#irving is straight up so offended

[lieutenantmongoose]

Verse Info: Good and Faithful (or, a polite haunting) 

The Story - 

( Good and Faithful, Codifier )      -     In which Jopson died just before the 1839 expedition. He tends to avoid discussion of how it actually happened, but in any case he had just accepted the stewardship position and had been counting on those wages to pay the doctor for his mother’s treatment, and needed to ensure that she and Avery would be reasonably comfortable in his absence.  

Being that he had neither time nor inclination to be dead, and truthfully not quite even realizing he was dead, Jopson simply collected himself and carried on as usual, under the impression that the whole incident was simply a minor dizzy spell.

The issue, of course, with continuing to pilot one’s corporeal form with a severed connection between body and ghost, is that it’s somewhat akin to clutching a bedsheet in front of yourself while standing outside in a hurricane. And in addition to keeping hold of that bedsheet, you also have to hang up the rest of the laundry on the lines, and avoid letting your neighbors see that you’re out in a hurricane in nothing but a bedsheet still trying to finish your laundry, because odds are your neighbors will have Questions about this type of behavior. 

Fortunately, Jopson had always been quick to catch on to things so it was with only a minor bout of sudden collapses and fits of uncharacteristic clumsiness that he mostly got the hang of the situation before setting sail, and for the most part was able to avoid any trouble. 

Avoiding trouble lasted until a point about halfway through the expedition, when he very nearly frightened Captain Crozier into a similar state by forgetting to shiver. Or keep up a pulse. This almost led to a rather tender moment indeed as Crozier was quite unhappy to see him Dying, but this was abated by admitting to already having been quite dead from the beginning and thus unchanged in status despite what ought to have been a lethal case of hypothermia.

All in all, Crozier was actually rather more amenable to the idea of having a dead steward than he’d thought ten minutes prior, and all continued as normal. 

However

Once the Franklin Expedition begins

( Oh Dear, My Heart/The Moon Plays Host ) 

It turns out that keeping hold of the proverbial bedsheet is a lot more challenging under certain conditions, and there are only so many ‘fainting spells’ that can be got away with without arousing suspicion, and that the presence of a strange magic in the air tends to have interesting effects on ghosts improperly connected to the mortal plane.

It further turns out that this arrangement creates a bit of an impasse when faced with soul-devouring creatures. They are used to tackling a body and pulling the soul from it. The soul simply moving out of the way is not generally expected, and is regarded as highly inconvenient. 

Or, 

Jopson is a ghost during the Franklin Expedition, which is fine, except that improperly tethered ghosts start to get a little bit creature-y the longer they drift in seemingly-cursed landscapes trying to reject their souls like a bad transplant. Also, at night, Jopson can see the crew’s Dead still wandering the ice. 

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Chapter 64: Group Therapy

TWs in the tags

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Masterlist

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Barron’s been staying away from you. It spends most of its time not at work in its room, even eating in its room.

You can’t tell what its goal is, but you do feel safer seeing it less. Diya and Greg don’t seem any more tense than normal, so you’re pretty sure it isn’t building up to anything.

You don’t ask them or Barron what’s going on, though. They might say that Barron is isolating itself in its own home just to make you feel more comfortable, and that would make you feel bad.

Right now, though, Barron is at work for at least 30 more minutes, so you don’t have to worry about it. You play a card game Kitty invented with Diya and Greg instead.

You place down a card. “What’s Barron’s job, anyway?”

“Mage stuff.” Diya says, drawing a card. “It used to be like, a mage social worker, but now it works in… well, apparently mages are very particular about the language, but it basically makes new spells. There’s this huge debate about if that job is actually creating spells or discovering them. I think they call it tinkering or something? Anyway, that’s Barron’s job.”

“Ah.” You don’t know how to feel about that, but you think it makes Barron more dangerous.

“It’s your turn.” Greg says.

You draw a card. “How did you guys meet Barron, anyway?”

Diya laughs and plays two cards. “I met Barron at a bar a few years ago. When I got away from Irving, it was the only person I could think of to go to, and it took me in. Greg was already living with it, then.”

“When did you meet Barron, Greg?”

Greg plays several cards. Shit, they’re going to beat you if you don’t stay focused. “It’s your turn.” You glance at the cards in your hand and draw another card. “Me and my sister were looking for someone that could help cure her illness and keep us hidden from the fae. Most people thought we were insane. Barron believed us, though, and tried to help.”

Diya squeezes their shoulder. They absentmindedly put their hand over eirs. “It’s your turn, Diya.”

Diya uses eir other hand to awkwardly draw a card. You politely avert your eyes as eir other cards fall from eir hand.

“Shit!” ey whispers under eir breath. Greg shifts and Diya’s hand leaves their shoulder. Ey quickly reorganizes eir cards while Greg plays two cards.

“How are you always laying down cards? It’s been like five rounds since you drew anything!” You complain as you lie down a single card. You’ve yet to lose a game of cards to Greg and you’re disappointed that the streak might be ending soon. (You only lost to Diya in a fluke- you hate these luck based games. And you’ve never played with Barron.)

Greg stares at you emotionlessly. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Diya draws a card, then pauses. “Yeah! Hey, how many cards do you have?”

Greg hides their cards behind their back. “A normal amount.”

“You’re cheating!” Diya sounds absolutely delighted as ey make the accusation.

You gasp, pretending to be offended. “I can’t believe I’ve been playing with a cheater this whole time… For shame.” You dramatically toss down your cards. “I refuse to continue playing with someone who has so little respect for the rules of a card game!”

Instead of enjoying the moment, you are hit with a pang of sadness. You miss goofing off with Kitty and Puppy.

“You’re just glad you can quit with dignity instead of losing.” Diya says, giggling. You gasp again.

Greg gathers up the discarded cards and starts shuffling them. “We can start over, if you want. I won’t cheat this time.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t. I plan on cheating again.”

“Aww!” Diya claps eir hands. “Look at you, breaking rules, being all rebellious. Being impolite.”

Greg shuffles the cards over and over and stares straight ahead. They give a small smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen them smile, and it feels… wrong. “My- my apologies.”

Diya’s face falls. “It’s good! Because you’re safe, and you know you’re safe, and we’d never hurt you because you didn’t follow some arbitrary rules. We’d never hurt you. I was just saying- y’know, you’ve grown a lot.”

Greg is incredibly tense. They smile bigger. “I know.”

You feel like you’ve intruded on a private moment. But both Greg and Diya have comforted you when you were freaking out, and you think that’s what’s happening with Greg.

“You’re- you’re okay. I wasn’t actually mad.”

Greg stares straight ahead, smiling. Diya shifts up next to them. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I just meant that I was proud of you.”

“I am grateful for your pride in me.”

“…Do you want to be alone for a while?” You ask. “It wouldn’t be… impolite, to leave.” You think it might help them if they can just worry about themself and not what you and Diya are thinking.

Greg abruptly stands up and walks out the door. Diya starts following, but you stop em.

“Are- are you sure? I mean, you know them better than I do, but you also said you have a hard time being able to tell when someone wants to be alone. And I think Greg wants to be alone.”

Diya is breathing fast. Ey’s afraid, you’ve never seen em afraid. “I shouldn’t have pointed it out- what was I thinking? They’re going to leave, they’re going to leave me all alone because I make everything worse and I’m going to get kicked out of here because no one wants to be around me-“

“Hey, hey, calm down, that’s not what happened.”

Tears stream down Diya’s face. When did ey start crying? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t go, don’t leave me alone in here!”

“In here? Are you talking about the cabin, or-“

Why does eir crying sound so much like yours? Are you shaking?

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You can’t tell who’s screaming. Is someone screaming? “I’m sorry, please! I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”

Wouldn’t it have been easier if you just obeyed the first time?

There’s blood dripping down your arms. When did that happen? Everything hurts.

Diya’s upset. How long has Diya been here? Did Jane hurt em? Is Barron hurting em? When did it get so dark in here?

Did you just say no to me?

Did you? You’re so confused and so so scared, she’s going to hurt you, Barron’s going to hurt you, you can’t protect Diya and ey can’t protect you, you’re going to be drilled into and cut open and Jane is going to skin Diya alive!

You don’t know what to do or where you are, there’s screaming and Jane laughing and you’re trapped, you’re trapped, you’re trapped, you’re going to get hurt and it’s your fault, Diya’s going to get hurt and it’s your fault, where’s Kitty? Where’s Puppy? “I’m sorry, I’ll be a good pet, please!”

Silly Bunny, you can’t stop this now.

It’s never going to stop. Its never going to stop, you’ll be trapped with her forever, it’s never going to stop.

Cute little Bunny. I’ll start with breaking your legs.

You scramble back wildly until you bump into something soft. There’s nothing soft in the basement.

Right, the couch. There’s no couch in the basement. It’s the couch in the cabin. You focus on emptying your lungs before taking another breath, then turn around and grab your blanket.

Diya is still crying and apologizing. You’re not going to be able to help em while you’re like this, and you’re not going to be able to calm down while ey’s like this. You have to leave.

Another deep breath. You feel the softness of the blanket, feel its weight. Empty your lungs before you take another breath. You try to find four things you can hear, but Diya’s crying does not make you feel like you’re in the present moment.

Keep your eyes open, Bunny.

Deep breath. Just do it. You sprint to the bathroom and lock the door. Diya wails.

You curl up under the blanket in the bathtub and cover your ears. Soft blanket, heavy blanket, empty lungs, deep breath, empty lungs, deep breath. You’re in the bathroom in the cabin. Jane doesn’t know where you are. Probably. Empty lungs, deep breath. Barron is at work, though you think it’s due to come home any minute. Empty lungs, deep breath.

You broke everything. Greg and Diya can normally calm each other down but you fucked it up. Everyone’s freaking out and it’s your fault.

Barron’s going to be mad. It’s been okay with you being here as long as everything stayed relatively normal, but now you’ve made everything worse. It’s put all this effort into protecting Diya and Greg and you ruined them, it’s going to break every bone in your body-

You hear the front door open, and you hear Barron’s voice, though you can’t tell what it’s saying. You can’t breathe. You curl up smaller under the blanket.

Diya’s crying slowly calms down as Barron softly murmurs to em. It doesn’t sound angry.

The front door opens again, and you hear both Barron and Diya leave. You relax a bit. You’re clearly not its first priority.

You think a small part of you wishes it would hurt you. Just so you don’t have to wonder anymore. It would be so much easier if you just knew what its deal was.

Maybe you should get out of the bathtub. It’s not safer than anywhere else. But… you feel safer, hidden under a blanket in the bathtub, and there aren’t a lot of places you feel safe.

The front door opens again, and you hear three sets of footsteps walk in. There’s more soft talking you can’t make out, and then a pair of footsteps approaches the bathroom door. You hold tightly to your blanket.

There are three quick knocks on the door. “Hey, Ethan.” It’s Barron. It sounds tired. “How are you doing?”

You don’t know what it wants. Should you say you’re sorry? Should you pretend nothing happened?

“You don’t have to leave the bathroom, but can you say something so I know you’re not bleeding out or something?”

“…I’m not bleeding out.”

“That’s good.” Barron sighs. “We’re all just going to fix our own dinner, so feel free to fix yourself something if you’re hungry. I mean, you’re always free to do that, I’m just letting you know there’s no need to wait for us to all eat together. Uh… I don’t want to pressure you, but this is the only bathroom we have, and if you’re in there… Does it make you feel safer because there’s a lock? My room has a lock, you can stay in there for a bit if you want. We can trade for tonight, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Why would it offer that? Nothing it does makes sense to you. Maybe Barron isn’t like Jane. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the couch. Can you just… give me a minute? Unless someone urgently needs the bathroom.”

“No, I don’t think so. Take as long as you need.” It goes quiet, but you don’t hear it walk away. It clears its throat. “I just wanted to say- you didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes this stuff happens. We all have so many issues and triggers, and sometimes they end up in a chain reaction like that. It’s not anyone’s fault. We just work through the emotions that come up, and try again tomorrow.”

You nod, even though it can’t see you. Finally, you hear it leave.

Just work through the emotions that come up and try again tomorrow. You think, maybe, you can do that.

~~

Kitty fucked up. Kitty fucked up real bad. That’s all they can think, kneeling in the basement, as Jane approaches them slowly.

“There just hasn’t been enough pain lately.” She says softly. “Too much mind games, not enough pain to make them stick. Of course you’re not as afraid of me as you used to be. I’ve been lax. But we’ll fix that. We’ll fix that.”

They’re still bleeding from Jane’s earlier attack. They feel dizzy and cold. They don’t think they can take any more until those wounds are cared for. “Master. I am afraid of you. I do everything you ask of me, I follow your rules. I’d do anything you told me to. I have been good, I have been loyal, I’ve been everything you could want in a pet. I must’ve just forgot the key was on me.”

They don’t shake, their voice doesn’t waver. Their jaw is clenched and their eyes burn. “I am afraid of you.” They repeat. They aren’t making a good case for themself.

Jane laughs. “Not enough, not enough. Give me your hand.”

“Don’t act like you’re punishing me. Like you want this lesson to stick.” Kitty says, holding out their left hand. “I know you like me this way. You like having your bad pet who constantly needs to be shown their place. You like having someone with pride, someone you can still break down, someone who’s still ashamed to cower but you can make do it anyway.”

Jane just laughs. “Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time? Oh, Kitty, I’d love nothing more than to break you down to nothing. It’s not hard to find people with pride, what I want from my pets is obedience. And fear. You should be so afraid of what I could do to you that you wouldn’t dare take risks like hiding things from me or insulting me. And you will be, you will be that afraid. This lesson is going to stick. You’re right, I’ve put up with your behavior because I found it entertaining. Unfortunately for you, it’s not entertaining anymore.”

Jane plunges a knife right through Kitty’s palm, and the tip of the knife comes out of the back of their hand. Kitty is screaming before the pain hits, and then it does, and oh fuck oh fuck it hurts, pain so intense that they can’t breathe around it, can’t think around it.

They were already lightheaded from blood loss. They were already in pain. Seeing the knife go through their hand, feeling the agonizing pain- that’s enough. It’s enough to push them over the edge. Their vision goes dark.

“Goddammit!”

~~

The next morning, the four of you sit in awkward silence as you eat omelets.

Barron adjusts its bracelets. “How are you guys doing?”

Diya groans. “Nothing is hurt but my pride.”

Greg stares at Diya. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Barron nods. “None of you should feel ashamed. This stuff happens. What can we do to handle situations like that in the future?”

Greg makes a huffing sound you’ve come to recognize as their laugh. “No more card games.”

“You don’t have to play card games if you don’t want to, but I don’t think banning card games is going to be very helpful to us as a group.” Barron says.

“It was my fault.” Diya says. “I should’ve just let you be, instead of pointing out that you would’ve been hurt if you did that when you were with Orchard. Obviously that would upset you.”

“It wasn’t obvious. I didn’t know that kind of thing would upset me.”

“So, something we can do going forward is asking permission before going into sensitive subjects. That isn’t always possible, but I think it would help to try. Any other ideas?” Barron asks.

You take a big bite of omelet so you won’t be expected to answer. You don’t have any ideas and you don’t want to talk about anything.

Diya answers again. “I need a plan for if I’m freaking out and none of you are available to help me. All of you guys can calm yourselves down when you’re alone and I… can’t. I mean, I’m not good at it. So I need a plan ahead of time. I think… I’ll make myself some tea, and try to read a book.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Barron says. “Any other ideas, or do we think that will be good for handling similar situations in the future?”

Diya looks at you and Greg. Neither of you say anything. “I think that’ll work.” Ey says.

“Awesome.” Barron gets up, taking its breakfast with it. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

It doesn’t have to do that, but it does. You don’t know why.

You get up and follow it into the hallway.

~~

Kitty wakes up far too quickly as Jane roughly cleans and bandages their wounds.

“New plan.” She says. “I’m going to give you something to keep you awake, so you don’t pass out on me again. While we wait for that to kick in, you’re going to sit still and be quiet while I punish Puppy. Sound good?”

Kitty can’t think of a snarky answer, and they probably shouldn’t anyway. “Yes, master.”

“Good Kitty. Hold still.”

They feel the familiar sting of a needle in their arm, and then Jane teleports over to Puppy and drags her by the hair to another room.

~~

“Wait.” You say. You feel like you’re watching yourself speak. “Are you just doing that so I can feel safe?”

Barron stops and turns around. “I wanted to see if it would help. Does it?”

“I don’t- this is your house. Why would you do that just for me?”

“I want you to feel safe.”

People keep saying that and it doesn’t make sense. “Why? What’s your deal? You know what happened to me, what happened to you?”

You’re fully prepared for Barron to say that nothing happened, it’s just a good person. Barron tugs on one of its bracelets and mumbles something.

“What?”

“I don’t remember.”

“…What?”

“I don’t really remember anything from before my early twenties, and a lot of the stuff after that is gone too.” It takes a deep breath. Its sounds like maybe it’s done this spiel before. “I get in this- this autopilot, and I don’t even notice I don’t remember /why/ I’m doing something, or what came before, and I don’t know if it’s magical or psychological or both- that’s why I put so much magical protection on this cabin. To avoid any mind magic, and to avoid the people who recognize me, because a lot of them… don’t like me.” It takes a bracelet off and twists it. “Does that satisfy your curiosity? Are we even?”

You weren’t expecting that at all. “…Yeah.”

Barron turns around and goes into its room.

~~

Puppy sits quietly on the floor. She didn’t understand, at first, why Master would take her to this room if she didn’t want to strap her to the table. She understands now. This room has a fireplace.

Puppy doesn’t watch whatever Master is doing. It won’t help.

Finally, Master approaches, holding a glowing hot coil of barbed wire. Master’s skin is blistered where it touches the metal. Puppy holds out her arms.

“That’s cute! Take off your clothes first.”

Puppy obeys and holds out her arms again. Master starts with her left arm, above the elbow to avoid ruining the brand.

Puppy has been burned before, has been restrained in barbed wire before, but this is new. She’s not used to the combination, and lack of experience always makes torture exponentially harder for her to handle. She resists the urge to shove Master away.

Puppy is very rarely jealous of her Master, but as the burning metal digs into her skin, she wishes they could trade places. She wants for all the pain she’s been through to mean she doesn’t feel it anymore, for her skin to heal the moment the metal stops touching it. She would take the immortality and boredom and despair and all of it, she would take all of it just to get away from the pain she’s feeling.

There is nowhere to go. No safe place in her mind, no sensation that doesn’t lead back to pain. All she can smell is burning flesh, all she can see is Master’s delighted face, all she can hear is screaming. And it gets worse and worse the longer the metal stays on her skin, the longer the barbs dig into her.

She stays as still as she can, to keep Master happy, to keep the pain from getting worse. She considers herself good at overriding her natural instincts. It doesn’t matter. She recoils and struggles against her will, and it only makes the pain worse. It doesn’t matter whether she tries to push Master away or not. Master is stronger.

It burns, it burns, it burns, deep into her skin and spreading far beyond where the wire is touching. Why can’t she pass out like Kitty? She’d be punished for sleeping without permission, but she wants the small break so bad it might be worth it. Unfortunately, as dizzying as the pain is, she is rooted firmly to consciousness.

Where’d Master go? She was right there-

Master reappears holding another coil of hot barbed wire and grabs Puppy’s right arm.

One arm down. Just the other arm and her legs and her torso left it hurts it hurts it hurts make it stop make it stop make it stop!

She can’t breathe, she can’t think, it hurts it burns make it stop, make it stop, it hurts!

She’s sorry, she’s so sorry. She should’ve let Master kill Kitty, should’ve minded her own business when she heard the screaming, should’ve remembered Master giving Kitty the key and made sure they gave it back. She’s sorry.

Puppy knows better than to beg, though. She knows better. She knows better. She would just get punished for speaking without permission. Punished more. Her screams remain wordless.

The metal on her left arm is cooling, but it doesn’t help. There’s still barbs in the burns. Could her blood be actually boiling? She doubts it, but everything burns and aches and nothing makes sense and she wants it to stop, stop hurting, she’s sorry! She wants it out she wants it off get it off please please Master please!

The words don’t reach her throat. She can only scream. Master is laughing.

Puppy’s vision goes completely white. Her neck is on fire. Her neck is on fire. Her neck is on fire.

“Keep your mouth open.” Master says, and there’s fire in her mouth and spikes so deep in her tongue she’s sure she’ll never taste anything but metal and fire and pain ever again. “I don’t want to burn your lips.”

She’s dying, she’s dying, she’s dying. She’s not dying and that’s worse, because this pain will never end never end never end.

She should’ve let Master kill Kitty.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else! I’m not so sure about the title but I couldn’t think of a better one lol

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @fuzzybucketz

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

What about your first world state for DATV? What’s it about?

Those We Care For: Rosalind Amell is the affair child of Revka Amell and a Tal-Vasoth. She's never had anyone care for her because she was born with grey tinged skin and slight bumps on her head. As a child, she was shunned and excluded from the family. When she developed her magic, she was locked up for a week straight with one meal a day until the Templars came.

She went to Ferelden where she met Sarah and Jowan, who became her friends. However, given how the tower was, she still felt like no one cared about her. Sarah, her friend, was a rageful little being who was more focused on sticking it to the templers. Jowan was a mess of emotions and his own troubled thoughts.

Rosalind stuck out at the tower with her Qunari features and was tormented for them as well. Her height was a point of mockery, and the fact it was obvious she would get broad had many taunting her more. The Templars used to starve her in punishment for anything, and mocked her for still being 'to damn big'.

Rosalind had a baby when she was fourteen, an act she refused to speak about but the truth was a Templar decided he liked her. She didn't like him but he did not care. She gave up the baby and has never really gotten over what happened, which is reasonable.

Sarah died when they were fifteen, and this is when Irving began noticiing Rosalind who is very powerful but in a subtle way. Sarah was more flashy, and the sheer strength of Rosalind was unseen. This has Rosalind further convinced no one cares.

Then, her Harrowing happened. And she was dragged out of the Circle and thrust into the world as a whole. This is where her journey began to heal a little. Rosalind developed bonds with her companions, and fell in love with Leliana. She felt people cared, and it was the best thing ever in her life.

However, Rosalind could not go through with the Dark Ritual, fearing what Flemeth would do with an Old God Baby. She fought to the top of Denerim, and then she and Alistair were trapped, unable to get to the Archdemon. She noticed the blood around her, and made a choice.

She used the blood and flashfried herself and the Arcdemon, dying saving the world and finally being cared for.

We then have the rouge Lilith Hawke. Lilith has always been angry, and she's never been able to articulate why. As a child she was violent and often was punished for it. No one knew why she was like this, but Malcom had some thoughts: his work with the Wardens. Lilith overheard him speak about the possibility of a Demon latching onto his child and got angrier. She blamed him for her anger. She hated him and he died with her rage directed at him. She ended up angrier and more vengeful.

Joining the army, she got even worse when Carver followed him, insulting the other and mocking him. He however wasn't to offended, for he'd found out that Malcom may have attracted a demon who latched onto Lilith, though could not posess her without her having magic. Her anger was understandable to him.

He told her he knew and he cared, but she was 'still a bitch'. She had to laugh at that. She was. He died in their fleeing Ferelden though and she felt alone.

Lilith would eventually piece together a rage demon is linked to her, an experimental spell cast by Malcom under guidence from the Wardens. Her rage comes from it. She would devote years to battling it, and figuring herself out. However, until then she found herself lost. Carver, who cared, died. Bethany was scared of her, and Leandra was... well, Leandra wasn't a great mother to Lilith and it showed. They stopped really talking to each other unless needed.

While in Kirkwall, Lilith met the others and developed a bond with Anders. He could actually see she did have a demon attatched, confusing him but he provided a welcoming ear and a shoulder if needed. Lilith fell head over heels for him, to no surprise. More so when Bethany almost died of the Blight and he saved her.

Lilith found her friends cared about her, and that Anders loved her. She soaked it in, and this was how she could combat more and more the demon inside.

She cut a bloody swathe through Kirkwall, but she was loved and that's all she cared about.

Shok has been removed because I want a Solvellan for my first playthrough for the drama so stay tuned!

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 4

Tristan had slapped his menu shut before you could even sit down. He’d been begging you to try a new place in Encino with him, you figured it was a good excuse to get Zoey out of the house and to let Maeve and CeCe duke it out in Shelli and Irv’s backyard instead of yours.

It was all work talk at first, he offered an update on a meeting you missed to drop off Maeve at a friend’s and Zoey sucked down a glass of wine promising to pump and dump before the night ended.

But now your plates were in front of you and you twirled spaghetti around your fork when she asked: “How’s your pool boy?” You stared up at her, unimpressed.

“He’s not my pool boy, and he’s fine.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows across the table. “Would you let Harry Styles be your pool boy?”

“Can we not talk about him like this, please?”

“Oh come on,” Tristan pulled a face. “If you’re not going to sleep with him at least let us fantasize.”

You must have twitched, a quick glance in Zoey’s direction or a quiver of your lip. Zoey leaned in and her voice was serious. “What was that?”

“What? Nothing.”

“What do you mean what was that?” Tristan asked.

“She made a weird face when you said that.”

“No I didn’t,” you defended. “I just don’t like talking about him in public, especially like this.”

“Bullshit,” Zoey laughed, leaned back in her chair. “What are you not telling us? Did you see him shirtless again?”

You let out a breath, wiped at your mouth and wondered if telling them would be the biggest mistake of your life. You couldn’t even get the words out before Zoey leaned in.

“You had sex with him?!” her eyes nearly bugged out of her head, Tristan’s fork clanked against his plate when his jaw dropped open.

You’d made it a whole week, almost. You pushed the thoughts down and brushed them under the metaphorical work rug. The body wash prototypes were in, you were booking models to do a photoshoot, video shoot, everything was getting lined up for the rollout in another few weeks. You didn’t have time to tell them about something silly and stupid and maybe a part of you didn’t want to fill them in because you were afraid they’d burst your bubble. It’ll never work out, what happens when his house is ready, he has a tour to go on.

“Be quiet,” you looked around and worried if anyone had overheard Tristan’s not-so-subtle name drop. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s not like it’s gonna be a regular thing.”

Tristan pulled his head back, offended by your words. “You had sex with him and you’re not going to make that a regular thing? Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” you made a face at Tristan. “I have seen him.”

“You are going to hit and quit Harry Styles?” Zoey leaned in and said his name much more quietly now.

“Well,” you dropped their gaze for a second, reluctant to be honest with them in fear of their reaction. “It’s happened once, and then we kissed once but CeCe came down, but she didn’t see anything. I’m just too old to be hooking up with a twenty-four year old.”

“Wait, okay, slow down. When did this happen?” Zoey asked.

“After my birthday dinner,” you shrugged. “We came home, had wine, the girls were out.”

“And when did you make out with him aside from that night?”

“The next night. And we didn’t make out, it was barely even open-mouthed.”

“Ew,” Tristan grimaced.

Zoey snapped to get your attention. “So twenty-four hours after you had sex, you kissed him?”

You made a face at her, unsure where she was going with it. You hadn’t been clocking or documenting your sexual encounters. “I don’t know, probably.”

“This is straight out of a trashy romance book written for middle aged women,” Tristan leaned back in his seat and took a pull from his glass of rosé. “I mean that in, like, a nice way.”

“Okay,” Zoey leaned forward. “So, nothing has happened since a week ago, then?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly. “Just those times. And I don’t think anything should happen again.”

They both groaned at the same time, Zoey’s shoulders sunk and she rolled her eyes. “You deserve to have sex with a hot guy.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Even if he’s younger than you.”

“I don’t want to traumatize my children.”

“Well you don’t have to have sex in front of them,” Tristan made a goofy face and you waved him off.

Zoey snorted out a laugh but you ignored their immaturity.

“I mean that having Harry here is already probably confusing for them, right? Their dad leaves, their grandpa dies, now we have some stranger in our house and he’s playing with them in the backyard and--”

“Being more of a dad to them than Luke ever was?”

Zoey’s words brought a sigh out from between your lips. “Exactly.”

“Having a positive male role model is good for them,” Tristan said.

“Sure,” you nodded. “But what about when Harry moves out? He’ll just be another man that will leave them. They’ll be super fucked up.”

Tristan reached forward and took your hand in his. “Hey--it’s more about the fact that they have you and they have other people who love them. Who cares if their idea of a family isn’t the stereotypic, heterosexual norm?”

“I know,” you relented. “I just don’t want them to be poorly adjusted.”

“Okay, that sounds like something an obnoxious prep school guidance counselor would say to you,” Zoey eyed you with skepticism.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was Maeve’s teacher.”

“Okay, fuck that teacher!” Tristan nodded. “Your kids are adjusting, and that’s because of how good of a mom you are to them. And mommy deserves a pool boy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if his words were worthy of an eye-roll. Zoey tried not to let wine drip from her nose after a snort escaped between sips.

“Not my pool boy!” You giggled.

“Which is good,” Tristan nodded, his tone completely serious. “That would be so cliché even Nora Roberts wouldn’t write it.”

**

Slumber parties always made you anxious. They were one of those things that made you question how on earth people trusted you to watch a group of children when sometimes, you still felt like one yourself.

Maeve’s 11th birthday party was no exception. Five other girls danced around your living room and CeCe sat at the counter while you iced cupcakes. Her little face was scrunched into a pout so intensely that it almost made you giggle.

“You alright?” You asked her, dish towel over your shoulder when she let out another sigh.

“Just wish I could play with them,” she held her palms towards the sky in exasperation, reaching for a container of sprinkles when you let out a laugh.

“You get to go for ice cream with Uncle Jeff, remember? You’re gonna go to the beach, too, I think.”

You’d been trying to bribe her all week: a new tutu, a new doll, anything she wanted just to make her give up and accept the fact that her older sister didn’t want her at her slumber party.

And you couldn’t blame either of them. Of course Maeve didn’t want her younger (and very loud, dramatic, and demanding) younger sister trailing behind all night. But, on the other hand, of course CeCe felt left out when she saw all of the older girls arrive with their sleeping bags and birthday gifts.

She sighed again, your conversation interrupted by a ringing from your cell phone on the counter beside her.

“Uncle Jeff?”

She was right, you reached for the phone and held it up with your shoulder, hoping the laughter from the living room wouldn’t travel it’s way into the speaker.

“Hi--are you here?”

“Y/N, I am so sorry to do this--”

“Oh god, Jeff, no!”

“I just got called into the office because one of my artists apparently just posted some stupid shit on the internet--isn’t there someone else who can hang out with CeCe? Where’s Tristan?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I doubt he’d be thrilled to play dress up or skip through a park.”

“Zoey?”

You could hear traffic through his line, his karma for backing out at the last minute was having to sit on the 405. “She has a ten-week-old infant, Jeffrey.”

“Well where’s Harry? Can’t he pitch in?”

You let out a groan, CeCe had taken to pouring sprinkles into her hand and lapping them up with her tongue.

Harry was upstairs, hiding away from the girl gang currently singing karaoke and sipping on juice boxes. He had the day off and had dipped out in the afternoon to meet a friend for lunch. You tried to mind your own business--he could come and go as he pleased and just because you had slept with him once didn’t give you the right to suddenly start asking questions about his plans.

But the universe pitied you, apparently, because right when you told Jeff you’d figure it out and hung up on him aggressively, Harry pranced down the stairs and headed for the fridge.

“How’s it going down here?” He reached for a juice box, crisp apple, and fumbled with the straw when he turned to face you.

“Everyone is alive and nothing is broken,” you scanned the counter, another batch of cupcakes still in the oven with 10 minutes to go.

With the straw now between his lips, he raised his eyebrows. “Bar’s that low, huh?”

“Well, your friend Jeffrey just bailed on watching CeCe and going for ice cream.”

She was blissfully unaware of the change of plans, still licking sprinkles out of her palm, but now swiveled around on the stool to watch the girls jump around in the other room.

“I can take her,” he shrugged nonchalantly, ran a hand through his hair when you stared at him for a second.

If traffic was Jeff’s karma, Harry must have been yours.

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “CeCe? What do you say we do ice cream and pizza?”

She turned around at the sound of her name, her eyes lit up. “Pepperoni?” She asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied to her like it was a crazy question.

“Is Uncle Jeff coming?”

“He’s not,” You informed her, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re alright to go with Harry?”

You didn’t mean to make it awkward, but mom mode kicked in and you realized CeCe had never spent time alone with Harry except maybe in the backyard.

“Yeah!” She hopped down from the stool and grinned up at him. “Can I get a milkshake?”

Harry looked over to you and when you nodded, he held out his hand. “As many as you want.”

“That’s not what I said,” you called after him, watching as he led her over to the back door. He plucked his keys off the hook on the wall and smiled at you over his shoulder. “Please don’t be out late, text me when you get where you’re going!”

CeCe shouted a bye mommy!!!! before they disappeared into the driveway. A sudden raise in your pulse had you questioning what type of mother lets their 6-year-old get in the car with a pop star who’s probably hounded by paparazzi and maybe even doing cocaine on the weekends.

You picked up your phone and it rang four times before Zoey answered. “I need you to talk me off the ledge.”

“What ledge?”

The timer beeped and you gloved up to retrieve the rest of the cupcakes. “I’m apparently a psychopath because I just let Harry take CeCe for pizza and ice cream.”

You could tell she held back a laugh. “Why does that make you a psychopath?”

“Because he’s a stranger! What if he never comes back with her? What if he gets chased by paparazzi and CeCe is the next Princess Diana?!” The thought shuttered through your bones, a shiver down your spine when Zoey cleared her throat.

“Okay, so, as a mom, I totally get that. But I also think you’re freaking out too much.”

The cupcake tin rattled onto the granite. “How?!”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s been living with you guys for like, over a month now.”

You thought about it for a second. Two weeks turned into a few more, four weeks slipped by easily. What felt like it was going to be a blip on the radar now felt like a totally normal thing: dinners with him as the fourth seat and texts to him in the middle of the day asking if there was anything he was in the mood for.

“I just can’t believe I trust him enough to do that, I guess.”

“Y/N, he’s a good guy,” she laughed. “He likes your kids and he definitely likes you.”

“We’re not going there,” you said. “I have a house full of ten-year-olds and cupcakes to frost.”

“Okay, well, you’re not a psychopath. And there’s nothing wrong with having feelings for him.”

“Zoey! You are starting to sound like the psychopath!”

“I’m alright with that,” laughter through the phone when you told her you had to go. Love you, see you later, pinch Benny’s cheeks for me.

You were swept up in the excitement of the night. Your own pizza was delivered before 8pm, a movie turned on by 9pm. They decorated cupcakes at the dining room table and proceeded to eat more than they could fit in their tummies.

Maeve was in heaven, opened presents when you snapped pictures on your phone. Harry had texted to let you know they’d stop at Shelli and Irv’s before heading home. If CeCe came home in the middle of presents, she’d probably break down right there.

So when you heard the alarm signal a new entry, you hoped CeCe was too tired to argue with you about sleeping in her own room and not in Maeve’s with the rest of them. Your legs were folded beneath you on the couch, noise in the kitchen when Harry rounded the corner with CeCe asleep on his shoulder.

You stood up, eyebrows high when he smirked in your direction. “She’s out cold,” he laughed. “Fell right asleep on the way home.”

“It’s like a ten minute drive from their house,” you said, opening your arms to take her. “Sorry, here.”

“I can bring her up...just lead the way,” he motioned with his head for you to go first up the stairs. He followed you down the hall and to CeCe’s room, pink walls and a plush carpet underneath her twin-sized bed that still seemed too big for her.

He put her down when you flipped on a nightlight, watched when you tugged the duvet over her and kissed her on the forehead. You sighed when you stood up straight beside him, voice quiet. “I’m not waking her up to brush her teeth cause she’ll freak out and want to be included in the party. Am I a bad mom?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, smirked down at you quickly before looking back to her. “You’re a great mom.”

You elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “You have to say that.”

“I do?”

“I’m your landlord,” you laughed, leading him back into the hallway.

“I thought you were my friend?”

A sigh, the darkness a cover for your confusion and your fluttering heart beat. “Yeah, that too.”

He was quiet for a second, if it weren’t for the bedroom of kids down the hall you’d pull him into you despite better judgment. He stared down at you with a dimpled smile, but you took a step back.

“Thanks for taking her, and hanging out with her. You really didn’t have to.”

“I had fun,” he reassured you. “We got a pizza and ate in a park near Westwood Hills, then got ice cream, visited with Shelli and Irv,” he listed it off like it brought him as much joy as it did her.

“Hey, not to be weird or anything, but--how’s your house coming?”

He sensed the shift in the air too, but he didn’t know that it came from a place of fear. A question you had to ask: this was temporary, this wasn’t real, this was just a convenient set up and you couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Oh, yeah--I’m going over on Sunday to see it. Apparently there are still issues with the plumbing that have to be updated. They said it might be a few more weeks.”

“Okay, I just didn’t know.”

“Yeah, is that okay? I can try to find somewhere to stay if you need me out?”

“No,” you said it quickly. “I don’t need you to leave.”

“Okay,” he said, his eyes still on yours. He reached forward to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “I like staying here with you guys.”

“...I like it too.”

“Mom?” Maeve’s head poked out of her bedroom. “Hayley spilled soda on the carpet!”

He stepped back from you quickly, like his reflexes were getting better each time. You laughed at his sudden movement, “coming!”

He smiled down at you and let out an exaggerated sigh once Maeve’s door was slammed shut and the music was back on, a magnetic pull between your chests that maybe he felt too. “Hayley, Hayley, Hayley.”

But again, a rush of uncertainty and self-doubt made you grateful for the interruption, your stomach weaving itself in knots when you stared at your ceiling fan and hoped that sleep would come.

Work picked up in the next week, Tristan was in your office most days with spreadsheets and graphs and to-do lists that made you feel like you needed a margarita at 2pm. On Wednesday Harry made dinner and CeCe had a meltdown when you forced her to take a bath.

Friday night entailed dinner at Shelli and Irv’s, the girls and Harry and Jeff too. You stood in the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand, Shelli watched as their chef sautéed something through steam. When Jeff pulled Harry away to show him a new guitar Irv had been gifted, you ignored the smile on Shelli’s face.

“How are things going?”

“Fine,” you said, casually and calm and cool. “How are you?”

“Y/N,” she smiled. “Does Jeffrey know?”

“Know what?”

“About you and Harry?”

“No,” you told her quickly. “There’s nothing to know, alright? We were drunk, it was not a big deal.”

“Alright,” she held up a hand, effectively resigning when she sipped her Pinot Grigio, a disappointed sigh before she asked: “How are the girls holding up?”

You sighed, unsure if she’d really drop it. You told her about Maeve’s birthday party and caught her up on the body wash debut. Deadlines were quickly approaching, the launch party was being scheduled and production was full steam ahead.

You almost thought you’d make it through the rest of the night without any drama--no more mention of Harry or the happenings between you. But eventually he and Jeff found their way back to the kitchen and you hoped that no one noticed how close Harry stood to you.

Jeff was in the middle of filling you and Shelli in on Harry’s album plans: they were wrapping up production and soon they’d announce the release date, his excitement cut off by a shout from the backyard.

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice was shrill and desperate as it rang through the house. She let out a loud sob and when you looked up, you saw her clutching her elbow with a new grass stain on her shirt. She was fine, it was one of those moments where she thought the world was ending but everyone else knew getting knocked over by her sister wouldn’t kill her.

“She’s fine,” Maeve rolled her eyes, a quick look down to CeCe who’s eyes were already filled with tears.

“No I’m not!” she screamed back at her sister.

You looked to Shelli with an exasperated look, set your glass of wine down on the counter. Before you could make any movement, though, Harry’s hand hovered on the small of your back. “I’ll go, enjoy the wine. She’s fine.”

He was right, there was no question that CeCe would survive her scraped elbow and bruised ego. He moved towards the backyard and you were frozen in place when Jeff’s forehead wrinkled.

“What was that?” he asked, eyebrows strung together like tea lights once Harry was out of earshot.

“I don’t know--what do you mean?”

You looked over at Harry, now on the ground in front of CeCe who’s wails were much quieter. She wiped at her wet eyes, a little laugh escaped her lips when Harry brushed the grass off of her elbow and cracked a joke.

“Well, he seems pretty good with them,” Jeff leaned against the counter, the sliding door providing a perfect view as CeCe stood up and raced back towards Maeve.

“Yeah, I mean, he is.”

“He also touched your back in a funny way.”

Shelli raised her eyebrows and sipped at her wine again.

“And now my mom is making a weird face,” Jeff’s eyes narrowed when he looked at you. “Are you--is there, like, something going--”

“No,” you said quickly, a finger pointed at Shelli and another pointed at Jeff. “Do not say anything in front of the girls.”

Shelli stifled a laugh but managed to look incredibly innocent at the same time.

“Oh my god!” Jeff said this with a noise of shock, eyes wide when he looked between you and Shelli, then back out to the yard where Harry laughed with Irv. “Oh my god, and you knew?”

Shelli shrugged her shoulders, a don’t blame me look crossed her face when you took a swig of wine to calm the pounding of your heart.

Jeff had always been protective and caring and like a brother. Not in a weird way, not in the you can’t date my friends way. Just in the sense that he wanted to know who you were hooking up with and he’d been encouraging you relentlessly to stop picking assholes ever since you filed for divorce.

But this was different, this was a friend of his and a client of his. It was someone that his entire family knew and this was probably the worst choice of rebound.

“Please relax,” you said this with a look of warning in his direction. “I will explain to you what your lunatic mother is smirking about but you have about fifteen seconds to wipe the look of shock off your face before he comes back in here.”

“She’s fine,” Harry waved a hand once he was back in the kitchen. “And what look of shock are we wiping off of our faces?” The dimple was there again, the corner of his mouth pulled up and he scanned all three of you for any sort of information.

“Just that you are so good with the girls,” Jeff covered for you, a confident nod when he hoped Harry would believe him.

“That’s surprising to you?” Harry pulled his head back, an obvious look of mock offense. “I’m great with children. They love me.”

Maeve came in from the fading light, out of breath from running around with whatever ball they’d gotten their hands on. “Who loves you?”

“Kids,” Jeff replied for him.

“Oh,” Maeve said. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You looked down at her, unsure if she was agreeing or just voicing that she understood.

She shrugged, plucked a chicken skewer from a dish in front of Shelli. “I mean, I like having him around.”

Harry was practically tickled pink. “Thank you, Maeve.” He turned to rub this in Jeff’s face. “See?”

“He cooks well, plays outside with us, definitely funnier than mom,” Maeve kept listing things off, pulling laughter from the rest of the crew.

“Maeve!” You whined. “I’m funny!”

“You’re like, sometimes funny.”

“Sometimes funny is better than never funny,” Harry nodded in your direction, an attempt to soften the blow.

CeCe had wandered in behind her sister, she picked at the scrape on her elbow until you called her attention. “CeCe--do you think mommy’s funny?”

“Mmmm,” the thought on it for a second, put her finger to her chin and scrunched up her nose. “Sort of.”

Jeff let out a big laugh at that, Harry tried to stifle one and you dismissed the jabs. “Okay, well, it’s not like anyone here is a comedian.”

“Harry’s funny,” CeCe said with a smile. “He reads books in silly voices.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up at that again, amused and surprised by the fact that Harry was in on the bedtime routine. But it was infrequent, sometimes CeCe would beg for more time outside or another thirty minutes of TV.

If the tears got aggressive or the tantrum became too much, she perked up pretty quickly if Harry offered to read with her. It was way more exciting than reading with you, Maeve had explained.

After showering Harry with compliments, the girls were excited to sit on Shelli and Irv’s patio. Pink lemonade and a delicious dinner, though neither of them would even so much as take a bit of your salad.

They ran around some more while you sipped wine, Jeff and Harry had been talked into a two versus two soccer match and Irv laughed his head off when Maeve actually scored on Jeff. Darkness came and CeCe crawled into your lap, eyelids getting heavy until you buckled her into the backseat.

You’d taken one car, CeCe’s booster seat was too clunky to move over to Harry’s so you drove and felt slightly embarrassed about the crayons and coloring books scattered on the floor of the backseat.

“Mom, can I have another sleepover this weekend?”

“With who?”

“All of the girls from last weekend.”

“Honey, no, that was a big party for your birthday.”

“I’m aware,” she shot back quickly. “But we all had so much fun and we wouldn’t be as loud as we were last time.”

“I said no, Maeve. You can do something with your friends if you want but we’re not doing another sleepover right now.”

You’d been hesitant about it in the first place. A group of ten and eleven-year-olds? With Harry in the house? It felt like a recipe for disaster and aside from a few excited stares when they were first dropped off, you all escaped relatively unscathed.

You worried at first about the whispers from other moms--she’s letting a twenty-four year-old live with her children?--but you soon realized that they were almost more excited about sneaking a glimpse of Harry than their daughters were.

“You’re so annoying,” she quipped from the back. “You never let me do anything fun.”

Harry’s lips twitched up in a tiny smirk, a sideways glance in your direction. You’d already told him how awkward it felt to discipline them with him right there, a glass of wine in the kitchen one night and he teased you about your frustrated mom voice.

“Maeve--don’t be rude. You just had a birthday party and now you want another, basically.”

“No, I want to have the same girls over. It’s not my birthday so it’s not a birthday party.”

A left turn into the driveway. “But you want me to order pizza and make cupcakes and you want to drink a bunch of soda again?”

“Yes.”

You pulled into the garage and cut the engine, turning to look at her. “Maeve, sweetie, I love you. But no.”

She let out a huff and shoved the door open, she typed in the entry code and slammed the door to the house before the rest of you could even climb out.

“The drama,” CeCe shook her head, tired steps towards the house.

“The drama is right,” you told her with a laugh. “Go wash up and I’ll come up in a few, okay?”

She scampered up the steps, you dropped your keys on the counter inside and then turned to look at him. “Do you have a second?”

He nodded, leaned on the counter. “What’s up?”

You didn't know if it was a good idea, but you'd spent enough morning drives to school lecturing about how honest is the best policy, so you figured you'd give it a shot.

“Uh, well--Jeff may or may not be suspicious about you and...me.”

Using the phrase made you nervous, like he’d laugh and think it was stupid. You and me.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows arched. “Did you--why did that come up?”

“Well you went to handle my crying child, which is--you know--”

He laughed a little, “too boyfriendy of me?”

Your heartbeat picked up in pace, your face felt hot and it suddenly felt like he was watching you too closely.

“No--I don’t know--you touched my back and he just asked what was happening.”

He deflated at that, hung his head low for a second and then looked up. “Oh, I--uh--I’m really sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You felt bad, that wasn’t the message you were trying to convey. If anything, you wanted to give him the out and the okay that he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to step into your family like some hero for you or your daughters. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I just--I don’t know where you are at, I guess.”

“And now Jeff is asking questions,” he laughed, a nod like he knew where you were going with it.

There was no label necessary. It wasn’t that type of thing, you knew that. “That’s what you walked in on after CeCe got hurt.”

Another nod, like the puzzle pieces were fitting into place. “Right. Got it. Was he--how did he seem? Did you tell him that we--”

“He put it together,” you cut him off, again careful of the words used around the girls even though they were upstairs and--by the sound of it--bickering in the bathroom. “But he was fine with it. I just think we need to be careful, you know. The girls...and this is temporary, and--”

“Absolutely.”

“So, you know, just--”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence. “I should go tuck them in.” You turned on your feet and headed for the stairs before he could reply, desperate to get out of the situation out of fear of having to find more words to string together in a messy jumble of emotions.

Another slammed door from Maeve when you reached the top of the stairs. You knocked twice. “Can I come in, please?”

“No!”

“Maeve,” you leaned against the doorframe. Harry came up and offered an awkward smile. “Please let me talk to you.”

“I’m not talking to you!” She shouted.

Harry came over and knocked. “Maeve? It’s Harry--can I come in?”

Silence for a second, her footsteps were audible on the wood floor. The door opened a crack, she peered out with narrowed eyes. “Fine--but not her.”

You looked over at Harry, unsure of his game plan but also fed up with the theatrics and the overreaction. He shrugged his shoulders half-apologetically, a smirk in your direction before he slipped into the room.

Did you stay and listen? Was it weird? What would he even say to her?

You decided against it, headed for your own bedroom and tugged on pajamas after you flicked on CeCe’s night light and kissed her goodnight. At least only one of them was being dramatic today.

Five minutes passed, then ten. You tried not to look at the clock and focused instead on a book Zoey had told you was a must read.

Eventually there was a knock on your door, Harry pushed it open and smiled. “Do you want some intel?”

“Duh,” you said. “Come in.”

He walked forward and sat on your bed, a sigh when he brought his eyes to yours again. “Well, she said you’re annoying again.”

“Of course.”

“She’s just grumpy. Said Hayley wanted to have a sleepover this weekend because it would be better at her house.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Some 5th grade rivalry.”

“Classic, really.”

You laughed. “Was she okay talking to you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyebrows low on his forehead. “Opened right up.”

“Well, we do know she likes you more.”

He rolled his eyes. “She just likes that I’m not you.”

“Feels like that’s the same thing.”

Quiet for a moment when he angled towards you, scanned your face with his eyes.

“I guess I’ll go say goodnight.”

“Oh, I tucked her in.”

Your mouth tugged into a smirk. “You what?”

“She said she didn’t want you to come in.”

“So you tucked her in?”

He let out a laugh, explained the process like it should have been obvious. “Yeah--pulled up the blanket. Patted her on the head. She said she brushed her teeth.”

You leaned back against the headboard, the same buzzing feeling in your chest took flight when he asked: “why is it so shocking to everyone that I’m good with them?”

It slipped out before you could think of the possible consequences. “Because you’re young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“And Luke was just--not like that. He was pretty disinterested after CeCe was born.” You hoped this was enough of a redirection.

“You’re really caught up on my age, aren’t you?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows and offered a look that said: bullshit. When he didn’t speak, you cracked a joke.

“Or...you are not hung up enough on how old I am.”

“Why should I care how old you are?”

“Cause you’ve had sex with me and you’re living in my house.”

“Both of those things I am aware of. And feel really good about both of them.”

You let out a laugh at his nonchalance, folded your arms over your chest when he stood up. “You’re something else.”

“I’m not,” you disagreed.

“I think you are,” he nodded, leaned closer to you and offered a challenging glare. His hair was messy, he’d been running around in the backyard with them at Shelli and Irv’s, a few glasses of wine in him seemed to loosen him right up to the point that he was ready to slide tackle your six-year-old.

He watched you for a second, almost like he was waiting for you to stop him. You didn’t, though, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as it looked like he wanted to close to the distance between your chests.

Instead of telling him you shouldn’t, instead of telling him that the girls were down the hall and this was risky, you pulled him on top of you, tugged him by the t-shirt until he flopped down on your bed with a laugh against your lips.

He lifted himself up after a clumsy moment, looked down at you and smirked.

“What?” You asked playfully.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been so turned on by someone in my whole life.”

His words circled around you, pulled your body up to melt into his when his hand cupped your face. He laced his fingers through the hair along your neck, the warmth from his body made your pulse rise with each second.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this when they’re home?”

If the dimples on his cheeks weren’t enough, if the way his tattoos littered his skin wasn’t enough, if the look in his eyes right now on top of you was not enough to create a full-on mom fantasy in your head, the way he talked about your daughters was.

“Yeah,” you tugged him back against your mouth, felt the way your hips tilted against his without any thought. His hands moved to your wrists, holding them in place when he trailed his lips down your jaw, down your neck, pressing kisses in a line along your collarbone.

His hands were warm when they grazed your hips, connecting with skin beneath the fabric of your shirt. You grasped for the hem of his and tugged it over his head in a quick motion, eager to reconnect and feel his skin against yours.

He tasted like wine and smelled like summer, yanked your panties down to your ankles and used his fingers to pull quiet gasps from you like no one had ever before. He held onto your headboard and thrusted into you after you begged: please, please fuck me.

S’probably my favorite thing to do, he said.

The lights were long off and when your heart beats settled and you wiped sweat from your forehead, he laced his fingers between yours.

“Does Jeff want to kill me?”

“No,” you giggled, turned on your side to get a better look at him. The moon through the window illuminated his nose, his eyebrows, the specks of light green in his eyes as they devoured you. “But I’m sure you’ll get a talking to.”

“Should I not talk to him about it?”

You knew what he was asking, you knew he really meant what am I supposed to tell him? What does this mean?

You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t know what he should say or how you should address any of this, because at the end of the day you were a mom and a business owner and he was eight years your junior. He had an album to finish and tour and you knew how that worked.

You watched your dad’s busy lifestyle pull his marriage apart at the seams. Late nights, dinner parties, too much coke in the 80s before you were born and all of those signs pointed in one direction: this would never last.

It couldn’t last, nothing about the equation made sense. Harry + you = fling, rebound, a hook up or friends with benefits type situation that would eventually fade into a memory when he went on tour or when he got the call: your house is finished!

You didn’t have to answer him, though, the pattering of feet in the hallway as a little voice shouted mommy! had you shoving Harry out of bed and onto the floor with a thud before CeCe could push the double doors open.

“Mommy! I had a bad dream!”

“Hi, honey, oh, it’s okay,” you were upright in bed and welcoming her into your arms when Harry grimaced in the dark.

He mouthed a few swear words as you held CeCe, squishing her face into your shoulder to keep her eyes from landing on Harry. You gestured at him wildly with your free hand, ordering him to duck down and remain unseen.

“It was just a dream,” you told her, “you’re okay. Do you want me to walk you back to bed?”

“No,” she cried out quickly. “Can I sleep here?”

You hesitated, then nodded and looked at Harry in the dark. “Of course, yes, you can fall asleep here and then I’ll bring you back to your room.”

“Okay,” she said, the steadiness of her voice returning when she crawled out of your lap and to the spot where Harry had just been. She tugged at the comforters, pushed the pillow in different directions before she let her head rest atop it.

She let out a sigh, her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and soon enough Harry poked his head up to look at you with wide eyes as you rubbed CeCe’s back.

You held up a finger to your mouth, gave him a threatening glare when he bit back a laugh. You rolled your eyes--it wasn’t funny. She almost walked in on the two of you and while she’d already endured some traumatic things this year, seeing her mom hooking up with the pop star from down the hall would be sure to take the cake.

When Harry caught your gaze again, you smirked, he giggled, clamped a hand over his mouth and watched you for a second.

“Be quiet!”

“You’re the one talking,” he laughed.

“Well she’s asleep now, but we can’t bring her back yet or she’ll wake up.”

“How long do we have to sit like this?”

“A while,” you told him with certainty. “This is called parenting.”

But he did, he sat on the floor on the side of the bed, watched you watch her and eventually, he picked her up from the mattress and followed you down the hall to her room. She softened into him, head on his shoulder and arms around his neck. The sight of it made you want to replay the earlier scene in your head over and over.

She didn’t stir, a few heavy sighs when you pulled the comforter back up to her shoulders, and once the door was shut behind you both, you smirked up at him.

“I think you should go back to your room.”

“Really? After all of that?”

“After almost getting caught by my six-year-old? Yes.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes playfully, crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, but maybe we can do that again at some point and have it end differently.”

You nodded. “I think that sounds doable.”

He leaned forward, kissed you quickly, and then turned to head for his own room. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

**

Harry came home from his house tour with good and bad news. The plumbing was fixed, which sped up their timeline, and yet the painters and interior decorator had gotten behind because of it, pushing the timeline out a few weeks.

You weren’t sure which part was good and which part was bad, because by now you were having trouble imagining what your house would feel like without him in it.

You got the news when he strolled in, athletic shorts and a baseball hat on his head when Jeff clapped him on the back. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry eyed him suspiciously, reached into the fridge for a juice box. “I live here…”

“Oh, I know you live here.”

“Hello, hi,” you waved at Jeff. “Please do not be weird.”

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Harry offered you a fake-apologetic look.

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Jeff mocked him. “Actually, I know how to be cool and not weird about the fact that my childhood best friend and my adult best friend-slash-artist are now, you know, involved.”

Your stomach did a somersault at his wording, a quick look in Harry’s direction, sure that he would deny the accusation or play it all down.

You found it hard to believe that Harry would be in support of labeling this as anything. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be tied to you with any sort of label or phrasing or word?

“Moving on,” Harry said with a nod. “Are we down to meet up with Tom and Sam tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and we have to do that phone call on Tuesday to go over tour dates.”

Maeve ran in then, a smile on her face when she looked up at Harry. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“I learned a new chord on the guitar. By myself.”

“You did?” He acted way more excited about it than he likely was.

Jeff smiled and then told Maeve: “If you learn enough chords maybe you can be his guitarist.”

“Really?!” She beamed.

“No,” you shook your head.

“Of course you would say that.”

“Maeve--you’re a kid, you can’t go on tour.”

“She’s right,” Harry said with a sweet smile, “You’re a bit too young for life on the road.”

“I’m eleven now, though!”

“I know! And very mature for eleven,” he complimented. “I’ll tell you what. You can for sure come visit and come back stage and maybe even bring a friend if your mother lets you.”

She looked to you quickly, excitement in her eyes when they all waited for your response. “Yeah--we can go at some point...see a show or something.”

“Hayley is going to die, oh my god!” She squealed with delight and then moved to sit at a stool beside Jeff.

He had half a sandwich on a plate, one he picked up on his way over for a boring Sunday afternoon of lounging by the pool. Maeve reached for a chip from the bag in front of him.

“By the way, mom, she invited me over Wednesday after school to work on a project, so can you bring me?”

“I have to bring CeCe to dance, sweetie.”

“Well I need you to bring me to the store to get supplies for this stupid poster-board thing we have to make! And Hayley’s mom said she had a question about Luna--something about a moisturizer or something.”

“I can take CeCe to dance,” Harry shrugged, almost like an onlooker in the room. “S’not a big a deal.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeff and Maeve crunched on chips between you, watching the exchange.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll just need to put her booster seat in my car.”

“And bring her a snack for after--she’s always cranky and hungry.”

He laughed, “I can manage that.”

“What would we do without you, Harry?” Maeve asked, a smile on her face.

Jeff put his chin in his hands, teasing. “Yeah, what would we do without you?”

“No one would get anywhere, people would seriously be missing out on my chicken tacos, and this house would be a lot less fun to live in.”

Maeve nodded in agreement, another chip stolen from Jeff. “True, true, and true.”

A few nights later it dawned on you that Maeve and Harry were as close as ever, spending evenings in your dad’s old office while Maeve tried to wrap her arms around a guitar long enough to strum a few chords.

CeCe didn’t seem to feel too left out, she was more than happy to be an audience for Maeve when she’d come running into the living room: Harry taught me a G chord!

On Tuesday night after school it was CeCe’s idea to go for pizza, she chirped about it in the backseat the entire way home, and after learning that the body wash production was behind schedule, you weren’t in the mood to cook.

You took Harry’s car--showed him how to strap the booster seat in and make sure it wouldn’t budge. He wore a hat and sunglasses which both girls found hilarious, but to you it was almost disheartening. What did it mean for him to be seen out with your family?

He sat beside CeCe and cut her pizza into tiny bites so it would cool off, Maeve sipped Mountain Dew from a straw and filled you in on the latest with Hayley. This week was going well, though Hayley said something annoying in the cafeteria.

It felt normal, not weird for him to be sitting across from you, his feet against yours beneath the table and a smirk in your direction every once in a while.

Both Tristan and Zoey had been dying to hear more details. It slipped out one day in the office that okay...maybe it wasn’t just a one time thing, and now the group chat you had with them was blowing up every day.

They were excited for you, rooting for your comeback and rebound and eager for you to just admit that there was something there. But you weren’t able to do that, especially not when everything in your heart wanted to.

By the time you’d all finished eating, he dipped out the back to pull the car around front. You pointed at Maeve and told her to watch CeCe while you went up to the counter to pay for the pizza.

The woman behind the register smiled when you approached. Long acrylic nails, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes made it obvious that she could have been your mother.

“We had one large plain and one small with pepperoni,” you told her.

“Oh, you’re all set, sweetie, your boyfriend paid on his way out.”

Your head pulled back in surprise. “Oh--he’s--we’re not,”

She let out a laugh at your hesitance. “He was just as taken back when I told him he had a beautiful family--said they're not his, though."

You forced a laugh, if only to match the humor in her voice when you turned on your heels to head back to your booth. The thoughts started spinning when Maeve and CeCe climbed into the back of Harry’s car.

He smiled at you when you slid in, patted you on the thigh before he turned around to make sure both girls were settled--Maeve clicked CeCe’s buckle into place and then he put the car into gear.

Sleeping with Harry was mostly meaningless, right? He was attractive and living in your house and clearly you both got something out of it. Convenient, easy, fun. Most of your brain had you convinced that there’d never be any more to it. There was no way that Harry would be interested in sticking around: two kids, a business to run. You didn’t exactly come with no strings attached.

And he corrected the woman too--not my kids, not my family, not my wife, not my anything. Had she settled on the next step down when she called him your boyfriend, or had he offered the label to avoid an awkward encounter?

It felt immature, your heart beating with urgency as you thought about it the whole way home, beads of sweat along your hairline and not from the warm weather. He sensed it, eyed you from behind his sunglasses when he parked in the driveway. Maeve and CeCe raced to the backyard, leaving the two of you alone.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, all good,” you offered a small smile, the same response you gave to one of the girls if they caught you on a bad day.

He followed you inside, kept his eyes trained on you when you dropped your purse on the counter. “What?”

“You seem off.”

“I’m fine,” you lied again. What were you supposed to say? The woman behind the register at the pizza place is making me question the relationship we have and what it means?

You weren’t 17. You were 32. He was 24. All of these numbers swirled in your head when he took a few steps closer to you, eyes out the window quickly to make sure neither of the girls were watching you through the sliding doors.

He pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, lips turned down when he looked over your face. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know,” you caught his wrist and held on for a second, like if you let go he’d disappear and take everything between the two of you with him. You closed your eyes, knew better but still said: “the woman behind the counter called you my boyfriend.”

He let out a laugh, unaware that your words were actually a confession. “She called you my wife, said the girls were cute. I told her I couldn’t take credit.”

“Yeah,” you forced another smile.

“Is that--are you, did that bother you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes still on you like he wasn’t quite sure where your head was at. He pressed a confusing kiss to your forehead but then said something about calling his sister. You checked work emails and night faded into morning like it always did, no matter how uncertain life was, you always had that.

The next afternoon you brought Maeve to Hayley’s, dropped her off with glue sticks and markers and a plethora of project supplies. A yoga class after that, had her home and with dinner on the stove by 6pm.

Eventually, CeCe burst through the door with a smile on her face. Her pink tutu was around her waist, her legs clad in light pink tights and her hair in a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I had the greatest time at ballet!”

You turned around in the kitchen, eager to hear about her day. “You did?”

“I did,” she nodded confidently. Harry came in the front door behind her, sunglasses on his face and CeCe’s unicorn backpack in hand. Maeve was sat at the counter with a pencil, growing angrier with fractions by the minute.

“Why’s that?”

“We danced to a fun song, and we played a fun game, and everyone loved Harry!”

Your eyebrows rose at that, eyes caught his when he lifted the sunglasses. “They did?”

“Moms, not the six-year-olds.”

This caught Maeve’s attention--she sounded almost disgusted. “Moms?”

“I guess ballet pick-up is typically a mom thing?”

You shrugged. “I mean--I don’t see a lot of dads there, so yeah.”

CeCe shimmied out of her tutu and then climbed up to a stool beside Maeve. Harry walked to hang her backpack on a hook by the backdoor, you questioned if it was even worth asking.

“Were they, like, hitting on you?”

“I mean, not really.”

“Not really?”

He walked over to the island and leaned on it, the dimple in his left cheek let you know he liked the hint of jealousy in your voice. “Maybe a little.”

Dinner simmered on the stove, evening sun brought a glow to the kitchen that made his eyes even more green than usual. When you didn’t reply he broke your gaze, let out a sigh and said: “I’m going to shower before dinner, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded quickly, embarrassed by the silliness of your question. Of course the moms were hitting on him, of course they were intrigued by his presence and of course they couldn’t help but say hi or even ask for a photo. It shouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.

He was up the stairs and out of sight quickly, CeCe picked up an extra pencil of Maeve’s and started doodling on her agenda book. You pushed sautéed veggies around in a frying pan and pretended that all of this was normal.

“Hey mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like Harry?”

You turned around quickly, Maeve’s eyes were inquisitive but not judgmental.

“Do I like Harry? Of course--he’s nice.”

“No, I mean do you like like Harry?”

CeCe didn’t seem too interested in your answer, she hummed to herself and kicked her feet back and forth. Maeve, though, waited patiently while you tried to piece together words that wouldn’t make the roof blow off of your house.

“Harry and I are friends, sweetie.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You let out a forced laugh. “What is making you ask this?”

“You seemed jealous about the other moms.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you defended. Were you really about to get into it with your eleven-year-old? Would you really defend yourself and make this the hill on which you'd die?

She watched you for a second, looked back down at the worksheet in front of her. “You seemed jealous.”

You were thankful for the fact that she wasn’t making any eye contact now. You let out a sigh and decided that not responding was your best option. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, had it been that obvious? Was she old enough to pick up on the undertones of your relationship?

You turned back to the stove, watched the vegetables sizzle in the pan as your mind started to cave in on itself. All of this was getting out of control, right? First the woman yesterday and the dizziness that overtook you when she said the word boyfriend. Now Maeve sitting at the counter with a curiosity in her that you couldn’t really blame her for.

The doorbell rang, CeCe’s head popped up in excitement. “Who is that?!”

“I don’t know,” you said. She hopped off her stool and took off the door as you followed behind her. You hadn’t planned on a visit from Jeff, maybe Tristan needed last minute approval on a product.

But when CeCe yanked the door open with both hands and an excited smile on her face, you didn’t expect to see Luke, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised high.

“Daddy!”

“Hi sweetie,” he knelt down on one knee, wrapped his arms around her when Maeve made a noise of excitement before rushing over. She crashed into him, pushing her way into their hug.

“What are you doing here?” she asked excitedly.

“I wanted to visit, I was in the neighborhood,” he said with a shrug, eyes glancing up to you.

It was bullshit, he’d always been good at talking his way out of things or coming up with an explanation, smile sweet and words even sweeter. He backed away from them when they let go, stood back up and smiled at you, a quick nod in greeting.

“How’ve you been?”

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[keibea]

update on my dragon age II playthrough that no one asked for and no one cares about ( SPOILERS AHEAD )

WARNING: a lot of random ranting and probably a thousand spelling and grammar mistakes..sorry

first and foremost that bitch fenris, who I still love regardless since I'm obsessed with fixing people, left my hawke (and therefore me) after they had swex the asshole

secondly, meril pissed me off. i mean if even the keeper doesn't want you to fix the bloody mirror, the leader of your people with the want to restore as much knowledge as possible, you should probably leave the bloody mirror alone. now we're rivals because I did the smart thing fjdndjendnt

THE FADE SERIOUSLY I hated it in dao and I hated it here WHYYYYYYYYYY would you do that bloody faynriel at least he's with the tevinters now hopefully that doesn't come back to bite me in the ass...

STOP WITH THE SPIDERS I LIVE IN AUSTRALIA I DEAL WITH ENOUGH SPIDERS ALREADY YOU ASSHOLES

also the dragons are really small??? like not even dragonlings just straight dragons are tiny what's up with that

our mother is dead wtfrick like are you trying to kill off every single remember of my family on purpose orrrr???? and she died as a zombie thing? seriously?? Haven't we been through enough??? luckily Bethany is still alive, although she's being a bitch to us even tho we saved her life the asshat

ALISTAIR IS BACK BBY OH MY GOSH I LOVE HIM I GOT SO EXCITEDDDD EEEEEE. in mine he's part of the grey wardens because I think he'd make a sucky king so...i saw him and it was everything OH MY GOSH. still looked a bit crusty even with mods BUT ILL TAKE IT

so a slight qunari issue am i right 😅 I tried to be on their side because honestly everyone was being mean to them when they're just trying to live their lives and still they end up killing everyone like waaaaatttt

AND BLODDY Isabela like SERIOUSLY GIRL I'm your friend. when you steal a historically and religiously important relic from a someone you bet your ass they're gonna wanna kill you for it. And then the bitch RAN albeit she did come back BUT STILL COME ON ASSHOLE

I killed the arishok...Yeah well I didn't want him to take isabela no matter how much of a selfish asshole she was so he's dead now...I have a feeling that's going to seriously bite me in the ass at some point

also someone help please, do I side with the mages or Templars what did you guys do??? cause I understand both sides and I think they're both right in some areas and incredibly flawed in others, particularly the Templars but idkkkkk also Meredith is a bit shifty I don't like her.. (im at the start of act 3 so no spoilers please! just interpretations if that's okay? although tbh I already know what happens since I played inquisition first then went back to the older games)

and LOL for a long part of the time, when I met orsino I was panicked thinking OH MY GOSH is Irving dead?? NO I LOVE IRVING I ALSO SAVED HIS ASS and then I remembered that this is like a completely different place LOL

I also absolutely adore varric like what a sweetheart! My Hawke and him are like the best of friends and honestly it's the cutest shiz ever

other than that I forgave fenris and I think we're a thing now?? idk. mostly because he's hot and also because you know he's like this sweet broken toy that I just wanna love and care for although HE MAKES THE WORSE REMARKS AT THE WORST TIME like read the bloody room fenris GOSH

lastly, ive just met zevran AKA the love of my wardens life in my dao playthrough and what the actual frick frack did they do to my baby I'm PISSED

anyway that was all, just really needed to get it out there since I know LITTERALLY NO ONE ELSE who plays this incredible game. Any thoughts I'd be really interested to hear. If I offended you because of my thoughts on a character, I apologise, i meant no harm this is just my opinion on them :)))

[annecoulmanross]

Top Ten Historical Figures Done Dirty by The Terror (2018)

So, we all know and love Dave Kajganich and Soo Hugh’s beautiful show, right? Of course. But it’s important to set the historical record straight, especially when there are real people’s life-stories and legacies on the line. 

(NOTE: this list is biased heavily toward upper-class individuals because the historical record does a better job preserving those voices for us. Was the real Cornelius Hickey as nasty a person in real life as he was in the show? Almost certainly not – which is why we’re given “E.C.” as a nod to the fact that we shouldn’t assume these characters represent real historical villains, even when the narrative makes them antagonists; HOWEVER, not everyone in the show was given the same courtesy as the OG “Cornelius Hickey.” Which is why this post exists – to show you the best sides of some people you might not otherwise appreciate for their full humanity. That being said, keep in mind the sources used – and, for instance, who has surviving portraits and who doesn’t.)

Thus, below the cut, I give you this list, (mostly) in order from #10 (honorable mention, only somewhat slandered) to #1 (most hideously maligned) – my list of characters from The Terror who deserved better. 

(Please don’t take this too seriously – I know there are reasons why choices had to be made in order to make this show work on television, and I do very much love the end product. But I also genuinely think it’s a good idea to remember the real people behind these characters, and think critically about how we depict them ourselves.) 

Bottom Tier – The Overlooked Men of the Franklin Expedition

#10. Richard Wall – & – John Diggle

We’re combining these two because they had a lot in common, historically speaking! Both were polar veterans, having served as a Cook (Wall) and an AB-then-Quartermaster (Diggle) on HMS Erebus under the command of Sir James Clark Ross in the Antarctic expedition of 1839-1843. Certainly we do get some good scenes with them in the show, but there was plenty more to explore there – for instance, Captain Ross was apparently so taken with Richard Wall that he hired him on as a private cook after the Antarctic expedition. (One imagines that Sir James may have regretted letting his friends of the Franklin expedition steal Wall out from under him.)

(If you want some more information on Diggle, the brilliant @handfuloftime​ found this excellent article on him – fun facts include the detail that Diggle’s only daughter bore the name Mary Ann Erebus Diggle.) 

#9. John Smart Peddie 

Now, I don’t think we should go as far as the Doctor Who Audio Drama adaptation of the Franklin Expedition, which makes Peddie into Francis Crozier’s oldest friend, someone “almost like a brother” to Crozier (no evidence of ANY prior relationship between the two existed, contrary to whatever the Doctor Who Audio Dramas would have you believe!) but Peddie probably earned his place as chief surgeon, however fond we may all be of the beautiful Alex “Macca” MacDonald, who was, in fact, the Assistant Surgeon, historically speaking. It’s hard to find information about Peddie, but someone should go looking! I want to know about this man! 

(If you want to know more about the historical Alexander MacDonald, there’s a short biographical article on him from Arctic that you can read here.)

#8 James Walter Fairholme

The only one of the expedition’s lieutenants who doesn’t really get any characterization in the show, which is a travesty! The historical Fairholme (pronounced “Fairem”) was, as they say, a himbo, and the letters that he wrote home to his father are positively precious. He loved the expedition pets (lots of kisses for Neptune!), and he needed two kayaks because he couldn’t fit into just one with his beefy thighs. Fitzjames loaned him a coat when all the Erebus officers had their portraits taken, and then called him a “smart, agreeable companion, and a well informed man,” and Goodsir singled Fairholme out as “very much interested” in the work of naturalist observations. Just a lovely young man who could have gotten some screen time, you know? 

(Also, as @transblanky​ discovered, four separate members of the Fairholme family gave money to Thomas Blanky’s widow when she was struggling financially in the 1850s, making them, combined, the most generous contributor to her subscription.) 

Middle Tier – Franklin’s Men Who Didn’t Deserve That

#7. William Gibson

Alright, I want to talk about how uniquely horrible the show’s William Gibson is: this is a character willing to lie and accuse his partner of sexual assault that didn’t happen. I get there were extenuating circumstances, but if I were a historical figure who died in some famous disaster and someone depicted me doing something like that? Let’s just say I’m deeply offended on the real Gibson’s behalf. 

What do we know about the historical William Gibson? Not much – but we know a little. Gibson’s younger brother served on an overland exploratory venture across Australia in the 1870s… from which he never returned. (God, the Gibson family had the worst luck?) This description of a conversation that young Alf Gibson had with expedition leader Ernest Giles only days before his death is VERY eerie: 

[Gibson] said, “Oh! I had a brother who died with Franklin at the North Pole, and my father had a deal of trouble to get his pay from government.” He seemed in a very jocular vein this morning, which was not often the case, for he was usually rather sulky, sometimes for days together, and he said, “How is it, that in all these exploring expeditions a lot of people go and die?” 

I said, “I don't know, Gibson, how it is, but there are many dangers in exploring, besides accidents and attacks from the natives, that may at any time cause the death of some of the people engaged in it; but I believe want of judgment, or knowledge, or courage in individuals, often brought about their deaths. Death, however, is a thing that must occur to every one sooner or later.” 

To this he replied, “Well, I shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.” In this sentiment I quite agreed with him, and the subject dropped.

(From Giles’s Australia Twice Traversed which you can read here) 

Beyond that, one thing we do know is that William Gibson was probably friends with Henry Peglar – they had served on ships together before, and Gibson may possibly have been the poor fellow found cradling the Peglar Papers, according to researcher Glenn Stein. So we might imagine the historical Gibson as a much kinder man than the show’s depiction of him – this was someone who befriended the clever, playful Peglar we all know and love from the transcriptions of his papers, so full of poetry and linguistic jokes. It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to meet this real Gibson, who actually knew the Henry Peglar whom we love so well.

#6. Stephen Stanley

Look. There’s that one famous line in James Fitzjames’s letters to the Coninghams about how Stanley went about with his “shirt sleeves tucked up, giving one unpleasant ideas that he would not mind cutting one’s leg off immediately – ‘if not sooner.’” And certainly Harry Goodsir had some mixed opinions of the man, saying was “a would be great man who as I first supposed would not make any effort at work after a time,” and that he “knows nothing whatever about subject & is ignorant enough of all other subjects,” whatever…. that means…. 

But Fitzjames also had some rather nicer things to say about him, that he was “thoroughly good natured and obliging and very attentive to our mess.” Also, the amputation comment? Very likely had a quite positive underlying joke to it – Stanley may not have been much of a naturalist, but he was actually an accomplished anatomist, who won a prize for dissection in 1836, on account of his “bend of the elbow,” which was “a picture of dissection,” according to Henry Lonsdale, who also called Stanley his “facetious friend” and “a fine fellow” (Lonsdale 1870, pg. 159). So, the real Stanley probably was rather droll, but the perpetually cruel Stanley of the show misses some of the real man’s major historical virtues and replaces them with historically unlikely mass-mercy-murder. 

#5. John Irving

Now we’re getting into the territory of characters who did get some good development, but are missing a bit of historical nuance. As I’m sure many of you know, the historical Irving was indeed very religious, but the flashes of anger (i.e. against Manson) we see from Irving in the show don’t seem terribly consistent with the Irving depicted in this memorial volume, where John seems more like a quiet, bookish, mathematically inclined young man, with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a gentle sweetness. It’s really not at all far off from the version of Irving we see with Kooveyook in the show – I just wish we could have seen more of that side of Irving. 

Top Tier – The Triumvirate of Polar Friends

So, these three DO have many good things to recommend them in the show, but because I’ve done such deep research on them, it can be quite jarring to watch certain scenes in which they behave contrary to their historical personalities, and I find myself pausing when watching the show with friends or family to explain that NO, they wouldn’t do that! 

#4. Sir James Clark Ross

First thing – we LOVE Richard Sutton. He did a beautiful job with the material given to him. (This is true of all the actors on the list, frankly, but it’s doubly true here.) But that scene at the Admiralty where Sir James tells Lady Franklin “I have many friends on those ships, as you know,” to shut down her argument for search missions? At that time (aka 1847), historically, Sir James Clark Ross was actively campaigning for search missions, planning routes and volunteering his services in command of any vessel the Admiralty even vaguely contemplated sending out. You could see this real-life desperation in Sir James’s morose attention to his whiskey glass in that scene if you’re really trying, but I think the more historically responsible thing would have been to make vividly clear that James Ross risked life and limb, as soon as he possibly could, to try to rescue Franklin and Crozier and Blanky, men he’d known and cared about and bitterly missed – and, in the case of Crozier, “truly loved.” 

#3. Sir John Franklin

The historical Franklin had plenty of flaws – his contributions to British colonial rule certainly harmed no small number of people, and we should question the way that heroic statues of Franklin are some of the only memorials that serve to honor the lives lost on Franklin’s expeditions – especially considering the steep body count of not only Franklin’s final voyage, but his previous missions in Arctic regions as well. (DM me and I’ll scream at you about counter-monuments! Is this a promise or a threat? Who knows!) With that said, most contemporary accounts agree that Sir John Franklin treated his friends, his family, and those within his social orbit with kindness, and his cruelties were systemic, not personal. In this light, the image of Sir John viciously tearing into Francis Crozier’s vulnerabilities in the show feels very off. Though there was certainly some friction over Crozier’s two proposals to Sophia Cracroft, historically speaking, there’s no evidence at all that Sir John discouraged her from marrying Francis – Sophia may have had many reasons of her own (*clears throat meaningfully in a lesbian sort of way*) for not accepting any of the several marriage proposals offered to her (from Crozier as well as from others), and we ought to keep in mind that she remained unmarried all her life. The notion that the real Sir John would have considered Crozier too low-born or too Irish to be part of the Franklin family isn’t grounded in historical fact.

#2. Lady Jane Franklin

Again disclaimer: the real Lady Franklin left behind a legacy with much to critique. Those who rightfully point out the racism of her treatment of the young indigenous Tasmanian girl Mathinna should be fully heard out. Observations of her own contributions to imperialism are important and valid. Though I tend to see her feud with Dr. John Rae as somewhat understandable – given that Lady Franklin didn’t have the benefit of our hindsight knowing Rae was correct – the levels of prejudice that she enabled and even encouraged in the writing of Charles Dickens when he attempted to discredit Inuit accounts of Franklin’s fate are inarguably deplorable. These things being said, everything noted for Sir John re: Sophia Cracroft goes for Lady Franklin as well – there’s no reason to imagine a scene where Jane would bully Francis Crozier within an inch of his life, seconds after a failed second proposal, when, historically, Lady Franklin felt the situation was so delicate that it required the quiet and compassionate intervention of Sir James Clark Ross, a dearly loved mutual friend to all parties. Tension does not imply aggression; conflict is not abuse. We know this can’t have been an easy experience for the historical Francis Crozier, but the picture is a lot more complicated than what can be shown in one small subplot of a ten-episode television show. Because of this complexity, however, Lady Franklin’s social deftness suffers in the show. (I could also write an entire essay about Jane Franklin’s last shot in the show, at the beginning of Episode 9: The C the C the Open C – TL;DR is that framing is very important, and, at the very last moment, the show reframes Lady Franklin as a mutilated corpse, a speaking mouth without a brain, which is….. a choice.)

And, at number 1, the person done most dirty by The Terror (2018) is….

#1. Charles Frederick “Freddy” Des Voeux 

Look. I’m biased here because I am fed daily information about the historical Freddy Des Voeux from @frederickdesvoeux​ so I’ve become, I think understandably, a bit attached. 

But this is very plainly the clearest cruelty the show does to a historical figure – the historical Des Voeux was a very young man (only around 20 when the ships set sail) known always as “Frederick or Freddy” to his family, and described by all parties as bright and sweet – Fitzjames said that he was “a most unexceptionable, clever, agreeable, light-hearted, obliging young fellow, and a great favourite of Hodgson’s, which is much in his favour besides,” and described him cheerfully helping to catch specimens for Goodsir. Des Voeux is named “dear” by Captain Osborn in Erasmus Henry Brodie’s 1866 poem on the Franklin Expedition (43) and Leo McClintock reported the young man’s well-known “intelligence, gallantry, and zeal” in his 1869 update to his account of the Franklin Expedition’s fate (xlii). None of this is consistent with Des Voeux’s behaviour in the show, especially in the later episodes. 

To reduce Des Voeux to an easily-detested figure, over whose death one might cheer, is not a kindness – the creation of a narrative where his death is satisfying does damage to the memory of a real person, a barely-more-than-teenager who died in the cold of the Arctic and left behind only scraps of a shirt and a spidery signature in the bottom margin of a fragmentary document. 

Television shows may need their villains, but it’s important to remember that real life isn’t like that. Surely the historical Frederick Des Voeux was most likely not a perfect person, and, as an upper class officer contributing to a British imperial project, he does bear some responsibility for the harm done by the Franklin expedition, but it’s not accurate to assume he was any less worthy of sympathy than the other officers who considered him a friend – those men whom we now venerate, like James Fitzjames. So as far as I’m concerned, Freddy Des Voeux deserves at least as much consideration, care, and compassion from us. 

[darkhymns-fic]

All Wrapped Up

Sometimes the comfort of each other's clothing can be more than enough.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: For Colloyd Week Day 2: Outfit Swap / Role Reversal, but mainly more about the outfits here! (Also I apparently very much like colloyd and sleeping put together).

--

In his jacket, Colette looked so small. It was one thing Lloyd noticed above all else.

On their annual visit to Iselia, they always went to Dirk’s. The dwarf was usually out on commission work, leaving the house to themselves. Lloyd was used to it, having learned to take care of Noishe, some of the gardening and other household chores that his father expected of him while he was gone. And with Colette, it was double the help!

But this time, they were too weary to do much except go to bed and give Noishe a few pats on the head as the animal snored in his stable. Lloyd had struggled just getting his jacket off, but once he finally did, laying it across the chair next to his small desk, Colette had picked it up immediately.

“Hm? Why’re you taking that?”

She wrapped it around her shoulders, clasping a few buttons near the collar. “It’s my new blanket!” she announced. Then went to curl up on his bed, careful to not knock over any of the potted plants that lined the front wooden headboard. “It’s so warm and comfy.”

“We have actual blankets though! I even brought up several from the closet…” But Colette only poked out her tongue at him, then snuggled more into the red outfit, hands already engulfed by the long sleeves.

In his jacket and in his bed, she looked so tiny that he could have carried her easily in his arms (though maybe not as easily as she could carry him).

His bed was already quite small on its own, having only been meant for himself. But it barely even fit him that well now, his father saying that assessing the height of humans was always a gamble. Standing an even two feet over the dwarf, Lloyd figured that made sense. He didn’t really understand just how tall dwarves grew either!

Lloyd soon climbed into bed as well, dragging along one of the blankets he had retrieved, although it was musty from having been locked away. He coughed away the dust clouds that came as he tried to air it out, eyes occasionally straying to Colette, who seemed to already be fast asleep. The jacket bundled up around her, its white ribbons running down her side to fall over the side of the bed. Her soft breathing was all he heard once he stopped hacking his lungs out.

And still she looked so small.

Lloyd always tried to sleep at a reasonable time when he could, or he wouldn’t be at his best for the next day! These were drilled into him by Dirk, who always expected him to be up as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon. Yet with all that knowledge, Lloyd couldn’t get to sleep, even with the still-dusty blanket on him.

Colette was sleeping throughout his tossing and turning, until finally Lloyd just decided to throw the blanket to the floor in frustration. Sleeping was dumb anyway.

His eyes had long adjusted to the dark in the room; but he had seen the same ivy clinging to his walls a thousand times, even if he hadn’t been home for a year. It was amazing how everything managed to stay the same, the familiar scuff marks on the floorboards when Lloyd first tried practicing with his swords, or his lockbox of picks, knives and tools still staying in that one place on his desk since he last left. He wondered if any old projects he had started on and then abandoned would be in there too.

But these were all things he was bored already of seeing. So he turned on his side, watching Colette sleep. It wasn’t weird. Colette had admitted she did the same thing too!

Her hands were held just beneath her chin, her face pressed into the pillow. The bed was still small, and he tried his best not to crowd her, one of his legs dangling over the side. But maybe he moved in just a bit closer, to get more comfortable, to not wake her up.

Colette, you’re still up.

Hehe…I couldn’t sleep.

The two moons hung in the sky just outside his balcony window. It was strange seeing them there, seeing them light up the night even more so. But they illuminated the room now, falling over Colette, and the gentle way her chest rose as she breathed. It painted his red jacket to a shade of white that could only be seen in the dark. So deeply she slept, eyelashes fluttering slightly, sinking inside dreams that he couldn’t see.

Colette deserved to sleep, after everything, but somehow, he could barely stop himself as he reached out to poke her cheek in curiosity.

“Ah…” Colette uttered in her sleep, her forehead scrunched.

“Uh oh.” Lloyd instantly took back his hand, but it was too late. Colette was already blinking awake, the jacket slipping a bit from her shoulders.

“Lloyd…?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Um… good dreams?” he asked with a grin. But that didn’t take away the fact that he had messed up. “Sorry…just couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh…how come?” Colette was still laying on her side, both facing one another within his small bed. “Did you not eat enough earlier?”

“I am kinda hungry…” he said, thinking back to the delicious beef and pork stew they had earlier… “I think it’s just this bed… I feel too big for it now.”

Colette smiled then, though she yawned right after. “Hehe. It’s because you’re growing up.”

“Well, so are you!” Lloyd stated. “Isn’t this bed too cramped for you also?”

“Hm, not really. It feels so comfy.” She hugged the jacket more to herself, eyes half-lidded. “It’s like you’re all around me.”

Lloyd had thought he had gotten over blushing like an idiot, but that was what he did, and the two moons wouldn’t exactly do a good job of hiding it either. “Well, I am actually right here too…”

Colette laughed softly, looking up at him with those tired eyes. Her hands clasped tightly around his jacket to keep her inside. “Maybe you just need something like that though. I’m already getting sleepy again…”

“So I just make you fall asleep!” Lloyd said in a fake-offended tone. “Didn’t know I was that boring.”

“It’s okay. It’s really useful actually! I always have a full night’s sleep when you’re around.”

“Hey…” Lloyd whined. “I was just joking before…”

Another giggle, and that made him laugh too. Something about the night always brought out something in them both, to make them want to keep talking, long after the sun had set. Well, if one didn’t count Colette already falling asleep earlier.

“Well, though?” Colette asked him. “Did you wanna be able to sleep? I bet I have something that can help!”

“Sure, I guess,” Lloyd said, not super concerned with that if it meant he could just hang out with Colette for most of the night. “Or is this just your way of trying to get rid of me?”

“Aw, hehe, you’re silly!” Colette would only say before she turned away from him. He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but it seemed like she was going to reach for something?

“Colette, you totally avoided the question!” he complained. Then suddenly his face was covered, some sort of fabric thrown over him. “Ah!”

“Oh…I guess it’s too small on you?” He heard Colette’s question, before whatever thing was on him was being pulled down over his head. “If we just… Or maybe your head is too big!”

“My head is normal-sized!” he argued back, until he finally could see again, popping through an opening in the fabric. “Gah… Uh, what am I…?” He looked down, the moonlight highlighting the white, glaring off the golden buttons sewn near the shoulders.

Colette was sitting up now, his jacket slipping off her slightly. She looked at him with such pride. “It looks cute on you!”

Just as his red jacket looked so large on her, so did her overcoat, despite its much too small head opening. Its front flaps laid out over the bed, blue streaks cutting through the middle. He felt the other outfittings of the outfit hang off his back, and it also… “Is it always this heavy?”

Colette tilted her head, considering. “Hm, it might be? I guess I never noticed.”

“There’s no way!” he said, but maybe it just took some adjusting. Once he felt more fitted to the overcoat, Lloyd also sat up straight, hands on his waist. “Hm, needs more red,” he stated.

“Oh yeah! Then we can match,” she giggled. “You can keep that one.”

“Really? Well, if you say so.” While it didn’t exactly fit him perfectly, the ends of the overcoat just barely reaching his waist, he could already see a few of its benefits. “It’s super easy to move in!”

“Mm! And it’s also good to keep warm in too!”

“Eh, really? But it’s like all open here!” Lloyd rushed his arms out from underneath the overcoat, unhindered by the flaps. “See?”

“Oh, well with my dress, it keeps me warm. Did you want to have that too?”

“I-I don’t think so,” Lloyd said, another flush to his cheeks. “Also that definitely won’t fit me!”

He wanted to keep talking about silly things with Colette, the night outside rustling from the oak trees that surrounded the house, crickets chirping just underneath his windowsill, but he caught a familiar scent too from what he wore. It’s her, he thought, his chest feeling hot. Like she’s around me…

Colette laid back on the bed again, wrapped in his jacket. She looked up at him with a sleepy, kind of goofy smile on her face. “It’s so warm…”

“Dork,” he whispered, eyes feeling just slightly heavy. “You know…I haven’t really washed that in a while…”

“Mmhmm…”

And just like that, Colette was asleep again, clutching at the pillow she laid on, cheeks pressed so firmly against it. She was cute, and he was tempted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to force her awake again.

Besides, maybe he was finally getting a bit sleepy.

“This would work better…if I was in your room…” he mumbled, laying back down on his side, watching her face. Lips slightly parted, the soft rush of breath that left her in an even rhythm, and the moonlight sliding down her hair and onto the jacket she held.

It was like she was around him, but it wasn’t enough, even with her overcoat on him. So he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, as slowly as he could so that she wouldn’t wake. Maybe she was dreaming her own good dreams, too. She only slightly shifted but was soon leaning against his chest, her smile peeking through his own jacket collar.

She looked so small, like she’d disappear if he wasn’t too careful. But he had to sleep soon, or he wouldn’t be at his best tomorrow. He had to…and she promised to stay with him. He didn’t have to worry now.

Still watching her as the hour passed, he couldn’t resist another poke on her cheek, half-guided by sleep.

“…Nn…” she muttered, shaking her head. “Lloyd…”

“Sorry,” he whispered, going back to holding her. But he eventually fell asleep too, wrapped in each other’s jackets, wrapped in each other’s arms, the night feeling so warm.

[youngandhungryent]

Stephen A. Smith Fries Kyrie Irving On ESPN’s ‘First Take,’ Jay Williams Also Catches A Stray

Source: Justin Casterline / Getty

Stephen A. Smith has had enough of Kyrie Irving’s shenanigans.

ESPN First Take’s main star didn’t hold anything back, letting the Brooklyn Nets embattled all-star point guard know that his stance against COVID-19 mandates is pure idiocy. Irving has been staunch in his decision not to get vaccinated. The Athletic’s Shams Charania reported a source close to the matter said Irving; ‘s stance on the matter has nothing to do with being anti-vax but instead being a “voice for the voiceless.”

Inside Kyrie Irving’s stance to bypass the COVID-19 vaccine, with reporting on his reasoning, and where this leaves the seven-time All-Star and the Brooklyn Nets — on @TheAthletic: https://t.co/4JYv9F22Tg

— Shams Charania (@ShamsCharania) October 12, 2021

On Wednesday’s episode of First Take, Smith called Irving’s logic stupid and went scorched earth on him.

“This is some of the stupidest nonsense I’ve ever seen,” Smith began his rant with. “Just flat-out stupid! So let me get this straight… so you don’t have a problem with taking the vaccine? Your position is you’re going to sit up there and compromise the championship aspirations of an organization you signed on the represent, you coaxed Kevin Durant into signing on to represent, you played the role of coaxing James Harden into signing on and representing, you’re going to compromise all that because you want to give voice to the voiceless?”

"I've been covering the NBA now for almost 25 years. This is some of the stupidest nonsense I've ever seen. Just flat-out stupid."@stephenasmith reacts to the latest reports on Kyrie Irving. pic.twitter.com/zmAGP2oM3x

— First Take (@FirstTake) October 13, 2021

Please tell us how you really feel, Stephen A.

Smith wasn’t done. Jay Williams also felt some of that same heat directed towards Irving from Smith. Williams, who is double-vaxxed and caught COVID-19 twice and lived to talk about the benefits of being vaccinated against the virus, tried to walk a fine line of not offending anti-vaxxers and people who think like Irving by calling them stupid.

Williams stated he agrees that everyone should be vaccinated, but in the same breath, said when you “call people stupid,” you run the risk of ostracizing people and creating a different narrative.

“I’m just telling you how it feels from people, Stephen A. When you start calling “people stupid,” or you start saying that they’re selfish, these things start going all over the internet, that creates a different narrative, and people start fighting back against that narrative,” Williams said. “I’m just telling you how it is on the other side, Stephen A. I know you have your thoughts and how you see things…”

Stephen A. Smith, like a lost of people, doesn’t seem to care who he offends at this point and responded saying,” We’re talking about a basketball player who signed on to play for the Brooklyn Nets that has left his team hanging,” and accusing Williams of “full of it.”

Stephen A. Smith & Jay Williams going at it this morning…

pic.twitter.com/8eEuh5qbt2

— Ballislife.com (@Ballislife) October 13, 2021

The exchange, of course, spawned reactions from viewers and people who peep the clip on their Twitter timelines. You can see some of them in the gallery below.

—

Photo: Justin Casterline / Getty

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1.

It’s funny how Stephen A Smith is always calling Kyrie selfish, but the reason Max Kellerman isn’t on first take anymore is simply because Stephen A didn’t like him

— Zek

(@ThatBoyZek) October 13, 2021

Two different situations, but okay. 

2.

they’re talking about two different things here: Stephen A is talking basketball and Jay is talking about his (Kyrie’s) rights as a person. and both are right. https://t.co/e2PYLju70E

— Ashley Nicole Moss (@AshNicoleMoss) October 13, 2021

Interesting. 

3.

I was taught this and it remains true to this day. When people are losing arguments they result to name-calling. Thats exactly what Stephen A did here... More on this later https://t.co/TXpwkc2EyB

— Jeff Lightsy Jr. (@jlightsy7) October 13, 2021

We understand Stephen A’s frustration on this matter because we are all frustrated at people’s behavior now. 

4.

LEAKED: voicemail from Jay Williams to Stephen A Smith pic.twitter.com/c6VMQdFwLL

— RIP EATON (@lancevance392) October 13, 2021

LMAO

5.

Jay Williams trying to peacefully talk on live tv and Stephen a smith starts yelling to make it seem like he’s right lmao pic.twitter.com/lXDNeKVkpD

— jw (@iam_johnw2) October 13, 2021

We side with Stephen A on this one, there are no both sides in a pandemic. 

6.

Got the black man saying shut up and dribble? We love to see it ESPN. Stephen A Smith and Sage Steele Podcast when??? https://t.co/QuXw9ImYAa

— Giant(s) Degenerate (@DegenerateKing0) October 13, 2021

His teammates pretty much feel the same way. 

7.

Stephen A just said this and yeah I agree pic.twitter.com/tUzuFSKflH

— RocN RolK$ (@nomadcartel01) October 13, 2021

8.

When Kyrie finally catches Stephen A lackin pic.twitter.com/ibQ8RhtbM8

— SpookyDJ

(@kingdj_5297) October 13, 2021

9.

Stephen A calling ESPN execs to get Jay Williams off air pic.twitter.com/4fIct4AUTL

— barre.eth

(@Barre_Doe) October 13, 2021

10.

Jay Williams trying to get into ESPN tomorrow morning after Stephen A. Smith has the passcode changed. #FirstTake pic.twitter.com/wycPKaVISG

— Shamar English (@english_shamar) October 13, 2021

11.

Jay Williams better do this to Stephen A Smith, for talking crazy to him on #FirstTake pic.twitter.com/ImZLhB12QS

— Maybe: Doran Dragić (@DP_Lavezzi22) October 13, 2021

12.

Yoooooooooo #FirstTake is spicy this morning. Stephen A. Smith just said Jay Williams is full of it

pic.twitter.com/wwuF9o4NG8

— The Handsome Gamer aka B E A N Z (@photosbybeanz83) October 13, 2021

13.

source https://hiphopwired.com/playlist/stephen-a-smith-kyrie-irving-jay-williams-espn-first-take/

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #235 - White Christmas

Spoilers Below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: DVD

0) I know Christmas was a week ago but I’m just getting the chance to write this now so thanks for your patience everyone! :D

1) This was actually the THIRD film Bing Crosby sang “White Christmas” in after Holiday Inn and Blue Skies.

2) This film’s opening scene does well to establish the tone of the picture. It’s hopeful and sweet against a harsh backdrop, with showmen Bob Wallace and Phil Davis doing their best to bring some Christmas cheer to WW2 soldiers. It also establishes what kind of a man General Waverly is, which is important. The entire motivation for the film is helping this man out, this great men who all those soldiers care about so much. We understand why in this prologue.

3) The first singing of “White Christmas” also does well to play up the movie’s heart. It gives a sense of the sentiment and kindness that permeates the two hour run time.

4) Danny Kaye as Phil Davis.

Kaye is the ultimate scene stealer of the entire show and was actually the third choice for the role. He is incredibly funny, bringing a much welcome energy and charisma to the part. He’s crafty (manipulating Bob in a harmless yet devious way), clever, and has a great chemistry with Bing Crosby’s Bob Wallace. Of the main four stars, Kaye is definitely my favorite.

5) Bing Crosby as Bob Wallace.

The straight man of Wallace & Davis, Crosby still gets to show off a nice sense of humor in the film. He gets the chance to be serious, fun, kind, a little sad, a little mad, romantic, and pulls all of them off well as the film’s solid lead. Obviously his vocal chops were a big part of the character, but he’s Bing Crosby. I don’t think there was ever a doubt he could sing.

6) The montage which follows the prologue does well to establish the post war rise of Wallace & Davis in showbiz. It’s an important aspect in the film which could have really slowed done the part but the montage is sleek and fun so as not to bore the audience.

7) The conversation with Bob and Phil about how the latter wants the former to start dating so he can have some time alone really defines their relationship moving forward. We understand how good of friends they are that they can be candid but fun with each other. They joke, they tell it like it is, they play, and I just really like that.

8)

Betty: “Benny’s got a job in Alaska. He’s been out of the country for three months.”

9) The relationship between Betty and Judy is wonderfully defined - not by their song - but by their conversation before the song. We understand how this relationship works much as the conversation with Bob & Phil established their friendship. We get how Judy sees Betty and vice versa and it’s great. A nice female friendship where there’s no bickering over a guy, a rare treat in the 1950s. Although I will say I never bought Vera-Ellen as being the younger sister here.

10) Rosemary Clooney as Betty.

Clooney is an extremely kind, likable, charismatic, and endearing performer who really elevates the role of Betty. She has a very nice chemistry with Crosby and is just so damn interesting. Which is good, because on paper Betty is freaking awful. I’ll talk about this more, but we get a sense of what’s to come with her holier-than-thou attitude when Bob begins talking about “angles”. Basically I love Rosemary Clooney in this movie, but I hate how Betty is written. It’s frustrating to say the least.

11) “The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing”

This early number shows off one of the film’s weakest and strongest elements simultaneously. Most if not all of the numbers do nothing to actually motivate the plot forward, instead just filling up the two hour run time. HOWEVER they’re almost all so damn entertaining it’s hard to actually find fault with this. You’re too busy enjoying the show!

12) According to IMDb:

According to Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye's "Sisters" performance was not originally in the script. They were clowning around on the set, and director Michael Curtiz thought it was so funny that he decided to film it. In the scene, Crosby's laughs are genuine and unscripted, as he was unable to hold a straight face due to Kaye's comedic dancing. Clooney said the filmmakers had a better take where Crosby didn't laugh, but when they ran them both, people liked the laughing version better.

13) Ah, the only person of color in the movie. And they’re servers.

14) “Snow”

Snow is probably the second most Christmas-y song in the film after “White Christmas”. It shows off the four leads unity well (although Vera-Ellen didn’t do her own singing) and is one of my favorite numbers in the whole film. It’s charming and sweet, filled with winter charm and spirit. I dig it.

15) I like that the greenness of Vermont is a detail but not a focus of the film. Yes it’s called “White Christmas” and yes snow does bring in business to the hotel, but the conflict isn’t about trying to get it to snow it’s about trying to make an old friend happy for the holidays.

16) Dean Jagger General Waverly.

Waverly is the personification of the movie’s heart and sincerity, while also being my favorite character in the movie. You see how caring he is through subtle ways. He’s not one to express his emotions or his heart but you can see it clearly in Jagger’s performance. He is able to be commanding when necessary but more than that he is a kind, sometimes sad, honest man. I love it.

17) This was always one of my favorite gags in the film.

Bob [after hearing over the phone how much something will cost]: “Wow.”

Phil […]: “How much is wow?”

Bob: “Right in between in between, ‘ouch,’ and, ‘poing.’”

Phil: “Wow.”

18) The Minstrel Number.

This is one of the longest, most pointless numbers in the entire film. There is a great amount of entertainment and production value but it adds nothing to the story. While it is probably the strongest out of the three “performances” (the rehearsals Wallace & Davis are holding at the hotel), like the other two you can cut it and lose absolutely nothing from the film.

19) According to Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby improvised almost all of his dialogue in the scene where she meets him in the kitchen. You can tell and I mean that as a compliment. There is an honest spontaneity to the conversation which pulls you in because it’s so interesting.

20) “Count Your Blessings” is a wonderfully kind and moving number which has you invested in the romance between Bob/Betty quickly. Too bad the writing with Betty has me totally DISINTERESTED in them actually ending up together. But more on that later…

21) The scene where we learn that Waverly wanted back in the army but gets rejected not only develops him as a character (his motivations, his desires) but the heart of the film as well.

22) I mentioned that “The Minstrel Number” was one of three totally pointless numbers in the movie. “Choreography” is by far the worst offending of those three. It is not nearly entertaining enough to warrant its run time and serves as close to offending filler. Honestly just cut it.

23) Ah yes, what I’ve been hinting at this whole recap. The bane of my existence, the thing I hate in this movie above all else: freaking Betty becoming such a passive aggressive shit head! If you haven’t seen this movie let me recap:

Betty hears some BS about Bob out of context which paints him in a negative light

She takes this half-assed rumor as fact and immediately accepts it

She never ONCE actually talks to Bob about it

And then she just LEAVES! She runs away WITHOUT ACTUALLY SAYING WHY SHE’S UPSET!

BOB LITERALLY DOES NOTHING WRONG DURING THIS ENTIRE FILM, BETTY NEVER APOLOGIZES, AND BOB SPENDS THE REST OF THE MOVIE FEELING BAD OVER SOMETHING HE DIDN’T ACTUALLY DO!

It is infuriating and I hate Betty because of it. I hate her I hate her I hate her! BUT Rosemary Clooney is so damn charming I love her performance in the movie! But on paper alone Betty is being a passive aggressive shit who Bob devotes way too much energy into trying to appease her. IT’S NOT WORTH IT BOB! Of all the contrived pieces of bullshit in an attempt to add conflict in their relationship, this is the most painfully obvious piece of crap I have ever seen. I love this movie but dear god I freaking hate Betty in the last act.

24) I love that Judy basically cons Phil into an engagement with her and how freaked out he gets by it. Suddenly the dynamic of their relationship just shifted and it’s glorious.

25) A fine piece of 50s BS sexist writing: suddenly Judy is a weeping hysterical woman because her plan didn’t go the way she thought. Which literally matches with NOTHING we learned about her before this moment.

26) “Love You Didn’t Do Right By Me”

First of all, this is such a melodramatic and shitty move. “Love You Didn’t Do Right By Me?” SERIOUSLY!? Maybe it would’ve IF YOU TALKED TO BOB! I know that Betty asks to sing a different song when Bob shows up but clearly the filmmakers are trying something with this and I just, ugh, I HATE IT!

Second of all, the number is actually a great tune and a wonderful showcase for Rosemary Clooney’s talents. It’s her only solo in the entire film and she absolutely nails it. So again, a great example of how I love Clooney but I hate Betty in this film.

27) Phil keeping Waverly away from the TV set is an excellent showcase for Danny Kaye’s comedic talents. He may not be Charlie Chaplin but he’s damn good.

28) “What Can You Do with a General?”

Leonard Maltin called this composer Irving Berlin’s least memorable tune. I disagree and in fact really enjoy it. It’s got a sense of cleverness to it. It’s sweet, a nice tune. A little slow but it gets stuck in your head. So in short: I disagree with Leonard Maltin.

29) The look on Waverly’s face is everything this film was about. EVERYTHING.

30) “Gee, I Wish I Was Back in the Army” is a fun and fitting near-climactic musical number for the film. It’s fun, funny, representative of the joy and humor that Wallace & Davis wanted to bring Waverly. Also, according to IMDb:

For the song "Gee, I Wish I Was Back In The Army", there is the lyric, "Jolson, Hope And Benny all for free". This is a reference to three wartime entertainers: Al Jolson, Bob Hopeand Jack Benny. The original words were "Crosby, Hope and Jolson all for free", but the lyric was changed because with Bing Crosby in the cast the original lyric would break the fourth wall.

31) While obvious from the film’s title, the snow fall at the end is a sweet way to wrap the story up. It’s not made into a big deal, they just enjoy it’s beauty. This leads into the final performance of “White Christmas” which acts as a poignant and fitting finale to the story.

White Christmas is a holiday classic with a great heart and sense of fun. The cast knock it out of the park and the music is great, and although I may have issues with some character writing (freaking Betty) I still love the film as a whole. I definitely recommend it.

[laqualassiel]

Day Two. Write a detailed description of your Warden’s appearance.

What is the one thing your warden hates about their appearance?

For a long time, Marian hated the fern-like scars on her face and chest. The new scars were obvious and difficult to hide. Everyone stared at them, which made Marian uncomfortable and irritable. She hated the scarring, not because of the story behind them, but because no one ever understood when she tried to explain it to them. People made assumptions about her scars, then had the gall to be offended when Marian told them those assumptions were wrong.

What do they like about their appearance?

Marian loved her long hair. She and Alim had a bet on who could go longest without cutting their hair. Marian had many fond memories of that bet, from the intricate hairstyles Alim and Marian learned and Irving’s fondly exasperated mandate that they keep their hair from interfering with their studies (no one wanted a repeat of the fire blast accident; burnt hair smelled awful) or cut it to a manageable length. Being forced to cut her hair during the Blight pained Marian, no matter how necessary it was.

How is your Warden viewed by others physically – are they beautiful/handsome? Are they average? Hideous?

Before the extensive scars on her face, Marian was the recipient of a number of crushes in Kinloch Hold. While not gorgeous like Queen Moira was reputed to be, Marian was considered by many a pretty woman.

After Marian’s face was scarred, very few people were able to look past the eye catching marks. Most would still agree that Marian was a pretty woman, but all too often Marian heard remarks that her face had been marred by her scars. Many found Marian’s scars unsettling.

What kind of clothes do they like to wear when they’re not fighting?

Marian’s tastes in clothing changed drastically after she was Conscripted by Duncan. In the Circle, Marian’s preferred mage robes were comfortable for reading various tomes and discussing magical theory. Outside Kinloch Hold, Marian found them less than desirable. Marian came to prefer sturdier fabrics that held up to the general wear of long distance travel, in varying shades of brown that did not show stains as easily. Her soft soled shoes were traded for sturdy boots and her robes for shirts and trousers allowing a greater range of motion. Marian preferred long sleeves and high collars when possible.

Do they wear any jewelry?

While in the Circle, Marian only wore her Enchanter’s ring, marking her as a full mage of Kinloch Hold. After Joining the Wardens, Marian returned the ring to Wynne, as Marian felt she no longer had a right to wear it. Marian wore a small pendant filled with the blood from the Joining, in honor of Daveth and Ser Jory. After Zevran’s proposal, Marian had her ear pierced so she could wear the gold earring.

Are they fashionable or practical?

There were little options for fashion in the Circle. The robes given to the mages served to designate rank. Unlike the Orlesian Circles, Knight-Commander Greagoir did not permit ‘superfluous decoration,’ so choice of apparel was limited. The only outlets for personal expression in one’s appearance was through hairstyle and tattoos, the latter which was heavily discouraged. Marian often spent her free time with Alim, pulling and twisting each other’s hair into various, elaborate hairstyles. Marian developed a skill for styling various lengths and textures of hair to compliment the wearer’s face and outfit.

During the Blight, this became one of the ways for Marian to relax. Styling her companions’ hair gave her a sense of normality and reminded her of simpler times.

What does their armour/robes like?

Marian traded her red Enchanter robes for sturdy knee high boots, breeches, and tunics on the journey to Ostagar. As mage robes - stitched with protective enchantments by dextrous Tranquil - were an extremely rare and expensive commodity outside the Circles, Marian settled for vambraces and a leather jerkin. The Warden cache in Denerim was a gift from the Maker, as Marian was able to find mage armor - lightweight but sturdy enough to protect from most attacks. The silver and blue armor also looked much more professional than what Marian cobbled together before.

[For reference, see the mage warden armor from Dragon Age 2.]

Have they any noticeable scars?

The only scar noticeable at first glance was the scars on Marian’s face. Other scars gained in battle were scattered across Marian’s body, as before Wynne joined the party Morrigan and Marian were the only healers - and neither of them would call healing their specialty.

Go into as much detail as possible in your description.

Marian had a fair skinned heart-shaped face, softly pointed chin, and high cheek bones. Later, her skin tanned and she gained a brush of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were large and dark blue, set below arched brows. Her nose was small and straight, above full lips. Marian’s waist length black hair was at first pulled back from her face, left to tumble down her back or woven into styles of various complexity. After leaving the Tower, she braided it tightly until she cut it to a chin length bob with sweeping bangs to the right. Marian was short and petite, with small feet and delicate hands. Were it not for the unusual and eye catching red fern like scar spanning the right side of her face, Marian would be a rather unassuming young woman.

[junker-town]

The Celtics won NBA free agency without doing all that much

All they needed to do was welcome Gordon Hayward back and watch the uncertainty around them in their conference. Mission accomplished.

No one in the Eastern Conference had a better summer than Celtics president Danny Ainge, and all he did was retain a couple of his own free agents, draft a project late in the first round, and bring a veteran expat back from overseas. There were some rumors, as there always are with the Celtics, but they weren’t as breathless as past summers.

Bringing (almost) everyone back from a 55-win team that came within a fourth quarter of reaching the NBA Finals despite the absence of Gordon Hayward and Kyrie Irving was always the priority. Even those injuries had a silver lining because they helped accelerate the development of Jaylen Brown, Jayson Tatum, and Terry Rozier during last season’s postseason run. Assuming Irving and Hayward return to health, the Celtics will go into the 2018 season as the prohibitive favorites in the East.

The key to the Celtics’ offseason was retaining Marcus Smart on a reported 4-year deal worth $52 million. That’s a decent amount of money for a restricted free agent who wasn’t yielding offers in a tight market, but there’s a method to Ainge’s madness.

The money is good and the years are long, which should help soothe Smart’s frustration over a process that didn’t go according to his plan. Also, Smart earned that contract with his fearless play and emerging leadership skills. Backcourt Draymond never complains about coming off the bench or doing the dirtiest of the dirty work, which is a great example for a team that figures to go 10-11 deep.

Beyond that, it’s a great contract to have on the books if they choose to pursue another high-level star in trade next summer. (Hint: rhymes with Anthony Davis.) The C’s would have had trouble finding a medium-range salary to add to a blockbuster trade package, considering so many of their players are on max deals or rookie contracts.

Aron Baynes is the other veteran to return, agreeing to return on a two-year deal for $11 million. Baynes was key contributor last season, providing frontcourt muscle and locker room leadership. While the C’s play small as much as any team in the league, having a selfless big man to throw at Embiid and Jonas Valanciunas is a must.

Along with Al Horford and Daniel Theis, the C’s are set in the middle. That will allow first round pick Robert Williams to become well acquainted with the scenic drive up I-95 to Portland, Maine. If they get anything from him or Guerschon Yabusele, it’s a bonus.

The short-term ramification of bringing Baynes and Smart back is that the C’s will go over the luxury tax. That’s a problem only in terms of the financial hit ownership is will to take to keep this team together. As first-time offenders under the tax plan, a $6 million bill is merely the cost of doing business to compete for a championship.

The real tax issue comes into play next summer, when Horford and Irving can opt out of their deals and Rozier hits restricted free agency. A championship run takes precedence over tomorrow’s concerns, as it should.

There are some potential landmines. Rozier exceeded expectations as an emergency starter after Irving was lost for the season, and will now have to contend with a backup role. Brown and Tatum may also have to accept supporting roles with Hayward back from his injury. We still don’t know how Irving and Hayward will complement each other on the floor.

But the season is long and these are good problems to have. After years of planning, the C’s are finally playing for right now, and the summer could not have gone any better.

It wasn’t what Ainge did that made his offseason so successful, it was what happened around him. Even when his itinerary is light, everything keeps comes up Danny.

Start in Cleveland, where LeBron James is finally gone. Celtics fans love to bring up the times they knocked LeBron out of the playoffs, but the King had returned the favor in five straight series and three of the last four years. No one’s sure what to make of Cleveland at the moment, but its days as a contender are over.

Additionally, the Sixers did not succeed in landing a veteran star to pair with Joel Embiid and Ben Simmons. They got a meeting with LeBron, which was more than could be said for Paul George, and never got into serious bidding for Kawhi Leonard. While the young core will be another year older and better for sure, Philly is essentially the same team that lost in five to the depleted C’s in the second round of the playoffs.

The Raptors did add Leonard, and that makes them dangerous. The Raps have tended to be a problem for the Celtics over the years, and if Leonard is right, they would be a worthy foe. Still, the question of his health and mindset make it impossible to predict how he and Toronto will function together.

Adding Leonard also comes at the expense of franchise cornerstone DeMar DeRozan, who was traded to San Antonio. Dwane Casey is off to Detroit, leaving the unproven Nick Nurse at the helm. All that uncertainty makes Toronto the X-Factor in the East. Beyond that, who can tell?

The rest of the East is either intriguing or desolate, depending on your levels of optimism. The Pacers ought to be a pain to deal with, and the Bucks brought in veteran coach Mike Budenholzer to continue Giannis Antetokounmpo’s development into a top-5 player. The Heat will be solid as always, the Pistons should be better, and the Wizards will be enigmatic.

But assuming a return to good health for both Hayward and Irving, there’s nothing that should preclude the C’s from returning to the Finals for the first time in almost a decade. That’s getting way ahead of things, of course, but that’s what we do in late July. With everyone back on board, these Celtics have a chance to be special.

[jnrps]

habit.

1.

The road that leads up to the Willow House in Godric’s Hollow — it hadn’t been called anything in a while, and the willow trees that lined the path earned it its name — is usually well-travelled. The three inhabitants at the end of the straight and narrow dirt path do not mind the small distance from the front door to the paved road. The walk can sometimes be soothing, especially when done alone, without the company of children.

Yixing indulges in it on the same day, at precisely the same time every week. His back remains slightly slouched, and the clean-shaven face only appears on this day, at the same time, every week, as if he’s meeting someone of importance. The eyes behind round spectacles look as weary as they’ve ever been, and his hands, for a moment, cease to shake when he pushes the gate open to the graveyard, as if it’s being held and lead towards the same spot. On the same day. Same time. Every week.

Six years cannot change habit.

2.

This morning, Finley Song leaves the house to attend the same castle where his parents first met. He does not know the circumstances of it — Father ( and this is how he has come to call the man, and he hasn’t been corrected so far ) won’t speak of it. Can’t. Doesn’t.

Finn’s old enough to know that stubbornness comes in the form of Yixing Song, who locks himself in the greenhouse, who doesn’t let the children inside the basement as if it’s some grand memorial to a wife he refuses to let go of.

“How long ’til you come home?” Irving sits on his brother’s bed like it’s his own already. The boy is more eloquent than his own, and Finn, though his temper is something to be cautious of when he’s in one of his moods, has always made sure to set aside a fair bit of attention to his younger brother. Days are usually spent between themselves, anyway, and Yixing won’t let them get out of the house because they’re too young, refusing to acknowledge that his sons have grown up too quickly without him.

“I’ll be home for Christmas.” Finn pats his coat for his wand, makes sure that his proper robes are in his backpack. Everything else is packed neatly in his luggage — Father helped him with the spell to make it fit, and so that the thing can be light enough to carry on his own downstairs — and all seemed to be in order. “You and Father can pick me up.”

“I’ll make sure dad remembers!” Finn rolls his eyes at that, and doesn’t bother to correct the boy.  Last year Yixing almost forgot Finn’s own birthday. Instead, he tugs the luggage down the stairs, and Irving follows along. “I can’t wait for Christmas!”

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Finn retorts lightly. The clock face that hangs in the kitchen told him that Father won’t be back for the next hour, judging by the sound of the closing door over breakfast, by which time Finn would be late to his train. There’s no use in waiting.

The cab outside, on the other hand, waits for him instead, and Finn continues the trip to the front door. The cabbie takes his bags, which does little to relieve the nervous sensation in his stomach.

“Alright, Irving,” Finn begins, fishing out galleons for the cab driver before turning towards his younger brother, who looks up at him ( literally, and figuratively ), duck-print pyjamas and all, “when Father asks where I’ve gone you tell him I went to school, okay?”

“He said last night we’d drop you off!” comes the expected and petulant reply, and the frown aimed at the cab driver. “He’s gonna be mad at you!”

“I’m going to be late!”

“Your brother’s right.”

The voice makes him turn around.

Yixing Song stands there, back straight as if he’d had the years of fatigue knocked out of his lungs, and holds his hand out expectantly for the galleons his son had given the driver. With a small grumble and an intimidating glare, the coins find its way back in his hands, and so they get placed upon Finn’s much smaller, trembling palm.

“I will be quite cross with you, Finley. Glad to see that I won’t be anymore.”

3.

He’s not greeted with warmth. He doesn’t expect to be. Yixing has always treated his sons with the same amount of fatherly strictness he barely remembers from his own grandfather, sans the raised fists and life-threatening experience. Yixing never hit his sons, but his words might as well have the same effect.

“Go change your clothes, Irving.”  The younger boy looks at his father, then at his brother. “Now. I thought you wanted to go drop your brother off with me?”

That’s enough to get the kid to run back to the house, smiles and all.

Finley, on the other hand, seems displeased.

“You cut your visit to Mother. You didn’t have to —,”

“You think I’m going to miss seeing you off?” It came out as more of an angry snap than an offended reassessment. He almost expects Rose to berate him for it.

( He’s afraid of forgetting the sound of her voice. )

“Leave your bags inside the house. We’re visiting someone quickly before you go.” At the lack of inaction, his frown deepens. “Now, Finley. Unless you want to be late for your train?”

4.

Irving doesn’t remember ever seeing Yixing smile.

Finn tells him, don’t even try, I don’t think he can actually do it, but Irving, having recently obtained the power of semi-decent sentences, has become quite adept at picking up phrases and becoming more eloquent. He’s almost six, now, and he’s old enough to think that, maybe, if he sounded as smart as his brother, Yixing might look at him for more than two seconds. Irving grows up around magic, after all, and miracles aren’t far from reality.

So Irving remains hopeful. They’re visiting Mother, who might as well be a stranger to the young boy, and, it seems, his dad’s entire world, buried six feet under.

5.

Finn doesn’t understand his father’s obsession with the dead.

Yixing is rarely at home, always in his greenhouse or the cemetery. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are always prepared beforehand. The plants in his father’s greenhouse talk of a time when he was happy, when his expression was brighter, when their owner and creator didn’t spend nights hunched over his research and, instead, would walk through the back door, and smile at his wife, and love her.

Finn cannot imagine it.

The mother he remembers is all but a faceless silhouette, face framed by golden hair — or was it dark as night? He was too young, then — who taught him how to read and write, as easy as breathing. All that remains of her now is Yixing, and the weight on his shoulders.

There are no photos on the wall.

6.

“Your mother would know what to say.”

They stop at a gravestone among many. This one has a cactus who greets them, the flower atop it bristling under a light breeze, and remains quiet when it senses that Yixing is not alone, and remains lifeless, as if in understanding. Plants are better than people like that.

Finn shifts his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable. Irving holds onto his brother’s hand, and looks at the plant in its pot with every intention to touch it. Yixing’s temper is the only thing keeping him from it. Neither of them ask about their mother, because experience has taught them that all they will get is a glare, and controlled anger in a tone as biting as any harsh winter.

But the man does not notice. His gaze remains on the words engraved upon sleek, polished stone, kept clean and immaculate.

“She’d want to see you off, too.” His hands remain in his pockets. It should be easier; it isn’t. “She’s proud of you, I think. She really is. No matter what house you end up in, she’ll still be proud of you.”

The children remain quiet. Yixing has a habit of seeming like he’s talking to himself when he’s talking about someone else who isn’t even there.

“Of course, I’d be pleased if you end up in Slytherin. Anywhere but Gryffindor.” The ghosts in their graves pale in comparison to the echo of a smile on Yixing’s lips. Irving looks at it like it’s the sun. “Ravenclaw is good, too. Your mother was sorted there. She made good friends, I like to think.”

Finn’s grip tightens on Irving’s smaller hand. The younger boy winces, and tries to pull his hand away, but Finn doesn’t let go.

“Father, she’s not —,”

“She’s here, Finley!” Yixing glares at the boy again, as if to say anything else is sacrilegious. “She’s always here. You just — you don’t understand.” He takes a deep breath. Rose wouldn’t want him to raise his voice in front of the boys like this, especially in front of her. “Visit the Astronomy Tower for her. Write to me about the stars you see.”

“You’re not going to read it.” In a burst of either courage or stupidity, Finley talked back. Yixing’s frown deepened as a sign of the impending storm.

“Your mother is going to read it.”

“SHE’S NOT HERE! SHE’S NOT EVEN ALIVE ANYMORE —!”

The back of his hand hits a soft cheek so quickly that the sound of it reaches Yixing’s ears before the sensation of it sinks past the skin of his knuckles, and before blood blooms under the boy’s cheek. It’ll bruise later.

“This was a mistake. You’re too young, after all.”

Finn’s words taste like blood, and this time, Irving doesn’t try to take his hand away from his brother’s own, especially when the boy’s tears go unnoticed in the quiet way he does, teeth sinking into his lower lip, shoulders trembling.

Yixing had already turned his back, and as always, they were expected to follow.

7.

Finley sits in the train with his cousins with a pretty bruise on his cheek and a nice lie on his tongue. His tears have long dried, but the edges of his eyes still hold traces of pink that indicates he cried more than he should’ve.

It’s when he dug in his pockets for galleons that he feels the cold metal of a chain, and a pendant that hangs at the end of it. ( Oddly enough, he remembers it’s his father who gave him this coat, and told him to stop crying before he takes them to apparate to the train station. ) His cousins are too busy arguing amongst themselves to notice — it was twins vs. Hyojin again, it seems, and this time the topic is which sweets are better to purchase — and he takes it out, sitting in the corner and keeping it to himself,

and opens locket that holds a photo of him and his mother, smiling, proud,

golden.

[flauntpage]

Philly Dilly! Ten Takeaways from Eagles 31, Bears 3

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  Most teams that fumble the ball four times don’t win by four touchdowns.

But not your Eagles.

They win big, and they have fun doing it. They do the electric slide. They take faux-team photos. They choreograph a bowling routine and all fall down together in the end zone.

You would be doing it, too, if you were slapping around the National Football League on a weekly basis. The Eagles have won four straight games by 20+ points.

“This is a big fucking deal,” Joe Biden once said. He wasn’t talking about the Eagles, but he might as well have been, because they’re 10-1 and sitting in the driver’s seat for home field advantage throughout the playoffs. With the Saints going down in Los Angeles, the Vikings are now the Birds’ biggest seeding threat. But Minnesota has a difficult schedule looming, with road trips to Atlanta and Carolina in consecutive weeks and a matchup at Lambeau still on the docket.

That’s good to know, but it shouldn’t really matter. The Eagles control their own destiny, and if they play like they did on Sunday, nobody is stopping ’em.

This game was over before it started, with Chicago mustering 33 first half yards and 0 first downs.

Makes it hard to win when you’re rolling out a rookie quarterback and putting up these numbers:

1) Just getting started

Alshon Jeffery is beginning to look like the WR1 we thought we were getting this offseason.

No, he didn’t light up the scoreboard on Sunday like Julio Jones or Antonio Brown, but he finished with a healthy 5 catches for 52 yards and a touchdown– his fifth score in four games.

Jeffery looks more comfortable in the offense and he’s doing his best work on the back-end of the schedule. Break the season in half, and it looks something like this:

First eight games = 25 catches on 62 targets, 416 yards, 3 touchdowns

Last three games  = 15 catches on 27 targets, 203 yards, 4 touchdowns

He’s had about 33% of his yardage production in the last three games and contributed 57% of his touchdowns during that same time frame. In Weeks 1-8, he only caught 40% of the balls thrown his way. That number is up to 55%. His yards per catch is down from 16.6 to 13.5, probably because four of his grabs were touchdowns in shorter field red zone situations.

  2) No fix needed

The Eagles ran for 176 yards total, some of which was added in prolonged garbage time. Jay Ajayi and LeGarrette Blount had runs of 25+ yards, but eacl also fumbled the ball (Blount twice), so it was a bit sloppy overall after last week’s showcase in Dallas.

One thing the Birds did do well on some of those big runs was execute on the blocking schemes that worked in Big D, namely on the Blount breakout, the one where he hurdled some fool:

Friendly reminder that @LG_Blount will jump right over you! #FlyEaglesFly http://pic.twitter.com/FTZ9v3ZZyZ

— NFL (@NFL) November 26, 2017

The hole comes from a nice one-two Brent Celek and Lane Johnson combination. Celek is actually lined up off the line of scrimmage and traps inside to cut off the defensive tackle, Aqiem Hicks. Lane Johnson moves Isaiah Irving about five yards backwards and Nelson Agholor does a nice job of sealing cornerback Kyle Fuller.

Similar to last week, Jason Kelce and Halipoulivaati Vaitai simply ignore the defensive line and go right to the second level, laying blocks on the linebackers:

Again, just great run blocking schemes.

  3) Why even try?

The Bears bears came into this game as a top-10 running team.

They finished with 14 carries for 6 yards. Tarik Cohen ran it twice for -11 yards and Jordan Howard rushed for 6 yards on 7 carries.

It’s ridiculous, really, considering that this is what Howard has done in 2017:

They limited a guy with four 100 yard games to just six yards on the ground. Six!

And Cohen is no joke either. He ran 9 times for 44 yards and touchdown last week.

So the pair that went for 169 yards against Detroit combined for -5 yards yesterday. That’s crazy, bro.

  4) Situational football

Carson Wentz remains the NFL’s best third down quarterback.

After the win, this is now his third down stat line:

59-91

826 yards

64.8 completion percentage

9.08 average

11 touchdowns

2 interceptions

5 sacks

124.4 QB rating

15 rushes for 114 yards

Even more impressive might be Carson’s numbers inside the red zone:

27-42

64.3 completion percentage

17 touchdowns

0 interceptions

0 sacks

115.3 QB rating

A high IQ and situational understanding, that’s Carson Wentz in a nutshell.

  5) Ref, you don’t suck

When is a block in the back not a block in the back?

When the officials get together to talk about it.

Seriously though, nice job by that crew to take away a bad penalty call against the Bears on a play where an Eagles cornerback was barely touched. It’s proof that we can get it right when we take a minute to think about it. Now we just have to apply that type of thinking to Congress.

Here’s the play in question, where #13, Kendall Wright, makes slight contact with Patrick Robinson:

6) Triple digits

Zach Ertz eclipsed 100 yards receiving for the first time this year.

More importantly, he looked like himself while grabbing 10 balls for 103 yards and a touchdown. He was targeted 12 times and ripped Chicago open with that patented seam move for chunky gains.

He only caught 2 balls for 8 yards in his return from injury last week, so it’s good to see him bounce back in this one. He’s neck and neck with Rob Gronkowski and Jimmy Graham in most statistical categories, even with that two-week slide.

  7) Horseshoes and hand grenades

This could probably go in the “situational football” entry, but I wanted Carson Wentz to have his own section.

You know it’s going right for you when your punt returner shows the smarts to grab a teammate, pull him away from a live ball, and avert disaster:

GET TO THE CHOPPAH! http://pic.twitter.com/jmqV5GW9Hx

— Matt Mullin (@matt_mullin) November 26, 2017

  8) Doug’s worst call?

Not many, but there was a third down sack where Wentz bootlegged to the left and had to throw across his body. The defensive end didn’t bite on the fake and blew up the play. They ran a similar look in the third quarter with not a lot of success.

They’ve done it before this year, and Wentz really isn’t bad in those situations, but they’re so strong in other areas that it just feels pointless to roll him out to his left.

Other candidates for this entry might be his second quarter challenge, which isn’t even so much about being off-base. The challenge was okay, but it seems redundant when you know that Doug is going to go for it on fourth down anyway.

The 4th and 6 call in the third quarter was also a bit iffy. Wentz was rolling to his stronger right side that time, but I’m generally not a fan of cutting the field in half. The pass attempt to Nelson Agholor was almost picked off and returned for a huge gain.

  9) Doug’s best call?

There was the obvious decision to go for it on 4th and 1 during the second drive. Doug cooked up a big power left formation and let Ajayi run it for a tough yard. It paid off with what would eventually be the game-winning touchdown just a few plays later.

They also went for it on 4th and 1 just before the two-minute warning, which was another no-brainer for Pederson. The Eagles are 10 for 10 on 4th and 1 attempts this season, so the data says… yes… let’s go for it.

Overall, good game from Doug and an easy win. I still think he could pull Wentz a little earlier in the fourth quarter, but if that’s my biggest complaint, then we’re really just splitting hairs here.

  10) Stick to murder?

This sign was hanging from the back of a truck while fans were tailgating outside of Lincoln Financial Field:

That seems… a little excessive. I know people like to be offended by everything these days, but I’m not sure that joking about murder is the path we want to go down.

As far as the broadcast, I kind of like Kevin Burkhardt and Charles Davis. Davis can be a bit much to handle at times, and sometimes he just needs to let the game breathe, but he offers good insight and does what a color commentator is supposed to do. After a few weeks of narcoleptic broadcasting, I’m fine with the energy and enthusiasm.

They did sneak a couple of Rocky mentions in there, but it is what it is. We’re just gonna have to live with it forever.

And I do agree with Burkhardt when he says, verbatim, “I gotta be honest, I hate the electric slide,” but it looks a whole lot better when these guys are doing it:

Can't even hate on a team that does the electric slide http://pic.twitter.com/U1fqJPWzDN

— Jasmine (@JasmineLWatkins) November 26, 2017

You can’t. You can’t hate on a team that does the electric slide.

  Philly Dilly! Ten Takeaways from Eagles 31, Bears 3 published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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