suspects they were indeed, since the Deeds were certain Renee had been kidnapped. Such a good girl would never have just wandered off on her own. 

If that was indeed the case, the culprit had done a remarkable job of covering their tracks. Renee was last seen by her mother who had put her to bed at 9 'o'clock on the dot. The security system had been armed all night and there were no signs of tampering. Besides which, the only way out of the penthouse that didn’t involve a several story drop to a very unhappy ending was through the front lobby and the cameras in and outside it didn’t detect anyone unusual, coming or going. 

The parents’ first move, naturally, was to call the police. The cops questioned the other residents and scanned the security tapes but turned up empty handed and after a few weeks of daily calls the officers on the case all but told Mr and Mrs Deeds that their hands were tied. For once, even money and social standing couldn’t hasten the hand of justice. That was when they had called on private investigator Sacha Ferro to get the job done.

All these facts laid out before him, Sacha found himself no closer to the answer than he had been at the start. The difference between then and now was not information but desperation, the heights of which had brought him here. Orphan’s Hollow.

The last few years had hit this city hard, same as it did all of them. It wasn’t a single sudden thing, but rather a combination of natural disasters, a virulent epidemic, and the consequential economic collapse that left entire districts barren, now inhabited only by clustered communities of the homeless. The handful of city blocks now known as Orphan’s Hollow was one such district, named so because it was, if stories were to be believed, populated entirely by children. Hollowed out department stores and office buildings and, most notably, the abandoned fairgrounds of Fun Town West became a tragic Neverland for runaways and other parentless youth in hiding from the overburdened childcare system.

Recently, there had been an epidemic of another kind in many of the nearby boroughs. Kids were going missing, just like Renee Deeds had, except most families weren’t fortunate enough to be able to hire someone to track them down. From what Sacha could pick up, most of them-- those that were reported-- were girls between the ages of six and sixteen. Other than that, the demographics were all over the map: black, white, rich, poor, healthy, sick. Missing posters spawned and spread like mold across the billboards and telephone poles, while the local government processed statistics with dead eyes and shrugging shoulders.

The unspoken truth seemed to be that if they were anywhere, if they were alive, the missing girls were somewhere in here. But the kids of Orphan’s Hollow were protective of their own and wouldn’t likely allow any cops to sift through their ranks even if they did trust their motives. It became one of those open secrets that everyone knew about but no one wanted to touch. 

On top of that, not every orphan was some scrawny Dickens novel side character; there were rumors of gang activity and even some sort of cult that made the teenagers who ended up in this part of town vicious towards outsiders. Orphan’s Row was a name with more than one meaning, they said, because if you took those kids lightly they’d turn yours into orphans as well. None of that mattered to Sacha though. At this point, he had little left to lose.

There was a gun in the glovebox of the Detective’s hatchback, unloaded, and he hoped it would stay that way. The idea of turning any weapon on a kid, no matter their alleged viciousness, turned his stomach. He would bring it with him to be used, in only the most absolutely dire circumstances, as a threat. Leverage. If it came down to it, he could rationalize that.

As he turned down another vacant street into the ghost town, the weather began to turn as well. It had been drizzling steadily since the evening prior, making the humidity all the more unbearable, but now the rain relented and in its place a clotted mist settled low over the city, like ink diffusing in water. Sacha kept his lights low and foot barely pressing on the gas pedal. Though it was irrational he felt uneasy at the idea of making himself any more noticeable than he was already.

When the car jolted it was like being shaken awake from a dream. At first he thought it was another pothole-- the roads were a wreck after so long untended-- but then there was an audible crunch and a lurch as his front-left tire burst. Without bothering to pull over he got out and found the problem right away. Deep in the tire, lodged between the wheel and its socket, was a doll. Or at least, something that was trying to be a doll.

The body was made out of metal; scraps from perhaps an aluminum can worked together with screws and painted to give it the look of a hoop-skirted dress. Its head was a christmas ornament. He recognized the pink painted cherub cheeks and curling synthetic hair. Some broken edge of the makeshift toy had punctured the tire, and of course Sacha didn’t have a spare on hand, even if he could figure out how to rip the damn thing out of the wheel well. 

He muttered a curse to himself. He’d have to leave it here and keep going on foot. At least there wasn’t anything in the car worth stealing, and he didn’t exactly have to worry about getting a ticket.

A sudden shriek made Sacha jump, hand going blindly to the holster under his shirt.

“My doll!” the child cried again. “You killed Jessika! My dolly!”

Sacha turned around and saw a young girl, barefoot and wearing what looked like an old halloween costume, standing across the street from him like a specter out of the fog. Appropriate, since she was so keen on howling like a banshee.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about your dolly,” he gentled, crossing to meet her. 

The girl seemed to be considering running away from the strange man, as would well be her right, but stood her ground instead as her face grew redder.

“You killed her,” she said again. “She was a person and you killed her.”

Sacha dropped to one knee. “ I’m sorry about your Jessica--” 

“Jessika!”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I am sorry, but it was an accident, really. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She sniffled. “I’m Princess Ladybird,” she said, as though it should have been obvious. She gestured at her costume, a pink sparkly dress studded with plastic gems around the collar. “Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“My name is Sacha. I’m a private investigator-- a detective,” he corrected, seeing her confused expression. “I’m looking for someone. They’re not in any trouble, I just need to make sure they’re safe. Do you think you could help me, your highness?”

He kept his voice low and comforting. Dealing with kids wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he knew what he was doing well enough.

“No! No!” the girl cried, more agitated than ever. “No grownups allowed! You’ll just hurt them, just like Jessika!”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he insisted, growing frustrated. “And I told you didn’t mean to break your doll. I could buy you a new doll? A nicer doll.”

She shook her head adamantly. “The store dolls aren’t alive. I only play with alive dolls.”

Play along, Sacha. “Okay, where can I get you a new ‘alive’ doll?”

“You can’t make an alive doll, you’re too old,” she huffed. 

Sacha was not going to let himself be offended by a six year old. He wasn’t. “If your dolls are so precious, maybe you shouldn’t leave them in the street!”

“Maybe you should look where you’re going!” With that, she stomped on his foot and ran away. Sacha barely felt it through his shoes, but that was a small consolation. In a blink the princess was gone again.

He sighed. It was no less than he expected, but it still didn’t feel good. With the world they’d been living in, it wasn’t any surprise that the kids here were a bit strange. At least this one had seemed healthy enough, certainly energetic. That meant there was probably someone making sure she was kept fed. 

He reminded himself that there was nothing he could do for these kids. Better to focus on what he was here for.

Two]

Sacha walked along the sidewalk without any real sense of where he was going. He occasionally saw clusters of children playing games or jumping in puddles in the street, but most were inside keeping out of the weather. When he looked up he sometimes saw tiny faces peering down at him from high windows or crouched on fire escapes. The ones on the ground didn’t spare him a look except in fleeting disgust. There was a girl reading fortunes for her friends from a dented pack of playing cards who went abruptly silent when he passed by, and Sacha came to realize that they were deliberately ignoring him, hoping to shun him into leaving the way he came. 

When he tried to approach a pair of tweens doing some sort of craft project in a sheltered doorway, they quickly picked up their things and scampered away, leaving only a trail of paint droplets behind them. They didn’t look too terribly hard-off; their clothes were sometimes dirty but they were all in one piece and their eyes were bright and lively. It was sort of amazing, Sacha thought, how they’d really managed to build something of a community here, away from adults. Part of him almost envied them.

“Excuse me,” he tried again with a girl who was a bit older than the last. Her age didn’t make her look any more mature really, only sharper, as if she were growing but growing into the wrong shape. “I’m looking for--”

“Everyone knows what you’re looking for,” the young woman said. “You’re loud enough about it.”

This one wasn’t exactly friendly but at least she hadn’t run away yet. Sacha went to pull out a photo. 

“Put that away, man,” she hissed. “You’re not going to find any girls who look like that here, and the wrong fledgling might just eat you alive for having it.”

“For having a photograph?” He didn’t bother to ask what a “fledgling” was supposed to be. Some sort of weird slang he was too dated to recognize, he guessed.

“For keeping another girl’s face! All you need is a face and a real-name and you can make that person do and say whatever you want.”

“Is this some kind of game you kids play? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not a game,” she said gravely. “You don’t understand anything. Walking into this world when you don’t know the rules is as good digging your own grave.”

“Help me catch up, then. Level with me,” Sacha pressed. “I can make it worth your while.”

He didn’t have much money on hand, but he had medicine credits set aside for emergencies and that should be worth its bytes in gold in a place like this. Or if not, she could pawn it and buy some earrings or animal crackers or whatever kids liked.

“Save it, I don’t have an account. Legally, most of the kids here don’t even exist. You’ll have to trade for what you want the old fashioned way, outsider.”

Exasperated, Sacha rooted around in his pockets and came up with a protein bar and a keychain that doubled as a bottle opener. The girl didn’t look impressed.

“Okay look, hand over the picture and the rest of it and I’ll tell you where you need to go, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Outsiders don’t survive long here.”

Sacha wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all some intimidation game, but he folded up the photo of Renee and handed it to her anyway. If he really needed the visuals he had pictures on his phone. He’d turned it off shortly after setting out, when the calls and texts from his sister started pouring in, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave it behind in the car. He could just picture Maria pacing around the house scowling at his number as another message failed to go through. 

I’ll make it up to you, he promised her silently.

“There’s a spot two blocks that way,” She pointed. “Left, left, right, down some steps, and you’ll see a sign for The Love Nest. It’s hard to miss.”

Something about the name said through her lips made him want to recoil. The girl scoffed at his unease.

“Relax, it’s just the name left from the old owners. It belongs to the brood now. It’s a good place, a sacred place.” She sighed, looking up and around as if projecting to an imaginary audience. “Not that someone like you would get any of that, I guess. A lot of fledglings hang around there. If your girl can be found, you’ll find her there. If not, she’s already gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” he demanded.

“I mean gone.” she held up the photograph, still folded. “Gone like this.”

She tore the square neatly in two and let the halves flutter to the ground.

“I’m not even supposed to tell you this much, so if you missed your window don’t even think about hanging around here trying to dig out more information. You’re pushing your luck as it is.”

What an angry kid, Sacha thought to himself as he departed. He wasn’t too different when he was that age, but outright threatening someone who was only trying to do good seemed a bit extreme, especially when that someone had a good head of height on you as well. Was it the conditions they lived in that made them so temperamental here? Or just adolescent angst? Hopefully he wouldn’t be staying long enough to find out.

And just how was he planning to leave, even if he was successful, he wondered. He’d have to drive them out on three tires. Ruining his car would be well worth it though if it meant ending this.

Angry girl’s directions turned out to be sound and soon enough Sacha found himself at the door of a closed down club that proudly announced itself as “The Love Nest” in faded pink letters above the door. The windows were boarded up but there were still some old posters for the upcoming live entertainment pinned to the plywood. It appeared the place had been at least marginally more legitimate than Sacha had guessed by the name, while it had been in operation.

Pushing through the double doors the Detective found himself in a gloomy ballroom, styled vaguely like a vintage cabaret club or perhaps someone’s romanticized idea of a 1920s speakeasy. There were a few tables-- standing only by virtue of the bolts that held them to the hardwood-- a bar, and a large circular stage in the middle of it all. Sacha toed aside what he’d thought was a trash bag only to hear a grumbled complaint and find another of the hollow’s orphans crawling out of a sleeping bag on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” the kid asked, with such pointed accusation you’d think he’d personally wronged them. They were wearing an oversized “Fun Town” t-shirt and flannel bottoms with a paw print pattern.

Roused by the noise, some other children began emerging from their own napping spots to investigate.

“Are you a cop?” one asked.

“No, I’m more of a detective,” he replied.

“Sounds like a cop to me. And you look like a cop.”

Sacha frowned. “How so?”

“You’re old,” the kid said. “And you have blood on you.”

He looked down at his hands, his clothes. He saw brown khakis, dusty black loafers, pale patterned button-up shirt. No tie; he’d spilled coffee on it on the drive, hands already shaky from the ill-advised extra caffeine. To his embarrassment, he noticed a faint dampness where the weather and his own nerves had painted sweat across his collar, but no blood.

“It’s okay,” said the first child, yawning. “Snowy sees blood on everyone.”

“I don’t see it, I smell it,” challenged Snowy. She took a deep breath through her nose. “And you stink of it. Dirty blood, blood that wasn’t ready to be shed. Have you ever killed anybody, Mr Detective?”

Sacha fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you been talking to a girl in a princess dress?”

“You mean Princess Ladybird?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly, as if simply mentioning that ridiculous name might conjure up her horrible wailing. “I’m looking for someone. Two someones actually.”

He considered taking out his phone but, remembering how Angry Girl had reacted to the photo, decided to try a different approach. 

“I was told I might find them here. One is named Renee Deeds and the other is Ana Ferro-Silver, eighteen and fifteen years old. Anything you can tell me about either of them would be a huge help. I’m sort of hoping one will lead me to the other.” He forced a smile. 

Kid in the pajamas frowned. “There’s no one with names like that here. You woke us up over something as dumb as that?”

“I don’t think it’s dumb to want to find two girls who might be in a lot of trouble,” he said tersely. “And why were you asleep anyway? It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Growing makes us tired,” Pajamas shot back. They rolled their shoulders. “And sore.”

“And hungry!” added a third child. “Did you bring us any food?”

“Why would I have any food?”

“I heard the gargoyles say you gave Singing Finch a candy bar.”

“It was a protein bar,” he said before he could think to deny it. “What kind of name is ‘Singing Finch’ anyway?”

“It would’ve been Evening Finch, but she tattled so now she’s Singing Finch,” they explained patiently. “She tattled on us and then she tattled on you to the gargoyles and the kestrels. She can’t help it though. She’s a songbird, it’s what they do.”

“So you don’t have any candy?” the other cut in. Sacha put out his empty hands so she could verify and she bit him.

Pajamas laughed as he pulled away with a curse and a cry. “You are dumb. There aren’t any girls in trouble here. You’re the only one in trouble, but that’s because you’re an outsider and a cop, so you probably deserve it.”

Sacha felt a muscle in his jaw tense. He was beginning to think this had all been a huge waste of time. These kids operated on their own kind of logic, their own language, one which was foreign to him. 

“Please,” he said. “Please. I know a lot of you are without families, but these girls still have people who care for them, who are looking for them. I have to bring them home.”

The children looked at him, and then a few of them looked at each other, huddling together in hushed conference. The one called Snowy, who was sitting on top of the bar, glared at him, tilting her head as if she were trying to read something written on the side of his head in very small print. He caught himself raising a hand to touch his neck and let it drop self-consciously back to his side.

“If you keep going like this, you might die,” she told him innocently. “Did you know that?”

The presence of the gun against his stomach, empty though it was, made his skin tingle. “I considered the possibility,” he said, and it was the honest truth. 

“When you die, will you go to paradise?”

“You’re too young to be thinking this much about blood and death.”

“I’ve seen death.” Her voice was without intonation, no defensiveness or accusation anywhere in her tone. She couldn’t have been any older than ten. “My mom died in front of me. She had a fever, but I stayed cold. That’s why they call me Snowy.” She paused, shrugged one shoulder. “Also because I can eat a whole mouse in one bite, like a snowy owl.”

“Oh,” Sacha said lamely. “I’m- I’m so sorry.”

She gave another shrug. “S’okay, I’m with the brood now and they take care of me just as good as mom would. I’m just saying, you don’t really seem like a guy who’s ready to die for anyone.”

Amongst all the riddles and nonsense, this at least was something he could understand. 

“I promise you, I am.”

Pajamas tugged at his sleeve. “Hey, hey Detective, have you ever been to Fun Town?”

He blinked, reeling from the non sequitur. “Excuse me?”

They pointed at the garish logo on their shirt. “‘Fun Town: It’s the funnest place on earth!’ Maybe your friends are there.”

“You’re not going to tell me I should just turn back now? That I’m dumb and the kids I’m looking for are gone forever?” he couldn’t help but snark.

“Don’t listen to Finch, she’s a liar. Nobody’s gone. Different, but not gone.”

Fun Town was an amusement park franchise with a handful of locations all over North America. Had been, that is. They’d had to shut down all their locations more than ten years ago, due in part to the outbreak at the time as well as some unsettling information about the eccentric late founder that came out after his death. Something about swaying elections and pouring company funds into an illicit genetic engineering project. Another day, another megalomaniac billionaire exposé. It had been big news at the time but now it was just another piece of pop culture trivia.

The Fun Town West fairgrounds were now little more than a fancy animatronics graveyard. The rides-- what of them hadn’t been torn down and picked clean by opportunistic scavengers-- were sparkling rusted monuments. Any sense of childhood wonder that remained had long since been siphoned off and sold. The kids didn’t seem to mind though, for how they’d congregated around the place. Maybe Pajamas had a point. It was a big, bright landmark, impossible to miss, and as good a place to search as any.

Three]

The Detective left Snowy and Pajamas and the other strange flock of The Love Nest behind, feeling a grim sense of determination The puckered bite mark on his hand throbbed; the little creep had managed to break skin! 

As he navigated his way to the outskirts of the district, Sacha mulled over the interactions he’d had so far. Reluctantly he pulled out his phone to take some notes, ignoring the voicemail notifications cluttering the screen.

The kids call themselves “brood”-- some sort of gang name? The younger ones and/or newcomers to their group seem to be called fledglings. Everyone has a nickname; real names and pictures of faces have some sort of negative significance. And what of the “songbirds”, “kestrels”, etc? Songbirds: spread information. Kestrels: Unknown.

He huffed. None of this was bringing him anywhere closer to the truth about the missing girls. None of it was helping him find Ana.

By the time he power-walked to the long neglected fairgrounds, the hazy sky was becoming downright dour. The clouds had turned the color of smoke. Combine that with the stench of burnt plastic wafting from some of the attractions, it made for an unpleasant effect. He felt that a storm was brewing, and hoped that whatever came he’d be able to find shelter before the sky opened up around him.

He’d been here only twice while it was still in operation; once just him and his parents and once with Maria. By the second visit he’d already lost his sense of wonderment when it came to a day at the fair. The weather was hot and the crowds were annoying and all the games were rigged. Yet there was still a part of him that felt deeply sad to see what Fun Town had become. This was the sort of place that should’ve been beautiful forever, even as the children grew up and out of their love for it.

As he wove through the rows of darkened kiosks, the fairgrounds suddenly erupted into light. Sacha startled and shielded his eyes. The tired bulbs cracked and fizzled and when he looked up again the desiccated corpse of Fun Town had been revived in a great pulse of electricity. Against the backdrop of perpetual gloom the friendly colors were all the more headache-inducing, and somewhere a tinny recording of calliope music began to play. It all made Sacha’s skin crawl.

Against his every instinct, he let the music lead him to a shack next to the arcade with a mounted loudspeaker, the door marked with a firm “employees only”. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. Inside, another brood girl in coveralls was fiddling with a fuse box and leaning her hip against a desk with an old CCTV. The security system was so antiquated that it didn’t look like it should turn on at all, yet there upon the pixelated screen Sacha could still make out the shape of himself entering the park on a loop. 

The girl turned around, flipping a frizzy head of hair over her shoulder. Although, it turned out she wasn’t so much a girl as a young woman, pushing against the line between teenage and adulthood. His gut reaction was relief. This might be the closest thing to a rational adult he would find around here. Hopefully she’d be of more help than the others.

Come to think of it, he realized, he’d never considered what happened to the Orphan’s Hollow kids once they grew up. Surely there must be some adults here, somewhere. But then, everyone who’d met him so far had treated him as a foreign invader. Were all adults so unwelcome, as he’d assumed, or was there something about him in particular? 

The most rational assumption was that the homeless kids simply became homeless adults. No need for any additional fanfare. They would graduate from the Hollows and go on to squat in other parts of the city. There was certainly no shortage of slums these days, he thought glumly.

Did any ex-runaways ever try to go home, those that still had them? Did that Renee ever think about home? 

“What ho, outsider!” the teen greeted. Sacha felt himself relax despite himself, so glad to be met with at least one friendly face.

“‘What ho’?” he parroted lamely.

“It’s theatre-speak for ‘wassup’. As in, what the hell are you doing in brood territory?”

She moved quickly. He didn’t notice the knife until it was tucked under his chin, pointed at his throat. 

Sacha’s back hit the wall and he put up his hands in surrender. “Hold on, I’m not looking for a fight.”

“Oh yeah?” she giggled. She wrenched up the front of his shirt. “What’s this then? A prop? If I shoot it, will a little flag come out that says ‘bang’?”

She un-holstered the pistol and pointed it at his forehead.

“That’s not a toy,” he said slowly. “Just a little insurance. Like your knife there, I’m sure. I don’t think either of us wants anybody to get hurt.”

“This?” She tossed it in the air and caught it. “Nah, this is part of the act. Tonight, I’m a knife thrower. I’ve never been a knife thrower before. I hope it goes well.”

Sacha tried to speak, but the girl pressed the cold flat of the blade to his lips.

“The older girls put on shows for the fledglings. Sometimes here in Fun Town, sometimes over in the Nest, or up on the rooftops when the weather is nice. I’d invite you, but I don’t think you’d be welcome.” She adjusted her grip again so that the knife was touching the tip of his nose. “All day there’ve been whispers about some kind of detective guy putting his nose in our business.”

“I don’t care about you brood kids do here.”

“Liar.”

“I swear, I don’t. I’m just trying to find someone. I’m not even a real detective anymore,” he confessed. “I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’re doing here. Even if I did, no one would believe me. I’m nobody.”

The knife thrower gave a big, hearty laugh, and Sacha’s throat tightened with fear. He didn’t consider himself a violent person, but over his career he’d come to blows with enough unruly targets and bitter clients alike that he knew when someone was posturing, and when someone was really out for blood. Normally there was a clear indicator of one kind or another; a tightening of the jaw, a certain nervous tick, a look in their eyes. 

But this girl he couldn’t get a read on at all. He hoped that meant she was still on the fence about the subject.

Struggling to keep his voice level he said, “You don’t have to do this. Something like this will haunt you your whole life, you know, and you’ve got so much life left. You’re still just a kid--”

She reared her hand back and struck at his head with the butt of the pistol. Sacha dodged. It slammed into the fuse box she’d been working on instead and the lights went out. Taking advantage of the darkness, he shoved past her and in a stroke of blind fortune found the door. There was a sound then, like the rush of wind in his ears. Then a sharp flash of pain as a flying knife split the cartilage of one ear.

He stumbled and hit the pavement. When Sacha turned around, hand clutched to his head, he saw the young woman’s silhouette bracketed by two iridescent black wings. Again that sound, ferocious wingbeats stirring the air. All he saw were two but it sounded like hundreds, a massive flock taking off in perfect synchronicity. 

“It’s really frustrating when people don’t take me seriously,” said the winged creature as she approached him. Maybe it was an effect of the many colored lights, but her skin appeared to have a glossy sheen to it, like an oil painting in motion. “But you look like you’re starting to get it now.”

“What the hell are you?” Sacha asked with a mix of horror and feverish reverence.

“What do you think I am?”

The thought came to him unbidden. It was an insane thought, one he didn’t even truly believe in, yet this was an insane situation. “The angel of death.”

That gave her pause. “You’re not right, but you’re not really wrong either I guess. Truth be told, I’m heaven on earth. Maybe I’ll cut you some slack if you worship me”

A wing brushed over his skin, however faintly, and it felt warm and real as the blood cooling on his skin. Not ethereal or dreamlike as he might’ve expected but so real, and all the more hideous for it. He shuddered and said nothing.

The false angel, this predatory animal, took a step back. She spun the pistol around one long finger until it slipped and fell to the ground. She looked at it for a moment, as if surprised.

“Huh. It was lighter than I expected,” she said. Then she kicked it aside. “You win this one I guess. I’ll let you go.”

He stared at her, mouth agape, sure it was some trick.

“What? You don’t believe me. I put it in fate’s hand, and for some reason it looks like fate wants to keep you alive a little longer. It’s not how I saw this going, but I can roll with some improv.” She put up her hands. “Don’t bother groveling. I won’t kill you even if you beg. I know guys like you love punishment. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Here… in Fun Town? Or, are you asking why I’m alive?”

She laughed. She so loved laughing. “Morbid! You’re morbid, man. I mean, why are you here among the brood? At… what do the outsiders call it? The Orphan Hole?” she snickered. “You kind of stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m trying to find someone,” Sacha repeated quietly. He’d said the line so many times he felt it was starting to lose its meaning. “And to make up for something I did.”

“Well you should’ve said so in the first place! If you’re looking to atone you need to meet with the broodmother. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her. Tonight’s going to be kind of a crazy night once it kicks off, but if you plead your case I’m sure she’ll hear you out. 

“I have to keep setting up here. You go on ahead.” She pointed out in the direction he’d come from. “It’s a straight shot to Paradiso. You can tell her the angel of death sent you.”

She spared him one last smirk and then shot up into the air like an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring.

Or a bullet from a gun, even. Sacha considered the discarded pistol for a moment. It seemed so useless now, just a hunk of metal and plastic, just a prop. He walked away without it, pain pulsing dully from his ear. His journey was nearly over.

Time dragged on as he walked, but not enough for him to find the space to contend with what he’d seen. That girl, that creature. She was no angel, that much he was certain of. Angels didn’t attack strangers with a knife, he didn’t think. 

What he wasn’t certain of was… just about everything else. Was he meant to understand that all these girls, these brood, were some kind of bird-beasts taking human shape? Was everyone he’d met an imposter masquerading in the form of a child? Or did they start out as ordinary children and then transform somehow?

He half hated himself for even entertaining such wild ideas, but he had little other choice. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth” wasn’t that so? In any case, speculation did him little good at this point. He could only hope that this paradise and “broodmother” the girl had spoken of could give him some answers.

Four]

Just when Sacha was beginning to wonder if the knife throwing angel imposter was fully fucking with him, he found his destination: The Paradiso Hotel, although the damaged neon sign now read only PRDIO. 

The building was tall and narrow, so wedged between its neighbors that it looked like any moment it might be crushed. The brickwork was crumbling as it was. Creeping plant life climbed the sides and snuck in through broken windows. The ominous, weathered shape of gargoyles watched from above, jutting strangely out of high corners. This place must have been in dire straits long before it had been taken over by the brood. At the same time, looking at it Sacha got the impression that it had been something glorious in its heyday. 

There was something almost inviting about the faint glow that came from the topmost windows, filtering pink light through heavy red curtains, and yet Sacha was terrified. His hands trembled on the railing as he climbed the winding stairway. 

The higher he went, the more his surroundings began to change. The carpet beneath his feet grew soft, damp, dipping slightly with his weight, and when he looked down he found it thick with patchy moss. Mushrooms sprouted from the junction where the floor met the wall. Sacha tore his foot from a tangle of roots he’d caught himself in and wondered, when was the last time he’d seen so much wild living plantlife in person? 

Finally he reached the top of the tower and opened the door not onto identical hallways and bland hotel decor, but onto a sprawling private library.

The detective could hardly see the walls for the shelves, lined top to bottom with books upon books upon books. There was a desk against the far wall piled high with precarious stacks of paper. They overflowed and spilled onto the loamy floor, whispering under his every step.

Beyond a towering skylight, storm clouds billowed, but that wasn’t of any concern to the flock of brood congregated in their wake. The scene looked like something rendered from stained glass, at least a dozen girls with wings of all colors stretched out and fluttering idly behind them as they sat around some sort of shrub or young sapling that was, quite impossibly, growing out of the floor. Its tender boughs bore tiny fruit, several perfectly round red orbs plump and shiny with juice.

The room smelled like a greenhouse, like heat and green growth, flowers and fruit. Intrigue drew Sacha nearer and he detected an undercurrent of something metallic as well. He rounded the desk and his stomach plummeted. The tree was not growing out of the floor. It was growing out of a human corpse nested in a bed of soil.

The Detective choked on a gasp and the brood children looked up. Their hands and knees were dark from their work. A flash of gore passed before Sacha’s eyes and he flinched, expecting to be struck down where he stood. When no killing blow came, morbid desire took hold of him and he took a second look. The tree was still there, and the body, but the body was not as he’d thought. It looked dry, mummified, more root than rot. Still staring, one of the brood girls plucked a berry and crushed it between her teeth. The smell intensified, iron and something sweet, heady as any wine.

One of the girl-beasts stood, and she seemed older than the rest somehow, not just in body but in her eyes, gray as the growing storm and so clear that Sacha feared if he looked too long he would fall through them. Her face was smooth and free of wrinkles or worry, but the long hair that fell about her shoulders was white as bone. She wore something like a shawl that hung lazily off her shoulders and down past her knees. Unlike the others, she had no wings.

“So you’re the one all my girls have been making such a fuss about,” she said, and her voice was a choir, her words an indictment.

Sacha felt a strange spike of anger at this creature that looked like a woman and talked like a mystic and was neither. “And you’re the broodmother, whatever that means! Your girls make you out to some kind of god. But you’re not a god, and you’re not their mother. I don’t know what you are and I don’t care. I just want to know why you’re doing this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re- you’re taking them!” he stammered furiously. The pieces were coming together, albeit in a hectic jumble. “All the missing girls! You abduct them, or call them to you, or something! It changes them!” He flung his hand out towards the body. “You’re a killer! You're some kind of crazy death cultist and you turn these kids into killers!”

The broodmother quirked her head to the side, not quite smiling. “You talk with a lot of confidence for a man with only half the story.”

“Then explain it to me,” he demanded. “Make it make sense. Because I’ve been running around this madhouse all day and so far, nothing does.”

She hummed to herself, considering. “If you’re so eager for a tale, let’s start with yours.”

One of the other little brood leapt up and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Is it time for a story, Nightingale?”

“Yes, I think so. Do you know which book to get?”

“D for Detective!” she cheered.

“Very good.” 

The girl scampered off and returned with a big book bound in red. Nightingale took it and ran her thumb over the pages, flipping it open with a calm certainty that boiled Sacha’s blood.

“Let’s see… Detective Sacha Ferro. You were born in this very city, had a fairly normal childhood until,” She traced the tip of her finger along the page and Sacha noticed for the first time how it curled, a ghastly hook-like talon. “Oh, that’s right. There was an accident. Your parents… Tragic. Just terrible.”

Astonishingly, she sounded as though she meant it.

“You were in high school at the time. But your sister, Maria, she was still just a kid. You always struggled to relate to her as a brother, with her being so much younger than you, but after that day you had to become like a parent too. You really stepped up, it looks like. That didn’t change the fact that you were still a kid yourself. You made mistakes, and the two of you grew apart.”

Shame curdled in Sacha’s gut. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The most he was capable of was curling his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Get out of my head.”

“I’m not in it. Frankly, I’m not that interested in your editorializing. This is the truth. Now, where was I?

“You’d always dreamed of being a police detective, like the ones on TV,” she continued. “But became disillusioned with the idea once you grew older. So you became a private eye, but that too got old. You were tired of acquiring blackmail material for shady characters and helping angry wives catch their cheating husbands and so on. Meanwhile little Maria had grown up and moved on and the neighborhood you’d lived in all your life was going more and more downhill by the year. You wanted out.

“Then you got a call from a Mrs Gloria Deeds.” Her eyes widened dramatically. “She wanted you to track down her poor missing daughter. The Deedses were wealthy, desperate, and just perfect. You requested an advance payment, a big one, big enough for a down payment on a new life and the gas to get you there. They didn’t even blink as they pulled out the checkbook. It was all so easy.

“You took the Deedses money and you ran away. Forget the kid, chances were she’d turn up on her own in a week or two after getting whatever rebellious phase out of her system. That’s not what happened though, is it? More and more girls started disappearing. Renee wasn’t the first though, or was she? Could she have been the catalyst for all this? You’d never know for certain. The wondering ate you up inside, but not enough to make you turn back.

“You got yourself a new apartment and a regular nine-to-five job. You quit smoking. You adopted a dog. You started letting people in. You even called up Maria begging to be a part of her life again and shockingly, she agreed! You started spending weekends with her and her wife Kara and their sweet little girl Ana. Your mother’s name, wasn’t it? Well, anyway.

“Everything was all going so terribly well until just a few days ago. Nearly five years on the dot since you took the Deeds case and Maria calls you in tears, tells you that Ana has gone missing. You drop the phone, your blood running cold. She’s fifteen. Just a year or two and she’d be out of the target demographic. Neither you or your sister has set foot in this city in years. What are the odds she got taken? But you can’t let it go until you know for sure.

“Feeling frantic, you pull up the stuff from the Deeds case for the first time in what feels like an eternity. You do some digging. Renee Deeds was never found, nor were any of the others who vanished after her. The cops are still as apathetic and incompetent as you left them. They’re blaming it all on an epidemic of gang activity stemming from somewhere the locals have started calling ‘Orphan’s Hollow’. It didn’t used to be called that though, did it? Do you remember? How gutted you were when you found out? No way you could tell Maria where you were going. Back home, back to where it all started.”

“Stop.” Sacha found his voice at last, though to what end?

Nightingale looked up at him, feigning shock. “But don’t you want to know how it ends? Whatever does happen to the guilt-ridden detective trying to right a wrong? Hoping against hope that if he can fulfill the promise he broke that all of this will be set to rights, and little Ana will return home with him safe and sound.”

“Please, please, stop.” He covered his ears and felt the cut throb against his fingers.

“You’re not really in any position to be making demands, Detective. You came to me. You followed my song. It doesn’t usually work on grown-ups, you know, but you were always sort of a special case I think. I’m glad I kept an eye on you. This has turned out more interesting than I thought.” 

She crossed the room to stand before him, cupping his hands with her own. “You never really stopped being that kid, did you Sacha? You run and run and just keep him right there, locked away in your chest. Look at me Sacha. Look at me. You need to be a grown-up now. I don’t have her, Sacha. I don’t have Ana.”

Slowly Sacha’s hands dropped to his sides, his eyes wide and wet. “What?”

“That’s right,” the broodmother said cheerily. “Ana isn’t here. In fact, she’s at home with her moms right now. Maria’s been trying to call you for days now. You were too ashamed to pick up, couldn’t tell her how this was all your fault. It’s not actually, by the way. You were a self-serving bastard, but not enough to bring down that kind of karmic wrath.

“Although I’d’ve been happy to have her, Ana already has two loving mothers, and an uncle that… has his moments.” She patted him on the shoulder. “The children who follow my song aren’t like that. They come willingly, and they change because change is what they need. I won’t pretend it’s not a messy process. Sometimes blood needs to be spilled to create a paradise. But ‘be not afraid’, Detective. I would never let my little angels get hurt.”

“I still don’t understand,” he all but wept. “What about Renee Deeds?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Nightingale groaned. “‘What are you? What are you? Where’s the girl? Pow! Blam! I’m a big scary action hero and I’m here to save you or kill you trying!’” 

She shook her head. “You’re not the hero of this story, Detective. The girl you knew as Renee doesn’t exist anymore, but she’s alive, not because of your intervention, or lack thereof. Not even in spite of it. What am I? What is she? And what are we when we’re together? A thing that lives without your permission. You need to understand for it to be true.”

She looked at him then with all the sympathy of a mother comforting a crying child. She handed off the storybook to one of her young attendants, and as she turned around she swept aside the cover of her shawl to reveal her bare back. Her skin was twisted with badly healed scars, the flesh raised in the shape of two jagged cuts curving around the shape of her scapula.

“Here’s another story for you. Once upon a time,” she said. “A ship of men was cast from its course and lost at sea. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, they found themselves on the shores of a mysterious island full of the tallest, greenest trees they’d ever seen. The people there had wings like a bird, and they were so beautiful and kind that the men decided they must be angels, and this was paradise.

“The angels let them stay there a while and lick their wounds, but warned them that they couldn't remain forever. At first they accepted this, but as the time to leave for home grew nearer they became obsessed with the wonders of the island and couldn’t bear to go without taking a piece with them. 

“So enamoured by the beauty of the angels, yet fearing their heavenly wrath, they lured away the smallest one and imprisoned her in the lower decks of the ship. When she realized what had happened, she tried to escape, so they broke her wings until just moving them caused her horrible pain. She did get free in the end, but only once the ship returned to port and by then she was far, far from home and knew not how to find her way back. 

“She knew she wasn’t safe among the wingless people, so she hid herself away until nightfall, singing her song by the light of the moon in hopes that one day someone would return her call. When someone finally did, it wasn’t at all who she expected. It was a young human girl, a daughter of man, who recognized her song of pain and loneliness because these were things she knew well herself. When the angel and the girl finally found each other, the angel bid her to cut her useless wings and drink her blood, and together they escaped on new wings.”

As she spoke, the storm outside grew stronger until the wind rattled the very walls, knocking books loose from their shelves. The brood, with their many colored wings and many sweet voices, began to sing in wordless harmony, a hymn from such unfathomable depths and dizzying heights that Sacha’s legs nearly gave out beneath him. 

“Don’t be sad, my mourning dove. This is a happy story. The Nightingale fell in love with the Swiftlet, the song and the storm, and they carried each other to a place where they could make a new paradise, a garden of their own.”

That was when the ceiling began to cave in. Sacha fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands, blinded by what he was sure was a bolt of lightning. When he looks back on it later, he won’t be so sure.

Again came that sound, the torrent of wind and a hundred wings beating within it. Sacha forced himself to raise his head, squinting against the light, and there he saw dancing in the open air above the wreckage-- for dancing was the only way he could think to describe it-- a girl he once knew. Though they were less than strangers, especially now, he recognized her kind dark eyes, her secretive smile. 

Her hair was loose, a halo of electrified black curls, and her wings a dusky brown with the sharp, precise plumage of a swift. Her legs still didn’t move so freely as the rest of her, but she wasn’t bothered. She didn’t need them.

Nightingale ran and leapt and took her in her arms with a lover’s embrace. Off a ways behind them, their brood took flight as well, swooping and shrieking their delight as if they were a single entity, metamorphosing into something new, something so nearly divine.

Sacha did weep then. His vision blurred with the shape of his grief, then his longing, a child and a man and a hair’s width away from paradise. Eventually the storm subsided, but he didn’t see the angel and her love again after that. He thought perhaps that was for the better.

The sky cleared. The sun came out. Elsewhere, young girls planted gardens and played games and put on shows. The world went on, however changed.

This is where past and present collide. In the aftermath of a mystery, a man named Sacha Ferro picks up a book from in amidst the rubble and holds it up to the light. He flips to D for Detective and begins to read, anxious to find out what happens next.

Epilogue]

“Everyone settle down. Places! Starling, for the last time, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ doesn’t call for a knife thrower.”

“And why not?” She wiggles the blade in her direction. “This show’s so boring. Everyone already knows how it goes. Let me spice it up a bit.”

Finch rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just, don’t jump ahead of your cue this time. And stop making up extra lines. You almost blew it last time.”

Starling sticks her tongue out but she has a skip in her step when she returns backstage. On the other side of the curtain, the audience is starting to take their seats. There aren’t enough chairs-- and most of the “chairs” are actually old boxes and things to begin with-- so some of them have to stand. An older brood allows Pajamas to climb up onto her shoulders, reminding her to be mindful of her wings, which are still fairly fresh and tender where they join with her back.

“Greetings, Princess,” says the fortune teller Resplendent, dressed in her good theatre clothes, as she sits down beside her. “Who’s this?”

Princess Ladybird holds up the dented ornament head. “This is Jessika. The doctors managed to save her but she needs an emergency body transplant, stat! I’m going to find her a new one after the show.”

She nods. “Greetings, Lady Jessika. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”

Ladybird holds the doll head up to her ear and hums as if in response to something.

“Can I hear too?”

She obliges, and Resplendent listens. There’s a quiet buzzing from inside the hollow tin skull and it echoes hauntingly in the emptiness.

She whispers, “There’s a bug inside of Jessika’s brain keeping her alive. That’s why she can still talk without a body. If Jessika dies, the bug will get out. Ick!”

The other girl chuckles. “Your name is a kind of bug, you know.”

“No! It’s a bird! Lady-bird!”

She bites back another laugh and points towards the stage. “Shh, the show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the songbird choir starts up, bidding the chattering spectators to quiet down and listen up. A girl comes out on stage wearing a corner of the curtain as a makeshift hood. She says,

“It is dark inside a wolf’s belly.”

[neriad13]

Rapture Dining Headcanons

Just for fun! And because I find myself writing a little about Rapture food politics and wanna play around with it.

 - It isn’t economically feasible to raise a sizable amount of cattle, pigs or sheep within the confines of Rapture. The vast amounts of space and feed needed is just too expensive to justify it. The methane output is also something that puts a limit on how many animals it’d be safe to keep alive in a given building.

 - However, they are able to raise chickens and rabbits, though they are, due to supply and demand, prohibitively expensive to buy for the lower classes. Cohen’s collection of actual rabbits in his club is a blatant show of wealth. Look at him, filling his establishment with valuable food that a large section of the population can’t afford to buy and letting it hop around. Those rabbits were definitely eaten by patrons and workers holed up in there at some point during the war.

 - Seafood is big business and much, much cheaper than it normally is on the surface. At the city’s inception, crab, shrimp, mussels, clams and whitefish could be bought for less than a dollar a pound. Luxury seafood like king crab, caviar, lobster and swordfish could also be produced much more cheaply but because of the cultural baggage associated with them, they still commanded higher premiums. Unsold luxury seafood, as well as other unwanted scraps, are sold as fertilizer to Arcadia and the other farming areas of the city. Due to unregulated overfishing over the years, prices of seafood gradually went up and fishermen had to go further and further out to score comparable catches.

 - Rapture’s overfishing problem was a big part of the reason why Iceland (who was claiming more and more fishing grounds for themselves) and Britain (who was being pushed out of previously international fishing grounds) were engaged in the Cod Wars intermittently between 1958-76. With the conclusion of the final Cod War, Iceland unknowing claimed Rapture itself as being within its Exclusive Economic Zone.

 - Legally, the foods consumed to show off wealth and power are the rare chickens and rabbits, tuna and swordfish steaks, caviar and oysters. Ryan’s dinner parties are completely on the books...and are considered incredibly boring, menu-wise, by their attendants. Everyone with a good amount of money gets sick of even the best seafood eventually. 

 - Illegally, nothing says more about how much money a person has than a smuggled steak. Or pork chops. Or ribs. Or a speakeasy BBQ joint. People who haven’t had real meat in a while sometimes go a little insane with the meat parties. The ultra wealthy eat it on the regular. The lower classes will save up to buy smuggled meat for special occasions or unsold meat of questionable freshness. This is how disease outbreaks that reveal the presence of a smuggling ring break out.

 - There were smaller smuggling rings run by construction workers since before the city’s opening, from the secret bays of the city through which construction materials were shipped, that were meant to be sealed off once construction was complete. Some of them were bought out by Fontaine. The ones he couldn’t buy were violently shut down. Some of them gradually dissolved as their members dropped out of the business. Some of them were blown in to the authorities and quietly shut down. None of them besides Fontaine’s operation existed in the years leading up to the civil war.

 - Fake meat is also big business. There’s a few startups that offer somewhat palatable lab grown meat (also expensive), but most fake meat is soy or gluten based. Nobody has yet created a perfect facsimile of a steak, but ground fake meat products are generally fairly good.

 - Because of lax labeling laws, it’s hard to know for sure if you’re getting real meat in prepackaged products. Odds are: probably not. Coincidentally, it is also hell on earth to have food allergies in Rapture.

 - Arcadia grows mainly fruits, vegetables, nuts and lumber. Vast amounts of soybeans, wheat and corn are grown hydroponically in farms not open to the public. There are also multiple vineyards in operation. The cheaper ones grow their grapes hydroponically. The luxury ones have soil scooped from the ocean floor in order to give their wines that special “Rapture Terroir”.

 - Tequila is the one liquor that absolutely cannot be produced efficiently in Rapture, due to the long maturation of the blue agave plant and its need for space. However, you can get tequila-flavored vodka...which is not at all recommended. Tequila is a very hot smuggling commodity. 

 - Dairy products are tricky business. There’s a wide variety of plant and nut milks available, which can be made into excellent cheeses, yogurts, ice creams and any other thing that requires it. They almost taste like the real thing. Icelandic dairy farmers make huge amounts of money selling their fine dairy products to smugglers. They absolutely know something’s up out there, but willingly turn a blind eye to it.

 - Non-digestible fillers, outright dangerous food additives and copious use of chemical preservatives, flavorings and colorants are rampant in the unregulated world of commercial food. Will a farmer inject a carcinogenic red dye into a watermelon to make it look prettier? Heck yes, they will. Sawdust (or fish bonemeal) bread has never been so popular since the Victorian Era. 

 - Persephone serves the seafood that gets caught in the prison’s filters to the inmates to cut costs and to silently urge them to participate in the plasmid trials so they have the money to buy off the Deluxe Menu instead.