#i need to clarify I wrote my original answer at work... and I got very carried away

[holly-mckenzie]

Hello! I love LOVE your blog it's so good. I always find the most interesting shows because of your posts so i wanted to ask what are your fav ships with the best chemistry in a newer film/tv show? I saw a whole debate a few days ago about how "ships nowadays are always lacking chemistry " and i was interested in your opinion. Have a nice day!

Hello anon... I need to clarify, I wrote this answer essay thinking about romcoms, bc that's what film twitter has been talking about, but I realised you said "ships". I will answer your question here. Under the cut, is my thoughts on romcoms, please be aware what is hiding beneath the cut is a behemoth of an answer.

But in terms of "ships" and lacking chemistry. I think there's a few things to think about. Specifically, I believe there has been way to much focus on "ships" and sometimes this conversation detracts from other elements of storytelling, or completely takes over the entire story and what it makes it interesting (e.g. - the conversation surrounding Anatomy of a Fall or what Reylo did to Star Wars). On the subject of Star Wars, one of the things to think about in this conversation is how racism, misogyny, or general bigotry shape peoples opinions. The argument of "they don't have chemistry" is a common phrase used by racists and bigots who don't want to engage with their faves being involved with characters of colour/woman etc.

Now unto other reasons why "ships" might not have chemistry. I think if you are discussing American Television, one thing to note is the departure of shows that had 20+ episodes. With the fear that the show might get cancelled and with a shorter time to establish the narrative, I think we, as audiences, are seeing less of the long con, "will they, won't they" game, that we saw in the late 90's/2000's. I would argue this could be one of the reasons that British TV does so well, most British series are only 6 episodes long, and there may be a better understanding of how to write a more compact narrative, and perhaps there's even better job security... But maybe not considering Joe Barton's history.

Lastly, there is a world of media out there and you need to make the effort to find and engage with it. I talk more about this under the cut, but so many people who are minorities are not given the same advantages as white straight people... So if you want to find good stuff. You gots to look for it. It might not be in a language you understand, or about people who you can relate to, but its out there. Go find it.

So in Answer to your Question, what are my fav ships with the best chemistry in a newer film/tv show.

Television: Starstruck (2021– ) : Tom x Jessie The Lazarus Project (2022– ) : Janet x Rebrov & Zhao x Archie & Shiv x George The Artful Dodger (2023) : Belle x Jack Foundation (2021– ) : Hober Mallow x Brother Constant Alex Rider (2020– ) : Alex x Kyra Animal Control (2023– ) : Shred x Emily Tom Jones (2023) : Tom x Sophia

Other Honourable Mentions: Summer Love (2022– ), Colin from Accounts (2022), Still Up (2023– ), Little Woman (2022), Lockwood and Co. (2023), The Flatshare (2022), The Other Two, Suzhal (2022), In Limbo (2023– ), The Buccaneers (2023– ).

Films: Femme (2023), Here (2023), Decision to Leave (2022), Stay the Night (2022), The Big Four (2022), Ponniyan Selvan i & ii, Stellar (2022), Wildhood (2022), Lakelands (2023), Wedding Season (2022), 7 Days (2021), Scream VI, Sanctuary (2022)

Books: Anything by Tia Williams, Sarah Beth Durst, Uzma Jalaluddin, Jane Igharo

Stage: The Effect (2023/2024), Much Ado About Nothing (2019), Much Ado About Nothing (2022), The Notebook (2024), Hadestown

My Original Answer:

Hello anon, thank you so much! Thanks for appreciating my questionable taste. I do really enjoy watching TV, film, and books and then writing academic papers about them in my head. So obviously this question is really fun.

I need to start by saying, I have been thinking about chemistry for weeks, so I am going to answer your question, just maybe not the question you were asking. Brace yourselves, I wrote an essay.

The whole debate is deeply fascinating to me for various reasons. In part I do really believe that people need to broaden their horizons when it comes to the art they interact with. There is a world of cinema out there. If you surround yourselves by clowns and then complain you are in a circus... that's a choice, no?

Expand your horizons, dip into Asian cinema, African cinema, American Cinema (North, South, and Central), that European stuff (that isn't just what the BBC is pumping out or starring your French favs). And if you must watch Hollywood, then watch some indie stuff. Watch some gay stuff. Watch some stuff by people of colour.

Lichrelly no one is forcing you to watch the blandest/whitest romcoms/romdrams. Are they more accessible to watch? Sure. But complaining, when you don't even care to do the research is a choice. Especially, bc of the way that racism/misogyny/homophobia/ableism makes it harder for people to get their stories out. If you really care about these things. You gots to put the effort into caring and finding them.

Secondly, boiling down chemistry to romance is absolutely wild, considering there are different type of chemistry needed for different roles. For example Rob Collins and Shantae Barnes-Cowan have mad chemistry in the show Firebite. Now let me clarify, I am not saying its romantic. They pulled off the single dad and adopted daughter in a survival/action story story so well. Pedro Pascal, who? And it takes chemistry to pull that off. More popularly, one of the reasons that Succession works as a show is because the actors have chemistry. Some of which is romantic ofc, but the vast majority of it isn't (no matter what the in*est shippers on A*3 say). But I understand, the people want what they want, and that's romance.

I also think that chemistry is an odd thing. I know people are inclined to think that its an objective. You look at two people and are like, "Wow, they have chemistry!", and everyone agrees, because "Wow, they have chemistry!". But I am inclined to think its not that straight forward. There is something to be said about our interactions with art being subjective and biased. This is because as we interact with art, we are interacting with it through our own lens. The author is truly dead, and all that matters is the individual reader's interpretation. So, for example, many people love the movie Anyone But You. If you go on YouTube there are many people who have made ship videos about Bea and Ben. But there is a category of people who fucking hate it and think that its trash and the leads don't have chemistry (Yes, I am talking about myself in third person. I will avenge you Much Ado About Nothing).

So, who is right? Who is wrong? Honestly, it really doesn't matter, because its a fucking movie, and like I said, the author is dead. Similarly, some critics really didn't like the series Tom Jones. In certain reviews and articles, criticism of the series was that Solly McLead and Sophie Wilde don't have chemistry. However, if you follow me, you know I completely disagree and made that show my personality for a couple of months.

But on the subject of chemistry (of the romantic variety), I definitely think its more complicated then people let on. I think most people believe that it's about the actors. You put them in a movie, show, whatever, and chemistry they have just happens. It's like love, you can't explain it, but its there. Or, according to my friend, who used to work in the film industry, the best chemistry comes across when the actors hate each other or they secretly like each other/are fucking each other. It's brought on by strong emotions. Which is obviously a school of thought.

However, as my bestie Merry (@akajustmerry) has been discussing, there are actors who are dating/fucking IRL and none of that comes across in the film/show. I highly recommend checking out Merry's blog to see their opinions on this bc Merry is THE film critic of our generation! Someone please hire them!

But I do think it takes more than just what the actors can bring. It's about the direction they are being given, its about the script, its about the staging. It's about the framing. And it's about the actors and their acting ability. Actors are working professionals and contrary to popular belief, it takes skills to act (not just a pretty face). And one of the skills needed is the ability to create trust between the leads, as Merry and an anon discusses in this post. Because without trust, how can there be chemistry. Which is why intimacy coordinators are SO important. Fuck anyone who says otherwise!

To argue against my friend who used to work in the industry, yes hating/loving someone IRL can create tangible chemistry. And yeah, it might be hard to overcome friendship, if you are friends with your co-star (e.g. - that one interview where Jessica Matten jokes about how weird it was to kiss Kiowa Gordan in Dark Winds). But think about Nikesh Patel and Rose Matafeo in Starstruck. From what I can tell, which is little bc I don't know them IRL and its none of my business, Rose and Nikesh weren't hating each other or fucking in each other. They seem to be friends, but mostly co-workers. But regardless of all of that, Starstruck is literally one of the greatest romcoms of our era. And they have mad chemistry.

Additionally, in my opinion, Lee Pace and Laura Birn of Foundation fame, and Lana Gordon and MPQ/Zachary James and Gloria Onitiri of Hadestown fame have chemistry. But all the men I just listed are gay/in relationship with men, so we can't chalk up chemistry to already existing romantic tension. It is an aspect of acting and skill. Both Zachary James and MPQ have spoken about how the trust they have in their co-stars, have allowed space to shape and cultivate the characters they play (including the romance of the show).

You can't just cast two conventionally attractive people and expect their attractiveness to do the rest. You know my thoughts on Anyone But You. But similarly, think about the way that people were thirsting over Zoë Kravitz and Robert Pattinson bc of all the press and photo shoots they did for The Batman. But then also think of the accusations of whorebaiting, that followed. They simply, in my opinion, did not have chemistry. Even if the Bat and the Cat are one of the funnest dynamics in them comics.

So now that we have discussed actors, and audiences. We gots to discuss actual story telling. Writing is a skill. I know on the tumblr dot com, we have discussed that writing good sex scenes is a skill. Writing good romance is the same... I don't want to labour on about this, bc I feel like you must already know that. But some things to consider is the way in which the focus on tropes instead of storytelling is a detriment to the genre. The fanfictionization of romance. The way in which abuse is touted as romance. The way that studios (coughcough Netflix) are churning out these stories (some of which are def US military propaganda). The lean towards making these movies, more and more explicit. The way that some studios/book publishers are trying to profit off already successful stories without realising what made it successful (e.g. - the amount of fake dating stories in the wake of To All the Boys, or the remakes of older movies).

So what made the movies of old so special. What made romcoms from the late 90's early 2000's, the movies by Nora Ephron and Garry Marshall oh so special. The bleak answer is nostalgia. But you could also discuss the type of narratives that were told during the time. The type of backgrounds these actors and storytellers had before they took these roles. The socio-political enviroment that cultivated these stories. The amount of money and time the studios were willing to invest in these movies. The lack of AI technology... All of the cheating scandals that arose on the sets. The existence of the Film Stars™ vs. just actors.

The fact that streaming has changed the way that movies/tv are made, and the way people consume them. Which could potentially lesson the impact on audiences, as there is less need to go to theatres. To wait for the movies to be released on DVD/VCD/VHS. Lessen the need to re-watch the movies obsessively, bc it was one of three movies you owned on DVD/VCD/VHS, and thus a lack of cementing it in your brain as THE RomCom. Yes, this is just an excuse to yell: BRING BACK PHYSICAL MEDIA, YOU COWARDS!

But one thing that I haven't seen discussed as much is the existence of the Hays Code.

A couple years ago, I watched this lecture and read this book by this academic that focused on RomComs. (I forgot the academic, but I can find it later, if you want. Can you tell I studied English and Film in school?). Regardless, the academic argued that during the 90's filmmakers had to grapple with the remnants of the Hays Code. The code was a "self-imposed industry set of guidelines for all the motion pictures that were released between 1934 and 1968." The Code prohibited things like "profanity, suggestive nudity, graphic or realistic violence, sexual persuasions and rape."

So, while RomComs, like Pretty Woman, were in production, more then 20 years after the Hays Code, this academic argued that filmmakers were grappling with what this freedom meant. That while Pretty Woman was definitely a movie that could have never been made during the time of the Code, the affect of the Code meant that these narratives were adhering to the Code, whether intentional or not.

I think one of the things to consider about the Code was the way that filmmakers had to figure out ways to work around the restrictions in order to tell the stories they wanted. So, for example the Noir is a genre came about during the height of the Code and a time where film-makers didn't have access to that much money. So, the filmmakers had to be creative to get the shots they wanted, which is how we got the highly stylized way of filming that is so iconic to the genre. Not out of excess but out of need. Additionally, the iconic archetypes of the Noir Detective and the Femme Fatale are directly due to the Hayes Code and the period that villanized certain types of woman, and esteemed certain types of men.

Yet, there is an entire study on the homosexual subtext, which was written into these films. For example in The Maltese Falcon, the main character, Sam Spade, refers to another character as a "gunsel". The the censors wrongly assumed this was a reference to a gunman, however, it is vulgar way to refer to someone who is gay. This is the same movie that features a different character, Joel Cairo, who is suggested to be gay (which is one of the reasons the film could not be legally shown on US television stations). Being a filmmaker meant learning how to navigate around the code. Being a filmmaker meant taking a risk, bc you may end up on wrong side of it.

If you want more information on queer films of the time, I believe that Merry or Deah would be able to help you seeing they have an entire podcast on gay movies/shows/games. Check out the @gayvclubpodcast.

So, going back to the RomComs of the 90's. You are talking about an entire industry of filmmakers, who were making movies after the wake of an extreme censorship, and on some level they must known or have heard stories about navigating that terrain. They must have also, on some level, understood what it meant to cultivate stories where characters want each other, like each other, yearn for each other. Because during the Code you couldn't just point a camera at them and say "See they are fucking each other, they did fuck each other, they will continue to do so. Clearly this is a romance". More work needed to be done and laid out in order to cultivate the romances that we now love.

I would argue, if you want to buy this argument, that this is the same reason that K-Dramas/Movies are SO popular. Because it was not that long ago, that Korea was more strict about the way in which physical intimacy was filmed. Think about the era, where actors would stand next to each other, lips touching, and the camera would spin in a dizzying way around them. Now, obviously, kisses aren't filmed in that way, and some movies feature open mouth kisses. Scandalous, I know. But I would argue this is one of the reasons that K-Dramas are so famous, because of the knowledge on how to draw out emotions from the audience that does not rely on physical/sexual intimacy.

So, I suppose the conversation of "ships nowadays are always lacking chemistry " comes down to a skill issue. Skill on the filmmakers parts for not being able to cultivate good stories. Skill on the Actors part, for not being able to do what is required of the role. Skill of the studios parts, for not realising the long term impact of physical media and what sells. And skill on the audiences part, for not seeing the world in one way, and not caring to do the research to find the stories you are looking for.

[earth616variant]

hide and seek | steve rogers ; 3

summary | You had a history of playing this game. Steve looks back as he waits on the other side of the door.

words | 5.1k+

genres | angst, fluff, e2l

pairing | steve rogers x agent!reader

warnings | mentions of blood

note | this was supposed to be part of the final chapter but I unintentionally wrote it too long and I felt like there will be a lot of things happening if I add this there. Don't worry, the finale will immediately follow. For now, here is a not-so-little back story on how they met.

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Doll, Y/N…” he called out softly. He heard a muffled sob and he knew that you are crying not because of that sudden headache. It took a few more knocks and calls before you answered.

“Please, leave me alone, Steve.”

It breaks his heart to hear your broken voice as you pushed him away again. But he would never get tired no matter how hard you try to hide your real emotions from him. This isn’t the first time you hid from him. If he have to beg for you to show yourself, he would. 

“Please talk to me. I’m here, sweetheart.”

Louder sobs followed from the other side of the door. He rested his hand on your door, looking down at his feet. This is torture. As much as he wanted to talk to you last night and clarify his plans after returning the stones, he still wanted to wait for you. He is draining any remaining patience he has in him because he knows how badly you two need to speak. 

With you hiding or running away every time he tried to reach for you, it reminded him of how you arrived and disappeared from everyone’s lives before. 

“She is a newly hired agent, employed specifically by me. Agent Y/N will be working closely in the IT unit.”

Steve crossed his arms as Fury introduced you to everyone in the room, The Avengers. Except for Thor, he was in Asgard. You don’t seem intimidated though since your face has a neutral look. Your eyes were impassive. At first glance, you looked like a simple lady who goes to her eight-to-five office job. You wore a plain, white blouse and a black pencil skirt, matching your low-heeled pumps. Natasha had the same pose as Steve, but she seemed proud as she looks at you. Clint, who was next to her, offered you a single nod. Bruce gave you a short, polite smile. Tony was the first one to say something.

“Just because I told you I’m taking a break, you’re hiring a new girl for the tech?” he seemed offended as he talked to Fury. He, then, turned to you,  “Can you go out for a sec–”

“I don’t think you would want me to leave after letting me in in your highly secured building,” you spoke nonchalantly while looking around.

Fury smirked, “Y/N has very sharp memory skills and is a master hacker. Also, she has been trained as a martial artist ever since she was eight. She used to work as a spy and marksman for various groups and organizations.”

“Who were you working for before?” Bruce asked.

Instead of answering the question immediately, you turned your head to Nick. He gave you a single nod.

“I worked for a lot of people. I don’t really know most of them since the higher-ups just give me assignments. I was required to follow with no complaints or else…” your voice trailed off. Everyone in the room could see your eyes getting lost for a second before you sighed heavily. 

Steve later learned that Natasha was originally the one who brought you to SHIELD. It was Natasha's solo mission to take down the training program you were in. Out of almost fifty people in that program, you were the most proficient and definitely the only one who almost defeated the Black Widow herself. She talked you into coming with her while having an intense one-on-one battle with you.

 

“We were both already bloody by the time I took her to the jet.” Natasha quipped. “She later revealed that she was also the one messing up with my comms when I got into their location.”

Before you are officially recruited, you went through tests and interviews with Fury and Maria. You refused to answer without Natasha's presence. Like she was your lawyer or something. But at that moment, she was the only person you trust from SHIELD. You can feel her genuine empathy and honesty to you when she also shared how she got into SHIELD.

Just from hearing stories from Natasha, Steve can tell that you are highly skilled in what you do. But he cannot help to be curious about the sudden recruitment of you. SHIELD already has its practiced IT department, why hire a new one? It became more suspicious when you were separated from other IT specialists in the organization. You have your office on Fury’s floor in the SHIELD headquarters in Washington. In your first weeks, you worked in the office. A month after your arrival, you were assigned to join Steve and Natasha to retake the Lemurian Star that was hijacked by pirates.

“Why is she joining us?” Steve asked Natasha while they waited for you to finish your briefings with Fury. “Isn’t she supposed to be with Fury all the time?”

“She is not his assistant, Rogers. She’s also an agent.” she reminded him, rolling her eyes.

Steve didn’t say anything more. You later joined them in the debriefing with STRIKE while on the quinjet. Steve noticed how quiet you were. You didn’t ask any questions but you seemed focused and ready for the task. You simply nodded when he assigned you to your spot. Steve jumped off the aircraft first. 

Minutes later, he was asking for everyone’s update in the comms. You were the only one not responding if you were in your spot. Just when Steve smashed Batroc into one of the rooms, he sees you pulling out a flash drive from the computer. Your unbothered eyes met his. His eyebrows scrunched together. He was about to say something but the pirate threw a grenade in your direction as he escaped. With your shared coordination, you two jumped to another room. Both you and Steve tried to catch your breath as you two ran for miles.

“Let’s go back to the jet,” you whispered almost breathless. You stood up and walked away, leaving Steve more confused.

“It’s weird to stare.” 

Steve automatically moved his gaze away from you. You two are now in a smaller aircraft SHIELD sent out on the way back to the headquarters. Natasha is with STRIKE and other hostages on the other quinjet. There was an apparent air between you two as you sat in front of each other. You put your leg on top of the other as you continue, 

“You know, if you have questions, you can just ask.”

Steve didn’t hold back and went straight to what he was curious on, “What were you doing with that flash drive?”

“I was getting some files,” you replied matter-of-factly.

“What files? Why?”

“That was my mission.”

“Our mission is to rescue hostages,” Steve stated. He is too annoyed to notice you only answered one of his questions. 

You shook your head, “No, that’s your mission, Captain. I have mine.”

The jet was landing already but you and Steve continued talking.

“You almost jeopardized the whole operation.” he hissed.

“How so?” You raised an eyebrow. “The mission was done well, right? No one really died or got hurt except for the pirates. I retrieved the files I was asked to get while you saved the hostages. I don’t really see any jeopardization there, Cap.” 

You are too composed that Steve can feel his blood boiling from your headstrong attitude, “What are those files for anyway?”

“Eh, none of your business,” you answered cheekily, standing up from your seat.

“Did Natasha even know about this?!”

He did not receive the answer as you strolled out of the jet. Almost half an hour later, Steve marched into Fury’s office later that day, still wearing his stealth suit. Just when he was walking in the hallway to his door, you were walking out of the said office. His jaw clenched when you greeted him with a sarcastic smile,

“Oh, hey, Captain.”

He ignored you, looking ahead. As soon as he entered the room, Steve expressed his dismay and frustration to the director, who was quick to defend you from him. 

“Agent Y/N had a different mission than yours.”

“Which you didn't feel obliged to share.” Steve interjected, “I can't lead a mission when the people I'm leading have missions of their own.”

To gain his trust again, Fury showed him the plans for Project Insight. It didn’t last long since Steve decided to leave before another argument began. He was a few seconds in the elevator when the door opened, revealing you. You now wore a more casual outfit than the one you wore on the mission. Jeans, a striped shirt, and a denim jacket. You also have glasses. It was a new look of yours that he sees since you often wore normal office clothes. There were seconds of silence, only the sound of you opening a lollipop wrapper can be heard. Steve pursed his lips before asking,

“So, the data are for Nick?” You remained quiet and he took it as a silent answer for yes. “

“Look,” you took the candy from your mouth and turned your head to Steve.  “I understand that you don’t really trust me since I suddenly showed up here. I don’t trust you either, okay? You don’t have to waste your time speculating about me and my presence around you. I swear, if you’re going to search my name on Google again, I’m gonna put the worst virus in your phone and computer.”

Blood came rushing to his cheeks and ears. He did search for your name on the Internet. It was a dumb move but he was itching to have any kind of information about the people you worked for.

You proceeded, “I’m just here to do my job to Fury. Not to SHIELD. He needed my skills, I needed to pay for things I’ve done before. Once I cleaned off some dirt on my name to him, I’ll get off this organization.”

“You’re leaving?”

He didn’t mean to sound disappointed but he was obviously surprised. You eyed him like you did not expect him to have such a reaction. You two were in the middle of your exchanged glances when the elevator let out a sound, signaling that you have reached the ground floor. You were the one who broke the exchange, walking out.

“Goodbye, Cap.”

With your stuffed backpack and tied-up hair, you walked farther away. That was the last time Steve saw you. Then, a lot of things happened. A day after that last interaction with you, Fury was shot in Steve’s apartment, where he take possession of the same flash drive you had. Natasha helped him in finding out what was in it. When he asked her about you during a drive to New Jersey, she said that you don’t really plan on staying to be a SHIELD agent or maybe an Avenger.

“She’s probably soul-searching somewhere.” Natasha blurted out, staring out the car window. “That girl has been through shit. The training program she was in almost worked in the same way as the Red Room. She should be living her life the way she wants.”

They discovered later that SHIELD was infiltrated by HYDRA. While in Sam’s place, he wondered if you knew about it. Maybe that was your secret mission to the director. More events happened. He saw Bucky once again. Fury was shown to be alive, aided by Maria Hill. He half-expected that you were with them in their secret facility but you were not. They took down SHIELD and the group’s hidden files were leaked by Natasha to the Internet. Your information is, of course, nowhere there. It was like you made sure that you will never be found by anyone again.

More years and events passed. Ultron happened.  You still passed by Steve’s mind every once in a while. The Sokovia Accords and Avengers split happened. He was too busy that he finally got you out of his head. After laying low, Natasha helped Steve in getting the imprisoned Avengers in the Raft. He had no idea where to go. But fortunately, Natasha says she knows a place where they can stay.

“She…is alive.”

Steve watched you quietly as you socialize with Wanda and Sam. For the first time in years, he saw you again. You welcomed their team into your isolated farm in a foreign country, offering them more comfortable lodging and meals. He was surprised to see you go out of the house when Natasha was landing the quinjet. You still wore the same plain expression on your face but he can see from your eyes that you were more at peace.

“Of course, she is. She just left the country and lived a different life.” Natasha chuckled, sitting beside Steve. “You knew she is alive, right?”

“I did… I guess. But seeing her again after a long time is like a confirmation.”

In their first few days, you and Steve didn’t really interact. You have a large homestead farm, he can see how you can manage living by yourself. He’s been wanting to talk to you. He was unsure why but he knows he wants to apologize. 

“Be patient with her. She doesn’t really talk much about herself to new people unless needed.” Natasha once told him.

“I’m no stranger to her. We worked together before.” Steve spoke defensively.

Natasha clicked her tongue, “Please. In the whole two months she was in SHIELD, you never personally introduce yourself to her.”

Before Steve can get lost in looking back on the time he met you, she spoke again, “If you really want to talk to her, you can try. Just try and have patience.”

Two weeks exactly after they arrived at your place, Steve asked if he can come with you when you were leaving the house to work around your farm. You scanned your eyes from his head to toe before looking back at him again, “Okay.”

“I’m just picking fruits today. So, there’s nothing really much to do.” you shared.

The weather was perfect. The morning sun was kind enough to not be too hot for your skin. You two strolled far away to the house. You seemed more comfortable this time as you were humming some melody like a little kid. Steve’s heart warms seeing that you seemed better than the time you got recruited.

“I really appreciate you letting us stay here for a while, Y/N.” he began, making you pause. “And I want to apologize for being too cynical of you before.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” you replied, not turning around to properly talked to him and just continued walking to one of the trees. “I was someone who have a bad record and worked for wicked people. I wouldn’t trust me either if I were you.”

Steve cannot see your face but the emotion in your voice speaks a lot. It was clear as the blue sky that you still carry the burden of whatever happened in your past.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve spoke softly.

Finally, you turned around, instantly meeting his eyes with a melancholy smile, “I know. But, I still did it. My hands will forever be stained by all the things I’ve done… ”

He can see your eyes turning glossy before you blinked and looked away. You were quick to shake off any threatening tears that could show your weakness. Suddenly, you opened your arms, presenting the tree next to you with a grin.

“Here is my favorite tree in the whole yard!” 

Steve would be lying if he say that he didn’t find it amazing how fast you can change your expressions, almost believable. But he didn’t talk about it. He lets it pass since you seemed pretty excited telling him about the fruits. He didn’t know how long he helped you pick out various fruits such as apples, peaches, and a few oranges. But he didn’t notice that the basket he was holding was full until you pointed it out and told him that you two should wander back to the house.

“How did you have this farm by the way? If you don’t mind me asking.” Steve inquired carefully.

“An old couple sold it to me for a low price. I paid them with the money I got from Nick after doing that job for him. At first, I was aiming for the couple’s house only since I loved how secluded it is. Then, they told me that this farm is included, which was amazing since it can help me avoid driving away to the city every other day for food. So yeah, I bought it.” 

Steve thought that that will be the longest dialogue you would ever say to him. But as every day went by, you got more relaxed in telling him about yourself. You two bonded over early morning coffee chats and picking fruits. And yes, Steve introduced himself to you, letting you know that you can call him by his name. You introduced yourself too with slight mocking:

“Okay, Steve. I’m Y/N. Don’t worry, that’s my real name. Google won’t give you any other name of mine.”

You love waking up early to see the ravishing sunrise while Steve sometimes struggles to fall asleep as he thinks about Bucky in Wakanda and the aftermath of the accords. So, most of the time, the other Avengers in your house will see you two in the morning sitting on the top steps of your front porch with two cups in between.

“Wanda said she’s planning to go with Vision,” Steve confessed in one of your mornings.

You don’t seem surprised as you continued to look ahead and take a sip from your cup, “Yeah, I know. They’ll be staying in Europe.”

“Do you think it will be safe for them?” he expressed his worry with that question.

“He’s an android robot made of vibranium. She can move things with her mind. Steve, I think they are going to survive.” you grinned. But Captain America seemed too serious and concerned with his friend, so you turned in his direction, “Look, they’re going to be fine.  Wanda and Vision are a literal power couple. I don’t think they will let anyone hurt or even lay a finger on them. And based on what Natasha told me, she can see Wanda still evolving her power. I cannot imagine what more she can do when someone hurt anyone she loves. And I know you guys will always come to them if they ever needed help.”

You two sounded like parents who are having a conversation about letting their daughter go live independently. Steve nods at everything you said. Maybe he’s just overthinking things. 

“Whatever you are feeling, it’s fine. You are their leader and you are just concerned about your members.” 

That was the first time he felt your hand over him, giving it a soft squeeze. He saw you doing it to Natasha once when you two were talking alone in the kitchen. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop but it was time Natasha was talking about her sister. You also gave her comfort through your words just like how you did with him now. Other than being a spy or hacker, Steve learned that you were a great friend to everyone too. You and Sam get together well and you can ride along his jokes. With Wanda, you enjoy cooking and watching something on your television. You even prepared an impromptu going away dinner for her before she leaves with Vision. You are like a shapeshifter who can easily get along with everyone.

“Yeah, I definitely became a shapeshifter at one point.�� you joked one time. You were getting cozy in one of your cool early mornings with him. You were wearing a white cardigan over your grey nightgown. “By the time Natasha leaked all of SHIELD’s files, I was already out of the United States. I am always ready. I have fake passports and identification cards for different purposes before. I erased all of my information from SHIELD before I left, I knew the government will be after me if I didn’t.”

“Where did you go?”

“I moved from one country to another. It’s fun, you know? Trying out different names and identities. It’s like playing hide and seek.” you shrugged. “Unbeknownst to me, Natasha and Clint were both tracking me down after Ultron happened. They thought they can ask me to join you, guys to avoid such tech issues again. But after what happened to SHIELD, one of the highly-secured organizations before, I don’t think I would want to join any kind of group.”

Steve nodded, “Yeah, it’s hard to trust again after that.”

“That’s why you didn’t sign the accords,” you mumbled like it was a fact.

He didn’t answer but you both know that it was the truth. You two let the silence slip at the moment, only watching the far sky. It was like a painter’s work of art. The rising sun painted the sky with captivating, calming shades of orange, yellow, and pink. Steve tilted his head in your direction when he heard you slowly let out a shaky breath. A single tear rolled down your cheek, making him concerned.

“Are you okay?”

You chuckled, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your cardigan, “I just love the colors so much.”

You met his furrowed brow gaze. You tried to smile but your lips trembled, “T-This is my fourth year out of that horrible training program. Thanks to Natasha.”

Steve smiled as he was happy with that. You sounded proud and he wanted to maybe greet you for this achievement. But your tears don’t look like from joy, it seems painful.

“Also the same day my mom was shot dead in front of me and I don’t know what to feel about it,” you admitted, sounding more defeated. “I never really got to cry about her death since I was brought to the program right away and we were not allowed to feel anything there. We cannot laugh, cry, or even hum anything. We will be punished if we don’t follow. That… that really sucks.”

You chuckled, one of your many ways to cope. Steve watched you with sympathy. 

“Yet I got away. I’m here.” you wept. But tears kept coming in. “But with all the immoral things I’ve done as a spy, I don’t know if I deserve to be here or feel happy at all. I don’t know.”

It’s not your fault, Steve wanted to remind you again. But you continued, “And I usually spend my days alone. I always try to work around here to distract myself from any kind of emotion. But now, to sit here in peace with someone, in front of this sunrise, my feelings are really all over the place and I feel unworthy of it.”

Gently pushing the coffee cups aside, Steve scooted closer to you. He wrapped an arm around your slumped shoulders. He lets you cry to his shoulder, damping that part of his shirt.

“I know I should feel happy for escaping hell. But my heart hurts so much.”

For the first time in years, you admitted what you have been feeling inside. You never told everyone about it before. Steve is very much aware that you just shared the most intimate confession you had and he appreciates you trusting him with it. 

Two, three, or four minutes flew by, Steve is still holding you to his shoulders and you were calming down. He felt you lifting your head.

Your chest still heaves from your sobs when you spoke, “I-I’m sorry about that. I probably got carried away–”

You stopped when Steve shakes his head side by side slowly, “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to be sorry for everything. It’s okay for you to feel emotions. You’re a person and everything you are feeling right now is valid. You can express whatever you want. Laugh. Cry. Sing whatever song you want. You’re free. No one’s going to hurt you now.”

The moment he said that last sentence, he read the relief showing from your glistened eyes. Your shoulders were shaking when you cried harder. You turned your head down, hiding your face. Steve’s hands carefully reached down to your cheeks. His thumbs softly swiped the trickling tears.

“Feel free to take your time processing your emotions. You can cry for now but you don’t have to carry it with you all the time. And you will never be alone now. You accepted this group of war criminals in your home, so we will stay with you forever. You have no choice.” he tried to lighten up the mood and he grinned when he heard your lips letting out a giggle. “Natasha is here. I’m here. You can come to me, okay?”

You nodded wordlessly against his palms. Steve smiled and you did too, showing more ease than earlier. You looked back at the sky, and he mirrored. The sun is about to shine bright with the white clouds any time now. The mix of colors is almost gone. 

“Everything you said meant a lot. Thank you, Steve,” you murmured. Your eyes are beginning to puff and get weary from that bucket of tears you poured out. You opened your arms and you two shared the warmest bear hug. 

“Thank you for opening up to me, sweetheart,” he replied before planting a kiss on your hair.

That moment unquestionably got you two closer. Your two other housemates, Natasha and Sam, were not shy about showing you two that they noticed it. They would sometimes tease you about it. But you two shook it off.

“Y/N, this is obviously favoritism.” Sam accused you.

Steve and Sam were playing scrabble. Natasha was keeping scores while you check their words in your hefty dictionary book, also given to you by the old owners of the farm.

“No, it’s not, Mr. Wilson. The word was here in my handy dictionary. It’s acceptable.”

The Falcon rolled his eyes, “No one uses flapjack in a sentence anymore.”

“You just did.” you teased him.

Both Natasha and Steve chortled. Sam gaped his mouth open, dramatically reacting.

That’s how their first four months happened in staying in your house. Steve almost forgot that they were just laying low. They still have to be alert to every danger that comes to Earth. Of course, with your tech skills, you still helped them with getting information and making useful gadgets for them with limited resources. Steve was thankful that you lend your skills in tracking growing harmful groups in different countries.

“Can I join you guys?”

Steve paused from fixing his boots when you suddenly barged into his room with a single question. It was unexpected. Earlier that day, Wanda, who’s currently in Scotland, sent out a message to you about Vision’s mind stone. Something strange was going on with it. Steve, Natasha, and Sam immediately planned to go to them as soon as possible. 

“Are you sure, doll?” 

Steve stood from the edge of his bed and walked to you. It has been two years since they came to your quiet farm and they’ve done a lot of missions with your assistance for their techs. But you never volunteered for going on missions.

“I am. I feel like I’m ready and I can help. I will be a great backup.” you insisted. Steve knows something’s going on in your head to make you have a decision like this. He seemed to be thinking deeply, so you added, “I can feel that this is a big mission, Steve. I don’t think I can just sit and wait for you three to come back here. I really want to go this time.”

Steve stared at you even longer. He knows that you are fit for joining them, you are one of the most competent persons he has ever known. But he doesn’t want you to be placed in any dangerous situation. It was like after knowing for a couple of years, all he wants is to keep you protected in this private land you own. But with your strong-willed attitude, he knows he can’t. 

“Steve, you know that I will still go with you even if you say no, right?” you calmly asked.

“Then why are you still asking me this?”

You gulped, stiffened your posture, “Because… I want you to know that I trust you and you are important to me. Even if I won’t follow you if you’ll say no, you are important to me.”

With how quiet the whole room became, he can hear the heavy beats of your heart. He knew, by the rhythm of it, that it was almost identical to his own heartbeats every time he sees you at the start of his day.

“I know you are already Captain America but I want to be with you in all of your battles. I want to fight next to you than to stay here, wondering how are you.  I want to protect you. So I can make sure that I will still see you at the end of the day. I want to make sure that I will hear your voice calling me whatever nicknames you like because I love it. I love it and all the other things you do for me. The simple meals, the walk to the trees,  the coffee sessions in front of sunrise, and all the hundreds of kisses you left on my hair, forehead, cheeks, and nose. All of them. And sometimes, I wish you just–”

Absolutely caught off guard, Steve pulled your waist closer to him and placed his lips on yours. You didn’t react at first but you kissed him back. And at that moment, he cannot think of anything else except you. Your charming smile, your hearty laugh, and the humming of your voice every time you two walked outside to pick fruits. He suddenly felt your fingertips combing through his growing hair. He gasped when you slightly pulled his hair. But before the kiss could deepen, you pulled away.

“Your beard tickles,” you murmured, making Steve laugh. “But I like it. You looked really good with it.”

Instead of responding, Steve just peppered your face with kisses.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, you can go with us’.” you giggled.

Steve raised a brow, “It means to say ‘I love you’. But yeah, sure, come with us.”

You squealed and ran out of the room to prepare. Steve grinned seeing you so excited. But then, you come back, poking your head to his open door.

“Oh, and I love you too.”

Steve already played this game with you before. Now, he is willing to wait. But it’s hard when it feels like you’ve been pushing him farther and farther away.

additional a/n: whoo! that was my longest writing. i'm really sorry it took me long to update. I'll be posting the final/next chapter of this series before posting for my other works. that's all. thank you for reading<3

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[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[siren-dragon]

Cultural Studies -- The Cat Returns fanfic

Hello again, guess who wrote another one-shot! Anyway, this prompt came to me (along with several others, lol) so I decided to write something for it. Also, big thanks to everyone who enjoyed my first story. Also, Haru’s outfit is based on the yukata from the Love Nikki game and I may draw something for this story at a later date. Anyway, please enjoy!

AO3 story link    Tagging: @mysticsoulgirl

Prompt: Summer Fireworks Festival

=======================================================

Though the Sanctuary, and by extension the Cat Bureau itself, experienced many a visitor wishing for assistance with one thing or another- it wasn’t exactly a stationary place. True, anyone could follow Muta from the Crossroads and through the twists and turns of Japan’s alleys to locate the entryway arch, but that wasn’t truly the Bureau’s physical location. Anyone who was in need could find the Sanctuary entrance, all they had to do was merely look for it. So, while Baron was not unaccustomed to a variety of clients (even if the quantity seemed to have diminish over the years), it was always a study in new cultures when a guest appeared. Even when the cat figurine made a point to be open and courteous to a visitor, there were often a few things he gained new knowledge of.

“A fireworks festival? I’m afraid I’ve not heard of such a thing before.” He spoke, handing Haru a now size-appropriate cup thanks to the Bureau’s magic.

The dark brunette offered a small word of thanks and a bright smile before continuing. “Really? Oh, they’re great fun. Originally it was started as a festival for the dead; to mourn the lost one while celebrating life. But nowadays it’s just a fun activity to watch while eating festival food with friends.”

“Did I hear someone mention food?” Muta spoke, closing the front door behind him. “Hey Chicky, you bring any snacks with you today?”

From the upstairs balcony came a snort of displeasure. “You ever think of anything aside from your stomach,” Toto drawled, rolling his eyes at the cat’s one-track mind.

“What was that birdbrain?!”

“Oh, come on, think of a new insult piggy-cat!”

Before the fight could escalate anymore Haru, now a more convenient size for Baron’s home, rose from her seat on the sofa and lifted a bag where the scent of sugar and fresh fruit wafted throughout the room. “If you two are going to fight, then Baron and I will eat this by ourselves- including the mulberries I got special for you Toto.”

Both cat and crow immediately silenced themselves before tossing a glare at the other, “You got lucky, big chicken.”

“Sure thing, marshmallow.”

Baron sighed, taking out the necessary cutlery before Muta decided to forego the use of utensils. “Muta, have you experienced such festivals in the Human Realm?”

“What festivals?”

“The fireworks festival coming up this weekend,” Haru clarified as she handed Toto the collection of mulberries she brought.

It was here that the ex-con feline grinned, “oh yeah. Gotta love summer festivals in Japan with all their fried food and sweets. Best time to be a cat.”

Toto snickered, “why am I not surprised; you only think from your stomach.”

“Shut up!”

“There’s also games where you can win prizes and some shops as well. And at the end there is large fireworks show everyone watches to celebrate the summer season.” It was here that Haru’s excited smile seemed to dim slightly, “I was going to go with Hiromi, but she has a family reunion to attend. And my Mom will be out of town during that weekend- so I’ll just be watching it from my house.”

As a figurine being made out of wood, anything associated with fire was typically something Baron tried to actively avoid. And while he would deny it fervently later onto a rather smug looking Muta and Toto, the slightly disheartened expression on Haru’s face sent a rather unpleasant sensation through his chest sent nearly all thoughts of self-preservation out the window. It reminded him of their previous adventure in the Cat Kingdom; with her clad in a fine, pale-yellow gown and wearing a look of absolute despair despite it having been her so called “wedding day”. And so, it was not 2 seconds later that he found the words tumbling from his lips without any kind of second thought.

“Perhaps we can accompany you to this festival instead, Haru.”

That certainly caused the brunette to stare at him in surprise, yet a spark of joy danced within her caramel eyes. “Really? You guys would want to go with me?”

“Hey, if there’s food then you can count me in.” Muta shrugged, finishing his slice of chiffon cake.

Toto nodded, “I’m sure it’d be a great experience; what with the lack of clients to the Bureau.”

Haru beamed brightly with sheer delight, “Thank you everyone, I’m sure you all will love it!”

When Haru had finally left for the day, a definite spring in her step, Muta couldn’t help but turn a sly grin to his fellow feline. “Well, that was rather generous of you to volunteer us for something you didn’t even know about till 30 minutes ago.”

“I’m not sure what you are inquiring Muta. It was quite clear that Miss Haru was looking forward to this festival and it would be unbecoming of a gentleman to allow her to merely remain home alone and miss the event entirely.”

Toto nodded, “I have to say, I agree with Baron on this one. But I don’t think it was that difficult to persuade you after that melancholic expression crossed her face.”

Baron gave a displeased frown to his colleague’s rambunctious laughter, which did nothing to hide the slight tint of pink beneath his cream-colored fur. Honestly, since when was chivalrous behavior become a source of mockery? And yet… the sight of Haru’s joyful smile was more than worth it.

“So, are you going to wear a yukata?”

“A what?”

That answer only made the hefty white cat laugh louder.

 ======================================================

“Muta… are you quite sure that this garment is placed on correctly.”

“If the picture is anything to go by, then yeah. Besides; you can’t wear a suit with tails to a summer festival- you’ll stick out too much.” The large cat answered, glancing down at the newspaper advertisement in his hands before looking back to his much shorter friend. “Hmm, I think that’s right.”

“You idiot, tie for the sash is supposed to be in the back.” Toto commented, taking the advertisement with his beak to compare the image to Baron’s new attire. “See, there isn’t a giant bow in the front.”

“Okay first, it’s called an obi and second, stop butting in birdbrain!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you knew what you were doing, fluff-ball!”

Baron was going to attempt to silence their bickering before the sash about his waist loosened slightly causing the robe to flutter open and expose part of his chest and collarbone before the ginger feline took hold of the garment’s sides and quickly held them closed. He briefly wondered if it would perhaps be better to merely wear his typical suit before a knock sounded on the door- halting Muta and Toto’s argument. The crow quickly flew toward the door and swiftly opened the door to reveal Haru. She too was clad in a traditional yukata of navy blue with ivory and cream-colored stars swirling around a crescent moon at the hem of the dress before continuing upward. The sash wrapped around her waist took on a pale blue color while the right sleeve of her dress shifted colors; with the stars now dark and the fabric white shade. Though her hair was cut short, it was still pinned back by a blue, yellow, and orange silk flower with the latter two colors matching the shade of his own fur. To be perfectly honest, she looked quite breath-taking.

“Baron are you wearing a yukata?” She grinned, noticing his change of attire immediately which only made the statuette cling to the folds of the loosened robe all the more tightly. “I didn’t even know you had one!”

“Well, Muta saw fit to inform me this is the traditional attire for a summer festival so it is a recent addition to my wardrobe. However, I seem to be having a bit of trouble actually dressing.” He answered, unable to prevent the sigh from leaving his lips at his current dishevelment.

Haru giggled, placing her small bag on the sofa before approaching him. “Don’t worry, it’s always challenging for a first-timer. Here, you just need a little bit of adjusting…”

Despite his attempt to remain calm at the innocent offer, Baron couldn’t help the heat rushing to his face as Haru approached and began shifting the obi about his waist he had attempted to tie on earlier. He still kept his hand clenched about the folds of the yukata as Haru expertly straightened the robe, to which he gave her a very grateful smile. Soon he was now properly clothed, even wearing the haori properly before Haru stepped back to admire her handy work (though Baron felt a slight twinge of disappointment at her shift away from him). “There we go, a perfect fit.”

“Thank you, Haru. And may I say, you look lovely as well.”

She beamed at his reply as she moved to retrieve her bag. “Thanks Baron. But if you wanted to wear a yukata, I could have helped you find one.”

Muta shook his head, “that would have ruined the surprise Chicky. Plus, nothing was more amusing than watching Baron try to put it on.”

“As always, your assistance is greatly appreciated Muta.” Baron replied dryly, remembering the past hour where both his friends tried to guide him in how to wear the clothes.

As they walked through the archway of the Sanctuary, Muta walked ahead of them now on all fours while Toto took to the skies. However, as soon as Baron exited alongside Haru, he grew till he was once more a head taller than the dark-haired young woman instead of a foot-tall figurine. But the fact that his feline appearance remained gave Haru pause- knowing most would not really take the appearance of a half-cat man kindly (even if people believed it to be a ridiculously realistic mask). But it seemed her thoughts were rather evident on her face, because Baron was quick to assuage her fears. “Do not worry Haru, there is a spell in place masking my real appearance. You are the only one who can see the truth.”

“I didn’t know you can use such spells, Baron.” She asked curiously.

He nodded, offering his arm to her which she gladly accepted. “Yes, though I am afraid they are only temporary. But I thought this would make our evening engagement far more enjoyable without any disturbances from bewildered onlookers.”

“It’s no trouble at all, actually I think it’s a good idea. It does make me curious as to how your disguise looks.”

Baron paused and gestured to the glass window of a shop they were walking past, “see for yourself.”

Turning to the window, Haru looked at Baron’s reflection nearly jumped in alarm upon not seeing the familiar feline characteristics she had come to cherish. Instead, the face of a young man who looked a few years older than herself gazed back at her from the reflection. His hair was a light tawny blonde the same shade as Baron’s fur, perfectly coiffed to suit the Creation’s usual debonair attire. Where once fur and whiskers existed was now fair skin and a rather amused smile taking in her slightly bewildered expression. Yet despite the disguise, Haru took comfort in the fact that Baron’s eyes were still the same shade of mint-green.

“That is rather impressive, if a bit shocking at first.” She laughed a little nervously.

Baron frowned, “does it bother you too much?”

“No, it’s not that,” she answered with a shake of her head before beaming up at him. “I just prefer you the way you are, that’s all.”

It was the second time in the past few days that Baron found his words failing him once again at her kind, yet honest words.

 ======================================================

Perhaps the first thing that caught Baron’s attention were the vibrant banners illuminated by dozens of lights and lanterns. The street was lined with colorful booths, each hosting a different attraction as friends and families traveled back and forth to every single one. It was a rather jarring change from the peace and quiet of the Cat Bureau, but as he glanced down at the excited grin on Haru’s face as she enthusiastically explained each booth’s function, Baron couldn’t help the pleased smile drifting across his face. “So then, what would you recommend we do first?”

“Food, I’m starving!” Muta cried from about their legs before he bolted down the street, causing several people to laugh at the rather large cat obviously following the scent of frying food. “Takoyaki, here I come!”

Haru laughed, “well, food always is a good choice. Though we’d best pace ourselves, festival food is great, but not exactly healthy.”

“Then I shall follow your lead, Haru.” Baron added, glancing around briefly with a bit of confusion drifting across his face, “I must admit, I thought a fireworks festival would have more of that particular attraction.”

“That happens at the end of the night, mainly because it’ll be darker and it’ll give us a chance to see most of the booths before we have to find seats to watch the fireworks. But we’d best find Muta before he manages to pilfer too many snacks.”

Baron chuckled, “I think it’s more of his charming attitude that wins him such favors.”

Haru couldn’t help but laugh at that, and judging from the faint cawing above their heads, Toto heard it as well. “Well, we’d best hurry before that charm gets a bit carried away.”

The couple soon found their way further into the festival and managed to find Muta, who looked rather smug at having charmed a piece of taiyaki from a group of teenage girls. True to her word, Haru managed to procure a few treats for them all to try, ranging from takoyaki to kakigori to some onigiri before they walked to where Toto waited upon a nearby but isolated tree. Muta had nearly claimed all of the takoyaki while Toto took a liking to the plain onigiri and the roasted chestnuts Baron was eating. Though Baron was not overly found of the deep-fried food, he couldn’t deny that the kakigori Haru offered was quite delicious.

As the sun soon sank below the horizon and the sky turned dark with the coming night, many people started moving away from the bright lights of the festival stalls to await the oncoming fireworks display. “We don’t really want to be too close to all the larger crowds, so we’ll stay on the outskirts instead.” Haru informed them, taking a seat beside the grass. “And I wanted to thank you guys again, for coming with me.”

“Nonsense Haru, this was most enjoyable and we were happy to accompany you.”

“Even though you had to forgo your suit?” She replied with a teasing grin.

Baron gave a slightly sheepish look, “I will admit that dressing did pose quite the challenge, but well worth the effort.”

“Even still, thank you for being such a good sport about it. And I’m glad you had a good time.” Haru chimed happily, turning to look at the ever-growing groups awaiting the final event of the festival. “Hopefully we’ll be able to see everything with so many people…”

“Well, we merely need a seat with a view; and I believe I may have a solution.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The ginger gentle-cat only offered her a hand with a secret smile, “Just trust me.”

At the familiar words, Haru rested her hand upon his and watched as the world around them seemed to stretch upward as her height plummeted to its usual size whenever she visited the Bureau. Toto then landed beside them, offering a place upon his back with Baron holding on tightly the Stone Creations black feathers and Haru wrapping her arms about his waist. Once they were situated on the now gigantic crow, Toto rose high into the air (though not before snatching Muta in his claws much to the large cat’s displeasure while muttering something that sounded like “always a showoff.”) before gliding through the evening sky.

They were only flying for a few minutes before a high-pitched whistle sounded only to be followed by a large explosion of white and gold lights as the fireworks show began. Haru watched in silent amazement as they soared the atmosphere as each of the colorful illuminations danced around them like falling stars. She a joyful laugh at sheer sight of the fireworks show from a literal bird’s eye perspective, “alright, now this is a view.”

“I must agree,” Baron added, though it was hard to hear over the sound of the fireworks.

Moving her head forward, Haru placed a gentle kiss upon Baron’s fur-covered cheek before leaning to rest her cheek against his back. “Just for the record, this is the best fireworks festival I’ve ever been to.”

And for the third time in Haru’s presence, Baron found himself at a loss for words as a pleasing warmth started to overcome his face. Yet as he turned to watch the brilliant lights display with the young woman beside him, he had to admit that it certainly was an enjoyable evening.

[elfrooting]

Hey, Nonny! Sorry for taking a while to reply, I wanted to make sure that I gave this the appropriate amount of time and thought, as it’s a subject that I think warrants a lot of care. Also I can’t seem to reply directly from my inbox, I think maybe Xkit is f-ing up at the moment, so sorry for the weird formatting as well!

Before I get into my opinion on the film, I think it’s important to clarify a couple of things.

1) I am part of the American Sámi diaspora. I have regrettably never lived in Sápmi (although if I thought my husband would let me drag him up there, I would be on a plane tomorrow), and my Sámi heritage is also something I have only recently begun the process of reconnecting to. My Sámi ancestor immigrated from Sweden to the United States to escape persecution and forced assimilation, so when they arrived here, they tried very hard to blend in with other Scandanavian immigrants and did not pass their language and culture down to their children. As such, I have not grown up in the culture and was raised in a very typically white midwest family, and so I don’t have the same lived experiences as a Sámi person who has grown up in Sámi culture in a country where racism against our people is still very much alive and well. I could write a whole separate post on what it means to be a white-passing indigenous person living thousands of miles from their ancestral lands with only bits and pieces of their culture accessible, but that’s not what you’re asking about, so I’ll save that for another time. But I do want to be very transparent about this part of my identity and make it clear that I experience a level of privilege that many, many Sámi do not.

2) Sámi people, like any marginalized group, are not a monolith. We are all individuals with our own differing backgrounds and lived experiences, and because of that our opinions on things like this are not universal. So what I say in this post may vary from what you see from other Sámi people, and my opinion does not invalidate or negate theirs. We are all allowed to feel however we feel about issues that relate to the representation of our culture in media and the impact it has on our community. My opinion is my own and shouldn’t be taken as The Sámi Opinion™ on the matter. There are a lot of other posts about it from other Sámi folks, as you’ve noted, and I would encourage everyone to look at all of them to get a broader view of how the film has been received by our community.

SO. All that being said, here are my thoughts:

The Frozen franchise already had kind of a special place in my heart because of Kristoff. According to the original script from the first film, his character is “a young Sámi boy,” and it was my first time ever seeing a Sámi person represented in an animated film. And while Disney did not remotely do Sámi culture any justice in the first movie, it still felt nice to see my culture being recognized in a children’s film at all. So few people have even heard of us that just to be seen felt kinda good, even if the representation was… not great. LOL.

The second film was produced with the help of Sámi people who consulted on the representation of our culture, both in terms of the aesthetics and the way the Northuldra people’s lifestyle was depicted. It was MUCH better than the first film. However, it still had some issues. This is going to get a bit long so I’m going to put it under a cut.

I think there are a lot of Sámi who can identify with reconnecting to the culture, self certainly included. Centuries of forced assimilation have left a lot of us displaced and removed from our heritage and I think we saw some of ourselves in Anna and Elsa’s discovery of their mother’s Northuldra roots. But the idea that Anna and Elsa automatically get accepted into their culture just by virtue of… a shawl? It felt a little bit superficial to a lot of people, and I think that’s valid. The reconnection process is long and involves proceeding with an abundance of caution, care, and respect. None of us would be able to come in and say “Hey, I have this liidni, it belonged to my mum, so I no longer represent colonization and all the horrific things my family did to you guys, isn’t that great!?” That shit wouldn’f fly, LMAO. 

And the idea that this person who hasn’t been raised in the culture can come in and claim her place without any work, and also happens to be a magical Chosen One archetype has some white savior overtones that are kind of uncomfortable, as well.

I also know that a lot of folks felt that the Northuldra fall into the “noble savage” trope, and I can definitely see that as well. So often the way indigenous people are portrayed boils down to Magical Nature People and it can be tiresome, because it leads to a lot of exotification/fetishization of our culture by outsiders. Like, Ryder’s last name is Nattura. It literally means nature in Icelandic. Of course nature is a huge part of indigenous culture, but we have interests and personalities beyond that and it would be nice to see those explored more in media.

And I’m also kind of salty about Kristoff not getting a proper reconnection, or really any explanation about his origins at all. I thought for sure that they were going to get into that, given his affinity for reindeer and the almost immediate brotherly bond he had with Ryder, but then… nada. I really need my soft Sámi boy to find his place and discover more about his own roots if there ever is a Frozen III. That and gay Elsa, those are my two demands from the Mouse, LOL.

But you know what? There were also parts of the film I really did love.

When Yelena called the Northuldra “people of the sun,” I legit got goosebumps. One of our creation stories explains that we were the children of the sun and the moon, and the seeds of that story are scattered all over Sámi culture. You can find our people referred to as “children of the sun” in some form in many places throughout history. Our flag has a large red and blue circle, which represents the sun and moon respectively. One of our most famous poets, Áillohaš, wrote a book called “Beaivi, Áhčážan,” or “The Sun, My Father.” Our national anthem refers to the Sámi as “Beaivvi bártniid,” sons of the sun. So to hear that referenced in the film was really something.

I also enjoyed the overt anti-colonial themes in the movie, with the dam representing the colonial oppression of indigenous people and Anna working to crumble it despite knowing it might mean the end of Arendelle. In recognizing the role some of her ancestors played in oppressing her other ancestors and doing “the next right thing” to correct it, she was showing that she was willing to face the ugly parts of her family’s history in order to truly embrace her heritage, and as someone with mixed indigenous and colonizer ancestry, I felt that in a big way.

So yeah… it definitely was not what I would call perfect representation, but then, I don’t think that media written about Sámi culture by non-Sámi people ever will be. Even the much-praised Klaus—which is a beautiful film, by the way, and I would literally die for Márgu—but even it had some room for improvement in the way we were portrayed. Still, I felt Frozen II had a lot of positives going for it and I’m hoping future installments in the franchise will continue to improve on indigenous representation, and that Disney will continue to involve our community in the discussion when doing so.

I hope that answers your question adequately, Nonny! Feel free to send another ask if you want me to expand on anything or provide any clarification. And thank you for the ask, and for listening and learning what you can about our culture. It means a lot!

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 9: Pre-Wedding Jitters

Y’all know what’s wild? The season is coming to a close! I feel like we just got started with Season 8, and it’s already nearly over. I’m not ready for things to end...except the love triangle. Lol.

One important thing I want to talk about, before we move on to my regularly scheduled episode write-up, of course, is the quality of the writing and filming this season. I really feel like the team took a step back and thought very carefully about how to improve the show, and then they went through the effort of actively trying to improve things. 

Are there still badly-written areas of the show? Absolutely. Are there things I loathe seeing? Yes. Are there plotlines that are extremely contrived even by Hallmark standards? Unfortunately there are.

But I don’t think anyone can deny that the writing this season is, overall, an improvement over Seasons 5, 6, and 7. The only thing that I feel about S8 that is worse than 5/6/7 is the love triangle, but it had to come to a head eventually so it was always going to be a point of contention among the fans.

I’ve seen a ton of negativity going around the Internet, and you are all entitled to your opinions, but let’s hold back from being too angry until we see how things will work out. After all, there is a chance, however small, that Hallmark will end up surprising us.

So here’s to hoping that the writing quality uptick will continue as we move into Season 9.

And now, our plotlines from this episode:

The Dilapidated Love Triangle

The Wedding Planning/Party

The New & Improved Henry Gowen

Miscellaneous (Car Investigation, pastor position/Jesse and Clara + Cafe, Carson and Faith, Mike and Fiona)

This was another episode that felt pretty smooth in its storytelling; it had some smaller plots going on, but two primarily large plots, a smaller one that revolved around Henry, and then a few small (connected) plots from previous episodes/that overarched the whole season!

Sorry for the muddle by the way, it took me hours to type this and I’m too tired to read it over thoroughly before posting. If you see any glaring issues please let me know so I can fix them, though!

--

The Dilapidated Love Triangle

Let’s just get the pig slop out of the way, shall we? I think we are all in some sort of agreement by now that we’re tired of the triangle and just want to see it resolved as soon as possible so that we can get on with our lives and invest our interests in the right place(s). 

I also believe most of us are also in some kind of agreement, however we feel about the characters, the triangle, and who Elizabeth’s choice should be, that this thing has been very poorly paced. This sentiment seems to be echoed across the Internet right now. The pacing is AWFUL. After two years of almost nothing happening, now we’re going to bullrush to the end of the triangle? That’s a yikes from me, Chief. (Wait, didn’t I say that last week, too?)

I was never a fan of the narrated beginnings of episodes. I think they’re really tacky and boring. That said, there’s no other way to get into Elizaeth’s head easily because...I don’t know. Either Erin isn’t that skilled or the director doesn’t know how to direct her, or the script sucks. They struggle SO MUCH with show-don’t-tell that they have to resort to telling...which is fine, sometimes. This is an instance where telling is just mega redundant since she says the same exact thing probably 10 more times in the episode. I wish they’d have just kept the first part of the reflection or focused more on that—how Nathan talking about it...makes it feel fresh and raw again in a way she didn’t expect.

Anyway, Elizabeth writing that she’s been “left to reflect, once more, on the senseless accident that took [Jack’s] life” is ridiculous. Senseless? He was in charge of the training mission, but unless I’m losing every last marble I’ve ever had, wasn’t it Jack’s choice to go after the younger recruits who had been separated? Wasn’t it thanks to Jack’s quick thinking and intervention that only one person lost his life that day (Jack himself)? 

This is where the whole “Jack died heroically” thing kind of matters, actually. Especially when you butt it up against Nathan being the original person intended to go. Would he have risked his life like that? We’ll never know, but I’m sure Nathan thinks about it a lot, and it’s not something that should be left out of this story.

It’s valid for Elizabeth to wonder why Nathan kept the Secret hidden from her for almost three years, but what is really troublesome is the weird shift she seems to have between Casual Curiosity and Stricken Grief about it.

I grew tired of mopey Elizabeth in S4 and 5, so I’m not happy to see her back. Fewer eye drops, please. -_-

Anyway, it almost felt like a breakthrough when Elizabeth asked Rosemary why she thought Nathan took so long to tell her about Fort Clay, but Rosemary’s response was so bad. “He didn’t think it was important enough.” WHAT? WHO WOULD SAY THAT? Rosemary can be a bit thick-headed but that was almost too contrived for me to willingly follow. Anyone with a brain would realize it was IMPORTANT and THAT WAS WHY IT WAS A SECRET.

And when Elizabeth’s like, “Not important enough?” BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY IT IS IMPORTANT... Rosemary just tells her that Jack’s death wasn’t Nathan’s fault.

Which. She’s right. But that doesn’t make the secret unimportant. It’s still kind of a big deal. He’s confessed to being in love with Elizabeth multiple times now. Even Rosemary can’t be so dumb that she doesn’t realize that the connection between Jack’s death and Nathan is...meaningful, especially to Elizabeth. And that Nathan knew this and couldn’t bring himself to tell her because he knew it would hurt her.

Anyway, I’m doing my best to give Elizabeth a bit of grace here, because she’s just so self-centered I almost can’t stand it. To be clear, Elizabeth has ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS. It’s just that usually the issues at hand aren’t about her, they’re about someone else. 

Rosemary’s right but what she said was straight-up stupid. I don’t know, I don’t think the characters are out of character so much as the dialogue just didn’t flow very naturally and I felt like the characters were making assumption jumps to force certain responses. If Elizabeth can’t agree with Rosemary that Jack’s death isn’t Nathan’s fault, then she should have expressed that a bit more directly so that Rosemary could draw the conclusion that Elizabeth does feel it’s Nathan’s fault. It came across like Rosemary was speaking to the audience more than to Elizabeth, and I didn’t like it.

--

The most delightful scene in the entire episode has to go to Allie and Lucas. That was so cute and wholesome and good. Her asking if she could sit at the bar, him offering her a treat, her trying to return the gift ‘cause she felt caught in the middle and like it wasn’t fair to accept it... SO GOOD. They remembered the gift multiple episodes later AND incorporated it into this episode flawlessly. LOVED IT. 

Also, she asked an important question. LUCAS...where DO YOU LIVE?!

His story was a bit silly but I actually enjoyed it. It gives him a more playful vibe and also I think was almost entirely to ensure that Allie felt more comfortable and less anxious about what was happening around her. It was also his way of reassuring her that him courting Elizabeth wasn’t going to take Elizabeth out of Allie’s life...and that things will be okay.

I enjoyed it.

Things were a bit awkward with Elizabeth and Allie but they felt...better than before, so I felt like the conversation helped.

--

Lucas calling Allie “Allie Grant” was nice now that her adoption is official! I appreciate that.

Elizabeth and Lucas talk about how Lucas told Allie he’ll “work things out” with Nathan and Elizabeth definitely doesn’t appreciate it, and with somewhat good reason: she doesn’t like being caught in the middle of things any more than Allie does.

The thing is...she has had the power...all this time...to tell Nathan straight-up to leave her alone/that she isn’t interested. I stand by what I said before, that she shouldn’t have to tell him no for him to respect the boundaries she’s set, but if he’s not respecting those boundaries she needs to be firm about it.

I like how Lucas comes off in this scene. He wants to understand, he listens, he’s patient, he doesn’t push. I’m here for it.

She tells him what Nathan told her and he seems a bit overwhelmed by it, too. It’s pretty clear that he realizes she must be feeling all kinds of things after finding that out, especially after all this time. 

Again, for the second time, Elizabeth doesn’t seem all that grief-stricken about the secret being kept from her for so long: she tells Lucas she just doesn’t understand how he could keep it from her. 

He asks permission to suss out an answer and Elizabeth politely declines and says she’ll ask herself, but to please forgive her, she needs some time to...think.

She watches Lucas go and then...touches her wedding band.

-

Nathan meets Rosemary in the library and goes on a long boring monologue about how he’s read like, three whole books that women wrote, but still doesn’t understand women. No shit, sherlock. That was terrible writing...just straight up bad writing.

But I’m not exactly surprised because the very next thing that happens is that Rosemary tells Nathan...she’s been in his eXACT position before!

No...you have not. Yes, you were the unwanted third wheel, but that’s where the similarities ended, and you should have clarified. This just didn’t hit well for me, I don’t know. I don’t want to say it’s out of character, but...I don’t think Rosemary is this soft gentle personality anyway. I feel like she was always a bit more in your face with the things she said, not “try to encourage a manner of action in a very roundabout way” like she is in this episode. But again, without a logic jump from Rosemary, this scene doesn’t quite work.

I think I might have preferred Rosemary to play dumb and ask what specifically he didn’t understand about women. Make him freakin’ say it. And then she could react better. 

--

We get Love Confession #3 or whatever we’re on with Nathan, now. Let’s go over the entire scene.

Elizabeth walks into Nathan’s office and instantly asks him why it took him so long to tell her what happened.

He says he felt guilty and when she tells him she doesn’t understand, he goes on to say that after the accident he requested a transfer to Hope Valley. He never met Jack but he knew he’d left behind a wife and child, and felt it was his responsibility to look after them and protect them.

She asks why he would assume that, and he explains that he felt it was his duty. And that when he found himself falling in love with her, he felt like he was betraying Jack and his memory. That’s why he didn’t tell her.

He then takes it ONE STEP TOO FAR and says, “I fell in love with you, and I think that love is always worth fighting for.” 

Elizabeth says “Excuse me,” and leaves. Nathan’s face afterward is maybe a decent mix of “I probably shouldn’t have said that” and regret, but...woof.

Anyway, I was fine with this up to the point where Nathan said, completely unprompted, that love is always worth fighting for. How does he know? What are his experiences with love? Books he read, written by men??? PLEASE.

READ PRIDE & PREJUDICE U SWINE... ELIZABETH FALLS IN LOVE WITH MR. DARCY BECAUSE HE DECIDES HE WANTS TO CHANGE AND BE A BETTER MAN AND THEN DOES SOOOOOOOOO oh wait this is turning into an Elizabeth/Henry argument...OOPS?

Anyway, yeah. Not a fan of that line. It almost feels like there’s something missing. She’s standing in front of him about to cry because she feels hurt that he didn’t tell her this, you know, crucial information, and he’s just like “Yeah I didn’t tell u cause I love you and felt like i was betraying jack’s memory and also lol love is worth fighting for babe!” What kind of confusing mess of babble is this?

Honestly, it just left a bad taste in my mouth. :( I have so many really obnoxious opinions about Nathan and what they’ve done with him this season, but I feel like I should save them for a season summary podcast or something, just in case Hallmark ends up surprising me. Right now I just feel like they really just wanted to give him what the fans hated about him (he wasn’t passionate enough, not manly enough, not forward enough with his emotions, at least from what I read on Reddit and Instagram last year), but in like THE WORST POSSIBLE WAYS and for the wORST POSSIBLE REASONS in the VERY WORST SCENARIO.

I feared that would be Nathan’s reason for coming to town from the moment the character was announced and...I wanted to be wrong.

Anyway, I really liked his self-awareness up to that point. He never met Jack, which keeps some of the weirdness at bay. Also, he felt like he needed to make sure Jack’s family was okay, and that’s fine. I wouldn’t call it noble (as Rosemary later does), but it’s not exactly bad, either. Then we got the line of him admitting that it felt kind of bad to fall in love with her. I wish he’d gone on to say that wasn’t supposed to happen, or even given her a reason he loves her (so that it doesn’t feel like we’re just being told everything), because his line about love being worth fighting for right after he says he felt like he was betraying Jack’s memory by loving her...was...really strange??? Maybe a few sentences were edited out? 

--

Elizabeth tries to refuse to play Fiona’s blindfold game and LITERALLY NO ONE SAVES HER (though I think Rosemary considered trying). I hate the idea of this game solely based on the fact that several people participating shouldn’t even be there (Nathan, Bill, Mike, Fiona, Molly), but Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to accidentally choose Nathan if he wasn’t there, so... -_-

I think I might have actually liked this (her “no” with Carson was super cute actually, probably the cutest laugh she’s ever had on this show) if she’d had the chance to reject a few more guys on the way down the line. If she was closer to the end of the line she’d feel her options were running out and might second-guess herself. Having Nathan be the second person she touches and having her choose is...eh.

Nitpicks aside (their hands wouldn’t feel the same and she held Lucas’s hand quite recently actually), it could have been worse. At least she stated who she was searching for...

BUT UGH THE EMBARRASSMENT.

The thing that gets me about the whole scene is 100% that everyone in town would know about the Triangle drama, so it feels...weird to see everyone so gung-ho to watch this happen... I don’t know... I like having fun too, but NOBODY even TRIED to step in??? 

At least Lucas found some humor in it right away (he smiles). 

I think I wish someone had said something. Maybe Nathan could have said, “Nope, sorry” to lighten the mood a bit? Or Lucas could have said, “Almost!” since he was standing right next to Nathan?

--

Anyway, we’re spared having to wait because the very next scene is Lucas checking on Elizabeth and laughing about her choice.

One line I wish they’d added in is that someone else got it wrong. Imagine if Lucas said, “At least you didn’t pick Bill like Clara did!” Or even just made a joke about it in general like: “Of course I’m not upset. But if you would have picked Bill I might be a little hurt. My hands aren’t that old yet.”

Elizabeth tells him that she spoke to Nathan about the whole...thing and it was awkward. She chooses to not tell Lucas the rest of the reason Nathan gave, but instead only admits that he told her he loves her again. When Lucas asks what she said in response she said she didn’t say anything.

Lucas seems...a trifle upset at this, and understandably so. I think he can sense she’s...not really a sure thing and is worried about it. :( I feel so bad for him right now.

--

Rosemary stops by to see Elizabeth after Lucas leaves, and tells her she ran into Nathan at the library yesterday. Elizabeth tells her what Nathan said in his office and Rosemary says it was noble and selfless of him.

(I mean...it wasn’t selfless. Like at all.)

Elizabeth says she never asked him to be noble. She didn’t ask him to fall in love with her, either.

She asks Rosemary if she encouraged Nathan’s feelings for her at the library. Rosemary says no, but Elizabeth asks again and she interrupts her to ask Elizabeth if she’d rather hear what she actually said or just assume.

Rosemary goes on to say that she just wants what’s best for Elizabeth.

And we get Elizabeth asking how anyone would know what was best for her.

I mean, that’s like 90% on you for not communicating with your friends, but also, it’s 100% on you for just assuming you knew what Rosemary said to Nathan. I think she’s just looking for a reason why Nathan is being so persistent and in her mind encouragement from someone else is the only thing that makes sense, ‘cause she sure as heck hasn’t been encouraging him herself!

This hurts Rosemary’s feelings, probably because she was about to say that she wants what’s best for Elizabeth so she asked Nathan to stop getting in the way lol, and says maybe she should leave (since Elizabeth is in a bad mood). Elizabeth agrees she should go.

End episode. On this note. Woof.

Overall it wasn’t too bad I guess? But I’m not a fan of how some of this was written. It really felt like they cut lines out to make the episode shorter, when...they could have cut out one of the boring side plots. You know. The entire thing with Jesse and Clara, for example. 

--

The Wedding Planning/Party

I admit that I got a little enjoyment out of Florence saying no to all the dresses. Highly relatable. 

Then, at the barbershop, Fiona says the exact wORST possible thing about Florence wanting a hairstyle that’ll “knock Ned dead” FLHDSFAJDSA.

Florence goes on to say she wants anything but “ordinary Florence” and Molly steps in.

Honestly, I wish they’d just let Molly stick to being Florence’s BFF because that’s the role she plays best. Also, I’m almost sad Florence and Ned got together because it means #teamflomo is no mo’. :(

Paul shows up...

I don’t know what I expected but this boy would have been a literal BABY in season one, which makes the whole thing with Florence almost sadder AND it gives Florence more in common with Elizabeth (widow with a young child) BUT I HAVE OPINIONS.

I know what you’re thinking. “Manna, you always have opinions!” Yes, you’d be right. 

They based this off of ONE (1) line of dialogue that Florence had in S1 when something was stolen from her house. She says, “while my child slept nearby” or something like that.

They brought a child in...for that? On one hand...I’m impressed.

On the other hand, I kind of had just assumed they’d retconned that and that Florence had no children (which is why she was always goofing off gossiping with Molly) so I don’t really know how to feel about the whole thing.

Rosaleen starred in an episode and never showed up again after S1, so I think I’d have preferred to see her return instead of a child we literally never laid eyes on. But he’s a cutie. And he’s named after his father just like little Jack so...I’ll take it!

--

The party begins and we have to do “the men are stupid and don’t know how to plan” again which is really annoying. The highlight of this entire thing was Ned saying (about his hairline) that he’s been driving with the top down since his 30s. I respect you AND ONLY YOU, Ned.

--

The party continues on and they play charades. Rosemary chose weird awful options that don’t make any sense and are hard to act out. Ned’s could have been funny but the one Bill got is just...so weird.

The funniest part about it is looking at everyone staring at Molly as she guesses it.

I think it was supposed to be...cute? Or something? It was just really weird for me.

“Cuddle up a little Closer, Lovey Mine” (yes, it’s “lovey” not “lovely”) was written and recorded in 1908. You can listen to it here. Lyrics here.

They then play the Most Awkward Game Ever, one that would have had me sweating bullets if I’d had to play it. Florence has to find her man by only holding the hands of the other men.

As Fiona says, it’s a bit...risqué, but Florence rejects Jesse quickly and finds out the second man is Bill by squeezing his hands too hard.

Bill explains that his arthritis is flaring up and of course Sara and I jumped on that almost at the same moment:

We like Bill. :P

And then Florence correctly guesses that the next man is Ned. It’s very wholesome and sweet.

But then it’s Elizabeth’s turn because I guess she’s not been traumatized enough this episode. I covered that in the triangle part of the plot, though.

--

The New & Improved Henry Gowen

We start off with a BANG here with Henry and Christopher. Christopher misses Rachel because he’s a twitterpated little FOOL and he tells Henry all about it...while Henry sees Bill tearing apart the stolen car in the distance.

He asks Christopher how he got to Hope Valley from Hamilton and Christopher just straight up comes clean about it: he drove a stolen car that his buddy stole. 

Henry scolds him a bit, tells him he can’t borrow a stolen car, and explains that he doesn’t want Christopher to end up like him. Christopher seems kind of surprised by this and says, “You turned out good.” 

To which Henry replies, “The jury’s still out on that.” 

Christopher says he’s done with that kind of thing, and Henry tells him he believes him.

Honestly, Henry’s “I believe you” got to me. It sounded SO genuine. And also, can I say YET AGAIN that this kid was an impeccable choice to play Henry’s son? WOW. I can’t get over how much alike they are even in mannerisms and looks.

But THEN when Henry tries to say Rachel has something to do with Christopher being done with that old lifestyle, Christopher tells him “And you” AND I ALMOST LOST IT. SOOOOO GOOD. Henry goes on to explain that “long after” he divorced Christopher’s mom, he met Abigail, who saw the potential for goodness in him. And that he can’t help Christopher be a better man because he’s still figuring that out for himself, but if he thinks Rachel can help him, he should do what he can to not lose her.

--

Later, Henry invites Christopher to Ned’s party and Christopher declines but asks what happened to the woman Henry mentioned earlier—Abigail, of course. Henry says she left town to help her mother.

Is this a...hint of things to come? I’m...not sure.

Henry sits down for two seconds before Lucas asks to speak with him outside. Once there, Lucas admits that he contacted Christopher. This is one of the most contrived plotlines we’ve had in a bit, if only because I just can’t figure out how Lucas would have known who Christopher was, let alone whether or not he would be useful? He doesn’t even have the same last name... I mean, what, did Henry write in sparkly gel pens or something? 

But for some reason he contacted Christopher to come work for Henry to keep an eye on him. He’s not proud of having done it, which makes sense. I guess I wouldn’t be either.

Henry’s upset about it. Lucas tells Henry that he took advantage of him and that he had to make sure Henry could be trusted.

Christopher doesn’t know that Lucas told him, though, and Henry asks that Lucas keep it that way.

It makes Christopher’s behavior with Lucas make more sense (when he kept trying to push him around earlier this season), but the timing is just...awful? Maybe talking to Elizabeth about Nathan’s secret made him feel guilty about his own? I’d buy into it more if I felt like there was a really compelling reason for Lucas to feel that Christopher would do any good...but it’s just too contrived for me.

--

Christopher randomly decides to go to Bellingham to see Rachel. Henry tells him not to make trouble if her parents ask him to leave. Henry makes to leave, and Christopher stops him.

I CANNOT SING THE PRAISES OF THIS SCENE ENOUGH. Christopher tries to tell Henry about the thing with Lucas and Henry’s like...you’re different now, you’re starting over it doesn’t matter anymore!!!! Everyone deserves a second chance!

AND THEY HUG AND CHRISTOPHER TELLS HENRY HE LOVES HIM.

They almost got me to cry. ALMOST. I refuse to cry at this show because I refuse to give Brian Bird the satisfaction, but boy oh boy was this close.

Henry responds with a “me too” and makes Christopher promise to write. Then the stage leaves and that is that.

The rest of the storyline for Henry is under the car investigation. They’re related but...only intertwine at the very end so I separated them. ;)

--

Miscellaneous (Car Investigation, Pastor Position/Jesse and Clara, Carson and Faith, Mike and Fiona)

Car investigation: Nathan starts this episode off on the wrong foot. I think that was...a mistake. THAT SAID...I’m relieved Bill isn’t being written as a complaining whiny pile of trash for once, so I just want to say that...they had to realize after last episode the fan opinion of Nathan would be...not great, so mayyybe they shouldn’t have started this episode off with him literally complaining about doing his job...while he’s in uniform no less. Also he has NO PASSION at all for his job, or for investigating, which I hope means he’ll end up quitting the Mounties. (It could be a hint of things to come...I hope.) 

I mean, does he think Bill got his position for...no reason? Also, thank God Nathan turned down the promotion to Inspector if that was how he was gonna treat actually doing the work?? I’m pretty sure this is their idea of “humor” but boy did it fall flat after the love triangle mess that’s been going on.

The owner talks to Nathan on the phone later and is coming from Hamilton to get his car. Nathan seems to be telling Bill this to discourage him from wasting his time investigating, but Bill doesn’t want to stop lol.

Ned’s comment from the party about his hairline being him “driving with the top down” gives Bill an Idea in the middle of the bachelor party and leaves. Ned looks shook that he produced An Idea.

And follows. Ned is absolutely adorable as he assists Bill. They should interact more?? Long story short, Bill figures out that the top was probably up when it was being transported to Hope Valley (as you wouldn’t want people getting a good look at your face if they’re looking for a stolen car), and finds a footprint in the removable top.

The next day, Bill approaches Henry up at the oil derricks and comments on the fact that Lucas told him that Christopher checked out of his room at the saloon. Henry is up front and honest about where Christopher went, and says he went to Bellingham to see Rachel Thom.

He says, “You know how it is. You love someone, you’d do anything for them.”

The one interesting thing about this comment is that...no, Bill does NOT know. He’s never admitted to being in love in his life. He married Nora, but that was out of obligation (something he makes clear several times). Like, he obviously cared about Nora, but he wasn’t in love with her.

Obviously he’s loved someone enough to do anything for them (his son), but considering he’s dead, and possibly died in a really traumatizing way considering how it’s portrayed, that seems a bit...insensitive. :P

Bill counters it with, “Almost anything, maybe.” 

He then goes on to tell Henry he found a footprint in the stolen car.

And he just. Kind of. Gives Henry. A look. Because he knows exactly who stole the car, he just has to prove it.

Henry stops Bill and says: “A while back I remarked about how you had never solved the mine disaster. Perhaps if you and I get together, I might be able to help.”

Bill doesn’t say a THING...he just leaves. But he looks kind of...put off by the whole thing.

Like he knows what Henry is doing.

Do you know what Henry is doing?

Anything.

For someone he loves.

(Pst. That someone is Christopher.)

As soon as Bill is gone, he picks up a pair of shoes and throws them into the fire.

I think it’s pretty clear that Henry is using this mine disaster thing to protect Christopher, and he’s doing it for this reason WAY MORE than he’s doing it to come clean and be a better man. That’s just my theory, though. I think if Bill hadn’t found anything out about the car, then Henry wouldn’t have brought it up.

But I guess he knows something. The question is...what? And also, when did he mention Bill never having solved the mine disaster? I’m really struggling to remember Henry ever saying that to him, at least not recently. Does anyone recall offhand?

Anyway, I’m wondering if they’ll tie up that whole thing about Noah and Peter that was never addressed on the show to the fullest. You know, the whole thing with them going into the mine knowing it wasn’t safe and not warning anyone. I think a lot of people who watch this show have never been in poverty or lived paycheck to paycheck, but sometimes a person just has to put their head down and keep working even when it’s not safe, because they have to keep living. Or because they had more time to put a stop to things before anything bad happened.

I think blaming Noah and Peter as much as Henry is pretty stupid, but they still shoulder some blame. They were working to fix that problem. Henry wasn’t. He did what he was told and shut up. But maybe there’s a bit more to that story. Could be interesting.

Could also be the worst reveal ever, so...who knows? I’m curious to find out.

BUT ALSO what do they mean Bill didn’t solve that case? The widows sued and won. Sure, he got beat up in S1 carrying evidence out of the mine, but it’s not as if there wasn’t a lot more of it inside the mine, too. Everyone knows the fault of the collapse was due to working conditions being unsafe. What’s left to solve? Is Henry going to give Bill the names of the people who told Henry to keep his mouth shut? 

Or...are they talking NOT ABOUT THE HOPE VALLEY MINE DISASTER, but the original one that sent Henry to Coal Valley (and Nora into a marriage with Bill)? Because that one was not solved. The company just made Henry a scapegoat in that case.

THE WAIT TO FIND OUT MORE IS GOING TO BE TORTURE.

--

Pastor Position/Jesse and Clara + Cafe: I enjoyed Minnie in this episode and seeing her step in and help Clara and become part of the town was great. Jesse giving more credit to Joseph than Lee was pretty funny, and a nice set-up for Lee realizing that Joseph is a pastor. Lee is apparently head of the search committee to find a new pastor...which...sure...okay. Also apparently the newspaper died?? Uh.

I’m kind of hoping Rosemary’s new passion will be the newspaper since she’s supposedly going to dig her nose into things next episode and she used to write a column for the old paper (so she has some experience). Thoughts on that?

Anyway, Joseph agrees to pastor the church instantly the second Lee asks...so it feels weird that his original goal/plans/whatever just...don’t matter anymore? Okay.

They buy a bell.................WHICH BRINGS ME TO MY BIGGEST PETTY COMPLAINT OF THE EPISODE. BRO THAT BELL STRAIGHT UP LOOKS 3D PRINTED FJLKDSAHFLDSAHFLDSAHFKLDSA

Anyway I’m teasing. The Liberty Bell weighs a little over one ton, and two horses could easily pull that.

No complaints. My husband complained last week that there wasn’t a bell and now there is. It’s like he knew. 

Joseph talks about what a “calling” feels like (I think this will come back again with Rosemary which has me VERY HAPPY): a tug on his heart.

Joseph also tells Lee that the men in his yard earlier were surveyors and that he won’t move, at least not far, because he has a congregation to lead, now. Makes me wonder if he’ll actually sell!

Anyway, Jesse and Mike are cute pals and decide to have a snack in the cafe while the gals are socializing with Rosemary (who has just returned from the library).

Rosemary’s books are on land acquisitions, surveying, and territorial law. 

Minnie and Rosemary decide to talk about this while Clara leaves. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe just ‘cause it was boring lol.

She gets back as Mike and Jesse are talking about, uh, her, actually, and Mike asks if all is quiet on the homefront.

Yes, it is. Unlike the trenches of WWI.

But seriously I thought it could be a joke reference to “All Quiet on the Western Front”...a WWI novel. Since...you know...WWI is going on and hasn’t been acknowledged at all even though it’s almost over now.

Joke’s on me, though...that’s too advanced for Hallmark.

Anyway it’s only quiet for like two seconds, because Clara busts in, thinks they’re eating the food she’s been busting her ass over for the party, and yells at Jesse. It makes everything awkward. Jesse simpers about like a sad little clown instead of trying to be understanding. Yawn. Awful. Bye.

I don’t know what would fix that scene, but I think part of the problem is...I’m just not invested in Clara and Jesse anymore. It’s perfectly reasonable to expect them to need more time to get over the problems in their relationship but I don’t care about them enough to care about the journey...if that makes sense. I’d rather watch Bill dust for prints on the car some more.

They do have a chat, and work things out, so that’s good I guess.

--

Carson and Faith: Carson has officially stolen the dock from Abigail and Frank, and so my hatred for them doubled instantly.

Me, a territorial loon: THAT SPOT IS NOT YOURS!!!!! FIND YOUR OWN!!!

Anyway Carson makes things awkward and then busts out that he accepted the fellowship without talking to Faith.

She’s kind of hurt by this?? UNDERSTANDABLY?? But then he asks if it would have made a difference. I mean, common courtesy would be at least sitting down like this and telling her, “I’ve decided to accept it.” But no. He just. Accepted it without telling her he was going to. Bro...

They aren’t on the same page for even two seconds. He tells her he was committed to the relationship and put all his plans aside so that she could be happy.

Honestly, as much hate as Nathan’s getting right now, if people gave a damn about Faith I think Carson would be getting his fair share of hate, too. What a jerk???

He goes on to say it wasn’t a waste of his time (when she asks), but never bothers to tell her more or to prove he didn’t feel that way (BECAUSE HE SURE ACTS LIKE IT WAS A WASTE OF HIS TIME). He just says he hopes she changes her mind and comes with him to Baltimore.

At the party Carson and Faith go outside to talk where Carson admits that he should have told her he was accepting the fellowship before he wrote. She tells him that the year she was gone was almost too much time apart for her, and Carson promises to write her and tells her she can visit him, too, but she brings the conversation back to reality. They’ll both be super busy. 

He suggests they get married, and then immediately says he’s not asking (it’s not how he’d propose), but that they could look forward to getting married. (Good thing they laughed ‘cause I sure wasn’t. It was super awkward...) He suggests seeing how they feel in about a year. (Oh...perfect timing for...next season...hm.)

Faith tells him she loves him and wants what’s best for both of them, even if that thing isn’t them being together. They agree to just enjoy the night and worry about the rest later.

Anyway, I feel like these two just have NO chemistry (they’re worse than Bill and Molly in my books). I really appreciate the attempt to give them meaningful material, and I like that Carson has a passion again, but boy oh boy are these two hard to watch. The plotline is really good, but the characters just...aren’t great. I figured if anything they’d give a plot like this to AJ and Bill to tie that up (some kind of conflicting reason she can’t stay in Hope Valley to be written off the show for good) so I was surprised to see it going to Carson and Faith instead, but like...in a good way because it’s actually compelling for their situation! I've been in a similar situation and it feels REALLY BAD to like someone a lot but not be ready or willing to commit to an extreme for whatever reason. Faith doesn’t want to go to Baltimore because she loves Hope Valley and she undoubtedly doesn’t want to see it go without a doctor at all. Carson likes Hope Valley but his passion is in surgery and he can make a huge difference in a big hospital. He could still make a difference in Hope Valley, too (undoubted he’s the only surgeon for many miles around these smaller towns) but he also likes hospitals and their equipment and maybe misses what he had a long time ago.

So it’s a great plot. It’s compelling. It’s even a bit tragic when you think about it!

But my God do these characters just...not come off as convincing. :(

--

Mike and Fiona: The scene with Ned was SUPER cute. Genuinely funny. Mike asking Fiona out. Everyone teasing Mike about how much he likes her. It’s very cute and wholesome. So far I enjoy it a lot. There’s not a lot to talk about here but I like that it’s...simple.

I MEAN...she’s so cute.

--

END THOUGHTS:

I want the next three episodes right now immediately, but I’m also going to be pretty sad when this season ends...I think.

The biggest speculation from this episode, by the way, is that they’re opening things up to write Abigail back onto the show. How do we feel about that? 

Any other thoughts? Favorite scenes? Share!

[cfiesler]

thoughts on AO3 from a content moderation researcher

A few days ago I tweeted some thoughts about current conversations around content moderation and racism on AO3. I thought I’d reproduce here:

OK I'm going to weigh in on the tagging/content moderation conversation happening right now regarding Archive of Our Own. To be clear, this is me as a content moderation researcher who has also studied the design of AO3, NOT me as a member of the OTW legal committee.

To clarify the issue for folks: Racism is a problem in fandom. In addition to other philosophical and structural things regarding OTW, there have been suggestions for adding required content warnings or other mechanisms to deal with racism in stories posted to the archive.

Here's a description of the content warning system from a paper I published about the design of AO3, in which I used this as an example of designing to mitigate the value tension of inclusivity versus safety:

“Knowing that this tension would exist, and wanting to protect users from being triggered or stumbling across content they did not want to see, AO3 added required warnings for stories. These include graphic violence, major character death, rape, and underage sex. These warnings were chosen based on conventions at the time, what fan fiction writers already tended to warn for when posting stories elsewhere. Warnings are not only required, but are part of a visual display that shows up in search results. One early concern was that requiring these warnings might necessitate spoilers—for example, telling the reader ahead of time that there was a major character death. Therefore, AO3 added an additional warning tag: ‘Choose not to use archive warnings.’ Seeing this tag in search results essentially means ‘read at your own risk.’ Most interviewees found this to be a solution that did a good job at taking into account different kinds of needs."

The idea is certain kinds of objectionable content is allowed to be there as long as it's properly labeled. Content will not be removed for having X, but it can be removed for not being tagged properly for having X. This allows users to not have to see content labeled with X.

My students and I have studied content moderation systems in a number of contexts, including on Reddit and Discord, and I actually think that this system is kind of elegant and other platforms can learn from it. That said, it relies on strong social norms to work.

One of the big problems with content moderation is that not everyone has the same definition of what constitutes a rule violation. Like... folks on a feminist hashtag almost certainly have a different definition of what constitutes "harassment" than on the gg hashtag.

A few years ago we analyzed harassment policies on a bunch of different platforms and usually it's just like "don't harass people" but okay what does that mean? I guarantee you there are people on twitter who think rape threats aren't harassment.

So a nice thing about communities moderating themselves--like on subreddits--is that they can create their own rules and have a shared understanding of what they mean (here’s a paper about rules on Reddit). So you can have a rule about harassment and within your community know what that means.

I've talked for a long time about the strong social norms in fandom and how this has allowed in particular for really effective self regulation around copyright. In fact I wrote about this really recently based on interviews conducted in 2014. HOWEVER -

Generally, I think social norms are not as strong in fandom as they used to be, in part because it's just gotten bigger and there are more people and also some generational differences and we're more spread out. (My PhD advisee) Brianna & I wrote about this for TWC.

So the point here is that without those very strong shared norms, definitions differ - across sub-fandoms, across platforms, across people. Whether that thing we're defining is commercialism, harassment, or racism.

This isn't to say that there *shouldn't* be a required content warning for racism in fics, but I think it's important to be aware how wrought enforcement will be because no matter how it is defined, a subset of fandom will not agree with that definition.

That said, design decisions like this are statements. When AO3 chose the required warnings, it was a statement about what types of content it is important to protect the community from. I would personally support a values-based decision that racism falls into that category.

Design also *influences* values. An example of this was AO3's decision to include the "inspired by" tag which directly signaled (through design) that remixing fics without explicit permission was okay. Another quote from the paper:

“Similarly, Naomi described a policy decision of AO3 that was a deliberate attempt to influence a value. Prior work understanding fandom norms towards re-use of content has shown something of a disconnect, with different standards for different types of work [15,16]. Surprisingly, although fan authors themselves are building on others’ work, some don’t want people to remix their remixes. In Naomi’s original blog post, there is some argument between fans about what AO3 should do about this, with suggestions for providing a mechanism for fan writers to give permission for remixing. Naomi described their ultimate design, and feels that in the time that has followed the creation of AO3, the values of the community have actually shifted to be more accepting of this practice:

‘We had baked in right from the beginning that you could post a work to the archive that was a remix, or sequel, or translation, or a podfic or whatever, based on another work, another fannish work. As long as you gave credit, you didn’t need permission. In fact, we built a system into the archive where it notifies [the original author]. That was because we were coming from a philosophy where what we’re doing is fair use. It’s legal. We are making transformative work. We don’t need permission from the original copyright holder. That’s why fanfic is legitimate. But what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander… So, I think that’s an example, actually, where archive and OTW almost got a little bit ahead of the curve, got a little bit ahead of the broader community’s internal values. That was a deliberate concerted decision on our part.’”

A design change to AO3 that forces consideration of whether there is racism in a story you're posting could have an impact on the overall values of the community by signaling that this consideration is necessary AND that you should be thinking of a community definition of racism.

Also important: content moderation has the potential to be abused. And I know that this happens in fandom, even around something as innocuous as copyright, since I've heard stories of harassment-based DMCA takedown campaigns.

There's a LOT of tension in fandom around public shaming as a norm enforcement mechanism, and I would want to see this feature used as a "gentle reminder" and not a way to drum people out of fandom. (See more about that in this paper.)

That said, I think these reminders are needed. There will be a LOT of "uh I didn't know that was racist" and that requires some education. Which is important but also an additional burden on volunteer moderators who may be grappling with this themselves.

This is more a thread of cautions than solutions, unfortunately. Because before there can be solutions, we need: (1) an answer to a very hard question, which is "what is racism in fanfiction/fandom?" and this answer needs to come from a diverse group of stakeholders, and (2) a solution for enforcement/moderation that both makes sure that folks directly impacted by racism are involved AND that we're not asking for burdensome labor from already marginalized groups.

All of this comes down to: Content moderation is HARD for so many reasons, both on huge platforms and in communities. AO3 is kind of a unique case with its own problems but I am optimistic about solutions because so many people care about the values in fandom.

I’m still thinking about this and welcome others’ thoughts!

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi Charity!

I hope you’re doing well 😊

I’m the INFP who wrote the post about Dean.

I read the post about the different communication styles between feelers, and I found it very interesting and thought-provoking. Your reply really resonated with me. I know the original poster said they weren’t replying to me, but I still felt part of the conversation and wanted to respond to it, but then I got a bit carried away, so I tried to synthesise my thoughts as best as I could (so not that well haha). Here it goes.

Since you said I could edit / shorten it if I wanted, I'm going to, because if I don't, this conversation is just going to keep going in circles with me in the middle. But I'm going to keep what you said about Dean, because I think it's important to discuss.

In my original post I didn’t mean to speak for all Fi users, and didn’t mean to definitely exclude Fi when it comes to Dean, just Fi-dom. I didn’t mean either that if he were an Fi-dom he would behave exactly as I would have in the same situation, and I probably carried on too much about myself but I meant that if he were an Fi-dom, to me he would have enough emotional subtlety to understand that people are different, they react differently to things, and he would have given Rory the space to react in her own way. Maybe she didn’t feel it, but then again maybe she did and it was hard for her to express it, or maybe she needed time to figure things out and wasn’t sure of her feelings, which is fine too, especially at sixteen! Maybe he would have asked questions and been more curious about the reasons why she didn’t say it, instead of assuming that it must mean that she doesn’t feel it if she doesn’t say it back straight away. I just felt a lot of harsh energy coming from him, which I didn’t think matched that of a Fi-dom, but then again maybe I self-inserted too much, maybe it has to do with him being a sensor or unhealthy or his enneagram… It’s just, I look at Jess and Dean and I just don’t see the same type. Dean has that sort of traditional aura about him, like “this is what things are supposed to be like when you have a girlfriend and this is what society tells you needs to happen” and stuff, that Jess completely lacks, and that I don’t think is very Fi. But again, I could be wrong. It could also be that his characterisation is just not that great.

You did raise a good point, and I think you are right. Dean has a lot of expectations about what a relationship should look like, and the gender roles people should play in them. Do you remember that episode where Rory and her mom were scoffing at an old TV show? I think it was Donna Reed? He got a little offended, and said he thinks it's "kind of nice" if a woman wants to take care of her husband, and cook, and clean, and look nice for him, and both of them gave him a dirty look -- but then Rory went and dressed up in a 50's outfit and fixed him dinner to "try it." And Dean kind of liked it. My point is, I could see an ISFJ for Dean now that I think about it more. He takes his role as a boyfriend seriously and he wants to do it "right." He is overall tolerant and good-natured, and sometimes makes selfish decisions (but so does every person on that show :P) but you are right, he expects an immediate verbal response in a way an IFP might not. Compare him to Jess, who told Rory "I love you" and then ran away. Left. "The ball is in her court." He got all hurt that she didn't respond immediately or chase him down and tell him, and left / sulked. (Cue Luke going: you're an idiot. You wait around for an answer! You don't just make a declaration and run away!) Then there's the fact that when his marriage falls apart, Dean goes back to Rory. His old girlfriend. It's "going back" and "not moving forward." So your two cents is appreciated and I think you're right and my initial assessment was wrong.

I admire people who are so confident as the poster, because one of the reasons why I didn’t use to share my feelings with other people was in part because it was hard, in part because I didn’t think they were interested. I didn’t think it mattered, I didn’t think I mattered, in any case that I mattered enough that they would want me to bother them and take away from their precious time to have that conversation. I really don’t want to bother people. I’d rather just go away and lick my wounds in private and analyze it and learn from it and eventually be OK with it. (What makes me and my views and my thoughts more important than others’, why should they want to read about it? Answer: nothing, and they probably don’t, so I don’t say anything or send anything.) I’m working on it and doing better!

This is very 9. And it's true, 9s have trouble "taking up space" and feeling like their voice even matters. I also struggle with this a lot, and I just have a 9 fix. I want to do / say things and then think: but no one cares, so why bother? 9s shrink their space instead of expand to fill it.

To sum things up, as you also tried to convey, I think, Charity, I don’t think we can determine people’s communicative styles “once and for all”. Irrespective of type, people are complex and communication depends on many factors: the level of intimacy of the relationship, the presence or absence of conflict, the actual personality of the person in front of you, your history with that person, how you’re feeling in that particular moment, are you tired, anxious, busy, hungry… Your communication style is also likely to evolve back and forth, in one direction as you grow and mature, or in the other when you go through stressful times. People are complex and I don’t think they fit into neat little boxes.

Agreed, but I think some people are naturally more straightforward than others, and others send mixed messages. I had a relationship end last year and then received a Christmas card from that person over the holidays, followed by them wanting to be included in an ongoing multi-person project I had going on about two months later. They were sending me a lot of mixed messages (why are you here? is this you trying to talk to me?) because we had ended our friendship, so I mustered up the nerve to ask: "Does this mean you want to talk?" and the answer was "No."

This is pure attachment type behavior: I'm not sure what I want. Do I want to be friends again? No? But I need to feel still connected to you in some way? Yes? But it's also painful to be around you, and recall that we are no longer friends? Yes. So why am I here?

About a month later, they pulled out of the project, because... I guess... they realized the above. But that is my point: sometimes attachment types (3, 6, 9) don't know what we want, and we send mixed messages, and other people ask us directly what we're up to, and that forces us to think about it, and THEN we make a decision. So I may not like Rory all the time, but I understand why she does the crap she does and all about having to learn to be assertive in a relationship. That Dean thing really upset her, because one minute it was all fine and they were happy and the next, he was mad at her for not instantly saying "I love you." And she reacted largely how I'd expect a 9w1 to act -- what the hell just happened? He tore himself away from me, because I didn't have an answer for him?!

I'm also considering sx2w1 for Dean. Lots of (unhealthy, cuz no one on the show is healthy) intensity, emotion, and expectation that me doing nice things for you means I love you, and you should know that, and I need to hear it from you in return.

Thank you again Charity for being the catalyst for so much interesting thought and introspection! I don’t think I’ve ever written so much on the topic and I am in awe that you are doing it daily and still running this blog after all these years. Sending many good thoughts!

Thanks for contributing! :)

[margridarnauds]

pagan-soul replied to your post “My absolute HATRED for the term “Celtic Mythology” VS my desire for...”

Why do you hate that term? ��

So, I decided to give this its own post because I really feel like it does deserve it, since it’s the kind of thing that I think most people outside of the field don’t really think about and you deserve the best answer you can get, though I’m not sure how clear I’m being. If there’s a point that I’m not clear on, please ask me to clarify, since I can never tell if I’m being entirely coherent. I’m not sure if I can give you a FULL answer, since some of this is slightly outside my pay grade (given I don’t get paid, that isn’t hard), but I’ll try to do what I can. 

For most of us in the field, I think, we generally hate it because it’s very, very imprecise and a little misleading. There really ISN’T a singular “Celtic Mythology”, just like there was never really a singular “Celtic people”. There were a vast variety of Celtic-speaking groups, spread as far out as modern-day Turkey, and each one of them had a unique cultural environment. Cernunnos, for example, does not have anything to do with, say, Bres mac Elathan or Rhiannon. And, in fact, in terms of the times that each one of them would have been popping up, there’s a SIGNIFICANT difference in ages. 

(Taken from David Stifter’s Sengoidelc)

At some point, as you can see on the linguistic map.....during the Proto-Celtic period, they WOULD have had roughly the same cast of characters, BUT that is a time that we really know little to nothing about, and even then, I do believe there would have been localizations depending on family group and region. We can TRY to reconstruct it by comparing different figures/names and then putting them in an Indo-European context. If, for example, you see similar things pop up in India, Ireland, Greece, etc., you can be fairly certain that it is [1] A pre-Christian survival and [2] Specifically, a Proto-Indo European survival, aka going back to really some of the EARLIEST belief systems we have. If you have the same things popping up in Irish and Welsh contexts AND you have the name popping up in Gaulish inscriptions, we can be fairly certain that the figure is a REALLY old ass Celtic figure. Figures like Lugh, Ogma, and Nuada.....they are probably VERY old. Not that we won’t argue over it. Because Celticists argue over everything. (If you want to know about some of what Celticists have conjectured, I highly recommend Proinsias Mac Cana’s ironically-titled , given the topic of this post, book, “Celtic Mythology”. Now, some of what he said has been debated, because.....see above. Celticists. Arguing. We love it. BUT he’s a respected figure in the field, and my supervisor likes him so I’m legally required to like him too.)  WHICH brings us to our next problem, which is that the way that each figure developed. Lugh, in an Irish context, is not Lleu in a Welsh context. They probably share the same root figure, at some point in their shared history. Their names match up TOO PERFECTLY for them not to. But the way they developed was specifically in the cultural context of Wales/Ireland. Lugh in particular is a VERY malleable figure. You can read three works where Lugh is in and get a VERY different reading of him in each one. (Good king? Machiavellian schemer? Flawed pragmatist trying to unite a people who won’t be united? A figure who’s more a symbol of kingship than an actual CHARACTER? Depending on the source and the time/context, you can get any combination. For what it’s worth, in the Early Modern period, there is quite a bit of matieral that shows a darker side to Lugh.) Saying, “Yes, these two are related” SOUNDS like it’s admitting a lot, but in reality, that still doesn’t really tell us anything about this hypothetical figure. If you put a knife to my throat and made me GUESS, I would say that he had some connection to kingship and sovereignty. Possibly, in relationship to that, sacral kingship, given that both Lugh and Lleu are betrayed by a woman to their deaths. But that is HIGHLY speculative and again, doesn’t really SAY anything. Lugh is Lugh and Lleu is Lleu. It’d be like trying to say that, because you and your cousin come from the same grandma, you’re exactly the same. Now, you might be able to INTUIT certain things about your grandma from any common traits you and your cousin have, and that’s a valid line of inquiry, and it’s definitely one that plenty of solid Celticists have done, I am NOT denigrating their research, but you’re still you. 

Finally, “Celtic Mythology” really is.....rather bombastic, as a term, for a group that almost always consists of Irish Mythology (and, sometimes, Irish folklore, which is VERY different from the mythological texts), with Medieval Welsh literature sprinkled in for a bit of flavor. (Even the term “Welsh Mythology” is controversial, simply because, really...it’s much harder to pick the MYTHOLOGY from the literature. Even harder than the Irish.) And, in the field, even saying “Celtic Studies” is something that we kind of do through gritted teeth because we don’t really have a better term for what we do. See that big-ass linguistic family tree up there? Yeah, I’m not too proud to admit that there are exactly two languages on there that I am in any way equipped to talk about: Middle Welsh and Old Irish. Now, an IDEAL Celticist, aka some of the best in the field, is a jack of all trades, someone who can talk about the linguistic evolution of at LEAST Old Irish and Welsh (including their modern descendants), with a solid background in Proto Indo European and the ability to at least comment on the various other Celtic languages. (There are some scholars who specialize in, say, Scottish Gaelic, Breton, Cornish, and Manx, but they are basically a niche in a niche. The field, as a WHOLE, is VERY much dominated by Irish, both modern and medieval. Which suits me very well, but does make me feel very bad for the other languages that get left out of the mix.) But that is a VERY small number of people in the field. Hell, I got met with basically crickets when I said that I wanted to study Breton, not because people didn’t WANT me to, but because the resources simply weren’t available, much less as an English speaker. (I still want to take it up, though.) I know of some professionals in the field who NEVER would call themselves a Celticist, simply because the term doesn’t really fit them. My paleography professor was, incidentally, one of them. Personally, I DO use it, because again, I don’t have another term. 

But, and I can’t emphasize this enough, what I study isn’t a SINGULAR Celtic Mythology. What I study is Medieval Irish Literature, with a focus on the Mythological Cycle and, when needed, I can sometimes comment on the similarities to Welsh figures. I don’t LIKE it, because I feel like I can’t do the richness of the Welsh material justice, but I can do it if you put a knife to my throat. With stuff like, say, Gaulish Mythology....we can make very educated guesses based off of inscriptions and things that the Romans/Greeks said and comparing them to Irish/Welsh material, but we don’t really know. Can’t really know. And with others...there were no written materials during the medieval period, or at least none currently surviving. (This is why Old Irish and Middle Welsh to tend to dominate mythological discussion: The bulk of our medieval material does come from those sources. People can say all they want about the scribes who wrote down the Mythological Cycle, but the simple fact remains that, if it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be studying these texts.) 

For me, the term “Celtic Mythology” kind of lumps all the individual Celtic materials into one massive soup bowl, regardless of time, context, culture, or any other distinguishing features, and, most of the time, would be just as easily done by saying “Irish Mythology” or “Welsh Mythology”. There are very few times, unless you’re talking about the ENTIRE POSTULATED HISTORY of a figure, that “Celtic” is really needed and it tends to assume that Irish = “Celtic” (most of the time, I see posts where Irish, in particular, is treated as being the same as “Celtic”, and my ire in this instance is directed towards them) instead of admitting the full variety of what that term actually means. Irish IS a Celtic language, yes, absolutely, but it is not the be-all, end-all, and the two terms are not synonymous. “Celtic” is a very broad term that can only really be useful in a few contexts, mainly linguistic, and is insanely controversial in the field as it is. 

On a religious perspective, since I know that this is inevitable in conversations like this, does this mean that I’m saying, going back to my original example, “No, you cannot worship Rhiannon, Bres, and Cernunnos at the same time?” No. I am VERY firm on my stance that I can only speak from the perspective of my knowledge of the field, NOT on other people’s belief systems. This is similar to if someone was to ask me about the function of a given postulated deity, where I can only say “The material as it was written down indicates x, y, or z, and most of us in the field are VERY hesitant to apply a solid function to these figures, but if you feel that this figure is guiding you to a given conclusion, that’s fine. It isn’t ‘inaccurate.’ I don’t believe that there’s any way for a religion to be ‘inaccurate' so long as it’s harming no one.” (Use Celtic Studies as a smokescreen for white supremacy and I WILL roll down your throat faster than a hot dog on the 4th of July, though.) If all three of them are calling you, that’s something that I have no call on. I personally think that it’s a HELL of a combination, and I’d wish you the best of luck, but....it would certainly be an interesting one. If you want to take the reconstructionist root and try to figure out how they would have been worshipped in the Proto-Celtic times, that’s fine (though I do strongly advise against human sacrifice.) You’d have a devil of a task, but it’s certainly a fine one, and in many ways, not too unlike what scholars like Mac Cana did. And, if you want to worship them as they appear in the texts or how they’re personally guiding you, that’s not something that I can make a call on one way or another. Again, this is about my own personal feelings, from inside the field, on the term and how it can be rather misleading. 

[fleckcmscott]

After

Summary: Arthur is heartened to have Y/N back by his side. But moving forward isn't as simple as he'd daydreamed.

Warnings: Adult situations, Swearing

Words: 3,391

A/N: This request comes from @jokerownsmysoul​! It's a continuation of Ch. 23 of Watch What Happens and takes off right after the last paragraph. Funnily enough, when Karen originally beta'd that chapter she said, "Where's their conversation? Oh, well, I guess it's implied." 😄 Special thanks to Domino, aka @thegirlwho​, (who also wanted their conversation 😂) for sharing her point of view and helping me see things from a different perspective.

A good portion of my life is the exploding head emoji right now, so it's been a while since I've posted. However, I'm still here. Still writing. Still trying. Work on the new multi-chapter continues. If you've got any requests, let me know. Your patience, support, and you mean a lot to me. Thank you.

Nimble fingers twined through his loose, brown curls, a gentle tug as lips met and parted, met and parted. Her body surrounding that soft, most intimate part of him was visceral. Warm and wet. "I love you" fell from her mouth. Once, twice, more than the walls of his apartment had ever heard. He swallowed but was unable to murmur an appropriate reply. She came back, his mind affirmed. She came back.

Shit, I haven't mopped for a week.

Arthur braced himself on his knees and elbows to look down at her. The notched collar of Y/N's blouse had somehow remained uncrumpled. Strands of her hair fanned out messily over the beige, aged hexagons of the kitchen linoleum. Her tears had reduced to stains on her flushed cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles. She'd said he hadn't hurt her, that she was happy. Both good things. If he could figure out the next step...

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, brows pinched. Moving to kneel, he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulled his light blue pajama bottoms over his rear, then ran his hands along his thighs. "Have you had dinner?"

Buoyant laughter left her as she propped herself on her forearms. "I'm famished. Especially after that." She extended her hand and he accepted it gladly. When she started to pull herself up, he grabbed the other. Her kitten-heels slid the weave rug along the floor; it took some effort for her to get her footing. Once she stood, she tied the drawstring of his pants and adjusted her skirt. "Be right back," she said and scurried to the bathroom.

The thud of the door closing cleared the awe from head. He'd rather have kept it. Changes in mood were typical as of late. The bliss of her return was already twisting into dread. No longer consumed by the need to be inside her, his mind conjured questions, too many to brush off. He turned the knob of the toaster over. Studied the orange glow of its heating element. Had charity - or worse, pity - caused her return? Had distress afflicted her as deeply as it had him? Had she thought of him half as much as he'd thought of her?

Was she going to abandon him again?

He suddenly felt very silly and quite small for allowing himself a modicum of relief. Nothing had been clarified. By having a quickie on the floor after they'd barely exchanged a word, he'd set himself up to be hurt. The way he had when he'd kissed Helen, or when he'd considered Randall his friend, or when he'd believed, for one foolish minute, that Murray might be kind. He flinched against the fury simmering in his stomach. That same panic and anger from when Y/N had walked out of his apartment and, he'd been convinced, his life. He clutched the counter's curved edge so hard his fingertips went numb.

But then she curled herself into his side and squeezed him tight about the waist. Her blithe bearing was almost enough to quiet his tumult. "Anything I can help with?"

"No." He moved to dig through the freezer. Beans and franks with a brownie. English style fish 'n' chips. His mother's favorite, meatloaf. Only the teal packaging made them appealing. He grimaced at the meager offerings. He snatched one from the door, held it out with some trepidation. It was possible the gel-like gravy, slices of turkey roll, and drowned stuffing wouldn't put Y/N off. "Um, this was on sale. I bought a few."

"It's perfect." She accepted the carton and tore it open. "I heard a song on the radio yesterday that made me think of you."

"Oh yeah?" He closed the door of the toaster and set the timer with a flick of the wrist.

"The man was singing that his name was Carnival. That's your clown name, right?" She chuckled, dragged the black, wooden stool from under the counter, and perched on it. "It reminded me of the subway." A flirty pinch to his abdomen. "And that I still have to see one of your performances."

Arthur scoffed and averted his gaze, struggled to push through his anxiety and enjoy her. But he wasn't the type of man to let questions lie. When he'd gotten the courage to ask Y/N on a date, he'd taken the risk. When he'd read Penny's letter, he'd hopped on the first train to Wayne Manor. After the confrontation in Wayne Hall, he'd gone to Arkham and stolen that wretched file.

His curiosity tended to pick wounds that hadn't yet healed over.

The warmth of her hand met his back. "Thank you for giving me time."

The tenderness of her tone loosened the clench of his jaw. But he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He'd done what she'd requested, because he'd feared mistakes would drive her further away, not because he'd wanted to or understood. He wondered if someone without a mental illness would have behaved differently. She'd pleaded with him to listen, kissed him goodbye, then left like it was nothing.

Whatever the case, her appreciation felt wrong. He didn't need gratitude. He needed answers. He inhaled sharply. "Why did you go?"

She traced the knobs of his spine. "I had to figure out the best way to be with you."

"Am I that hard to be with?" he bit out.

"Of course not. That's not what I said."

He gulped and released a ragged breath. "It broke my fucking-" He faltered when his voice cracked.

"Arthur, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry." Her embrace was tight, a welcome pressure on his ribs despite the ache. Her palm slid up his sternum. "I was afraid to do more harm than good." He should have contradicted her, told her she was crazy if she believed loving him would damage him. But he stopped himself when she nuzzled his bicep. It was a while before she cleared her throat. "I love you more than I imagined possible." She giggled, then, and sniffed. "Which isn't bad for six weeks, Mr. Fleck."

Tears threatened as his eyelids fluttered. He managed to keep them at bay, covering her hand with his to distract himself. He pressed it tighter to him, until he thought her fingers might break through his chest. Finally, he met her stare. Found it full of love and what might have been joy at being together. In that moment, he knew nothing would ever separate his heart from hers.

~~~~~

"Christmas is coming up. Let me know what you'd like to do."

Arthur's slight nod was typical of their conversation this evening. Well, that wasn't quite fair. More like half of it. He'd been vacillating between bouts of confidence and timidity, with the latter tending to win out. He'd put his arm around her, examined the latest issue of TV Guide, and asked what she'd preferred to watch. She'd let him choose; he'd picked a three-hour variety show. Minutes later, he'd been squished into the corner of the sofa, legs neatly crossed with his hands clasped in his lap. She'd risen to refresh their ice teas, and he'd halted her with a kiss to her knuckles and his handsome grin. Upon her return, he'd focused on the floor and kept quiet. The changes were difficult to predict.

At least the periods of stillness made it easy for her to reflect, even as those reflections weren't entirely pleasant. She'd had faith in his ability to take care of himself and his judgment to reach out to her if he was in crisis. And while she had no regrets about taking five days to ensure she could sustain their relationship, she lamented the pain it had caused him. She'd detected it in his stiff posture in the kitchen. Seen it in his glistening eyes. Sensed it in his inconsistent reluctance to be touched.

It had been hard for her, too. The absence of their nightly calls, of shared laughter, of his presence had been keen. She would have returned to him without receiving his letter. But the ink on the page, with its occasional misspellings and earnest admissions ("I don't kno if I'm doing this right but I want to try. Maybe you want to try with me, to?") had prompted her to run to the subway before she'd taken off her coat. Confirmed that despite their differences, them being opposite in many ways, their hearts were the same.

He perked up slightly when the next performer came on, an old man from Whitefish, Montana and his paper mache ventriloquist dummy. Y/N's attention drifted to Arthur as he leaned forward onto his knees. Though the act was nothing special - terrible jokes, drinking water while the puppet talked, strumming a ukulele as it sang - his face crinkled in amusement. "They just have regular people on there," he said. "I haven't seen anyone from Gotham. I should try out."

Thankful he was focused on the show and not her, she pursed her lips. Had he forgotten how Murray had gone? Or Pogo's? Then again, he'd believed both had gone great. And she wanted him to succeed. To strive. To dream. His determination impressed her, made her proud. She searched for a truthful but kind answer. "Once you've got a set you're comfortable delivering, sure. Would you send a tape? I have a recorder you can borrow."

"I wrote a lot this week. Not many jokes but I've done some brainstorming." He flicked ash from his cigarette into the pink ashtray on the coffee table. Splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms together. The bob of his Adam's apple was faint in the dim, blue light. "Do you- Do you want to sleep over?" He turned to her.

Elated, she smiled widely and shifted to sit side-saddle. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring any clothes."

"Hold on." He rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute, she followed to find him digging through a couple of cardboard boxes. Boxes filled with his mother's things, she realized. She'd have to follow-up for details, find out what had happened to ensure the transition would go as smoothly as possible. Though the relationship between him and Penny was complicated, change wouldn't be easy.

He held out a threadbare, light-blue, nylon nightdress with ruffled cap sleeves and a ribbon at the neckline. "Here."

Y/N cocked her head. The gown was exceedingly narrow, its seams stretched. If she had been inclined to wear it, it wouldn't have fit. Arthur's hopeful expression made it plain he did not see the oddity in offering his romantic partner his mother's nightwear. It was logical, she supposed. His years had been spent living hand to mouth. He didn't have any siblings. Hand-me-downs - a spare sweater here, a pair of socks there - would have come from Penny. A tad strange, to be sure. But poverty had a way of making the abnormal normal.

"Thanks," Y/N said. "But I'll be fine in my panties." At his pout, she closed the inches between them. "If you have a t-shirt, I'll take it." His brows lifted and he gave a toothy smile, comprised of surprise and conceit. The shirt he retrieved from the living room was plain and white. The lightly stained armpits didn't bother her, nor did its loose fit. It was part of his work outfit, he explained. And he claimed she looked cute in it.

Her sleep was restful, deep, better than it had been the last two weeks. Arthur being nearby and her certainty when she'd lain her head on his pillow had calmed her. She didn't think about the Wayne Foundation. She didn't worry about how to pursue a future with him. She didn't waste her energy being afraid of powerlessness. Warmth filled her, aided by contentment and cozy blankets.

When the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she didn't check the clock. Judging by the speed with which her drowsiness dissipated and the blackness of the room, it was likely around 4:00 AM. She'd gotten a solid five hours. With a slight stretch and mewl, she blinked up at him. Her elbow accidentally bumped his chest. "Aren't you tired?"

"No." He palmed her shoulder, caution palpable in every movement. Then his caress dragged down her upper arm, hovered over her breast.

She stroked his stubbled cheek. "What are you up to?"

"Making sure you're really here."

It was unclear if he was kidding. The extent of his imaginations or hallucinations - if that's what he experienced - weren't yet known to her. She recalled how he'd clutched her jacket, the way he'd fiddled with her wall calendar and coffee table when he'd come to her for help. Tactility oriented him, as it had her father before the final stages of his diagnosis. And, outside of acute episodes, Loving Someone with... had advised her to carry-on as always.

Laughing gently, she entwined their legs. "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know," he scoffed. He tucked his chin. Silence permeated the room, interrupted only by their exhalations. Eventually, he spoke, his rasp bashful and desperate. "Are you going to leave me again?"

"No." She pressed his hand to her breast, tried to soothe his tremble away. "I like it here."

She could hear his smile in the dark. He dipped his head to capture her lips. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back until she ached with emptiness. Until she felt him hard against her hip.

"Y/N?" he breathed into her mouth.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "What?"

His forehead met hers and she shivered all over. "I wanna make you come."

~~~~~

Drip, drip, drip. A calming, predictable sound. The pungent smell of generic brew wafted to his nostrils, slightly burnt but familiar. Coffee. He was making his girlfriend coffee before she went to work. After they'd made love and snoozed until sunrise. After she'd admonished him for smoking in bed, then caressed his flaccid sex and teased him about his "secret freckle." (He'd covered his face in horror and delight and promised himself that one day he'd find a "secret" on her.) He hummed along to the radio, though he disliked the song, and whistled while he filled their cups. Once he'd added three sugars to his and the last of his milk to hers, he padded to the bath. He leaned on the doorframe, an imitation of nonchalance.

In her apparent rush to get to him, Y/N hadn't simply neglected to pack a change of clothing. She was swiping his stick of deodorant under her arms with haste. When she grabbed his comb and tried to tame her hair, he didn't mind. She declined his offer of Penny's eyeliner and mascara but that was fine. She didn't need them, anyway.

As she buttoned her pleated blouse, he giggled. He'd heard jokes about women going to work in identical outfits two days in a row. The innuendo had escaped him until now. A thrill went through him at finally getting the joke. He blushed. "You're dressed the same."

"I left Patricia a message that I'd be late. It won't surprise anyone." She accepted the proffered mug and took a long drink. A mischievous look as she arched a brow. "She'll want details."

Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead. This would take getting used to.

She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her index finger. "What are you doing today? Any gigs?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, braced his arm on the wall. "I have to call the hospital. Figure out where to send my mother." He was glad to begin the process of moving on, moving forward. To start building a life of his own. Freed from the woman who hadn't protected him. Paired with the woman who understood him most. Still. He was daunted.

After a few seconds of attempting to brush her teeth, Y/N rinsed her mouth and washed her hands. "The social worker should be able to help. There must be homes specializing in lobotomy patients, given how common they were. Actually..." She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I bet there's an advocacy group for the elderly in Gotham. I'll call around on my break. We can have lunch and review their recommendations."

The tightness in his chest prevented him from holding her gaze. His longings for kindness didn't make it any less peculiar. He hoped he would be able to accept it without skepticism soon, like a normal person. That he wouldn't wait for the other shoe to drop. He tried to fight his negative thoughts rather than give into them.

But he couldn't. Not yet. "Why are you doing this?" he mumbled.

She gave a small shrug, as if what she was about to say wasn't a miracle. "I love you. Why wouldn't I?" Before he could react, she walked to the front door and slipped on her heels. "Besides, we should plan this weekend. Shall We Dance is showing at the Monarch. We could catch it and have dinner at my place. And there's a doctor I found for you - when you're feeling up to it. We'll go over the particulars."

The offer to see the film, one he knew every number of, was an obvious attempt to butter him up for that discussion. It would work. "That sounds nice." He went to her side and took her coat off the wall mounted rack, guided her arms into the sleeves

"Arthur," she started, zipping her jacket. Her pretty eyes met his. "I wasn't going to end our relationship. I don't want you to fear that."

He winced and clutched his hands together, annoyed she had raised the subject again after the wonderful morning they'd shared. "I believe you now."

"Back home, I made mistakes. That's why I needed time." She shook her head. "The thought of repeating them with you..."

Mistakes? What kind of mistakes was she referring to? She'd said her divorce had been mutual. A big fight with her sister or mother hadn't been mentioned. She almost never talked about what had happened with her father, other than to name his diagnosis and state she'd gone on medication. She was a good woman. Whatever she had done, it couldn't be that terrible. Not half as bad as the notions that wormed their way into his brain like a broken record.

Then she continued. "I didn't know what to do then. But I think I do now. " She nuzzled his sideburn and carded her fingers through his hair. "If I see you walking towards a cliff, I won't follow. I'll pull you back before you get there."

He stared at her, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. Her words felt like the kind of fantasy he'd created to ease his misery. To try to convince himself he should exist another day. That he should stick around. Multiple hospitalizations had proven that hadn't always worked. But this was new. Real. Maybe that reality would allow him, for a little while, to be all right.

He cupped her face, drifted his thumbs over her cheeks. She leaned into him, into the kisses he placed on her brow, her nose, her mouth. His lips parted but all he could manage was a shaky exhale. The press of his face to hers.

She must have noticed he was overwhelmed. It frustrated him - he wanted to find a way to articulate himself. But her peck to his jaw, her hand covering his, made him feel safe. "Meet you at my office at one?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded into her hair, not quite ready to let go.

Gently, she pulled away from his grasp, took her purse, and opened the door. She smiled. "Call if you need anything."

At that, she strode down the hall in the direction of the elevator. He stepped out and watched until she disappeared around the corridor's corner. He rested against the door and closed his eyes, wishing harder than he ever had before that every morning would be like this for the rest of his life.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @ithinkimaperson​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @mrscarnival​

[oneweekoneband]

meet me behind the mall!!!!!!!!!

I don’t know why Taylor Swift thinks that teenagers drink wine, and I don’t know why she chose to record and release a wistful high-school-other-woman song which left me feeling naked as a frog and therefore furious. Some questions we ask only so as to be soothed by the familiar sound of our own voice, still there after all. The answers are not coming. 

The Taylor Swift Teen Love Triangle Triad of “cardigan”, “august”, and “betty” is the part of folklore that makes me most bullish about where Taylor is going as an artist. A turn away from writing songs which are intentionally meant to appear confessional and toward, instead, songs which reveal the personal as refracted through fictitious circumstances and made-up characters is a better use of her big, weird brain, and allows that brain to be unleashed on a broader plain of experience. It’s incredibly embarrassing to be an adult woman with my own problems to manage and to have living in my head Taylor Swift’s demented YA fiction, but it’s an embarrassment that feels appropriate, like I could never really have escaped this fate. On “betty” she gets to play-act as a contrite teen boy who knows he’s done wrong, and while obviously the most charming thing about the song is Taylor saying “fuck” (and also her giving us a little of the ol’ razzle dazzle by way of some light twang), her experiment with imagining what it’s like to be a skateboarding kid who hates dances, trying on an imagined teen boy interiority as a costume, is effective too. 

“cardigan” is more removed, less plaintive and shouty. This is a song from adult Betty’s perspective looking back on this period in her life and in her relationship with James, who the song seems to imply she is still with now. While—full offense—I believe marrying your high school girlfriend or boyfriend is a disorder which should have its own listing in the DSM, restoring order by putting the original couple back together so as to make the story one of true love triumphing over adversity, rather than a series of sketches of kids doing fuckup kid things just because it is not easy to be alive and to be alive alongside others and with gentleness, least of all when you are very new at it,  is the only conclusion this saga could ever have reached with Ms. Swift at its helm, and I do appreciate the consistent, if baby-brained, internal logic. I’ve never known a teenage girl whose signature garment was a cardigan and, frankly, this Betty sounds like sort of a self-absorbed drip (I do love, love, how Taylor’s own voice comes through so clearly on the lightly threatening, smug lines, “I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired / And you’d be standing in my front porch light” !!) so I’m not totally surprised she got cheated on, but that’s very uncharitable of me and probably comes from the same meaty polyp in my brain that is responsible for my still loving all the hilariously mean-spirited, woman-hating songs on Speak Now.

“august” is about the other girl. The “her” in James’ rather pathetic defense, “slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long”. “august” tells a story that brings to my mind another story. It is a story I won’t belabor because it is neither exciting nor unique. It will not illuminate an unexplored human experience, as it is, in fact, incredibly boring, regular, an incident which would be at home in any normal Tuesday, ordinary as meeting at the mall. This is a million years ago and there is a boy whose basement I go to sometimes after swim practice. We have matching team sweatpants with our names embroidered above the pocket at the right hip and I like to switch pairs. I’m you and you’re me and when we have pushed and bent the tiredness out of our muscles together, making experimental declarations in hushed voices down there while the furnace groans, well, then I’m you and me and you’re you and me and we are we are we are. 

One February day at twilight I bound out of the school building with wet hair and a fleece jacket, but his car is already gone. No worries. Standing at my locker the next afternoon like in a movie he will say, easy as anything, that he has a girlfriend, a family friend, two towns over, she goes to private school. You’ve probably met her, he says. And right then I remember that I have. Last year I did her zipper in the bathroom at a dance. We were fighting but we never really broke up, he says. For months you’ve been fighting? is all I say back. Fighting since October? As if that matters. Like that’s the point. My voice is pinched and ugly and I know I’ll hear that sound forever. Well, anyway... I feel bad. He doesn’t clarify for whom he feels bad. He’s got one sneaker toe working against the other one atop the tile floor that’s the murky green of sea glass. He looks at my St Brigid’s cross necklace, at the blue Masterlock hanging open like a broken jaw, at someone in a hoodie who punches his shoulder as they walk by. Nothing personal, he says, and there is a tiny smudge of cafeteria pizza at the corner of his mouth that I hadn’t noticed until that second and a day ago would’ve reached up and wiped away with the pad of my thumb, laughing. I get it, right? Oh, sure. 

The worst of it was not skipping pre-calc to cry in the bathroom, since, I mean, I couldn’t actually do pre-calc and would never learn how, but was inspecting my soul in the dark when I couldn’t sleep that night and finding part of me had known this all along, had chosen to pretend, wanted the wanting so badly I’d knocked from my brain the truth of how it was going to end. This would not be the last false love from which I’d find myself unceremoniously discarded, and in time I’d learn to be the liar myself, too. It’s unseemly to pathologize bad decisions, to take on poor impulse control or self-destructive patterns as an identity, but I do think that just as some people are born serial monogamists, part of a twosome forever with very little mess in-between, some of us were built from the very first cell to live like a pool ball struck and banging teeth first into the wrong mouths and hearts. I can examine my romantic history and tap my finger against the obvious errors, the times I chose what I knew would hurt me, when I ascribed hope to situations where it did not belong, when I, like the narrator of “august”, regarded someone as not mine to lose but still put myself in the position to be harmed by the losing, yet I can’t produce alternative choices that feel realistic. If you are in love and it doesn’t work out, there is mourning, there is pain, but there is all the while a record which shows something happened, it was real. “august” stands somewhat apart in the Taylor Swift catalog as a song neither about the glory of true love or the heartbreak when it’s over, but about the small, paper cut heartbreaks that are inescapable during each day of an untrue love. “It was never mine”. When it turns out you were wrong the whole time, fooling yourself, then even remembering that you’d been happy in the lie is like being trapped in a fun house, body bent and broken in the mirror, a thing not built right for this world. 

“august” is about the girl who James was with over the summer, the girl he leaves to return to Betty. Taylor said it’s the first of the three that she wrote, and I fear this has warmed me to her in some new and unsettling way. I fear this means she’s matured as a person and writer, capable now of a more expansive view of situations, to be generous. It’s like how you shouldn’t feed gremlins after midnight; there is no telling what new and more dangerous creature this woman might turn into if she’s suddenly been taught empathy. When Taylor-as-James in “betty” sings, “Would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?” in his effort to woo Betty back I hate him a little, that thoughtless child undeserving of the kind of adoration in lines like, “your back beneath the sun / wishing I could write my name on it.” I try to extend grace to this fictional boy, but I think of the “Do you remember? in “august” and I feel a little sick from being so certain that no... No, he doesn’t. Not really.

“Back when we were still changing for the better / wanting was enough / for me it was enough”. I’d like to think there is no last chance to change for the better. I’d like to think wanting is enough so long as you want the right thing. I’d like to think that God made sure Taylor Swift became a singer instead of a young adult novelist because the absolute last thing this world needed was this freak joining the circus that is YA Twitter. Most of all, I like thinking that Judy Blume knows that her beautiful, searing, devastatingly romantic and also textually gay 1998 novel Summer Sisters is the only important book that has ever been published, and, further, that the world will show me the respect of understanding and accepting that “august”, when removed from the context of the Swiftian child romance trilogy, sounds as if it were specifically written in homage. Taylor, I know I’ve accused you of at least fifty crimes this week alone, but if you want to talk about Summer Sisters, please get in touch.

[pilot-boi]

Coffee Cup Woes

Jaune's history tutor is really pretty. Like REALLY pretty. Like way out of his league pretty. And he liked her, a lot. Liked her liked her. Head over heels for her. Pyrrha's history student was a delight. His smile lit up her darkest days, and he was sweet and kinder than anyone she'd ever met. She liked him, a lot.

They were perfect for each other, but sadly, both of them were idiots, and were too scared to make the first move.

Sometimes people needed a little push. Luckily their friends were more than up for the job.

Sometimes complementary mini muffins are the only comfort in this cold dark world.

AO3 LINK

“But what if she doesn’t like me?” Jaune lamented, stopping and sitting at their table instead of working like he should have been.

“Don’t worry, she likes you,” Ren reassured him, jotting down something from his text book.

“But how do you know that?”

“I read her diary,” Nora shrugged, popping one of the complementary mini muffins into her mouth.

“You what?!” Jaune squaked, and winced when his tone drew the curious stares of nearby patrons. “You what?” he repeated, in an outraged whisper. “Why?”

“Well, she left it on her dresser when she went to track practice,” Nora explained to Jaune’s dumbfounded expression. “And Ren wasn’t around to stop me.” She said this like that explained everything, but it mostly just left Jaune gaping like a fish out of water.

“I am about ninety percent of Nora’s impulse control,” Ren reminded him, and plucked a mini muffin out of her hands without looking up from his book. “And no more muffins unless you don’t want to get pancakes for dinner.”

“Yes, Ren,” Nora sighed on reflex.”

“Nora, you can’t just read your roommate’s diary!” Jaune spluttered, flapping his arms about in an excellent impression of a drowning goose.

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was her diary at first. I thought it was just a very formal handwritten book.”

“The words “Dear Diary” didn’t clue you in at all?” Jaune asked, making quotes in the air with his fingers.

“She didn’t write “Dear Diary,” Nora retorted, copying his quotes with exaggerated gestures, “she just wrote the date. Besides, I don’t think she’ll get mad about me reading it.”

“Of course she won’t!” Jaune seethed as loudly as he could without drawing stares again. “She’s like the nicest, sweetest, forgivingest person who ever existed! You could pour boiling hot soup in her lap and she’d probably apologize.”

He slumped down in his chair and put his face in his arms. “I’ve really got it bad, don’t I?” he mumbled.

“You sure do, Jauney!” Nora said happily, ruffling his hair fondly.

“Shut up, Nora,” he grumbled, beating away her hands and fixing his unruly hair as best he could.

“I don’t think “forgivingest” is a word,” Ren commented.

“You also shut up,” Jaune muttered, his voice muffled behind his arms. “You aren’t helping.”

“But anyway, the morality of diary read aside, she definitely likes you,” Nora concluded, eyeing the mini muffins and wondering if the threat of no pancakes was worth the risk.

“But does she really?” Jaune asked, rolling his head to the side so he could gaze up at her with a truly pathetic expression on his face. “Like, girls don’t like me, Nora,” he explained, straightening up.

“What about Ruby?”

“She’s different,” Jaune said, waving away Ren’s comment. “I’ve known Ruby since forever, she’s like my sister.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you really need more of those,” Nora muttered, rolling her eyes.

Jaune plowed on like he hadn’t even heard her, and with how tunnel-visioned he was, maybe he really hadn’t heard her.

“No like, like me like me, ya know?” Jaune clarified, but not really. “I barely even get to the friend stage with most people, let alone with girls. I don’t think a girl has ever has a crush on me in all eighteen years of my life.”

He was running out of momentum, which was good, because she’d known him to rant for hours if you let him get a full head of steam. “So I need you to be totally, absolutely sure,” he was saying when she checked back into the conversation, “because I really like her, and just...ya know...I hope she likes me,” he concluded rather lamely, stealing one of the mini muffins Nora had been eyeing and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Ren asked, glancing up at his friend.

“Shush, I’m on break or something,” Jaune mumbled around a mouthful of muffin. “Neptune’ll cover for me.”

“I don’t know how many times we have to tell you before you get it,” Nora grumbled. “She’s into you! Why don’t you see it?!” she fumed, miming strangling him.

“But does-?”

“Yes! Yes she does!” Nora interrupted him, throwing her hands up in the air. “I read what she said about you, and if I have to read one more sentence about your cute butt and floofy hair, I think I might vomit.”

“You didn’t have to read the original sentences, to be fair,” Ren pointed out, pulling a different, and somehow larger, reference book out of his bag.

“Shush you.”

“She thinks it’s floofy?” Jaune asked, touching the messy curls and blushing with delight. “That- that’s a good thing, right?” he asked, looking unsure.

“I give up,” Nora announced, “You’re hopeless, and I give up.” Then she stood and marched dramatically away, already texting furiously to somebody.

“You think she’s serious about that?” Jaune asked his friend out of the corner of his mouth as he watched the red head push her way through the throng of exhausted students.

“I’ve never known Nora to be serious about anything,” Ren assured him, checking his phone when it buzzed with texts, undoubtedly from Nora. “She’ll be back soon enough, once you stop acting like an idiot.”

“Hey!” That’s not fair,” Jaune pouted.

“It’s true though, you’re being an idiot about this,” Ren argued, glancing in the direction of the door when the bell indicated that someone new entered the already crowded coffee shop.

“Now come on, that’s not even remotely true,” Jaune scoffed, and deflated a little under Ren’s skeptical look. “Okay, it’s not entirely true, but-”

Ren fixed him with a piercing look from through his glasses. Jaune could only hold his intense gaze for a few moments before he was forced to look away. “Jaune,” Ren started, face and voice softening, “Why is it so hard for you to believe that she cares for you?”

Jaune looked like he was trying to collapse in on himself. “Because...she’s just so fantastic,” he mumbled, not meeting Ren’s gaze, “And I’m just sort of...not, ya know?”

“Have we ever lied to you before?” Ren asked, closing his books.

“I- what?” Jaune looked more taken aback by the sudden topic change than anything else.

“Answer the question, please.”

“I mean, no I don’t think you have,” Jaune answered, looking confused. “But why are you asking?”

“I’m asking, because if we haven’t lied to you before, then why would we start now?” Ren explained, glancing up at someone over Jaune’s shoulder and waving them over.

“So believe us when we say that she does like you,” Ren reassured him, standing and packing up his things. He patted Jaune on the shoulder, breaking him out of his shock.

“I’ve got to go and make sure Nora hasn’t decided to break anything in the five minutes I wasn’t there to stop her,” Ren said, beckoning the same person over again. “Besides, I believe there’s something you need to talk about.”

“Talk about with who?” Jaune asked, turning around and blushing right to the roots of his hair at the sight of the person Ren was talking with. “Oh hey, Pyrrha!” he said in a much higher pitched tone of voice.

“I assume you got Nora’s text?” Ren asked, a little too knowingly.

“I- yes,” she said, glancing at Jaune before focusing on Ren. “She said you needed to speak with me?”

“Actually, it’s Jaune who need to speak with you,” Ren clarified, glancing at his phone. “You can take my seat, I’m leaving anyway.” Hopefully Jaune could handle this by himself.

Jaune could not handle this by himself.

His face was bright red, and he knew it. Curse you Ren and Nora for obviously setting him up with this impromptu and definitely not-casual meeting. He had to tell her, he was going to tell her. But as soon as she sat down, Pyrrha flicked her long ponytail over her shoulder, and smiled shyly just at him. And he forgot how to speak in complete sentences.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, smiling softly. Her eyes were twinkling like emeralds, and she was actually sitting there and speaking to him. Pyrrha Nikos was sitting and talking to him over coffee.

Sure they’d spoken before in class, but this was different. They weren’t talking about history and the social implications of whatever, they were talking about potential emotions and stuff.

Or at least they would be if Jaune could stop staring at her.

Thunderstruck: so are they talking??!?

Dad: I did my part. They’re at least sitting at the table together.

Thunderstruck: mission “get these two idiots to make out” is a go!

Literal Child: Ice Queen, are you in position?

Mom: I don’t understand why I have to be the one to do this.

Goldilocks: because youre the only one of us who drinks that much coffee while you study

Mr. Kitty Cat Meow Face: She’s right you know

Goldilocks: thanks babe <3

Mom: And what is the point of code names if they are only getting typed in a group text?

Literal Child: LESS TEXTING MORE WATCHING!!

Literal Child: And it’s not a real mission without code names!!

Ocean Man: Remind me why Jaune gets to take off work but I don’t

Monkey King: because youre the only one we could get who could cover for lover boy during this whole schtick

Ocean Man: Thanks dude I always knew you’d have my back

Mr. Kitty Cat Meow Face: Shouldn't you be working and not texting us

Ocean Man: Shut

“Jaune?” Pyrrha prompted, now looking concerned by his silence.

He couldn’t say anything. It was like he’d swallowed a golf ball. Why couldn’t he say anything?!

Mom: Oh no.

Thunderstruck: what? WHAT??!

Mom: That blonde dolt is too love struck to speak.

Literal Child: you’re kidding

Literal Child: you’re kidding right??

Ocean Man: Nah, I can confirm that he’s just sitting there

Goldilocks: oh come on lover boy pull it together

Dad: We did think that this was a possibility. He does have a tendency to freeze up.

Mr. Kitty Cat Meow Face: Wait if we saw this coming then why did we leave this up to Jaune

Monkey King: it was basically the only option

Thunderstruck: believe me, she’s not much better than him

Mom: Wait hold on, shut up, I think they’re saying something.

“Are you feeling okay, Jaune?” Pyrrha asked, concern clearly rising in her face. 

Come on, pull yourself together. You have to say something. Can’t just keep sitting here silence! Say something, anything! Anything but just sitting there staring at her like an idiot. And it was this thought that finally had Jaune creaking open his jaw and blurting out the first words that came to mind. 

“Nora read your diary,” he all but yelled, still sitting as straight as a board, and bright red in the face.

Mom: Oh for fuck’s sake, you idiot.

Ocean Man: Mission failed, we’ll get ‘em next time

Literal Child: Ice Queen report!! what happened??

Mom: He just told her that Nora read her diary.

Thunderstruck: new mission operative: don’t let him die from embarrassment

Thunderstruck: i want to kill him first

[dreamcatcherfication]

Dreamers in Fantasyland - Part 2

So this wasn’t supposed to come out today, but I didn’t have anything else to post, so here it is! Just know that things only intensify from this chapter on. You will get no break, it’s all going down. I wrote this entire four part fic at 4 AM and that’s why everything is on crack. Don’t blame me, blame my insomnia. But anyway, I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my writing teachers are on holiday and I don’t fit in a suitcase.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Sword fighting, stabbing, blood, murder (nothing too graphic)

Part 1

When Anne and Anna said they would be ‘kidnapping’ Cathy and Kat, Cathy assumed they meant to some secret abandoned church where they would sit around and wait for ransom. No, turns out, that is not what they meant by kidnapping.

“So pirates huh,” Cathy commented as she rocked back and forth in the lower deck of the ship. Kat was sitting next to her, laying her head softly on Cathy’s shoulder as the boat swayed. Anna and Anne were also with them, looking through maps they had set out on a large table.

Anne hummed in confirmation without so much as glancing at Cathy. “Indeed milady. Although you don’t hear much of us in your little palace, do you?” It wasn’t that Cathy didn’t believe pirates existed, she just didn’t believe that Anne was one of them. It seemed so absurd to her.

Anna looked up from the maps and quirked an eyebrow when she noticed Kat staring at her. The girl turned her head away, refusing to make eye contact with the pirate. Cathy didn’t miss their interaction, but she chose to ignore it. “I didn’t think your kidnapping plot was so serious.”

“Oh we’re always serious,” Anna flashed a brilliantly white smile, something that shouldn’t have been possible for a girl who likely only ate pheasant and drank mead by the gallon. 

This was already going horribly wrong. Cathy and Kat were being held for the ransom of the princess even though neither of them actually mattered in court. Things could only get worse if they continued to lie, and Kat knew that more than Cathy expected her to. “I’m not Princess Mary,” she blurted out, then put her hands over her mouth in surprise. 

Anna and Anne froze before turning around to look at her. “What do you mean you’re not Princess Mary?” Anne spoke through gritted teeth. “Of course you are! We found you in your bedchambers wearing your royal garments,” Anne ripped off her hat and threw it against the wall. She took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm herself down. “Cleves, if you’d talk to the princess for me, I would be very grateful.”

“Sure Capt’n,” Anna tipped an imaginary hat and walked up to Cathy and Kat. Cathy put an arm around Kat, making sure Anna couldn’t get to her. Anna’s face softened at the protective act, so she glanced back at Anne before leaning in and telling Cathy, “I promise I won’t hurt her, but you gotta let me talk with her.”

Reluctantly, Cathy pulled her arm away and allowed Kat to stand up. The girl didn’t seem as nervous as she should be, but Cathy attributed it to the strange familiarity that was pungent in the room. She was sure the others must have felt it too. For some reason, with the four of them all together, everything seemed to calm down. The violent rocking of the boat had mellowed out and the presence of the swords didn’t seem to bother anyone. It was so natural for a situation that was so - well - unnatural. 

Anna and Kat left the room together, and Cathy groaned into her hands. She wanted to be back with her girlfriend in the 21st century, not this swashbuckling - admittedly attractive - version of Anne Boleyn. Eyes widening, an epiphany hit Cathy. “Anne Boleyn,” she tried, seeing if it would provoke a reaction from the pirate.

Immediately, Anne’s spine straightened and she whipped around to stare at Cathy. “How do you know my name?”

“I thought you were a famous pirate,” Cathy covered up, hoping it would convince Anne.

Narrowing her eyes, Anne took a step closer to Cathy. “I may not be a courtier but I’m not an idiot. Barely five minutes ago you were surprised to hear we are pirates, and you’ve already lied once before about knowing my name. So tell me what you know before I pull out my blade.”

Cathy didn’t like seeing the girl she loved so much glare at her with such hatred. “Do you know the name Katherine Howard?”

A fond, nostalgic haze came over Anne for a second before she was jerked back into reality. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. How do you know her?” It had only been for a second, but Cathy had seen the Anne Boleyn she knew peak out.

“That girl you think is Princess Mary? She’s my friend Katherine Howard. You’ve got the wrong girls,” Cathy explained.

Cracking her knuckles, Anne restrained herself from punching the wall. Of course it made sense that the princess seemed so familiar, of course there was a reason Anne knew something was wrong. “If you’re Anne Boleyn,” Cathy spoke up, breaking Anne away from her thoughts, “that means that girl out there,” she pointed to the door where Anna and Kat had left through, “is your cousin.”

“Yes,” Anne admitted, staring at the wall. Cathy was standing behind her, watching. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from that family, or mine.” She turned around and faced Cathy. “I don’t know how you know who I am, but I’m going to figure it out. What’s your name.”

Staring Anne directly in the eyes, Cathy hoped against all reality that her name would mean something to Anne. “Catherine Parr.”

Anna led Kat to a room beside where Cathy and Anne were staying. It wasn’t much worse than the other room, but it was clearly less spacious and well kept. “So, Miss Not-Princess-Mary,” Anna started, leaning against the wall, “Who are you really?”

Kat was unable to look in Anna’s eyes. She didn’t know what caused her to act the way she did, but seeing those eyes made her chest feel strange in a way it never had before. “If I tell you, will you promise not to kill me?”

The blunt laughter that came from Anna’s mouth made Kat feel embarrassed at her comment. “No, here we aren’t ruthless. You won’t see us killing unless we have to, and we tend to treat even our prisoners as humanly as possible. You’ll be safe here.”

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Kat started to wring her hands together. “I’m Katherine Howard, but everyone I know calls me Kat.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” Anna continued to flirt. There was something about Kat that Anna couldn’t place. It was right on the tip of her tongue but no matter how hard she tried to figure it out, she never could. So instead, Anna let the feeling pass and continued to ‘interrogate’ Kat. “And why were you in the Princess’s chambers if you’re not her?”

Guiltily hiding behind her hair, Kat coughed lightly. “I was bringing her a gift for her return to court. Me and Cathy - the other girl with me -” she clarified, “brought it directly to her bedchambers.” Kat’s cheeks grew red as she admitted, “I wanted to try on her clothes, only to see what they would feel like. We thought one of the guards was knocking on the door, so I pretended to be Princess Mary.”

“But you’re not?”

“I’m not,” Kat shook her head, staring at her feet. “I imagine I’d be much more composed if I was,” she muttered.

Scoffing, Anna put her fingers on the top of her sword handle. “I don’t think I would’ve liked to have some stuck up princess here with me. You’re much better company, Kat.”

“Thank you, Miss Cleves,” Kat said as she tucked a fly away hair behind her ear.

Blanching at the name, Anna shook her head. “No, call me Anna. Or Cleves. No Miss here. We show respect to the captain, but the rest of us are equal. Besides, I can’t be much older than you anyway.”

“Well okay,” Kat tested out the name, “Anna. Thank you for not holding me at sword point.”

Shrugging, Anna crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s the least I could do for a guest.”

“Don’t you mean prisoner?”

“Well seeing as we have no reason to ransom you and your friend, I don’t see why there’s any need for that. You’re an… unwitting traveler,” Anna supplied. 

Before Kat could reply, the ship was rocked by a giant force that caused Kat to go running into the wall and books to fly off the center table. “What was that?” Kat gasped. Another rock to the boat, and this time they could make out the faint sound of battle cries.

Anna’s eyes widened with horror. “We’re being attacked.” 

“What?” Kat yelled.

Rushing out of the room, Anna made her way to where Anne and Cathy were, Kat trailing behind her. Anne was already out the door, her sword drawn with Cathy standing behind her. “Do you know who’s attacking?” Anne asked, her accent thicker.

“I think you know who it is,” Anna replied.

Turning around, Anne put a hand on Cathy’s shoulder and another on Kat’s. Cathy would’ve appreciated the gesture if it didn’t mean a sword was being held inches from her face. “Listen, they’re here for you two. He’s been chasing us for a while, knowing about our plan to kidnap the princess. He’s going to try and take you onto his ship so he can have you as his prize.”

“But we just got here!” Kat yelled in distress.

Holding up a hand, Cathy asked, “Who’s he?”

By the hard set faces she was greeted with, Cathy was afraid she already knew the answer. “Henry.”

The sea deck was an absolute battle zone. Anne’s crew was practically indistinguishable from Henry’s, their sailors stabbing at anything that dared come within slashing distance of their swords. “This isn’t good,” Anne muttered in a panic.

“Here!” Anna called over the chaos, tossing two swords to Cathy and Kat.

Looking down at the blade in her hand, Cathy shouted, “We’re fighting?”

“We need every man we can get!” Anna replied before diving into the thick of it.

She and Anne were already fighting as many rival pirates as they could, tossing their bodies to the floor as they passed. Cathy turned around and grabbed Kat’s hand. “You stay here and try to fend off anyone who tries to come for you. Scream if you need me.”

“I can do this, Cathy,” Kat stated resolutely, gripping the sword tightly.

Nodding at Kat, Cathy ran across the boat, dodging swords and bodies in order to get to Anne’s side. Anna had disappeared, lost in a swarm of bodies, but Anne was still visible with her signature green hat. A man came up behind Anne and raised his sword high, but Cathy stabbed him through the back before he could harm Anne. Spinning around, Anne managed to witness the pirate falling to the ground, dead. “Nice save,” Anne called, an informal thanks.

Putting her back to Anne’s, Cathy held her sword up with both hands and started blocking incoming attacks. “Someone has to watch your back.”

“Yes, well this is certainly unprecedented,” Anne grunted as she shoved a pirate away from her before running him through.

Slashing at a passing enemy, Cathy responded, “This was not the way I was expecting things to GO!” She screamed the last word, ducking under the blade of a pirate. He narrowly chopped her head off with his swing, but only succeeded in getting her off balance. 

“Anne Boleyn!” came a booming voice from among the pirates. The fighting didn’t cease, but Anne turned her attention to the man who was calling her out.

“Henry Tudor, Bastard Sailor,” she answered him, grabbing one of his men by the hair and stabbing him straight through the chest. She swung the blade to the side, causing blood to go flying on the wood of the ship. 

Henry’s beard had grown since the last time Anne saw him. Not to mention he had grown fatter, but that was to be expected from him. Cathy tried her best to ward off attacking pirates as Anne diverted her attention to the rival captain. “You’ve come for the girls on my ship?” Anne yelled at him, “Then you’ve come for me.”

Brandishing his sword, Henry revealed his yellowing teeth. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And with that, their blades clashed, the sounds echoing louder than any of the other fights around them. Cathy could only watch helplessly out of the corner of her eye as Anne battled the powerful captain.

Anne took the offensive, swinging quickly at Henry from different angles. It was impossible for Henry to keep up with Anne’s blows, and he only managed to parry the first few. When nicks and cuts started appearing over his body, Henry shifted the game and batted Anne’s sword away the next time it came at him. He shoved her back, putting her off balance and creating an open window for himself. Henry took the butt of his sword and hit Anne over the head, causing her to go tumbling to the ground. He stabbed downwards, attempting to impale Anne, but she rolled out of the way at the last moment.

Kicking the back of Henry’s knee, Anne watched the man’s leg give out and send him to the floor. As Anne moved to give Henry a killing blow, Henry spun around and grabbed Anne’s sword with his hand. He was wearing leather gloves, something Anne hadn’t noticed, so the blade didn’t cut into his skin. Bringing the sword up, he and Anne were in a battle of strength as to who would be able to control the sword. 

Before either of them could discover the winner, the sword snapped in half. The weapon clattered uselessly to the ground, leaving Anne defenseless. “Shit,” Anne growled, looking for anything she could use to defend herself. But it was too late. Henry slammed his sword down against Anne’s skull, knocking her to the ground. While she wasn’t completely unconscious, Anne’s head was spinning and she couldn’t see clearly.

“Anne!” Cathy yelled to the captain, rushing through men to try and reach her. When Cathy was halfway to Anne, a scream stopped her in her tracks. 

As she spun around, Cathy saw Kat on the other side of the boat being manhandled by some of Henry’s pirates. Her sword was lying on the ground next to a body, but the men had managed to restrain Kat and were pulling her away. “Cathy!” Kat screamed, kicking at the men who had their grasp on her.

Stuck with an impossible decision, Cathy didn’t know which way to go. She could save the girl that was supposed to be her girlfriend, the pirate who - despite kidnapping and threatening her - still had a piece of her heart. Or she could save the friend she cherished so deeply, the girl that had been helping her since she woke up in this strange reality. Right as Cathy made her decision, two arms grabbed her by the shoulder’s and hauled her backwards. “Let me go!” Cathy screamed, but she was stopped by Anna who wrapped a hand around her mouth.

“They’re leaving, we have to let them go or they will kill us all,” Anna ordered Cathy, pulling her away from the bloody scene. There were still battles going on, but most of Henry’s pirates were retreating back to their ship now that they had their prize. 

Henry had Anne in his grip, and his men were carrying Kat to the other boat already. “You’re just going to let him take them?” Cathy was gobsmacked. “You’ll let him take your captain and an innocent girl?”

“What choice do I have?” Anna shouted, stabbing her sword into the wood floor of the boat. Grabbing her own wrist to hide the shaking of her hands, Anna sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to yell.” Taking in a deep breath, Anna exhaled and attempted to regain what was left of her composure. “We try to stop Henry and our entire crew dies. We let him leave with his prizes, and maybe we stand a fighting chance of saving them.”

Gritting her teeth, Cathy kicked the side of the boat. “I don’t like this Cleves.”

“Neither do I.” The two girls watched as Henry’s boat started to sail away from theirs, heading for the nearest harbor. “But we’ll get them back. I promise we will.”

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

Tag List:

@theatergirl06@radcowboyalmondtree@boleynhowards@annabanana2401@babeebobo@dont-lose-your-queerhead@everything-insanity@mindless-pidgeon@i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six@thedemidisaster@its-totes-gods-will

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part ii

Here’s part ii! Please reblog and send your thoughts, I love hearing feedback! I was doing a ton of research on American immigration law, and it doesn’t look like Canadians technically need a visa for most work circumstances, but I’m taking it as a matter of artistic license.

https://slapshot-to-the-heart.tumblr.com/post/615257287896989696/flatbush-atlantic-part-i

part ii

October 5

“Mat, I’m in the middle of a meeting,” Chris said, glancing up at him with a bemused-yet-slightly-annoyed look on his face. 

Mat looked over at Cass, ducking his head and sheepishly tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, yeah. For sure. I’m sorry, I should have knocked, but I got this letter, and. Yeah. I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m sorry.” Cass couldn’t help but let out a snicker at his rambling, and Mat turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. He held out his hand. She took it. “Sorry about that.” His cheeks colored. “I keep apologizing. I’m Mat Barzal.”

“Cass Cabrera Shaw,” she replied. 

“Cass is our new intern, so you’ll be seeing each other around. Hopefully not too often.” Chris said, nodding to where she sat in front of him. 

“I got the job?” Cass asked, her head jerking back to look at Chris. 

Chris nodded like it should have been obvious. “Cassidy. You’re more than qualified, you know the sport, you understand the responsibilities. You go to a top 5 law school. Yeah, you’re hired.” She blinked, still trying to take it all in. Chris turned to Mat. “Okay, Barzal, you’re up. What’s wrong?”

Mat scratched his neck. “Okay, so I know I should have looked into it sooner and taken responsibility for it. And I do, I mean, take responsibility for it. It’s just, I was in Vancouver for the summer and then vacation and then training camp and—”

Chris cut him off. “Barzal. What is it?”

“I missed the deadline for my visa renewal.” That sounds familiar, Cass thought ruefully. At least she wouldn’t be alone in her dumbassery.

Chris put his head in his hands.

Mat held up a hand. “Wait, it’s not as bad as it seems, I promise.”

“Try me.”

“I called whoever’s in charge, they left a number on the letter—”

“State Department,” Cass said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her hair when Mat looked back at her, a hint of a smile on his face. 

He nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, them. I called them and explained the situation, and they agreed to give me an extension.”

Chris cleared his throat. “And by ‘the situation,’ you mean…” He trailed off. 

“That I was an NHL player who wasn’t in the country when they sent reminder letters. I might have used the Commissioner’s name once or twice.” Mat said sheepishly. 

“And we all know how much weight Gary Bettman’s name carries with American immigration policy,” Chris deadpanned. “Okay, give me a second to think how we’re going to get this done. How much of the forms have you filled out?”

Mat flipped open the folder he had brought, scanning the pages. “Most of it.” At least he’s not entirely hopeless. “There were a couple things I wasn’t sure about, and some new stuff that I don’t remember from last time. I figured it was better to bring it in than try to submit it on my own and get it all horribly wrong.”

“Thank God for that,” Chris said, giving a half-smile. After another minute or so of thinking, he raised his head and looked to where Cassidy was still sitting, straight across the desk. “I saw on your transcript that you’ve taken several immigration law classes. Any fieldwork?” Chris asked. 

Cass nodded. “Yeah, there was a clinic run by the school that reviewed visa applications and other paperwork for recent immigrants, I volunteered there for a few months.”

“Good. How familiar are you with O1 visas?” He asked, looking in between Cassidy and Mat. 

“For extraordinary capability? I’ve studied them a little, I know that’s the kind that most NHL players are obviously on but I’m not an expert by any means,” she said.

Chris tapped his fingers on the desk, seemingly lost in thought, before his eyes flickered between her and Mat. “Okay. You’ll be running point on Mat’s visa renewal.” Cassidy’s face blanched. “It’s mostly done so it shouldn’t be too hard. But between you and me,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at Mat, “I wouldn’t trust this boy to fill out the paperwork to adopt a goldfish, so make sure you double-check everything he wrote in. Come to me or Richard with any questions, but I really do think you’ll be fine. Got it?”

Cass jerkily nodded her head, still trying to fully process. In the span of the last ten minutes, she had gotten a job that she thought she had no chance for and had been put in charge of a very delicate, very expensive, very important set of immigration paperwork for Mat Barzal. Mat Barzal, the 2018 Calder Trophy winner. Mathew Barzal, the future of the Islanders. No pressure. 

“I should probably give you my number,” Mat said, pulling out his phone and holding it out to her. She looked at him with confusion, head tilted to one side. Mat’s face flushed and he rushed to clarify. “Like for the work stuff. In case I have questions about the visa or you need me to translate my chicken scratch for you.”

Now it was Cass’ turn to blush, gently taking his phone out of his hands and navigating to the messages. “I’ll text myself, that way you’ll have my number too. For questions,” she paused briefly, “or anything else.” Cass was typically never that bold, but there was something about the way Mat cracked a smile that made her sure she had made the right decision.

Chris coughed, bringing their attention back to the desk and the issue at hand. “I’ll go and make a copy of these for your records, Mat,” he said, standing up and reaching over the desk for the file with the visa forms, “and Cass, you’ll be working off of the originals.” He glanced between the pair. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” 

Chris closed the door behind him, and Mat leaned up against one of the filing cabinets. “So, you’re working for the team now?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded. “I’m excited, it seems like it’ll be a great position, but I think the prospect of my betrayal might be too much for my poor dad. Working for the enemy and all.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Rangers fan?”

“Big one. I’m from Connecticut so he grew up with the Whalers mostly, but when they folded the family allegiance switched. And when Mike Shaw is in on something, he’s all in. I’m fearing for my well being,” she joked dryly, the corner of her mouth twitching up. 

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said, looking up at her. “Tell your dad that I promise we’re not as bad as we seem. Tito, maybe,” he added, wiggling his hand. “But I’m a good guy, as long as you promise not to sell off our training secrets and pass formations to the highest bidder.”

Cass held up three fingers. “I give you my word as a former Girl Scout that I won’t leak the absolute mountains of information I have access to.”

“Pinky promise?” Mat asked, holding out his hand. 

It was Cass’ turn to laugh, and she stood up from her chair, leaning over and interlocking their fingers. “Pinky promise.”

Chris chose that particular moment to walk back in, raising his eyebrows briefly. “What’s going on here?”

Mat cleared his throat. “It took a lot of convincing, but I got Cass to pinky promise me that she won’t sell us out to the Rangers.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Apparently there was a rash of double-crossing by interns that I wasn’t aware of,” Chris said, handing over the sheaf of copies to Mat. “And Cassidy, I’ll see you tomorrow at 10?” Cass internally groaned, knowing that it would take well over an hour on the train. Still, she nodded curtly. “Of course.”

He smiled, reaching over the desk and shaking her hand. “I’ll put these,” he said, gesturing to the forms, “in your desk tomorrow. You’ll be working out in the main area, we’ll get you set up when you come in. Other than that, you’re good to go. Glad to have you on board. Genuinely.” 

Cass leaned down to pick up her backpack, walking out the door and into the elevator with Mat by her side. “So, I’ll call you if I’ve got questions on any of this, right?” He asked, folding the papers and tucking them into his inside jacket pocket. 

She nodded. “Yeah. This one is a little different but I’ve done a lot of filling out forms and revision for this before, so I don’t think it’ll be too much of an issue. If I don’t know the answer to something, I can find it for you. I might have some questions tomorrow, you guys have a game, right?” Cass asked. Mat nodded. “So obviously I know you’ll have morning skate and be by the arena most of the day, but try to have your phone with you when you can so we don’t have to play phone tag, y’know?”

He smiled, holding the front door open for her as they existed onto the busy street. “I’ll do my best, Cass. See you soon.”

As promised, as soon as Mat had turned the corner, Cass pulled out her phone, clicking on Samaira’s contact. She picked up on the first ring. “Samaira, you’re not going to believe what my afternoon has been like.” 

She headed straight to her room after getting home, managing to squeeze in a few hours of reading before getting started on dinner. Pasta was easy to make for everyone; Alicia was lactose intolerant and Stella kept kosher, so simplicity was often key in group meals. Sautéeing some collard greens with onions and garlic, she turned her head towards the rooms and hollered to the rest of the apartment. “DINNER’S ALMOST READY!”

Much to her chagrin, Cass got up bright and early the next day, shoveling down a bowl of cereal before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

October 12 (fri)

The Islanders had a weeklong road trip, so Cass had been reassigned to contract review since she was all but done with Mat’s visa renewal. She glanced at her watch, seeing that it was nearly noon. Nearly noon meant nearly lunchtime. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to have for lunch quite yet, but food carts in New York were a dime a dozen; while she wasn’t being paid for the internship, she was given a stipend for lunch and travel expenses that she took full advantage of. Just as she flipped the page over, the office door opened. Assuming that it was some assistant coming for Chris or one of the other lawyers returning from a different office, she didn’t pay it too much mind. That was, however, until the figure stopped by her desk, coughing to get her attention. “Yeah?” She questioned, looking up and tilting her head in confusion when she saw that it was Mat. 

“I had a question about one of the employment history sections, and the office said you’d be here today. I brought food,” he said, holding up a paper back emblazoned with the name of a local Chinese restaurant. 

“Oh God, bless your heart,” she said, pulling over another chair. “I’m starving. Sit down, walk me through it. What’s got you confused?” It didn’t occur to Cass that he could have easily asked her over text.

October 17 (tues)

Sitting at her desk, Cass was trying (and failing) to finish her notes before midnight when her phone lit up with a text. And then another one. And then another. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up, expecting something from one of her younger siblings or a friend from back home. Instead, it was Mat. Hew brow instantly furrowed, swiping up to see what was the matter. He had sent two pictures, both screenshots from newspapers. Florida Man Arrested for Throwing Gator at Mother-in-Law, the first one read. Florida Man Charged with Reckless Endangerment for Filling Nursing Home Koi Pond with Baby Gators, said the other. Do u think it’s the same guy? He asked. 

Rolling her eyes, Cass wrote out a reply. No doubt. Criminals have patterns. 

So do u think all Florida men are obsessed with gators or just this one?

Gator cult. She tapped send, picking it back up almost immediately. Obviously. 

October 21 (sat)

The plane back from Montréal is about to leave. Any album recs?

Mat and Cass had been texting back-and-forth for the past few days, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that he asked her. 

Wasteland, Baby - Hozier, Electric Light - James Bay. Amidst the Chaos - Sara Bareilles if ya wanna get a little spicy. I’m mostly an indie kinda girl, give me a sec and I’ll send you my playlist. 

Can’t wait, Mat responded. Cass loved music, and always found it to be something intensely personal. So what was it about Mat that made her so willing to share?

October 23 (mon)

Cass hated getting up early, but there were some things better than sleep. You wanna get coffee before your classes? Mat had texted the night before. Coffee was one of them. Grabbing her backpack and tugging on her favorite pair of ankle boots, she headed out the door at 7:02. 

“Where are you headed this early?” Alicia asked quizzically, her own tote slung over one shoulder. Ryanne almost always left the earliest, usually having to get to her rounds well before anyone else had woken up. 

“Mat and I are going out for coffee,” she said, picking up her keys from the nail by the door. 

Alicia wiggled her eyebrows. “Oooooh, Cass has a daaaateee,” she said in a sing-song voice. 

Cass’s cheeks burned. “It’s not a date, I’m just helping him out with some paperwork. He’s asking me out as a friend. Just because he’s cute—”

Alicia cut her off. “AHA! So you DO admit that you think he’s cute?”

Cass groaned. “Yeah, okay, he’s cute. You happy?” Alicia nodded. “But just because I think he’s attractive doesn’t mean that this is going to be anything other than friends getting together before work, okay?” 

Her friend shrugged. “Whatever you say, Cass. Have fun, be safe! Use prot—” Cass closed the door as quickly as she could without slamming it. Forty minutes later, she was walking up to the coffee shop, greeting Mat with a hug. 

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Cass said. 

Mat shook his head. “You didn’t, don’t apologize.” He opened the door for her, hand ghosting over the small of her back as he followed her in line. A few minutes later, Mat was at the register, ordering a cappuccino. He turned to her. “What do you want, Cass?” 

“Mat, you don’t have to pay for me,” Cass said, pulling out her wallet. 

Mat gently pushed her hand down. “I was the one who suggested it, Cass. I’m paying the bill.” He handed over his card to the barista, turning back to her with a smile. “You can get it next time.” She laughed. 

“Fine, you win. Coconut milk latté.”

Oct 25 (wed)

“Afternoon pick-me-up?” Cass looked up from her desk, confused but excited to see Mat in front of her desk. 

“Huh?”

He held up a coffee cup, a speckled white-and-blue reusable. “You mentioned something about needing me to sign the last page or something? I brought you coffee, the cup’s for you too. Place says you’ll save 25¢ whenever you use it.” 

“Yeah,” Cass said slowly, “and you faxed it over, right? Kristie said they got it in this morning.” Kristie was the office assistant, and had handed the page to Cass right as she had walked in the door half an hour prior.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Mat said, seemingly flustered. “I was worried I might have made a mistake on it, so I thought I’d come over and double-check.”

“You’re worried you made a mistake signing your own name?” Cass didn’t quite understand it, but there was something really endearing about him wanting to come down and check it himself rather than just calling her or emailing Chris. “Okay then,” she said, leaning over her laptop to grab the folder. She traded it for the coffee in Mat’s hand, the Post-it note on the side of the cup catching her eye. Coconut milk latté. He remembered. 

Oct 26 (thurs)

What are your thoughts on sushi? Cass got a text from Mat as she was about to get out of her environmental law lecture. The professor had already started packing up her things, so she risked a message back. 

As a concept or as a food?

The food haha

All positive, love sushi!

I know this great place in Chelsea, want to grab dinner later?

You don’t have a late practice or anything with the guys? From what she had gathered, even when it wasn’t a game day, Mat would usually get an extra workout in after practice or go out with Tito and some of the rest of the team.

Nope :) Nothing after 2

Cass bit her lip, weighing her options as she shut her laptop and exited the lecture hall. She wasn’t reading too much into it, was she? Friends got dinner together all the time, it wasn’t weird for him to have asked her. It was normal. Typical friend stuff. Sure, she liked him. She liked him a lot. But it wasn’t worth jeopardizing her career and reputation to try and fabricate something that probably wasn’t even there. Sounds good! I should be able to get there 6ish if that works for you?

Perfect! He wrote back, I’ll send you the address.

Les and Fiona caught up to her that afternoon after she practically ran out of their review session the second it was done. “Woah woah woah,” Fiona asked, catching Cass just as she was about to exit the library. “Where are you headed off to so quick?”

Cass tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, scrunching up her nose. “Getting dinner with Mat.” 

Les wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, your man?”

Cass went red. “He’s not my man! He just asked if I wanted to get sushi. And I’m hungry, and he said he’s paying. So I said yes.”

“But you like him,” Les said, as if he was stating the obvious. Which, in a way, he was?

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. It’s hard not to. But he asked me out as friends. It’s not a date. If it was a date, he would have said so? Right?” She was starting to ramble.

Fiona reached out to touch her shoulder, rubbing her thumb back and forth. “Maybe. But maybe not. It’s possible that he is into you, but you and I both know that’s a question best answered by someone other than us,” she pointed at her and Les. “And even if he doesn’t, it’s still a free dinner.” 

Cass let out a small smile. “You’re right.” She glanced at her watch. “I told him I’d be there by 6, so I probably should get going if I want to catch the train in time.” She gave each of them a brief hug. “See you next week!”

“GOOD LUCK!” Tyler hollered as she turned the corner. Cass’ cheeks burned, and she was beginning to realize why.

---

Cass got home from the restaurant just after 9, trying desperately to make sense of the past few weeks. Getting ahead of herself had never led to anything good, and much though she wanted to, Cass wasn’t about to put words in Mat’s mouth. But he had been the one to suggest dinner, and he had picked up the tab again. “You’re in law school,” Mat had said with a shrug when the check came. “I’m not about to make you pay for your own food when you don’t have to.” Shaking her head and pulling out the kettle to make a cup of tea, she tried again to rationalize everything. “We’re friends. I’m doing him a solid by helping him out with this paperwork, he’s just trying to be nice and pay me back. Which he doesn’t need to do, because it’s my job. But he’s nice, so he’s doing it anyway. Because we’re friends.” Frustrated, she grabbed her mug, walking back to her bedroom and barely paying any mind to the splashes of near-boiling water that hit the ground. 

Oct. 27 (fri)

It was a quarter to 6, and Cass couldn’t wait to get out of the office. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job. It was incredible and she was so thankful for the opportunity. It was the fact that Mat fucking Barzal had been on her mind all day and she had been finding it so damn hard to concentrate on research and contracts and precedent when she was busy trying to sift through her own feelings. Cass wasn’t a particularly insecure person; like anyone else, she had those days, but it wasn’t really a matter of her thinking he was “out of her league” or that she wasn’t good enough for him. She knew that the whole concept of “leagues” was dumb and classist, but there was something about the whole dynamic that she couldn’t quite shake, and couldn’t quite tell if it was something good or not. It was five minutes to six, and she couldn’t stop her fingers tapping on her desk, waiting to be set free. Waiting for her mind to stop racing. Waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

She spent the next five minutes trying in vain to get through a paper Chris had sent her — she had even broken out her neon highlighters — but nothing was working. Thankfully, Chris chose that moment to stick his head out of his office and call to her. “Cass?” Her head perked up. “I’ve got some files to email you, mind coming in for a sec before you leave?” She nodded, pushing out of her chair and crossing the room. 

“How was your day?” Chris asked, pulling up the files to email her. 

“Uh, pretty good!” Cass said. “Fridays are relatively light for me, I had a morning meeting with the law review and then headed over here. Mat and I got sushi last night, so that was nice.”

Chris looked up over his laptop. “You and Mat?”

Cass nodded, brows furrowing. “Yeah. Is that an issue?” It was never something she had bothered considering, but — 

“Not that I can think of, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re spending a lot of time together, though, have you noticed that?” 

“Yeah, I mean, we’re friends, but I didn’t think that was a problem—” Chris held up a hand, cutting her off with a smile. 

“I’m not so sure that what Mat wants is a friendship, Cassidy.” He paused. “My son’s about his age, and please feel free to stop me if you’d like, but this is exactly how he acted when he met Iris.” 

“Iris?” Cass questioned. 

“His fiancée. If I’m reading the situation right, and I think I am, the poor boy’s head over heels for you, Cass.” He clicked his mousepad. “Just sent them over, try to go through them by Monday.”

She nodded, seemingly in a daze as she picked up her bag and walked out of the office, pulling out her phone. 

To: Mat

Are you free later?

Oct 28. (sat)

Tapping her foot nervously, Cass fiddled with her phone just to give her hands something to do. They had grabbed breakfast before she had to head to the office and he had to go to morning skate, and she had stolen the check while he was in the bathroom. But she still hadn’t brought up what Chris had said, or for that matter what Les or Samaira or Alicia had been pestering her about for the better part of the past month. 

Mat returned to the table, snapping Cass out of her thoughts. “You ready to head out?” It was only just past nine, so the plan had been to take a walk around Prospect Park before they had to take off. Cass nodded awkwardly, grabbing her coat and scarf from the back of the chair and looping it around her neck. Mat’s brow furrowed in confusion, but if he suspected anything, he didn’t say so. He walked a few steps ahead of Cass, holding the door open for her. They walked in silence for a block or two; not an awkward silence and not a comfortable one, but some kind of strange liminal space in between the two where it was clear that neither of them was really able to read the room. Mat’s knuckles brushed up against her own.

As they crossed the street into the gardens, Cass took a deep breath and looked up at him. It’s now or never. “What are we doing?” She breathed, so softly that Mat wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been standing scarcely a foot away. 

“We’re going to a park?” Mat questioned. 

She wrung her hands, trying to avoid looking at him. “I mean, what are we doing. You and I.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t want you to think that I’m reading too much into things, or that I haven’t enjoyed getting to know you and spend time with you because I have, but I just need to know what there is going on between us. If there is anything going on between us.”

Mat shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning up against a lamppost. “I mean, I’d like there to be. I’m into you, Cass, I thought I had made that clear,” he added with a single laugh. Cass gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think I actually needed to come into the office every time I dropped in on you? That I’d ask just anyone for music recs? That I asked you out to coffee or dinner just as friends? Cassidy,” he said, standing upright and taking a tentative step towards her, “I don’t even know Tito’s coffee order. But I know yours.” He took another step forwards when she didn’t move back, faces so close that their noses were almost touching. “I wouldn’t ever want to push you into something you weren’t ready for. But Cass,” he tilted her chin up with his hand, “I’m all in if you are.”

She took a shaky breath, willing the voices inside of her head to still themselves for just one moment so she could gather her thoughts. “Mat, I want this,” Cass said, gesturing between the two of them with one hand, the other wound with frustration in her curls. “You have no idea how much I want this. But I work for the team. We both do. And I can’t have anyone thinking that I’m here for anything but the job, that I’m a puck bunny or will be distracted from my work and go run off with my boyfriend or whatever you are—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Trotz might get mad at you, sure. I don’t think it would really matter on your end, though. You wouldn’t face any actual consequences. I’m expendable to this team. You’re not.”

 Mat’s hand came up to cup her cheek, one thumb swiping away a tear gently, so gently, that she hadn’t even realized had leaked out of her eye. “You’re not expendable, Cass. Not to me, not to the team, not to anyone who’s ever bothered getting to know you. You are such an incredible woman and I know you know it, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like you really believe it. If this is scary for me, and it is, I know it must be downright terrifying for you. And I know you’re worried how it would look, us being together, what the team or Chris or whoever would think, but you need to remember to let your talent speak for itself. If I have a shitty game, miss an easy shot or whatever, there’s always the people who say that Trotz should move me down a line, or that I should be traded, or whatever. And there’s always going to be those people. But if you keep your head in the game—”

“Alright, Troy Bolton,” Cass said, finally giving him a watery smile. 

“You realize that if I’m Troy, you’re Gabriella?” Mat asked, raising one eyebrow, hand still on her cheek as the other perched on her waist. Cass leaned into his touch, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe that was a bad metaphor, but Cass, you’re brilliant. You’re such a good student and you’re so dedicated at work. You’re going to make an incredible lawyer. Everyone sees that. And I absolutely respect that you’re worried about what our relationship might do for your career,” He swallowed hard, skating his hand down her arm to hold her hand. “And I’m not sure what else I could say other than what I already have. But you’re good, so good, and they’d be idiots for letting you go over something like this.”

Cass swallowed. “They say some things are worth the risk.”

“Are we gonna do this?” Mat’s hand moved to the small of her back, leaning down so their lips were almost touching, barely, not quite. 

“We’re gonna do this.” Cass closed the gap. 

[abstractanalogue]

Capratone, The Asteroids & The Metronoids (for Beginners)

Tracks & Traces #13: I’ve been planning to write about the music of Capratone, The Asteroids and The Metronoids for sometime and have finally gotten around to it (somehow its been almost 3 years since the last T&T). The link between these bands is Andrew Lyster (now living in Brussels) and as I will explain, he kindly answered some of my questions for this hybrid Tracks & Traces. Since originally publishing this piece Richie Kelly of Capratone has also similarly added valuable information I would never have been able to share otherwise. Usually I just depend on my memory, the records, press cuttings and any surviving notes I took  from the times but as I got deeper into the story there were too many question marks about line-ups (pre-Capratone), the issue of a possible ‘lost’ Capratone album and don’t even get me started about The Metronoids!  At time of writing most of this music is hard if not impossible to find streaming online and I couldn’t even locate any band photos or videos either. Which is all the more reason to write a piece to mark their existence and hopefully spark a revival of interest. When I was putting the finishing touches to the article I did discover there is now at least some music from The Asteroids on YouTube. Not long after I originally shared this piece, Joss Moorkens of Capratone sent me two band photos, the first line-up (L-R: Fiachra, Joss, Andrew) and as a four piece with Richie Kelly (below).  

I first saw Andrew Lyster play (vocals/guitar) when I caught The World of Pugh in a venue I only went to once, Dillinger’s. Like many things from those days it’s long gone but it was a bar with a small stage (up some stairs?) somewhere off Dublin’s Capel St. (18/3/94). As I totally forgot who was in the rest of the band I’ll let Andrew take up the story.

“The World of Pugh was the first group where I wrote songs. I think it started around 1993. Originally it was Keith Swan on drums and a fellow called Brian McEleney on bass. Then in 1994 I brought some songs in and Brian took off to be replaced by Niall Brown (who was also the singer and guitar player for The Moustaches). Niall played bass for World of Pugh in the form where we had songs and did gigs.”

I’m sure someone like Joss Moorkens (then drumming with Tucker Suite) had told me about TWOP and the name had struck me (there was a very cool hand drawn flyer for the gig). They played bottom of the bill with Tucker Suite, Budge and Schroeder’s Cat, all part of a very exciting little scene at the time. Less than two weeks later I happened to see TWOP again on a bill with The Moustaches at a house party on Middle Abbey Street. The Moustaches, who sadly never released anything, were also part of this same scene (in my mind anyway). As I recall, this latter show was on the second or third floor of a semi derelict space in which a friend of both bands was living as a caretaker. Andrew has now told me that he and Keith Swan actually lived there and it was where TWOP rehearsed. I remember sitting on an old mattress and really enjoying the atmosphere (a cymbal was tied to a rafter). I do remember that TWOP had a real sense of humour on stage with some crowd involvement going on. They never had any releases but might well have recorded something (I’ve also heard tell of an unreleased album by The Moustaches!). This would be the last time I saw them play, perhaps it was even their last show? It would be another year before I would see Andrew onstage again.  

While researching this piece I did find an Irish band family tree which shows that Andrew, Joss, Fiachra Lennon and Brian Gough were in a band called Mudshark (1991-92), which was not actually their first band. Again, Andrew gave me some more information which I thought was worth sharing and clarifying about these early days.

“Brian Gough (later in Mexican Pets) had been in an even earlier band than Mudshark with me called The Foots. This band only played one gig in a pub in Dun Laoghaire in 1991. Our friends had to listen to the music from the street because they were too young to get in. After The Foots broke up I think Brian went on to another group called Harvey, and then Tucker Suite with Greg Barrett (later in Joan of Arse) on bass initially. Greg then did Schnorbitz with Joss, and had a cool band called Giraffe Running.”

Andrew’s next band would be Capratone (vocals/guitar) along with Joss on Drums and Fiachra on bass. Regarding song-writing Andrew told me, “For the most part I would write the songs and we would try to make them better by all writing our own parts through rehearsals. One or two were group written from stuff that happened in rehearsal.”  I first saw them in another venue off Capel St. supporting Schroeder’s Cat at Behan’s Bar (previously The Fox & Pheasant) (3/4/95) and again just ten days later at The Plough with (surprise surprise) The Moustaches and Schroeder’s Cat. I would get to see this line-up play quite often on local bills until Sept ‘97 (more on this later). I recall they also played a short tour around Ireland with US band The Make-Up (April ‘97). 

In early ‘96 they tried to record an album with producer Marc Carolan. Andrew told me it was to be called, “Le Plus Roll, because we felt our music was more Roll than Rock. I can’t pin down the exact date of the recording, but my guess is that it was in 1996. We had 2 days in a studio somewhere in Rathgar. It was a 24 track ADAT studio. I think it had a Soundcraft desk. The highlight equipment-wise was an incredible Ampeg bass stack that belonged to some professional band. Its sound was so authoritative and great that by the end of the long first day’s recording, when I had crawled into bed, I was woken up a couple of times by LOUD auditory hallucinations of Fiachra’s P Bass blasting through that thing. Marc, and the three of us all worked really hard for the two days, we did manage to record and mix all the songs we came in with, but I think the short time-frame worked against us capturing the right aesthetic. The means of production were expensive to rent and we couldn’t afford to record even in a project studio like that for more than a day or two.”

Luckily, one of the songs, ‘Homeward’, ended up on the Irish band compilation album, Zip Up Your Boots For The Showbands (1996). I always loved this intricate and explosive song and a whole album like this would have been quite something. The only place online you can hear it now is on a radio show I made for Dublin Digital Radio about bands that played in Dublin’s Attic venue. I must point out the musicianship of Capratone, it may not have been so obvious in the more noisy Tucker Suite but Joss was such an amazing and distinct drummer and both Fiachra and he so easily locked together. They created a lot of space for Andrew’s vocals and guitar for these catchy and very inventive songs to really flow. 

At some point in late 1996 Richie Kelly joined (on right in pic) on guitar and they played as a four piece. At some other point Andrew left but as the band continued things must have been going really well musically. According to my notes the last two times I saw Capratone play was at the start of September ‘97, supporting The Sewing Room and Luggage at Dublin’s Mean Fiddler and then a headline show in The Funnel venue at the end of the same month. This doesn’t mean they stopped playing of course but for whatever reasons I didn’t see them again. Things don’t stay static, I did get really into electronic dance music and clubbing the following year but continued to see guitar bands as well but gigs would clash, allegiances, circumstances and tastes change, choices have to be made. 

At some point this second line-up hooked up with Dublin label Folkrum Records (run by Dan Watson) and they recorded a mini album, The Art of Go, which was released in early 2000 (CD only) and produced by Simon Kenny aka Si Schroeder. At that stage Joss and Fiachra were still in the line-up with Richie and Eric Sexton (on guitar). I wasn’t sure if any of Andrew’s songs survived after his time with the band (on the Capratone page of the old Folkrum website he only gets thanked for the name) so I needed to ask him about it, “I didn’t write anything on the LP called The Art of Go. There was a strange overlapping series of line-ups in Capratone but when I left I think Richie Kelly (who was a recently arrived guitar player joining the original 3 piece) took on the song-writing job. As far as I know those Art Of Go tunes were all of his making. Richie went on to make a few attempts at recording subsequent line-ups of Capratone.” According to Joss’ short biog of the band on Last.fm, by the end of Capratone the line-up had changed completely from the original one. 

Since I published this piece Richie Kelly has been in touch and has kindly provided more detail about joining the band and how his role and the line-up evolved. “I saw Capratone in 1996 and was blown away. Even before the show ended, I wanted to join but that seemed unlikely. It turned out that Andrew’s song-writing was taking a new direction and he had decided to add a second guitarist. We were connected through an extended friend group and apparently word had gotten to him that I was as enamoured with The Beach Boys as he was. We bumped into each other and started talking music and I must have auditioned and joined the band shortly thereafter. At some point I brought a song to the band and we added it to our set (with my vocals). I started contributing more so when Andrew decided to stop playing, we just continued. We added Eric Sexton, a friend and former bandmate. The Art of Go was recorded by Simon Kenny with basic tracking done over a weekend at a large room in Joss’ father’s business. Simon and I continued vocals and overdubs at his flat in Donnybrook.”

Surprisingly none of this music has made it onto YouTube or anywhere else online that I could find. It can be bought on Discogs, which is how I got my hands on it about two years ago. In my opinion it works really well as an EP, with a few really engaging tracks but with some filler too. The best for me would be ‘Clozer’ which sounds like a lost classic and musically is a more full bodied version of the band heard on ‘Homeward’. ‘Free Jazz’ is pleasingly upbeat and cruises along on Beach Boy vibes. They do sound quite American (Pavement and bands of that ilk) at times (as did Capratone mark 1) but this was very much the sound and influence of the times, everything still comes down to the quality of the song-writing. The band broke up a good while later, sometime in 2003 without anymore releases. At some stage Richie Kelly moved to Brooklyn, New York and started a similar sounding band there but with more brass, Sport of Kings. He even re-recorded ‘Free Jazz’ and made a video for it. The influence of Brian Wilson is clear on this song in particular, they cleverly re-use The Beach Boy’s ‘Cool, cool water” line in the song (also present in the original version). Apart from some positive reviews of their only EP, Logic House (2011), there is little sign of the band online either but at least you can check out their excellent video for ‘Free Jazz’ (see below). I did find just one image of Capratone at this time on the Folkrum website, which I have enlarged below. Richie is the golf club carrying member. 

In my original piece I wasn’t sure what happened to Capratone next so Richie can take up the story, “The Art of Go attracted the interest of Shifty Disco, who released all of the Elephant 6 stuff in the UK. We set about making a full length for them which we were calling Aviation High. Simon Kenny was initially set to record but was so busy with other projects, I asked Andrew to do it and he agreed. Drum and bass tracking took place in a studio in Dublin. Andrew and I indulged our love of tinkering at his family home while recording my parts and mixing. The result is a pretty high fidelity Capratone record. Shifty Disco preferred the super compressed Capratone of the previous record and passed. We trudged along with some line-up changes after that. The most stable line-up though was myself, Cian Synnot on drums, Fiachra McCarthy on guitar and Michael Stevens (of Groom and many other excellent bands) on bass. As Joss said, no original members were left by the end of Capratone. I believe we kept the name simply because we couldn’t come up with a new one, apparently I have a problem naming things. When I ended up opening music studios and practice spaces in Brooklyn after moving there, I asked Joss if I could use the name of his label Scientific Laboratories because I loved it so much and couldn't think of an alternative.”

I think it’s well worth including here what happened with Richie’s next band Sport of Kings. “My love of fidelity only increased as the years continued except my focus switched from The Beach Boys to Steely Dan. I because obsessed with doing an indie rock version of their music and Sport of Kings took that direction. The initial line-up was drums, bass guitars and Fender Rhodes and then we added a horn section and a drummer from NYU’s Jazz Program who were incredible and took things to a whole different level.”

“After our Logic House EP, we made a full record (15 songs to be called Queer Theorem) with Michael Leonhart of Steely Dan as producer and occasional synth/horns/vocals contributor. This was essentially a dream come true for me. Initial tracking was done by me at a studio in Brooklyn and painstaking overdubbing, vocals and mixing was done by myself and Michael at his mixing room in the city. Ironically, we recorded yet another version of ‘Free Jazz’ with Michael. I’m not sure why I keep rerecording it but it might have something to do with Andrew and I finding out Brian Wilson used to record ‘Proud Mary’ every time he went into a new studio to check the sonics. I think I now have 4 completed versions!”

“I put an enormous amount of effort into Queer Theorem but it took so long that by the time it was ready, many band members were so in demand by big artists that they had little time to give. Keeping a 7-piece band of amazing musicians afloat proved too difficult and I disbanded the group rather than trying to recruit new musicians. I had also taken that level of fidelity to its conclusion and I returned to looser music after moving to Portland, OR.”

The next ‘band’ Andrew founded was solo project The Asteroids. I don’t think he ever presented it live but there was just one release, an exquisite three track 10″/CD, Moonlight Music For Beginners, which was released on Joss Moorkens’ Scientific Laboratories label in 2000 (the same year as The Art of Go). You can listen to what has to be my favourite song, ‘Nine Lives’ at link below (the other two songs can helpfully be found on the same channel and I’ve linked them here). According to the sleeve notes it took two years to record, with I assume Andrew playing all the instruments and doing the programming etc. I was sure to pick this up on vinyl at the time and have cherished it since. The amazing paintings on front and back were by the artist Niamh McGrath.

‘Nine Lives’ is so laid back, rich in instrumentation but for me it’s all about Andrew’s vocals (Alan Kelly of The Last Post also provides additional backing vocals). The lyrics prove to be the real earworm for me, “Who is the man, who has done this to you?” with an unexpected lyrical twist at the end. The song has somehow burrowed its way into my consciousness and over the past 20 years has been liable to play in my head at any time. ‘Return Of The Moonlightman’ is more sparse and based again around the vocal arrangement, a second deeper voice (John Parkinson) enters the fray about halfway and it goes to another level with a lovely gradual close. ‘The Great Escape’ is dominated by a really warm organ sound that pulls you along. This one in particular reminds me of Brian Wilson, one of Andrew’s touchstone influences. It’s one of those releases which has dated really well in my opinion and is pretty much unknown I think (I don’t know how many were pressed or sold). There was so much promised with this release and frankly it’s something of a shame it was not followed up at the time. If Andrew had been signed or whatever then things might have happened differently but like all of the bands I’ve written about in this series, we’re lucky to have what we have and the music will last forever. You can still find it for sale on Discogs and it can be played and purchased on iTunes and Tidal. There was one other song from this period, ‘Lunar Doo Wop’, released on a compilation CD included free with the first Foggy Notions magazine. I vaguely remember it but can no longer find my copy (the title tells us all we need to know!). 

Sometime in 2005 or later I bumped into Andrew and he gave me a CD from his latest group The Metronoids. It was a two track disc in a plastic wallet (no cover artwork or personnel details) called Petroleum. Today this doesn’t even exist on Discogs never mind anywhere else! Until I asked Andrew about it I wasn’t sure if this had simply been a promo but he told me there was artwork etc. The reason I probably never saw it for sale is that I left Dublin in 2005. For a bit more information I had to dig into the data on the CD itself and found that the track names are simply ‘Petroleum 1 & 2′ and for what it’s worth the genre on iTunes comes up as Blues (not sure how this gets assigned). It’s a pleasant listen (the more spirited second track is my favourite) but it surprised me very much to find it was all drums/percussion and obviously nothing like what he’d done before. This would be the only release under the name, which I imagine is pretty rare to come across.

I obviously had to get Andrew to explain The Metronoids to me, “This was a project I really enjoyed. Done in 2004/5 with Joss and Marc Hayes (drummer from The Moustaches, Boxes). It was always a real pleasure to be in a room with those two guys. I think we did a handful of rehearsals and one recording session. The idea was drum improv within premeditated structures. All three of us played drums. I think I got the notion to do a project that required a different kind of listening from my love of the CD called Guitar Solo by Annette Krebs.” 

I wasn’t aware of this at the time but Andrew, Joss and Fiachra briefly reunited as The Lamps in 2005 but as far as I know while there were some live gigs there were no releases. Since then Andrew has told me he is currently working on two new music projects, “One with Fiachra Lennon is called Fig/Astro, it started in 2018, we should be finished an LP this year. He wrote a bunch of instrumental tracks and sent them to me. At his request I turned the instrumentals into songs, and the productions are evolving from there with both of us working on it via WeTransfer. He is a real natural musician so the songs have  a very solid foundation. It was refreshing to write songs this way from track to song, rather than from song to track as I had always done previously. My own LP has been in the pipeline since 2009 when I wrote a load of songs and set out to record them in-the-box. Some of the songs went through over 20 productions. Working on a finite group of productions over a long period, under the microscope of Digital Audio Workstation has really allowed me to discover how to do my own thing. The work on this solo album takes a lot of focus.” 

After Capratone Joss would go on to play with Joan of Arse and The Dudley Corporation and guest on many other releases, most of these can be found on his impressive Discogs entry. When I was doing my research for this piece I was excited to find an old Souncloud page for The Asteroids I never knew existed, it has two unreleased tracks which date from about 2014 but Andrew said the music since then has been become more abstract. Fiachra meanwhile has a bulging Soundcloud page full of his own demos that is very worth exploring too. Both of them are also on Twitter, The Asteroids and Fiachra. It will have been a long time coming but I’m looking forward to the next new releases from both these artists. 

Sometimes the best things take time.

Stephen Rennicks

[zrtranscripts]

Radio Abel, Season Eight

Part 4 of 5

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope.

ZOE CRICK: This is a very special edition of our show, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right, Zoe! [laughs] It's our first broadcast since Fort Canton became the seat of the UK government. We’re only a few feet away from the office of the prime minister, Amelia Spens. [sighs] Prime Minister Amelia Spens. [laughs] How did this happen again?

ZOE CRICK: There's never any one factor that determines who rises to power, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, for the benefit of any listeners not up to date with current affairs, uh, can we list the -

ZOE CRICK: An understandable predicament, given the post-apocalyptic demise of the 24-hour news cycle.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - can we list the factors that led to Amelia's appointment?

ZOE CRICK: Opportunism...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: ... And?

ZOE CRICK: I'm thinking.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought you said there was never any one factor.

ZOE CRICK: You know, I think Amelia's a special case. Most world leaders aspire to the job, for better or worse, but Amelia only ever wants what's best for Amelia, whether that's nabbing the last reservation for an exclusive spa treatment -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - or seizing control of a country.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Listeners, I realize that the phrase “seizing control” had some negative connotations, and I'd just like to explain what I meant when I said that's what the prime minister did to the UK. There was a power vacuum and no one else was up to the task, so Amelia stepped in.

ZOE CRICK: I'd also like to clarify what I said. Amelia does only want what's best for Amelia, but right now, that's what's best for the country, too.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope.

ZOE CRICK: Amelia wants to live in a UK with hot running water, a plentiful supply of luxury goods, and no V-types. If she's the best person to make that happen, then her being in power is a good thing for all of us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And on that note, here's a song that always puts me in an optimistic mood.

~

ZOE CRICK: Radio New Hope is still fully independent and completely unbiased.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I wouldn't call your veto of progressive art rock unbiased.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, many of our listeners are out scavenging for supplies and running away from zombies. We don't need to make their lives any harder. My point is that our proximity to the prime minister has no bearing on our editorial stance.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, definitely. The fact that Amelia's just down the hall and controls the penal system doesn't affect what we say in the slightest. I hardly ever think about how easy it would be for her to kick me out of Fort Canton and leave me to the V-types.

ZOE CRICK: The only person who'll do that is me the next time you try to put on some King Crimson when I'm not looking. Amelia said a strong government has nothing to fear from a free press.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Might have been a test.

ZOE CRICK: She knows if we suddenly started spouting propaganda, our listeners would get suspicious. As long as she lets us carry on as normal, she looks confident, like she's got nothing to hide.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Which she hasn't. Probably.

~

ZOE CRICK: Do you really think that's necessary, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's journalistic ethics, Zoe. We've got to disclose it.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] Go on, then.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, one of Amelia's first acts as prime minister was to give us a new studio.

ZOE CRICK: It's hardly new.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's a lot nicer than what we were in before. Less sticky.

ZOE CRICK: To explain, listeners, Amelia is building a scale replica of the House of Commons at Fort Canton. Just like the original, it's furnished with green leather seats. Although most of the leftover building materials went to settlements more in need of refurbishment than Fort Canton, no one else wanted the green leather, so we've got it. All of it. Everything in this room is green.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's... a very relaxing color?

ZOE CRICK: In moderation. [sighs] I feel like I'm broadcasting from the depths of the swamp.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The important thing is that our new upholstery wasn't payment.

ZOE CRICK: Are you satisfied?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think so. We can't be too careful about this. Transparency's critical.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, perhaps, but it's hardly the most exciting way to fill the airwaves. Here's some music to lighten the mood.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We hope that's made it clear, listeners. Radio New Hope has no official affiliation with the prime minister, so you can stop filling ROFFLEnet with requests for new laws. We can't help you with them.

ZOE CRICK: And in many cases, we wouldn't want to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. To whoever wrote to us under the username Undying_Love, no, I don't think human/zombie marriage is going to be legally recognized anytime soon.

ZOE CRICK: I also think it's also safe to say that if and when the DVLA is back up and running, zombies probably won't be eligible for driving licenses.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: To be fair, we have received some reasonable requests, uh, it's just that we can't do anything about them. We're just broadcasters.

ZOE CRICK: That's right. While it's wonderful that so many of you are politically engaged, you need to direct your efforts towards the right people. If there's something you want discussed in parliament, contact the leader of your settlement.

~

ZOE CRICK: I'm glad that's cleared up. I must say, it's a relief not to be talking about politics for once.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not that politics isn't important, listeners, it's just that Zoe and I haven't really had a break from it since Amelia became prime minister.

ZOE CRICK: If we're not bumping into settlement leaders in the canteen, we're tripping over King Jamie's retinue when he drops in for his weekly conference with Amelia.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We can't even get a cup of tea without getting caught up in an argument about V-type policy.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, it's exhausting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So allow Radio New Hope to be your refuge from current affairs.

ZOE CRICK: Here's a song with absolutely no political message at all.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Since we're not talking about politics, let's catch up. Uh, Zoe, what have you been doing recently?

ZOE CRICK: Well, last night I went to see Amelia to -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No need to go into too much detail.

ZOE CRICK: - borrow a David Attenborough DVD.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh.

ZOE CRICK: She says they keep her children entertained, but I'm not sure they fully appreciate the lion cubs of the Serengeti. Anyway, I never even got to ask her for it because she was too busy arguing with the representative from the Psychoanalysts Enclave. The UK Alliance hasn't really figured out taxes yet, but Amelia's interpreting the concept loosely. In exchange for services, she wants control of all the dirt the Enclave acquired prior to the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Purely to keep it confidential?

ZOE CRICK: Of course.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, that's sort of like... It's politics, really, isn't it?

~

ZOE CRICK: All right then, Phil, what non-political activities have you been engaging in?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've been researching Alan Parsons.

ZOE CRICK: Don't you know everything about him already?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm putting together a biography. It's important that the history of significant cultural figures isn't lost. To make sure my information’s correct, I’ve been cross-referencing my sources with the fan community on ROFFLEnet. It's just that there aren't that many Alan Parsons fans -

ZOE CRICK: Who’d have thought?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - because many of them died in the apocalypse.

ZOE CRICK: I'm sorry.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The point is that because there are only a few people left with expertise in classic progressive rock, everyone else on the message board figured out who I am and that I work near Amelia.

ZOE CRICK: So you can't even escape politics on the Alan Parsons forum?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly. I've been bombarded with questions for her, things she hasn't addressed in her own broadcasts. I printed them out, actually. [paper rustles] Here, you can take a look.

ZOE CRICK: You know, some of these aren't bad. I wonder if Amelia would come on the show and answer them.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I always secretly wanted to host Question Time.

~

ZOE CRICK: Listeners, I'm very happy to announce that the prime minister Amelia Spens has agreed to appear on Radio New Hope and answer some of your questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I won't ask how you convinced her.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't have to. She said it would be good for her image.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Really?

ZOE CRICK: Yes. She says the population sees her as intelligent, refined, and sophisticated, but that those qualities make her hard to relate to. According to her, appearing on Radio New Hope will increase her appeal to people who don't care about personal grooming and who haven't read a book since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is that what she thinks of our listeners?

ZOE CRICK: To be fair, reading materials and cosmetics are in short supply.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes, and people's priorities have changed. Some of us are more concerned with staying alive than getting our well-manicured hands on the last remaining issues of the Times Literary Supplement.

ZOE CRICK: A fair point. Listeners, to find out what our prime minister's priorities are, send your questions to us over ROFFLEnet.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Zoe, since this is our first prime ministerial interview, do you think we should have picked a more appropriate song than that?

ZOE CRICK: It's too late now.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: People of the UK, we'd like to introduce a very special guest to Radio New Hope. Please welcome our prime minister, Amelia Spens.

AMELIA SPENS: Hello, Phil and Zoe. I must say, I'm glad this is a radio broadcast. This studio looks frightful.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Now hang on. It's decorated with offcuts you gave us.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, is this where they ended up? I thought we were going to burn them.

ZOE CRICK: We're off to a good start, listeners. Let's have some serious music before we get into the questions.

~

ZOE CRICK: Our first question is from Concerned of Dorchester. “Prime Minister, when democracy is reinstated, will zombies get the vote?”

AMELIA SPENS: “When democracy is reinstated.” [laughs] Phil and Zoe, I hope these aren't all going to be comedy questions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think just focus on the zombie part for now.

AMELIA SPENS: I think we can all agree that one of the few silver linings of the apocalypse is the way outdated prejudices and social orders have been rejected.

ZOE CRICK: Just to be clear, you're not ruling out zombies having the vote?

AMELIA SPENS: Not until I know who they'd vote for. V-types are very intelligent in large groups.

~

ZOE CRICK: This next question is from Sir Augustus Headley Coombs. “Prime Minister, do your duties as a mother hinder your ability to run the country?”

AMELIA SPENS: Quite honestly, if anything, they help -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm sorry, Prime Minister, you don't have to answer that. I apologize on behalf of Radio New Hope to you and to all other mothers listening for airing a question that implies that motherhood might compromise a woman's abilities to do her job.

ZOE CRICK: Quite. We all know that if Amelia's abilities are compromised, it's by her refusal to do anything that might damage her manicure.

AMELIA SPENS: Are you still annoyed about that, Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: Now isn't the time.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There's really no need to acknowledge this question, Prime Minister. Let's move on.

AMELIA SPENS: It's a reasonable question, and the answer is that dealing with a clutch of screaming children with no control over their emotions is the best training a prime minister could have.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from, uh... this person's username is just a string of cat emojis. They say, “Prime Minister, doctors and scientists are increasingly aware of the therapeutic benefits of caring for animals. Simply stroking a cat has been proven to lower blood pressure. Why, even when there's so much evidence that animals make it easier to cope with mental health difficulties, are kitten pens still not compulsory in all settlements?”

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, did you write this? I told you, if you ever need a way to relieve stress, just come to my quarters and I’ll -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So that's a no on the kitten pens for now, listeners. Here's a nice loud song to block out the sound of your own imagination.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This question comes from BV, but I'm not sure we should ask it. Zoe, take a look.

[paper rustles]

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, I see what you mean. But if this is a true public forum, nothing should be off limits. Besides, I think the time for editorial qualms would have been before you printed out the entire message board.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Perhaps it wasn't the best use of our paper allowance.

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, just ask it. I've scheduled a hot stone massage after this and if I have to cancel, running out of paper will be the least of your problems.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um... “Prime Minister, how does it feel to be the most attractive world leader of all time?”

AMELIA SPENS: It's a meaningless accolade.

ZOE CRICK: Of course. We shouldn't judge politicians on their appearance.

AMELIA SPENS: No, I mean there's no competition.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, the next question's also from BV. Uh, this one's a bit more sensible, though. It's about health policy. “Prime Minister, I am the CEO of a corporation with an extensive pharmaceutical arm. I'd be happy to discuss supplies for ministry hospitals. Perhaps over a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947 Saint-Emilion, and some caviar.”

ZOE CRICK: Wait, pharmaceutical corporation? BV? Is this Valmont? Prime Minister, I don't think this is a genuine request.

AMELIA SPENS: I'm terribly sorry, BV, but a meeting won't be possible right now. I have to be very careful about the relationship between business and government. You understand. More importantly, red wine and caviar is a dreadful pairing. Let me know when you've got some Dom Perignon and then we'll talk.

~

AMELIA SPENS: Zoe, I know that was a dreadful song, but could you at least -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hey!

AMELIA SPENS: - but you could at least stay awake for the duration. The rest of us had to.

ZOE CRICK: I was awake. I just like to close my eyes sometimes, or the green gets too much. Anyway, what's the next question, Phil?

[paper rustles]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, I don't think we need to ask that one.

AMELIA SPENS: Nothing is off limits. Please go ahead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Um, Outraged of Essex asks, “Prime Minister, does your involvement with Zoe Crick create a conflict of interest regarding your appearance on this program?”

AMELIA SPENS: I don't know, Outraged, do your hobbies create a conflict of interest with your job?

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've got a question from [clears throat] Nice Try, But If You Think I'm Writing My Name In That Box, You've Got Another Thing Coming.

ZOE CRICK: I didn't know ROFFLEnet usernames could be that long.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Prime Minister, is it true that you're demanding the Psychoanalysts Enclave give you all their information? Would the details go public? Asking for a friend.”

AMELIA SPENS: Firstly, the UK Alliance doesn't demand anything, it's a negotiation. As for the information, it sounds like its secrecy is valuable to you. Interesting. Write to my office and we'll talk.

~

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Happy and Glorious asks, “Will the king attend the State Opening of Parliament?”

AMELIA SPENS: The State Opening of Parliament took place in the House of Lords, not the House of Commons. Since we haven't built a House of Lords, it just wouldn't be right to reenact such a historically significant ceremony. A shame, as I'm sure King Jamie's speech about self-sacrifice and duty would have been a hoot.

ZOE CRICK: Couldn't you adapt the ceremony for post-apocalyptic times?

AMELIA SPENS: What do you mean?

ZOE CRICK: Before Z-Day, the State Opening of Parliament consisted of several commemorative rituals. For example, the Palace of Westminster cellars would be searched for explosives in remembrance of the Gunpowder Plot.

AMELIA SPENS: And you're suggesting we open Parliament with zombie-themed rituals, is that it? [laughs] Amused as I am by the thought of King Jamie being chased through Fort Canton by a horde of V-types, there are several recent events that it would be best the population stop associating with the office of minister.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You mean all that stuff with Sigrid?

AMELIA SPENS: It's easier for people to forget if they're not being constantly reminded, Phil.

~

ZOE CRICK: Lance Corporal Kapoor asks, “Is there any truth to the rumor that defense resources are being spent retrieving high heels from the last remaining Christian Louboutin shop in Mayfair?”

AMELIA SPENS: Yes. Politics is all about image, and I need to look stylish yet powerful to intimidate our enemies.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But aren't zombies our biggest enemies? Do they notice shoes?

AMELIA SPENS: There's a lot we don't know yet about zombies.

ZOE CRICK: On that note, here's a song that'll make us all feel powerful.

~

AMELIA SPENS: Are we nearly finished? All this green is giving me a headache.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Almost. The Truth Is Out There asks, “Is the UK Alliance withholding information about UFOs?”

AMELIA SPENS: UFOs?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Unidentified flying -

AMELIA SPENS: I know what they are, Phil. Listener, was the zombie apocalypse not enough? Haven't you had your fill of government conspiracies? Don't you think if - actually, no, I'm not going to dignify this stupid question with an answer. That's it, I'm afraid, Phil and Zoe. It's time for my massage.

[chair legs scrape across floor]

ZOE CRICK: Wait, there's one more.

AMELIA SPENS: No.

ZOE CRICK: Where is Janine De Luca?

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, Janine. I'm amazed anyone noticed she was gone. Don't worry, listeners. Colonel De Luca is on a secret mission and it's all under control. She and her appallingly drab outfits will be back at Abel in no time. And with that, I'm off.

[door opens]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think it's probably time for some music.

~

ZOE CRICK: I think that went... about as well as could be expected.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, considering it was our first prime ministerial interview, we didn't read the questions before going live, and we're broadcasting from what looks like the inside of a spinach tin.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] I thought you liked the decor.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Just didn't want to complain. Fort Canton's been a stressful place to work since Amelia became prime minister, but I try to remember that we're all on the same team. Everyone wants to get rid of the V-types and we need to work together, focus on the big things, and not sweat the small stuff.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Like how our studio looks like Kermit the Frog's fever dream?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly.

~

[magazine pages rustle]

ZOE CRICK: Phil? Phil, we're live.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, sorry. Uh... [clears throat] Hello, ci-ti-zens! Welcome back to Radio New Hope, where your entertainment is our priority.

ZOE CRICK: Except when we're reading... [magazine rustles] Vogue? Phil, don't take this the wrong way, but I never thought of you as being particularly interested in fashion.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I never was, Zoe, before the apocalypse. But one of our runners picked this up from a dentist's waiting room during a meds run and I was curious. So fascinating, really, that there used to be this whole industry dedicated to the way we looked.

ZOE CRICK: The people in these pictures had no idea what was coming.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If they had, maybe they'd have worn more practical shoes.

ZOE CRICK: Yes. [laughs] Good luck running from a zom in those. They're quite fun, actually.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, they're pretty good, but I prefer these.

ZOE CRICK: Wow! [laughs] Those are quite something. You couldn't wear them to work, though.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not unless you were this next musical artiste!

~

ZOE CRICK: Welcome back, listeners. Today we're reading Vogue, which is like gazing through a portal into another dimension.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A dimension where people thought it was sensible to make dresses out of tin foil and feathers.

ZOE CRICK: Mm, I'm not sure sense had anything to do with it. These clothes are about fantasy. They're works of art.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, those ones are, but look at this other fashion mag I picked up. [magazine page rustles] This article is called “Summer Must-haves.” It's telling me I must spend 700 pounds on these trousers. And it's next to an advert for some magic cream to make me look young. Now remember, before the apocalypse, a lot of people worried about not wearing the right clothes or that it was a bad thing to look their age.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, that's a good point. Nowadays, if you see someone older, you know they've probably got some wisdom to share. Always handy in the post-apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly! Just yesterday, a teenager asked me where the toilets are.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm, impressive! [laughs] Here's a song by someone even older and wiser than Phil.

~

ZOE CRICK: You know, Phil, how we look hasn't become totally irrelevant since the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well... yeah. Uh, it's-it's important to look basically alive so that no one mistakes you for a zombie and tries to knock your head off with a baseball bat.

ZOE CRICK: True, but I was thinking more about the way we express ourselves. For example, isn't that a Dream Theater T-shirt you're wearing?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yes. You know, it does cheer me up to wear a T-shirt featuring a band I like, even if they are all dead.

ZOE CRICK: And I'm wearing socks with cats on them. Every now and again, someone will stop me in the corridor and compliment me because they like cats, too. Then we'll have a conversation about cats and the whole day gets a little brighter.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They are pretty nice socks.

ZOE CRICK: Thank you, Phil. [giggles] Since we're on the topic, why don't you put on a song for our listeners and I tell you about the morning I spent in the kitten pen?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, do I get a choice?

ZOE CRICK: Nope.

~