#so adding this one to his wheelhouse might be a bad idea

[frogmanfae]

I think probably all of my problems would be resolved if I heard Ben Fankhauser sing Proud of Your Boy from the Broadway Aladdin soundtrack actually

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, this is a bit of a shot in the dark on my end, but I have a fashion inquiry (and I apologize if I sound ridiculous at all; I’m a bit at my wit’s end).

Is there a good way to research forms of casual Victorian garb? I feel like I’m going a bad route by inserting the word ‘Victorian’ into any search because it results in rather fancy things (or modern twists on such that are purchasable). Would it be wiser to site dates in search? Is this going to fruitless?

Sorry for taking up any time if this is out of wheelhouse. But if you do answer, I really appreciate it.

I'll do my best! Focusing on womenswear, because...well, that's what I know best. But if anyone wants to chime in about the gentlemen, please do so!

So, casual Victorian doesn't always read as Casual to us nowadays. Standards of casual clothing- that is, clothing one wears for everyday life when nothing special is going on -were rather higher than we have today.

This is an illustration of matchstick-makers in London's East End c. 1871, done by one Herbert Johnson. The women have their sleeves rolled up and aprons on, but when they leave the factory (rolling their sleeves down, adding hats to go outside- which most of them would have done; it was part of looking Respectable) they might be indistinguishable to us from any other women of the same era wearing not particularly bustle-y skirts. Some of them probably have on the commonplace Matching Skirt And Bodice dress format of the era; others have on blouses made from the same patterns as those worn by middle- and upper-class women.

Also note that they have on ribbons, chokers, earrings...they're just like us. They like wearing things that make them feel Put Together, even though they're doing one of the lowest-valued, most dangerous jobs open to women at the time. Because people have always been people, regardless of time or social class.

And for middle-class women and up, Casual might be even harder to distinguish from "fancy" to us today.

This is a mid-late 1880s day dress with a skirt length suitable for lots of walking, from Augusta Auctions. Could not tell you the social status of the woman who owned it, genuinely. Probably not the absolute poorest of the poor, but beyond that...this is a dress you could potentially wear to run errands. Even to go to work, if your job wasn't especially physical. Because. I don't know. It's a Day Dress. You wear it for day things. It's not especially formal, because then it would be made of a more delicate material and probably have a longer skirt (unless it was a Serious Dancing ball gown). Possibly also a lower neckline and puffed sleeves, if it was exclusively for the most formal events.

The idea that a dress was "fancy" just because it had ornamentation wasn't really in their cultural vocabulary.

Here is a group of women playing croquet in what looks like the early-mid 1870s. They're just hanging out! Having a good time! They're probably middle or upper class, but that's what they wear to chill outside with friends- to play a lowkey sport, even.

So yeah, it can be hard to map Victorian everyday clothing onto our "jeans and t-shirt" understanding of what makes an outfit casual. They had skirts and blouses for most relevant decades, but even those outfits often end up looking formal to us nowadays because of what I call Ballgownification- the idea that, since we only wear clothes that look even vaguely like what they had for extremely dressy occasions, we assume everything we see of their clothing was dressy.

(Someone please ask for my rant about Ballgownification)

Searching for "day dress," "walking dress," "blouse," "blouse waist," and "shirtwaist" (the last for the late 19th-early 20th century when that term became commonplace) might help. Best of luck!

[fulcrumqueenrebelfriend]

Phase 8: Kit Marshall- chapter 11

Chapter 1 >>

"Karli Morgenthau is to dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!" Walker put heavy stress on the last word.

"Ah! How'd you find us now?" Bucky teased, as they walked towards them.

"Come on. You think three Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?" Lemur stated, quickly walking down the steps.

"No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison."

"He did that himself, technically."

"This better be an unbelievable explanation." He threw his hands up in the air.

"Hey, take it easy before it gets weird." Sam stopped Walker.

"I know where Karli is." Zemo stated before walking around him.

He put a hand out to stop the baron, "well where?"

Marshall looked at Sam, making frantic hand gestures- signing- 'we can't tell him! He's a lunatic.' 

"All we know is it's a memorial."

'Are you fucking kidding me Sam.'

"So we're gonna intercept her there." Wilson added.

"That means civilians. High risk of causalities." Lemur pointed out as they started to follow Zemo.

"All right, good, we'll move in fast. Take her by surprise." Walker instructed, formulating a plan.

"No, I wanna talk to her alone."

"I'm not losing her again."

"Look, the person closest to her died, she's vulnerable. If there's any time to reason with her, it's now."

"What? No. Wait, no! No! Stop! Hold on. Stop, okay. I think we're way past reasoning with her,  unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people still in it."

"Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you."

"And if I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die."

"Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a super soldier alone?" Walker asked Bucky, completely ignoring Kit.

"He's dealt with worse. And he's not my partner." Bucky added the last bit almost as an afterthought, a reflex.

"I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse."

"Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea."

"Wait John. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try." Lemur told him.

He scoffed, but reluctantly agreed, "We'll deal with you later," he addressed Zemo.

"I'm sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead." He walked over to her- others in tow.

"Hello my friend, this is for your family," he brandished some money out of his coat, giving it to her. "Can you show us the way?"

She gestured for them to follow her.

"What the hell?" Walker said to Lemur, following in the rear.

They entered what appeared to be a large boiler room, "Karli's in there," Zemo told them as the girl disappeared through the door.

"All right." Sam followed the path of the girl.

Roughly Walker handcuffed Zemo to one of the tanks, "Hey, you got ten minuets."

"Really?" Zemo complained.

"Then we're doing things my way."

"Aggressive." Zemo added. "But I get it."

Kit was sitting on the brick wall- the one Zemo was handcuffed to, Bucky was standing next to where she was, while Walker just stared at the shield. There was something seriously wrong inside that mans head. Kit regarded him, analysing the difference. John Walker is aggressive, Steve wasn't like that. Even in the midst of pure rage, he could never kill someone unnecessarily- good moral standards were at the core of every decision he made, regardless of his own emotional state.

John Walker is different. When he gets angry, morality is not his priority because ultimately he isn't a man of the people, he's a man who centres his own desires, no matter the cost. He doesn't stop to question himself because his ego won't let him.

Where Steve Rogers was measured, John Walker is impulsive. Where Steve Rogers looked out for everyone's best interests, John Walker looks out for his own.

Where Steve Rogers showed self-restraint, John Walker would definitely take the kill strike.

John Walker is not a good man- she concluded, satisfied at her thoughts she looked to Bucky, who was once again doing his thousand yard GI Joe stare.

Then suddenly Walker got up, pacing around the room, "Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea."

"It hasn't been ten minuets, John. Just sit tight."

Marshall could tell, from Walkers body language, from his words, from his steps, that something was about to go down. Then she saw something click inside of him, he paced forward, "I'm going in." Kit jumped down, and Bucky stepped forward stopping Walker, "this is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum running through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there." Once again he disregarded Kit, something Steve had never done. "Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

Marshall was so sick of this guy, 'back off Walker.'

"What did she say?" Walker questioned Bucky.

"She told you to back off."

Walker stepped forward menacingly, "what?"

Kit was done with him.

Stepping even closer to her, stopping when his face was mere inchs away hers. "And who are you to tell me what to do? You can't even speak." She grabbed his arm twisting it back.

He curled his hand into a fist and aimed for the front of her face. His fist hit the corner of her mouth, splitting her lip, his second punch hit the bridge of her nose. Her blood splattered all over the ground of the boiler room.

Tasting blood, she did what appeared to be a silent growl as Walker stepped into a blazing roundhouse kick that rattled his skull. He started to fall until--

Marsh's other foot slammed into his rib cage, slamming him into the wall.

She pursued him and fired foot and fist into him repeatedly, like she was exercising on a heavy bag rather than hitting a person. Walker kneed her in the stomach, then they were on the ground wrestling. 

As much was clear, she wasn't Steve, but neither was he- at least she didn't go around parading as him.

Lemar stepped behind her, as she predicted he would and he tried to pull her away from his friend. Finally Bucky intervened, "hey," he whispered as he pulled her back, she tried to break free of his grip. When he felt she had herself under control, he released her. Kit stepped forward and spat at Walkers feet, a mixture of blood and saliva.

'disgrace.'

@misogirl828

[morfinwen]

1 for Angela, 2 for Christopher, 3 for Reagan, 4 for Neal, 5 for Lanzo, 6 for Ash, 9 for Connie, 10 for Aidan, 11 for Q, 14 for Nate, 15 for Amanda, 19 for Niner, 20 for Elise, 23 for Julie, 25 for Jerome, 28 for Kayla, 29 for Hannah, 31 for Knife, 33 for Elarin, 37 for Meaghan, 38 for Leah, 40 for Avery, 47 for Ian, and 50 for Lauren, please!

Read more!

1. What is Angela's reaction to a minor inconvenience? Such as getting her sweater caught on a door handle?

If it’s minor enough, she’ll barely react at all. If it’s slightly more disruptive, she’ll still only react insofar as is necessary to handle it -- that is, clean up a spill, change her shirt, restack the fallen papers, etc.

Internally, Angie is rarely as calm as she acts. She puts thought into everything she does and always has an idea of where she’s going and what she’ll do next, so even a small inconvenience can throw her plans into disarray. But she learned from a very young age to control her emotional reactions: outbursts made kind people uncomfortable and gave unkind people knowledge of how to hurt her. So she keeps a very close eye on her emotional state at all times and has a list of tried-and-true methods to calm herself down: breathing exercises, a song to hum to soothe herself, little reminders to herself, an imaginary ‘happy place’ she pictures, etc.

Not that a minor inconvenience usually requires an extensive amount of calming down, of course. But enough little things can add up.

2. For Christopher, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, or other?

In the morning, coffee. Usually straight black, or with an ungodly amount of sugar. He always regrets adding the sugar, but sometimes he needs the rush.

In the evenings, tea. Green if it’s close to bedtime, but he always gets a wide variety and is regularly trying out different versions. He has preferences, but he doesn’t feel strongly enough about it to get boxes of specific types. He’ll usually add cream and honey to tea, unless it clashes with the tea’s flavor.

On winter nights, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and whipped cream on special occasions.

3. What does Reagan's safe space look like?

Her safe space is her bedroom, which is small but not cramped, somewhat messy but in a sort of organized fashion -- there might be a few dirty clothes on the floor and a mostly stable stack of clean ones on top of the dresser, but you can see the floor and aren’t likely to trip over anything. Apart from the bed and dresser, there’s a nightstand by the bed, with a lamp and a stack of graphic novels on it from the last time she couldn’t fall asleep for half the night, and an armchair in the corner with her guitar next to it. There’s a couple windows with curtains -- light, gauzy ones to let in the light, with thicker, darker ones she can pull closed to keep out city lights at night if she feels the need.

Usually after work Reagan watches TV or uses the computer in her living area, but if she’s spent too much time around people lately, she’ll go back to her bedroom and play guitar, or lay on the bed and listen to an audiobook, or read one of her graphic novels while she listens to music through headphones.

4. What does Neal consider to be an unforgivable action? Why?

Neal has a hard time with violence or cruelty towards children. If you do anything to hurt a child, or even just yell at them, he’s not going to be comfortable in your presence for a long time, even if you sincerely apologize.

5. Does Lanzo have any nicknames or pet names or other aliases?

Nicknames: Not at present. Honestly he’s not really a nickname kind of guy, though sometimes his names have been long or odd enough that he just accepted people would use a nickname because it’s easier.

Pet names: His third wife Évelyne called him “mon chéri”. His first two wives weren’t close enough to him to have pet names for him, at least not ones he cared for, and his fourth wife wasn’t a pet names kind of woman. Amanda probably isn’t, either.

Aliases: Lanzo has so many aliases. He’s got a notebook where he’s got them all written down -- vampires have excellent memories, but after a couple hundred years, it can be a bit tricky to hunt down the exact memory you want without some kind of nudge. Most of them are variations on family names, but a couple (like Lanzo, for example) are just ones he liked the sound of.

He’s used a few of them more than once. The only one he’ll never use again is Alexander.

6. What kind of books comfort Ash? What books help him heal after a hard day?

Ash has to be in the right mood for poetry. A bad mood is usually the right mood, at least with the right kind of poem (nature ones, mostly). There’s an old, thick hardcover he keeps in his bedside table that’s got a lot of poems he really likes the cadence of, and he’ll often read them aloud to himself before going to bed, almost like meditation.

9. What is Connie's trigger point? What makes him angry, sad, or makes him go off?

Angry: Bad science practices. Violence against others, especially women and children.

Sad: Poor familial relationships. Ostracization from one’s community.

10. What kind of jokes make Aidan laugh?

Aidan’s sense of humor is not sophisticated -- he’ll laugh at just about anything: slapstick, puns, black humor, dirty jokes, etc. Nothing hurtful, though.

11. Does Q enjoy pranks or hate them? Is he likely to fall for a prank?

Q does not like pranks, but he’s learned to tolerate them -- one of the costs of being close with his cousin. He can fall for the more subtle pranks, or ones that rely on knowledge outside of his wheelhouse, but he’s certainly not an easy mark.

He has found enjoyment occasionally in pranking other people. He’s got a latent mean streak that comes out if someone angers him badly enough or over a long enough period, or if he’s been forced to spend too much time with his aunt and uncle recently. So his pranks have usually been a form of revenge, less fun and jokey and more humiliating or painful (though not debilitating or permanent).

14. Is Nate a simple person to please or difficult?

Deceptively difficult. He doesn’t have a lot of interest in expensive or complicated things, but though he may be satisfied with cheaper and simpler, he still has high, exacting standards for those things.

For example, Nate will be much happier if you order a pizza for dinner than if you offer to take him to a five-star “experimental” restaurant, but he has very particular ideas about what is and is not acceptable on a pizza, and a detailed hierarchy of delivery pizza joints. It might almost be easier to go with the fancier options -- at least in that case, his expectations will be lower.

15. What is the first thing people notice about Amanda?

Her green eyes. She’s always been proud of them, since she’s the only one in her immediate family who ahs them, and likes to wear makeup that highlights them or makes them stand out.

19. What does Niner consider to be her lowest point?

As noted here, Niner and Marrow, another werecat, split off from the group they were with when they started a romantic relationship. They were together for about two years, during which time Marrow became increasingly controlling and abusive. After Niner finally reached her breaking point and got out, she spent several weeks effectively on the run, avoiding other people and civilization in general out of pure fear. She’s never been that desperate or scared in her life, and she never wants to feel that way again.

20. Does Elise have a comfort item?

Not anymore, though as a child she had a tiger plushie that she never went to bed without. Bandit the Tiger is still in her house in a box somewhere -- she set him aside after college, hoping to give him to one of her children someday.

23. What is Julie's favorite food and who cooks it best?

Chicken alfredo. Kayla cooks it the best.

Kayla cooks most things the best, especially in the Allwinter household.

25. What are some things Jerome finds difficult to do? Or say?

Jerome doesn’t find it difficult to trust, per se, but it takes him a while to do it, especially with regards to his family’s -- particularly Hannah’s -- safety. Similarly it can take him a long time to warm up to people he thinks he shouldn’t trust or like, even if they don’t do anything that even hints they shouldn’t be trusted.

28. If Kayla was in today's world, what social media platforms would she avoid? Or be prominent on?

She wouldn’t have much of a presence on any social media platform, really. She’d have a Facebook (or something similar), mostly to keep in touch with friends and family, share photos, and to be a part of groups for moms and local organizations and the like. She’d almost never update her status, though.

29. Is Hannah an organized person? Or more laissez-faire?

Hannah isn’t the neatest person, but she does like organization, after a fashion. She color-codes her schoolwork, practices her music in a particular order, eats her meals one food item at a time, etc.

31. Knife has been invited to a masquerade ball. What mask does she wear?

A fox mask, like this one.

33. How does Elarin act around people she doesn't know? Is she shy around strangers or dismissive of them?

Elarin is very, very careful how much of herself she lets show around people she’s unfamiliar with. That includes how much she’s guarding herself. Unless they’re unusually observant, they probably won’t even notice her treating her friends differently.

She’s not naturally a suspicious person, but she was never the most trusting, either, and she’s learned to be much more guarded. Several years post-war, she loosens up. A little.

37. Meaghan has been kidnapped. Who has kidnapped her and how does she escape?

If Meaghan has been kidnapped, it’s almost a guarantee that she’s allowed it to happen somehow. Either she hopes to talk to the person kidnapping her, or it’s part of a bigger plan.

Jedi have a lot of enemies, particularly in her era, though the list of ones that would kidnap her rather than try to kill her is probably considerably shorter.

She could certainly escape on her own if she wanted to, or she might wait for her friends and allies to come for her, depending on the situation.

38. How does Leah unwind after a long day?

A hot meal, around the campfire at one of ‘her’ settlements or at her house in Diamond City with Mac and their boys, followed by a long, hot bath. Then she’ll sit up for a couple hours listening to the radio, or sharing entertaining stories with friends.

After that, it doesn’t matter if she goes straight to bed or has to stay up and keep watch for a few hours. So long as she doesn’t have to get up and shoot something, she unwinds almost as much from watching the stars as she does from a good night’s sleep.

40. Avery's friend has just been mugged. What's her reaction?

It depends on the friend. Someone tries to mug most of her friends, there’s probably not much left for her to do except laugh at the idiot -- assuming they’re even still alive, of course.

If for some reason her friend couldn’t handle the mugger themselves, then Avery will take it upon herself to hunt the mugger down. Considering that this means the mugger targeted someone who couldn’t properly defend themselves, if Avery tracks them down, the consequences will be worse than if the friend had dealt with them on their own. The consequences of hurting one of Avery’s friends are very, very serious.

47. What is Ian's reaction when someone does something nice for him?

Big grin, attempt to hug the person (unless it’s very clear they won’t appreciate it), “Aw, thanks!”

If it’s a big enough gesture, you can actually make him speechless. It’s happened once or twice.

50. How does Lauren sleep at night? Is she a heavy or light sleeper? Does she dream or have nightmares? Does she find it easy to sleep or is she more a night owl?

Lauren rarely has trouble falling or staying asleep. She’s a fairly heavy sleeper, but sufficiently loud thunder or other disruptive noise can wake her. She dreams occasionally, more often when she’s stressed or sick, and has had a couple nightmares in her life, again when she was really stressed or sick. She’s not a night owl, but she’s not a morning person, either.

Thanks for asking!

[razorblade180]

Sunshower 12

“Wow, That sure is a lot of you just dumped onto me.” Kali said to Ilia. The two women sat on the Belladonna porch and drunk tea, discussing the events that had transpired recently. “So, did it feel good?” The feline smiled.

Ilia slouched in her chair. “I don’t see how that is important.”

“Mmmmm I think you do.” Kali bluntly stated. “It’s definitely not the most important, but definitely top ten. Five...maybe three?”

“Can we move on from this if I answer the question?”

“Of course!” A childish smile grew on Kali, as if she was a gossiping school girl. Ilia took a long sip of her tea before looking into it. She had an answer to Kali’s question. Thinking about it was just so...much. Damn Sun, making her brain do these mental gymnastics. “It felt...gratifying. No, that’s not the word. Each time was under a different circumstance but all three times had this strange feeling I can’t quite describe. I just know the feeling wasn’t a bad one. It was very exposing, in more ways than one.”

Kali nodded, “I see. Makes perfect sense”

“What makes you say that? I sound like a riddle.”

“Yeah that’s emotions for you, they don’t make sense most of the time. Not unless you take the time to understand what causes them.” Kali watched Ilia’s face scrunch up. Kali couldn’t help but giggle. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of your situation by any means. I just wasn’t expecting such a face.”

“You should’ve. What exactly do you mean by ‘understand what causes them?’ I hope you’re not implying…” Ilia turned a little pink.

“Ha! That’s between you and him” Kali waved her back forth. She would never give such reckless advice, on the first go around. “All I meant was to look inward, ask the big questions you know you’re avoiding. Making mountains out of molehills is a problem both you and Blake share.”

Hearing that didn’t exactly give Ilia a warm feeling. Thinking about Blake still made her very upset. Kali caught on to the girl’s unpleasant silence.

“Sun gave off that same demeanor when he was around Blake.” Ilia snapped back into the conversation now she was looking guilty. Kali smiled softly. “Now, now, no need for that face. Like I said before, emotions take time to understand. The same way hurt needs time to heal. I do hope you both don’t remain upset with my daughter. You mean so much to her.”

Coming to Kali was a good idea. Her words were always so understanding. Neptune had been doing a good job but it felt good to have a more familiar face to confide in. Judy would’ve been good if she wasn’t so….Judy all the time.

“I know. The problem was she meant more to me than I did her, but I’d rather not get into that at the moment. Let’s back pedal a bit. What do you personally think would be a good way to start sorting things out?”

“You see I’m more of a full throttle kind of woman, but that might be too much for you.”She laughed lewdly, emotions make themselves known in the heat of the moment.”

Ilia was once again rethinking her decision to tell Kali. “Please be serious.”

“I am!!!” Kali exclaimed, her tea almost spilling. “That’s up to you though. It gets results though.” More pink spread on Ilia’s face. “Kali, that’s not an option! In case you have forgotten, I’m me!”

“So?”

“What do you mean so? Sun is outside my particular wheelhouse. That would be weird, completely out of the question.”

“Yet here you are, telling me he’s taken you to bed.”

“Hey, I took him to bed. Not the other way around.” Ilia corrected.

“Sweetie you are only making my point more valid.”

“I...well...that doesn’t change anything! Listen this is uncharted territory for me and it’s for good reason. Guys don’t do it for me. Never have, never will. Connecting, confiding, simply just being myself; I’ve learned a long time ago who brings those out of me. It would be insensitive to Sun if I toyed with him in such a way. He’s a good guy, a friend. He’s my friend.” Those words made her smile. It was nice to call him a friend. So why did it make her feel selfish too. Inconsiderate even.

Kali kept carefully watching the girl as she poured more tea. Though Ilia was fairly mature for her age, Kali had to remember most of it came from experience derived from sorrow. Outward forces had shaped her. It was tough to say just how much internal self reflection she’s done, but Kali was positive the subject of romantic feelings was one Ilia had a thorough rasp on. Still, like everyone, there’s always a few things that get overlooked or haven’t been explored yet.

“You have a good point, You would know yourself better than anyone else would. I bet this is a topic you’ve had with yourself countless times. Yet I can’t but wonder….” her voice trailed off, confusing Ilia.

“Wonder what?”

“The world is a big place with countless people. Plenty of which fall into groups we don’t usually find ourselves associating with. Like how the White Fang. Many members chose a side that resonated with them, but it didn’t mean there weren’t a few who looked on the opposing side and saw someone and felt connected with. Haven is proof of that. You’re proof of that. I know I may be out of line and even far too presumptuous, but is it too crazy to think one person who doesn’t fit into your usual ‘wheelhouse’ might work just as well; that a single boy out of billions could...invoke feelings of some kind?

Ilia didn’t know how to respond to a question like that. She wasn’t even sure if she followed the logic correctly. It had to be false though, right? One out of two consistencies in her life had already been toppled over when she turned traitor. She was so sure about Adam’s actions. Her actions, but those were called into question; until eventually she realized the cracks in those beliefs. This was different though. It wasn’t political, it was personal. Ilia knew who she was in that regard. If she didn’t then…

“If you’re right, then what does that say about me?” Ilia clenched her teacup,cracking it from the pressure from her anxious hands. She didn’t know why but she could feel herself tear up. “I’ve never known anything about myself my entire life? That can’t be true.”

“It isn’t. It just means you’re growing. What you know is gaining more knowledge.”

“That’s frustrating. It’s downright upsetting, and scary.”

“Sounds like to me you just understood your feelings”

Ilia let out a small gasp. Her eyes widened, shocked about the way Kali had gotten an inkling of Ilia’s complex feelings figured out.

Kali took Ilia by the hand. “Now then, what are you going to do with that knowledge?”

“The million lien question. Doing nothing would be the terrible option huh?” Ilia rubbed her chin, putting critical thought into what her next moved to be. “I guess…”

xxxx

“You’re skipping out on tonight!?” Judy blurted out.

Ilia put her hand over the cops mouth to silence them. “Shhhh! Why are you being so loud!? I don’t think Dan wants to hear you from the kitchen!”

The waiter in question walked out with sparking mugs filled with coffee for the table of four. “Don’t worry, one more loudmouth doesn’t sound that much different from three.”

“Damn Daniel, you gonna shoot us like that? I thought we were friends? Especially after my tip.” Neptune said. He clenched his chest dramatically as if he was actually offended. Judy laughed.

“Wow goggles, couldn’t get it on with me last night so Dan got the tip instead? I respect that. Everyone’s head turned to Judy in shock, except Ilia. She slowly put her head down to cringe. How was her parole officer the least mature person here?

“Dan I think I need a little more caffeine in mine after dealing with that exhausting remark.”

“What if I put cream-” he cut himself off. He could see the corner of Judy’s lips start to turn up. “Sugar cubes, I’ll dump sugar cubes in yours.”

Ilia gave him a thumbs up and he went on his way. “As I was saying, I’m actually just going to stay home this time around. When the partying starts. A night to recuperate, have me time.” She took a long sip from her mug. It was hard to tell if it was the mental workout or the one in her home that had her tired. This caught Sun’s attention, along with her statement. He was pretty sure that this involved him. Good or bad, now that was a little bit harder to read, but he thought best not to pry. He could use a little me time as well.

“Okay, I hope it goes well.” He said. It caught Ilia a little off guard by the look she gave him. She wasn’t sure how he’d take that news most likely. Ilia smiled and nodded at him. Yeah, they were alright. That’s all Sun really needed to know.

“Did you two have sex?” Judy said, cutting back into the conversation the best way she knew how. Neptune choked on his coffee while Sun’s brain turned to static, an option that was safer than saying something he might regret. Ilia’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. Somehow she managed to maintain the usual color of her skin, but that didn’t stop the heat rising to her face.

“Judy!” She shouted, “Why would you say that!?”

The cop shrugged, “It’s a valid question. You look tired, both of you were together for who knows how long, and anything is possible.”

“He’s not my type.” Ilia could feel herself saying that a lot in the future. It was the truth, but it made her feel a little bit of an ass. Like she was dismissing Sun in an ugly way.

Judy wasn’t convinced though and for good reason. “Ilia I’m not your type either but that hasn’t stopped us from some crazy nights.” Judy saw everyone’s jaw drop.

Neptune had barely recovered from her earlier question. “I’m...I’m sorry, you two have slept together?” He coughed.

“Oh yeah, Ilia and go way back. Oh I could tell stories.”

“Which you won’t!” Ilia said, now blushing.

“Don’t be ashamed. I’m irresistible. You could only survive so much of my flirting. I had a way of pushing your buttons, along with flipping switches.”

Sun raised an eyebrow. “Switches?”

“What kind?” Neptune added.

“Can you not!?” Ilia felt like she was going to die. How did she surround herself with three people that constantly put her in weird situations. What made it worse was Sun being at the table!

Judy could tell how badly Ilia wanted this to stop. The opportunity was too good to pass up. “You’re looking pretty flushed. We’re all friends here.” Judy pointed to themself. “Some people enjoy cuffs and a good hair tug.” Judy rubbed her leg against Neptune’s to make him blush nervously. Hopefully he’d remember that. Judy shifted their eyes to Ilia and mumbled. “Others like their butt-”

Ilia covered Judy’s mouth so fast, the embarrassment too much to handle. She didn’t even attempt to look at Sun or Neptune, who clearly knew where that headed. Neptune looked at Sun with intrigued eyes. Sun could only blush and shake his head no. If Judy was paying attention then she would’ve noticed the silent confession to her question earlier.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Ilia asked

Judy looked at the girl’s hand, which was still on their face until it was removed to reveal a smile. “Easy, I like seeing you be so expressive. You’ve been so down on yourself and less colorful until recently. I don’t know what’s changed but I’m glad the Ilia that does community service then goes home to sleep is slowly going away. The white fang was bad, but it made you lively at least.”

That was more of an answer than Ilia expected. Had she been less lively? Sure she had gotten into a pretty boring routine, but topping organized crime is almost impossible. Most things are boring once you do that. Ilia scratched the back of her head. “Be that as it may, can you not bring up the past like that. I don’t air your dirty laundry.”

“Ilia, do you have clean laundry?” Judy chuckled.

“You…” It was hard arguing against the truth. “Stop picking on me! Why are you this exhausting?” Ilia deflated. Judy rubbed her back to comfort her as if she wasn’t the reason for this! “First you weaken me and now you’re building me up?”

“Lighten up. Say, if you aren’t going to the party tonight then let’s all go to the beach right now to have fun. A lot of people party hard so it should be less crowded.

“Can we do something inland?” Neptune asked politely. All he got was judgmental looks. “Y’all are so mean.”

“Nobody is making you get in the water dude.” Sun pointed out. “You will probably get wet by the end of this, but life be like that sometimes.”

“That doesn’t make me want to go!!!”

“The beach sounds nice.” Ilia said, thinking about the opportunity to relax on the sand. “I’m not changing into a swimsuit though.” Ilia has a feeling if Judy saw a possible hickey or bruise then more questions would be asked.

“Are you sure about that?” Judy smirked.

“Yes, I’m not wearing one.”

xxxx

“Do my choices mean nothing to you.” Ilia groaned, wearing a swimsuit. Judy had somehow got her to wear a black bikini with gold stitching. She had managed to wear a black cover up skirt that matched. It actually looked pretty nice, but Ilia wasn’t going to admit that. Judy was too busy having fun in her red two piece to notice Ilia had made her own skin a little darker to hide a hickey on her chest and shoulder. “Sun needs to stop biting so hard.” Ilia thought. It took a few minutes to register what she just thought. “Wait, why am I talking like there’s gonna be a next time!?”

“You okay?” Said the man in question. Sun wore navy blue swim trunks. The upside about always having your shirt open is your always beach ready. He sat next to Ilia on her beach towel as they watched Judy mess with Neptune, who was wearing red trunks.

“I’m fine. A little surprised that Neptune owns trunks.”

“Those are just my other pair. So, I don’t mean to pry…”

“I don’t want to talk about my kinks.” She blushed.

“What? I was gonna talk about skipping the party.”

“Oh… right.” She wanted to kick herself. “Forget what I just said.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious! We are never discussing that, Sun Wukong. So don’t get any weird ideas.” Ilia elbowed him.

“You told me not to go down on you. If that’s the line then in what world do I get to crazier stuff.”

“That’s fair. Yeah I think it is best to spend some time alone later tonight. No offense to you or anything but-”

“I get it. Take your time.” Sun laid on his back and closed his eyes to enjoy the rays.

“Will do, thanks.” Ilia noticed just how calm he was about most of this. It made her a little envious honestly. “You’re taking this well.”

“Am I? I might look like it, but I feel a little anxious. Even now. Is that normal?”

“You are asking the wrong girl. Normal has never applied to me in any part of my life. That’s on me though.”

“Crime is the spice of life.”

“Is that how you justify stealing?”

“Hehe, maybe. You should try it.” He joked.

“I did, your virginity.” Ilia looked down to see Sun look at her with the most ‘why are you like this’ look ever. She couldn’t help but laugh, which made him smile.

“This is nice.” He sat up. “I like our talks.”

“Yeah, me too. Who would’ve thought you’d be good at conversations?”

“Uhh me?” Sun bluntly stated, pointing to himself. “Remember, I’m the one who kicked Blake back into high spirits! My positivity is infectious!”

“Let’s hope that’s the only infectious thing.”

“Wh-you literally just mentioned taking my-”

“Hey you two!”

A voice cut him off from behind. Sun and Ilia turned around and had their sunny moment get a little dimmer. Blake and Yang stood with beach gear and in bikinis. Each wearing the other’s color. “Fancy seeing you two here.” Yang cheerfully said.

“Mind if we join you?” Blake smiled, genuinely happy to see two of her favorite people. “We haven’t spent time together yet.”

The pair of confused friends looked at each other, then back at Blake and Yang. No time like the present. They could only avoid things for so long. Ilia tensed up a little but was jolted out of it the moment Sun’s tail discreetly rubbed her ankle. It was oddly tension releasing.

“Sure.” She nodded, “let’s chat.”

Part 11

[the-original-b]

Archangel Chapter 11: Talent Scouting

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 3 of 9 (Previous Chapter | The Beginning)

Word Count: c. 2,600

Summary: Khai pressures Krueger to contain a rapidly deteriorating state of affairs.

Krueger stepped through the glass doors of the Sixth Avenue office—dressed in a commando sweater and dark jeans with classy shoes under his pea coat—and headed towards the conference room.

Danielle straightened up behind her desk as she noticed him walk past her. “They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Krueger,” she said.

He thanked her with a nod and proceeded down the hallway, past Khai’s old office which CJ Silvio now worked out of, and entered the conference room to join her and Everett to discuss their next steps after the events at Pharaohs a few days ago. Visible on a computer monitor at the end of the table was Hayden.

“Gentlemen, Miss Khai.” he greeted them. “Is Mr. Desmoulins joining us?”

“We’re ironing out the connection now,” Khai noted. She wore a dark suit with a white blouse and black peep toe pumps. “It’s one thing to set up a video call, but another entirely to set one up with him.”

“The man lives in military grade encryption,” Everett added. Today he wore a conservative blue suit with a pale gray shirt underneath.

“It’s how he’s stayed invisible for so long…” she added sotto voce. She tapped a few more keys on the laptop Hayden’s face was on. “Got it,” she said, turning the device toward the other men in the room. “Brandon, can you hear us now?”

“Loud and clear,” Brandon voice confirmed through the speakers.

“Perfect. In the room you can see I’m here with Mr. Krueger and Henry Everett. Also joining us via teleconference is Mr. Hayden.”

“Hey, everyone.”

“Greetings,” Hayden said. “Good to see you’re all well.” He folded his arms atop the desk he sat behind.

“Same to you, sir.” Khai said, sitting down and facing the laptop. Krueger and Everett took their places standing behind her. “Have you heard any updates from Dana and Charles?”

“No, and that’s what concerns me. Karin’s seen a steady increase in the Dragon Tears’ popularity in her territory, but she and I have been in regular contact; and Herman’s reported no problems in his area. The others have had their hands full for months, and now that I haven’t heard from them since last week the rest of us are more than a little concerned.”

“That bad?”

“It isn’t just the drugs, it’s the problems they invite. Police budgets have been slashed nationwide, and the hardest-hit cities have turned to the private sector to compensate.”

“Castle Security Solutions,” Krueger noted. “I’ve seen a news story on them the other day.”

“It’s no coincidence they’re expanding while the Dragon Tears become more popular,” Khai noted.

“Are you suggesting they’re connected, Miss Khai?” Hayden queried.

“I’m saying there may be a causality, sir; that somebody stands to profit from the expanse of one or both of the two forces choking the Partners today.”

“I agree,” Everett added. “And thanks to Krueger, I think we know who.” He looked at the monitor. “Mr. Desmoulins?”

“Special Agent Peter Cross,” Brandon said. “Born August 14th 1966, UT San Antonio class of ’88. Eight years with the FBI, then transferred to the DEA in ’96. He spent three years there, then moved to ATF. He changed hats a third time and joined the CIA in 2002, after which the records stop.”

Krueger arched his brow. “The United States Government?” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot.

“We don’t know that for sure, but it does make sense,” Brandon mused. “If the CIA is sponsoring an effort to destroy the Partners, they’d want somebody like Cross at the tip of the spear.”

“Not their wheelhouse,” Khai commented. “That’s more the FBI’s job.”

“Also doesn’t make sense that his story stops after his start with the CIA,” Everett noted, his hand on his chin. “I get the feeling there’s more to this Peter Cross than the records show.”

“Especially since the buyer named him,” Krueger added, just loud enough for the others to hear.  He leaned on the back of a chair to Khai’s left. “Is it possible he’s changed sides, started working for another criminal organization?”

“Possible, but not likely; the only other major player in the region is the Company,” Khai said. “And after the ordeal with Osiris, they’re hardly on my radar these days.”

“Mine either,” Hayden said. He brought his knuckles to his lip as he looked away from the camera, breaking eye contact as he considered the new information. “Do we know if Cross is operating in the Tri-State?”

“I found an office in Long Island City,” Brandon said. “Registered to a Rook Capital. He’s listed as Operations Manager.”

Krueger and Khai shot each other looks.

“Then I think that’s where we should start,” Hayden concluded. “Mr. Krueger, head to the Rook Capital office tonight.” Hayden lowered his hand again. “Surveil the building and report back what you find”

“Understood,” Krueger said.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Brandon suggested, “I think I have a better idea. I wrote a script that clones a computer’s internal drive and writes it to another location. I call it the Intruder.”

“The one used at Miles Orham’s cabin?”

“The very same. I think we can use it again here, but we’ll need an access point for it to work.”

Hayden nodded. “I agree,” he said. “That is a better idea. Mr. Krueger, if you can gain entry to the office and upload Mr. Desmoulins’ program into their server room, I believe we’ll gather all the information we need.”

“I’ll get it done, Mr. Hayden,” Krueger said with a nod.

“Excellent. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made more sense of the data.” He reached for something off-camera. “Good day.” His visage disappeared immediately afterward, and the four remaining people on the conference call shared a moment of silence.

“I’ll make the needed modifications to the Intruder,” Brandon finally said. “Krueger, can you come by later today to pick up the drive?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get the address from you while I’m there as well.”

“Awesome. Let me know when you’re on the way. Mr. Everett, Liz, take care.” And just like that, Brandon Desmoulins disconnected from the conference, and Khai shut her laptop before turning to face the two other men in the room with her.

“Well,” she said.

“It sounds self-explanatory to me,” Everett said. “We plant the Intruder, wait for it to do its job, and decide our next steps after we analyze the data.”

“We might run out of time before then.”

Everett shot her an inquisitive look.

“Rook Capital… Rook, the chess piece.”

“Castle,” Everett concluded. “The private contractors?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I caught it too,” Krueger added. “It can’t be coincidence that Cross is part of their office in Queens, he has to be connected to the private contractors coming up in cities across the country.”

“All the evidence points to that,” Khai said. “And if all is as it seems then there’s no time to delay here…” She stood up from her seat, adjusting her glasses. “We have to kill him.”

“Liz,” Everett said, raising a hand to chest-level. “You’re talking about killing a possible U.S. Government agent. That’s a sure-fire way of drawing attention that we cannot afford.”

“It’s also the only way we can guarantee avoiding the same thing that’s happening to Dana and Charles right now, and to stop whatever’s brewing from destroying the whole organization…” She took a breath, placing her hands on her hips and shutting her eyes. She opened them again and met Krueger’s gaze. “Milo, go see CJ in the armory.”

“Liz,” Krueger began.

She started toward her desk at the head of the conference room, by the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “It won’t be easy, but if you can get in and out before they know what happened, I think we can slip the noose before they get a chance to tighten it.” She took a seat and woke her desktop computer.

“Liz, I was ordered—”

“It’ll be tight, but there’s a safe house in Sunnyside, on 40th Street. You can lie low there while things settle down—”

“Liz..!” He got her attention.

Khai looked away from the monitor to face him.

“That isn’t the job,” he specified. “You heard Mr. Hayden, this is strictly an infiltration assignment.”

“I did,” she said, “but it may be too late to do anything about whatever facts we dig up by the time we analyze them all. We need to solve the problem before it becomes one.”

“And I agree with you there,” Krueger said, leaving his place at the table to approach her. “But this is different—you’re talking about having me remove a possible Federal Agent.” He stopped barely two feet from the edge of her desk, then placed his hands onto the desk top. “A long time ago I stood right here in front of your predecessor, and promised to kill him in his sleep if he ever ordered me to do something I’m not comfortable with.”

Khai didn’t take her eyes from his, even as she leaned back into the chair and uncrossed her legs. She wasn’t even aware of the distance she tried to create between them until she blinked, realizing what she was actually feeling wasn’t shock, but fear.

“I don’t want to have to revisit that threat.” Krueger finally said. He maintained his flat tone, deadly serious. “Least of all to you… but if I have to, I will.” He straightened his posture again, looking down at her. “I was issued an order, Liz. And I don’t intend to deviate from it.” Krueger turned on his heel and headed toward the exit, his hands in his coat pockets. On his way out of the office he acknowledged Danielle again and passed through the glass doors to the elevator down to Sixth Avenue.

Everett shuffled uncomfortably after Krueger left. “That wasn’t something I should have been in the room for. Sorry, Liz.”

“No, you’re fine,” she reassured him. “Really…” She let a quiet sigh escape her lips. “You know, that’s the closest thing to a fight he and I have had in the almost two years we’ve been together… I was always nervous about that, but now I think I was scared of the wrong thing.”

Everett followed her eyes darting across the top of her desk. He noticed her reach for a pen and absentmindedly tap its point on an old post-it note. He’d seen that look on her face before, and could practically see the gears turning in her head as she worked through what must have been a problem she’d revisited and resolved dozens of times already. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she declared, trying to convince herself more than him. “Yeah, it’s just… easy to forget who he is sometimes.”

“A good-hearted man?”

Khai looked up at him and, after a brief pause, exhaled. She shut her eyes and put the pen back down, then brought her hand back up to remove her glasses and rest them by the pen. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and first finger then pinched the bridge of her nose before allowing her hand to slide down her face to her mouth as she opened her eyes again, staring ahead blankly.

Everett looked over his shoulder to the conference table and headed over to retrieve a chair which he placed in front of Khai’s desk. “Don’t tell me,” he began, sitting down. “You’re considering ending your relationship with him; you’re listing the pros and cons in your head and trying to come up with any good reason to let him go on your own terms before you’re forced to make that choice.”

Khai quietly laughed and shook her head. “That obvious, huh?”

“You may as well be an open book,” he returned, smirking.

Khai relaxed her smile and brought both her hands together, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. She shut her eyes again and placed her face into her palms, exhaling slowly. She interlaced her fingers again, looking over her knuckles at him.

“And now, you’re realizing he’s not only the best thing to happen to the Branch, but also to you.”

Khai nodded. “I know,” she said. “And as much as I try to rationalize and poke holes in the pros, I can’t find a single reason to make it worth breaking up with him in the end.” She dropped her hands and turned her head to look him in the eye. “But I’m scared, Henry,” she admitted. “I hesitated even bringing him to the Brooklynite that night. I didn’t think I’d fall for him…” She shrugged. “But I did. A kind, charming, good-looking guy with a tragic past; I didn’t stand a chance,” she laughed. “I ignored my doubts and let myself get closer to him. No matter how many times I think I made a mistake with him, then realize I didn’t, I still feel like I’m going to screw this up somehow. And that terrifies me.”

Everett gave a half-suppressed chuckle as he considered his next words. “Forty years ago, I think I heard those same words come out of your father’s mouth when he tried to talk himself out of proposing to your mother.”

Khai laughed again. “I guess the apple plopped straight down,” she jested. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he was the smartest person I knew. Then I chastised him for not being able to see the obvious choice,” he added with a smirk. “You inherited his brilliant mind, Liz. The two of you work through problems the same way—you consider all the approaches, all the variables, and by the time you reach your solution you realize you knew the right answer from the beginning.” He shrugged. “This is no different. I think you made your decision before we even started talking about this.”

Khai opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but stopped herself when she realized he was right. Sure Krueger caught her off guard with his parting words, but he said what he did because of who he was and—more importantly—who he wasn’t. Khai rested her cheek in her hand as she considered Krueger, weighing his numerous good qualities against his few bad ones. She tried to justify splitting with him in light of any hypothetical and actual threats to their relationship, and a soft smile washed over her face as she realized she couldn’t.

“There’s a reason you invited him to dinner that night, Liz” Everett concluded, leaning forward. “Remember that.”

~~

Krueger headed down Sixth Avenue and crossed at 51st Street to head toward the garage where he parked his car. He slowed after he made it across the street, then sighed as he stopped in his tracks. He stood off to one side to let others pass him as he slid his hands into his coat pockets and stared absentmindedly into the sky, re-playing his meeting with Khai, Everett, Brandon, and Hayden in his head over and again as he considered the information. After a while he fished into his coat pocket to find his mobile phone. “Ich werde es bereuen,” he said to himself as he dialed the number when he found it in his list of contacts.

“Mr. Krueger!” CJ Silvio’s voice on the other end answered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need something precise and powerful.” he said. “Last-minute.”

“How powerful are we talking?”

“Hole-puncher.”

“Uh…” Silvio shuffled audibly on the other end. “I think I can put a list together. Rifles or handguns?”

“The latter. The quieter the better.”

“Oh, well that narrows it down… I’ll have to see if we have any of those left in the armory.”

“Meet me there in thirty minutes.” Krueger ended the call and headed for the garage on 51st to his car.

(Masterlist | Chapter 12)

[docholligay]

Doc Loves A Series of Unfortunate Events

You should read this book series to your children. Or your nieces and nephews. Neighbor children. 

Do NOT watch the Netflix Series, which I tried VERY hard to like. 

This is one of the few series I know that isn’t even really YA, it’s truly a children’s series, written with very simply prose, and is incredible. 

The prose is simple, as I said, but that does not mean it is in any way boring, or lacking in its own flavor of poetry. The narrator, Lemony Snicket, has an incredible way of telling stories, that is immediately recognizable as its own patter, in the same way that Rod Serling or Stephen King have an easily recognizable style, not something I generally find in children’s stories. 

If an optimist had his left arm chewed off by an alligator, he might say in a pleasant and hopeful voice, "Well this isn't too bad, I don't have a left arm anymore but at least nobody will ever ask me if I'm left-handed or right-handed," but most of us would say something more along the lines of, "Aaaaaa! My arm! My arm!

It’s the sort of thing that presents ideas, and themes, and really, very difficult things, to children in a way that is understandable to them without talking down to them. It’s what I think all children’s literature should aspire to be. The narration is funny, but often poignant, and it manages to define terms for children in a way that perfectly falls into the story, without seeming a moment’s out of step:

A passport, as I'm sure you know, is a document that one shows to government officials whenever one reaches a border between two countries, so that the official can learn who you are, where you were born, and how you look when photographed unflatteringly.

A child not knowing what a passport was would then immediately know, without having to stop and ask, without any sort of pause or confusion. It’s done so artfully, so many times within the series, that it becomes almost a joke or a style within itself. 

One of the reasons I love the story is that bad things continually happen to the children in it. It is not a story of being loved, and having triumph. It is a story of never giving up, against impossible odds, when all the world is against you. How great resourcefulness will carry you to the next tragedy, which is also something you can handle. I so rarely see things like this, that truly teach children that life is meant to be fought on, and no matter how young you are, you are completely capable of doing so. It never feels like the children will win, but it never feel like things are hopeless, either. It’s a strangely realistic children’s series, in this way, and I think presenting that level of resilience to children is important, and incredible. 

And it never shys away from using that simple yet elegant prose to highlight difficult things as well, things that I don’t know most children’s books go into. Not only the bad happenings themselves, but the feelings behind it. Death and moral complexity and saving face. The way tragedy has a tendency to worm its way into your heart, and lie there. I always think of this quote: 

It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.

And this one: 

People aren't either wicked or noble. They're like chef's salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.

And this one okay I am done now: 

When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is to comfort them. But if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you do not notice them.

This is all I can say in the way of convincing you to read the books without spoiling anything for you

Spoilery below the cut:

You know what I never saw coming, as a full grown adult reading these books? Lemony Snicket being a character and not simply the author. I don’t know that I know many adult novels that are the particularly clever. And this is part of what I love so well about ASOUE, is that it is uniquely clever among children’s books, while still managing to remain within a child’s wheelhouse, and making good use of a formulaic book style, that allows children to experience the pleasure of getting “the same thing, but different’ which we all look for as adults, really. 

The way it handles grief and misery as given parts of the human experience absolutely floors me. It’s not a blink and you’ll miss it sort of thing, it’s woven through the fabric of the whole series, that the children lose over and over again, and that it absolutely affects them. But losing their parents from the outset doesn’t ruin them, and they don’t need to be rescued (Which is good, because they never are) they are their OWN rescuers. This isn’t a Cinderella story where some wish fulfilment comes out of the gloom. This is about the three of them having to band together, and save themselves. 

I love how the mystery gets deeper and more complicated as you go on, while still having to deal with the threat of Olaf. I love that a great deal of the mysteries are left unsolved, I love that we have no idea what happens to the Baudelaires. I love the sense of uncertainty that weaves itself throughout the piece, the way that it, like life, leaves us to tie up the loose ends. I think it’s such a valuable lesson as well as just a damn good series. 

I’ve talked, from time to time, about how I think this book, written by a Jewish man and stated to be about Jewish children, uses Count Olaf as a stand in for anti-Semitism. It strikes me so powerfully, how they can always recognize him, and how it should be obvious to anyone, but the adults REFUSE to see what it is until he tries to kill them again, ad then of course the adults promise that they will protect the children, again. And that, my friends, is a fucking Jewish-ass mood. Only they can see that the same threat is just now wearing a new disguise, over and over again. 

And that the children, after everything, have another orphan with them, another person that they must carry on, and the story really does not stop but just moves forward, I love that. They will care for Beatrice in a way that they themselves were never cared for. I think The End is a really strange book in a lot of ways, and how I feel about it very often comes down to the day, but I do love that. I love that the children are willing to be the protection they never had, and I think there’s something very winning in that. Despise everything, the children never become the evil that seeks them. I think that’s the most hopeful thing of all, and the most JEWISHLY hopeful thing of all, Not that they will be safe, but that they will be GOOD, against everything.

[guardiankarenterrier]

Letter O for the minific thing

(stars or space for this ask meme) (ooooh no character specified, free reign it is-) (my ao3)

Nino’s never realised before that he can outrun an akuma.  He’s not sure he could do that before, but he’s apparently capable of it now, or at least he hopes he’s capable of it now.

It’s not working as well as he would like, because the same fear that speeds his steps also lends speed to the akuma itself, but it is working.  Mostly. Sort of. 

The butterfly’s going to catch up to him eventually, though, isn’t it-

Getting abruptly grabbed around the waist is a surprise. 

Getting abruptly grabbed and then shoved protectively behind someone is a surprise, too.

Nino’s definitely breathing hard from more than just the running now, but he looks past where he’s being crowded away from the akuma and blinks rapidly at what he sees.

That doesn’t change the sight of a familiar guitar strapped to Juleka’s brother’s back. 

Luka circles carefully between Nino and the butterfly that is- that had been- chasing him down.

The butterfly has stopped, now, flitting back and forth in apparent agitation instead.  Nino’s fear has faded into confusion, and apparently Luka- and it is definitely Luka, even if he didn’t recognise the guitar it isn’t like Nino knows anyone else who lives on the Seine and goes around with a guitar at all times- wasn’t afraid in the first place.

The akuma appears to give up, which is not a thing Nino was aware they could do, and darts off into the distance instead. 

Nino lets out a sigh of relief before Luka turns to him, hands clamping down on Nino’s shoulders in a way that he immediately relaxes into.  (Nino won’t figure out until much, much later that he relaxes so quickly because that’s something Adrien does all the time.  That’s something he already associates with comfort, with contentment).

“Are you all right?” Luka says, far too intensely, staring at Nino and shifting very slightly in place.  His eyes glitter in the faint light from the street lamps reflecting off the water.

It’s late, more than late enough that Nino is surprised to see Luka out here at all, and several of the nearest street lamps are dim or flickering or have gone out altogether.  He faintly remembers Alya posting something on the Ladyblog about that, something about how the city’s been putting off too many necessary repairs in the hope that Ladybug’s Miracle will fix it, and he thinks he remembers both Marinette and Alya complaining about how that is definitely not how Miracle works, but right now Nino’s just wishing the city had fixed the lights because it is suddenly way too hard to look directly at Luka. 

It had been storming earlier, and Nino wonders absently how long Luka’s been outside because he still looks wind-ruffled and damp and Nino only just realised a few hours ago that he is maybe, possibly, kind of not as straight as he’d thought (a realisation that had Alya clutching a pillow and laughing so hard she’d fallen off his bed. She’d thought it was hilarious right up until the butterfly showed up). 

That realisation hadn’t been about Luka.  It hadn’t had anything to do with Luka.

(-excepting, maybe, the way that Luka’s hands had been immediately reassuring because of what- because of who- it reminds him of, but Nino isn’t ready for that yet.  He’d gotten as far as admitting the bit about Chat Noir to Alya only after she’d so easily admitted to her crush on Ladybug, and celebrity crushes are about all Nino can manage right at the moment

-celebrity crushes actually aren’t a great line of thought, either).

“Hey,” Luka says, his hands tightening on Nino’s shoulders, drawing him closer as Luka’s brow furrows.  Nino can’t keep looking at him like this, wet hair falling in his windblown face and eyes gleaming in the faint reflected light off the river.  He looks at the river instead, but that doesn’t help.  It’s dark enough here that there are stars reflected in the river where they flash between the clouds, a mirror that reflects back and forth endlessly, and it’s dizzying to look at.  

Luka’s hands press again, before he relaxes his grip.  He doesn’t let go entirely.  “Nino, right? Are you all right?“ 

Nino’s not sure why he answers honestly.  He barely knows Luka.  He knows Juleka, sure, but that’s not the same thing at all. "N-no."  He shivers, leaning a little further into Luka’s hands without really meaning to.  "I’m, uh, it’s not been a great night so far." 

"I noticed,” Luka says, eyebrows still raised.  He nods back the way Nino had come from.  “Leaving you on your own seems like a pretty bad idea.  Want to come home with me for a bit first?”

Nino does not like the way he can’t help but scan for innuendo in that, paranoid now from his conversation with Alya earlier.  As far as he can tell, though, it’s nothing but an honest offer, and frankly Nino really doesn’t think he should be alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone even long enough to go find Alya or Adrien, because going to either one of them is a very, very good way to bring up the same panicked thoughts that had him running in the first place. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Luka tells him, apparently picking up something from his expression.  “I mean, you can, but you don’t have to.  You’re into music too, right?” He does let go now, reaching back to settle one hand on his guitar.  “We can just jam for a while." 

That… actually does sound pretty good. 

"Sure,” Nino agrees, taking a shaky breath, holding it and letting it out.  “Sounds good." 

He’s a little surprised to see that the lights on the Liberty are out. 

"Think Mom forgot to pay the utilities on time again,” Luka says, apologetically.  He doesn’t really sound surprised, or worried, and when Nino sneaks a glance over at him the look he’s giving the ship is still mostly fond.  “She’ll remember when she tries to make coffee in the morning." 

Nino opens his mouth, then shuts it slowly.  He feels like anything he can ask about that would be way too prying. 

"What about you and Juleka?" 

Apparently he can’t help himself anyway.

"And Rose,” Luka says, unconcerned as he leads the way onto the darkened ship with sure feet.  “She lives here too, mostly.  We’re used to it."  He stops to offer Nino a hand onto the deck, shrugging when Nino’s caught his balance again.  "If we really have to we can stop by Marinette’s folk’s place anyway, they always have plenty of leftovers.  And Mom doesn’t forget about the bills when the weather’s really bad." 

Nino doesn’t say anything, guilt climbing into his throat.  It sounds like Luka and Juleka- and Rose, apparently- have a lot better reason to attract an akuma right now than he does. 

And yet Luka had stepped in to save Nino from one, instead. 

"It’s gonna be pretty dark inside, so we might as well stay above deck."  Luka nods at the stairs to the wheelhouse, where Nino can see occasional flashes of light now.

That’s not helping with the feeling of unreality creeping onto the ship after them. 

Between the dim lighting, the scudding clouds and the lingering scent of rain, stepping onto the Liberty already feels like stepping out of the world. 

When he follows Luka into the wheelhouse itself, that impression only grows stronger.  Nino doesn’t think the glow-in-the-dark stars had been on the walls and ceiling before, but he has to admit he’s not sure he would have noticed if they had been. 

He’s pretty sure Rose painting more stars on the floor is new, though. 

Juleka looks up and mumbles something in Nino’s direction, nudging Rose a moment later. Unlike Juleka, Rose springs lithely to her feet with an enthusiastic cry. 

"Nino!” Rose grabs his hands, swinging Nino around before he can react.  “Are you here for the night, too?"  She tilts her head, grinning impishly.  "It’s turning into a real party." 

"Mom’s not home?” Luka asks, stepping carefully around Rose’s paints to lean out a window. 

Juleka lifts her head, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and casually swipes at Luka’s pant leg with a paintbrush.  She leaves an uneven stripe behind that glows dimly in the refracted light.  “Nope.  Haven’t seen her, and her cell’s dead again." 

"Figures.  Pretty sure he could use a meal tonight, too."  Luka rubs the back of his neck, sighing, and reaches for something wedged up against the side of the window. "We’ll figure something out." 

"We don’t have to,” Rose pipes up, releasing Nino and rocking back on the balls of her feet.  Nino dimly registers that Rose’s hands are covered in glowing paint, which means there’s a good chance it’s on his clothes as well.  “Marinette brought a whole bag of stuff over earlier.  Said Kim saw the lights go out." 

…apparently Nino’s been more out of the loop than he’d thought. 

Luka’s prize turns out to be a storm lantern.  To Nino’s surprise, when Luka hangs it out the window and lights it, it lights green, adding to the strange ambience on the dead ship. 

Dropping back to the floor, Rose rolls so that her head is in Juleka’s lap.  "Bet you he shows in the first half an hour." 

"In this weather?"  Luka withdraws back into the wheelhouse, stepping carefully again.  He swings his guitar off his back long enough to take a seat on the floor himself, waving Nino down after him.  "Probably the first fifteen minutes." 

It’s occurring to Nino, slowly, that he should probably ask who they’re talking about.

His question’s answered before he can ask it. 

Despite how strange the rest of his night has gone, he’s still surprised when Chat Noir slips in through the window.

"You made it,” Rose greets him, grabbing a bakery bag from beside Juleka.  She rummages through it briefly, then withdraws a roll and throws it at Chat Noir, who catches it without any apparent effort. 

Chat Noir’s eyes are obviously drawn to Nino, though, and Nino swallows as Chat tilts his head and his eyes flash in the dark like his namesake.  “‘Course I made it.  Are we adding people again?" 

"Maybe."  Luka shrugs, catching a roll of his own when Juleka throws it at him.  "Nino wasn’t doing so well earlier, so I invited him over.  Up to him if he wants to come any other night, but-” He casts an unreadable glance at Chat Noir.  “Thought we’d save you and Ladybug another battle tonight." 

Chat Noir winces, turning the roll over in his hands and tearing off a surprisingly small piece with his claws.  "Definitely appreciate that." 

This is not helping Nino’s feeling of unreality.  

Chat showing up out of the blue isn’t doing great things for his recent emotional upheaval, either. 

Maybe he should have risked Alya or Adrien after all.  Why hadn’t he just gone to Marinette’s?  He knows how busy she’s been lately, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have minded if he just hung out for a while.  Just- just long enough that he wasn’t risking any akuma when we had to be alone with his thoughts. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that Chat Noir is here, anyway.  Nino really doesn’t like being akumatised. 

He clears his throat and immediately regrets it when four pairs of eyes turn to him.  Swallowing again, Nino asks, "So just how often do you do this?" 

"Us?” Rose waves to indicate herself and Juleka, splattering paint on the floor and on Juleka’s clothes.  Juleka doesn’t react to that any more than Luka had before, but then Nino doesn’t think either of them is exactly likely to get in trouble for it.  “Most nights, I think?" 

"Though we do have power most of the time,” Juleka adds dryly.  “Seriously, that part’s not usual.  Mom just gets kinda forgetful, sometimes." 

"I was…” Nino trails off, eyes darting around in a way he wishes he could stop as he tries to come up with a discreet way to ask them why Chat Noir is here and fails. 

He sort of hopes that Chat Noir will realise that and fill him in, but Chat’s not proving any better at reading social situations than Adrien is and that’s saying something. 

None of the others answer his unasked questions, either. 

Chat Noir leans against the open window to slowly finish off his roll, delicately licking the crumbs off his clawed hands, and Nino has to avert his eyes in a hurry.

His eyes land on Luka instead, though, and that’s not actually any better.

Letting out a breath, Nino accepts that no one looks about to offer him any more of an explanation.  He’s having the kind of night where he’s not sure he even wants to ask, so he sits down beside Luka and catches the roll Rose throws his way. 

He takes a bite, pauses, and takes a closer look. 

Marinette may have said these were leftovers, but he doesn’t think they are.  He wonders how much she knows about this.  He doesn’t think it’s been going on for too long, or there would probably be even more of their class here, but it’s been at least long enough to somehow involve Chat Noir. 

It really doesn’t look like anyone’s going to explain that part. 

They haven’t asked Nino to explain himself, either, though, so he doesn’t really want to push.  He’s not ready to talk to anyone else about today.  He’s barely ready to talk to Alya about it, and she’d figured it out before he had.  (Nino left his phone at her place, now that he thinks about it.  Otherwise she’d probably be blowing up his notifications by now). 

Nino never does ask, in the end.  They finish eating and Rose ropes him and Chat Noir both into helping her paint and they end up with the glowing stars sprawling out of the wheelhouse and down across the deck, interspersed with footprints and even a few handprints where they’d gotten into light-hearted scuffles over the paint.  Chat Noir’s boots leave paw print patterns, Nino notes, snickering to himself. 

If he gets into a brief competition with Chat Noir over drawing shooting stars on the darkest section of the deck, no one else has to know. 

Luka and Juleka join them too, with Luka stopping to put out the green storm lantern, but while Juleka seems happy enough to help Rose paint Luka settles himself near the prow and starts to play his guitar instead. 

Nino doesn’t notice that he’s humming along to the tune until Chat Noir starts putting words to it. 

“Earth below us, drifting, falling, floating weightless, calling calling home,” Chat Noir sings, nearly purring the lyrics, and laughs when Juleka drops her paintbrush and heads for Ivan’s drums instead. 

Nino’s not familiar with the song, not at all, but he’s trying to memorise it so he can look it up later and learn it for himself.  Between the drums, the guitar, and the way Chat Noir’s voice echoes off the dark river and sends shivers down his spine, he doubts he’ll ever be able to recapture the way it feels to hear it like this, but it’s still a song he wants to know. 

Anarka does show back up, eventually.  She doesn’t seem surprised to see Nino or Chat Noir, and if she objects any to the paint splashed across her boat then Nino certainly can’t tell. 

He doesn’t find out, that night, why Chat Noir is there.  He doesn’t even find out why Rose is there, though it’s days before it even occurs to him to wonder about that anyway. 

But it’s far from the last night that Nino strays to the Liberty when he can’t find sleep, and he’s far from the only one to do it.  Chat Noir’s only ever there when it’s a smaller group- Nino doesn’t see him unless the only other people on board are Rose and the Couffaines- but otherwise the Liberty’s slowly becoming a refuge for a rotating cast of his classmates. 

By the time Nino works out that he’s not the only one Luka’s stepped in front of a butterfly for, he’s not surprised.

[albapuella]

How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter One)

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck

Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday.

I also tried to be fancy with the html, but it didn't come out right (you will see what I mean). However, I'm leaving it as is for now.

Chapter 1: Inciting Incidents 

Day 0:

“I'm smooth as peanut butter,” Dave protested, his coffee sloshing in its cup as he swung his arm out. “Choosy moms might choose Jiff, but I ain't in the market for an older woman at the moment. Just call me Skippy, because that's how smooth I am.”

Rose looked both unimpressed and unconvinced. “Really?” She took a small, dignified sip of her tea.

“Yes!” Dave frowned. “I'm like super suave. Fucking James Bond over here.”

She squinted at him for a moment. “You do realize that James Bond is characterized by his inability to keep any woman with him longer than the length of one of his movies.”

“That's only because he's too much man to be tied down,” Dave said. “And that's not even the point: the point is that the fucker's suave. He can have any girl he wants.”

“And I suppose you can get any boy you want?” It sounded dismissive. “It would be wonderful if you managed that feat before my wedding. You know how mother worries about you, and I would rather not spend the first day wedded to my wife listening to mother wailing about how her poor little Davey's going to be all alone in the world.”

Dave felt the flush creeping up his cheeks, and he wasn't sure if he was experiencing his future humiliation already or if he was getting mad. Just because he couldn't keep a relationship going for long, that didn't mean he wasn't smooth. It wasn't his fault that up until very recently he'd only pursued girls because he hadn't wanted to admit he was gay... Okay, yes, that actually was his fault. The point was of course those relationships had failed. His relationship prowess had never been given a fighting chance. “Yeah, I could. In fact, I could make any of the guys here fall for me.”

“Very well, brother of mine,” Rose said, smiling that particular smile which tended to portend bad things for the person it was directed at, “how about that one?” She pointed to a man sitting alone at a table on the other end of the cafe.

Dave looked over at him without making it obvious he was doing so. Damn, Rose. The guy was a snack, obviously, but his expression indicated that the whole world had pissed in his cornflakes one at a time and had made him miss the bus to his job at the blow job factory. Still, it was too late to back out now. “Fine,” he said, setting down his cup just a little too hard. “I'll see you in two weeks, Rose, and I'll have him on my arm in a matching tux. We're going to be the hottest, gayest penguins you've ever fucking seen.”

She laughed at him. Which was fine: he was going to have the last laugh here. And there was no time like the present. He stood and strode over to the other table, curving his mouth in his smoothest, suavest fucking smile.

The man had noticed Dave's approach and looked up from his coffee, the ire on his face now joined by confusion. “Can I help you?” His voice was rough but not unpleasant. His tone was less pleasant, but Dave had expected that from his expression.

“I sure hope so,” Dave said. He put one hand on his hip and held the other out to the man. “I've just lost my name: can I have yours?”

The man blinked. Then he laughed—less amused and more disbelieving. “Seriously? You're seriously going to open up with that? That has to be the cheesiest fucking pick up line I've heard in my life. And I've heard a lot of them.”

Dave only grinned. Breaking the ice was just one of Dave's many talents. “What can I say, dude, I'm a connoisseur of fine cheese. Premium, aged in wooden crocks or whatever.” He waggled his hand. “Don't leave me hanging.”

The man looked from Dave's hand to his face and back again before heaving a sigh. He shook Dave's hand, his grip solid but not crushing. “Karkat.” Then he frowned. “What do you want?”

“Thought that was obvious, Karkat,” Dave said, trying the name out. He liked it. “I want to ask you out. On a date. I'm Dave, by the way,” he added quickly. It probably would have been smarter to open up with that. It also occurred to Dave that there were a lot of other variables he hadn't considered until this moment. “If you're single. God, I hope you're single. And into guys. Otherwise, I'm going to feel pretty stupid.”

Karkat opened his mouth but didn't speak as something too quick for Dave to pick up flashed across his face. Then he grinned, perhaps a little too widely. “You're in luck,” he said. “I am in the market for a date.”

Oh. “Cool. Cool, that's—” Dave broke off with a fake cough into his fist. “Yeah, uh. So, are you free tomorrow? Night?”

A slow nod. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds great.” He dug through his bag and took out a small notepad. “Do you use Pesterchum?” he asked as he scribbled something down.

“I think everyone and their grandmother uses Pesterchum,” Dave said, still kind of surprised that this was going as well as it was. “Not my grandmother, I don't have one, but you know, grandmothers. Or the tech savvy ones anyway. I think your average grandmother might have some trouble—the text is kind of tiny, isn't it?”

Karkat looked up from his writing. “Right.” He ripped the page out and held it out to Dave. “Message me, and we can set up that date.”

Dave took the paper. “Thanks, I'll, uh, message you soon!” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and made his way back to Rose. He knew his face was burning, but he decided to believe it was the flush of victory rather than anything else. She was still smiling at him, and he held the paper out in front of her face. “See? I've already got his chumhandle. You're going to eat your words, Rose. I hope you like the taste of humble pie.”

Rose laughed behind her hand. “Nice work, Dave,” she said once she'd recovered. “Try not to break his heart, won’t you?”

“What?” Dave shook his head. “His heart is going to be wrapped in three layers of bubble wrap and under ten pounds of packing peanuts.” He shoved the paper into his pocket. “I got this thing on lock.”

---

Karkat tore his eyes away from the retreating Dave to jot down some notes on his notepad. Looked like he'd be able to write this article sooner rather than later. Unless Dave had been dared to come over and get his phone number. That had happened before. He scowled into his coffee. Well, if Dave never got in touch with him, then he'd just use his last disaster of a relationship to base his article on. That was what he'd planned to do originally anyway.

It wasn't a secret around the office that Karkat Vantas, despite being a font of romance wisdom, was dead in the water when it came to dating and keeping a boyfriend. He attributed this mostly to his abhorrent personality and lack of self-control. Whenever the opportunity came up for him to stick his foot in his mouth, you could find him there, furiously chewing on his toes. He'd lost count of how many times a date had ended because he'd said something he shouldn't have. Or rather, screamed something he shouldn't have at the top of his lungs with more profanity than was warranted in retrospect.

So, of course, the boss knew about Karkat's lackluster love life, too. The assignment had been one of her little jokes. One of her little mind games. “Oh, Mr. Vantas, please write an article about how to fuck up a relationship in less than two weeks—it should be easy for you seeing as you're such an expert at being so noxious that no one but your handful of friends can even stand to be anywhere around you, never mind a stranger who doesn't know your history or has any reason to want to stick around and deal with your bullshit.” Paraphrased, of course. Her version had been much less honest.

He re-read his notes.

* Dave, no last name given. Terrible pick up line. Rambles. Idiot or awkward. Or both. Dresses like a color-blind douche bag. Obnoxious sunglasses. Vision impaired? Hot. Attractive. Moderately attractive.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he set down his notepad to fish it out. He frowned down at the screen. A notification from Pesterchum? His heart rose a little despite himself until he saw the name. Kanaya. He sighed. While he was happy she was happy, he couldn't handle being gushed at right now. He put the phone on the table and finished his coffee.

---

Dave dithered for hours before he finally decided on the perfect message to open communications with.

TG: this is dave from the cafe TG: wanted to say hey TG: and ask what you want to do Saturday

Okay, so it wasn't the best rap ever, but he was stretched for material here. Also, it probably wasn't a good idea to blow up this guy's phone before Dave got some confirmation that this was even Karkat's chumhandle. It wouldn't be the first time someone had given him a dud. At least the messages were going through: that was a good sign.

CG: ARE YOU RHYMING ON PURPOSE? TG: hell yea dog TG: mc strider here by popular demand to lay down the jams TG: ive got all my adoring fans just waiting for me to shower them with stanz- TG: -as like youve never seen its a dream come true straight to you

That was enough; he had to give Karkat some time to respond. Assuming this was Karkat.

TG: this is karkat right? CG: OH I CAN TALK NOW? CG: YES THIS IS KARKAT. CG: AS CHARMING AS THIS IS (AND I AM SO UTTERLY CHARMED RIGHT NOW), DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME? TG: totally i totally do i knew as soon as i saw you yea im taking this total snack on a date

Which was not a lie, technically. Yes, Dave liked how Karkat looked, but he probably wouldn't have gone over to his table without Rose egging him on.

TG: where do you want to go skys the limit TG: but not really TG: cause no offense but i just met you TG: and i dont think were at the stage where id be willing to sell one my kidneys TG: to make your dreams of jumping out of an airplane onto the back of a narwhal or some shit like that come true TG: thats like after at least date number 5 and id expect some kind of thanks TG: at least a tongue kiss or something TG: not that i think you need to pay for dates physically TG: thats all kinds of gross TG: forget i said any of that please CG: … CG: HOW ABOUT DINNER AND A MOVIE. LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE. CAN WE DO THAT?

Dave grinned with relief. He'd thought for sure he'd just blown this.

TG: sounds great nothing beats the classics

With that sorted out, the rest had been easy. Dave closed his phone, feeling accomplished. He was really doing this. He was really making this happen. But first, he had some clothes to throw in the shower!

---

Karkat slid his phone back into his pocket with a sigh. Well, now he had a date for tomorrow. He looked down at the new set of notes he'd written during that 'conversation'.

* Last name Strider? Raps without provocation. Definitely visually impaired. Goes off on wild tangents. I'm going to be murdered. What the hell am I doing?

It had been difficult not to react in his normal way to the frankly bizarre things Dave had said, and he knew that was only going to be more difficult to manage in person. Still, he had to 'hook' this man as best as he was able before he could fuck it up like always. After all, he couldn't 'lose' a guy he never 'had', right? He idly entertained the thought of what 'having' Dave might be like. He was clearly crazy, but there was something endearing in his total inability to communicate like a regular person. The way he'd been so obviously nervous and out of his depth when he'd come over to ask Karkat out. The way his cheeks had flushed when Karkat had accepted. The way his body had moved when he'd walked away.

Shaking his head, Karkat tucked the notepad into his bag. No point in even thinking about it. Even if he weren't getting into this just to ruin the relationship for his article, the end would have been the same anyway. Honestly, he was doing Dave a favor: at least this way, Dave would only be wasting ten days worth of his time rather than torturous months of dealing with Karkat's bullshit before finding an excuse to cut him loose.

[theraputicfluff]

Evasion

You know what I can’t get enough of? ticklish Emile.

So guess what I wrote: a fic involving ticklish Emile.

Gotta credit this lovely fic by @cefstickles, which totally sold me on the Deceit x Emile pairing. The AU of this fic is based loosely on this post, which speculates that Dr. Picani might take on some of Thomas’ sides himself if he had Thomas as a client.

Pairings: Deceit x Dr. Emile Picani Words: 1,357 Warnings: tickle fic, implied angst from unidentified clients, sad Emile (don’t worry, he gets better). SFW. [Let me know if I left any warnings out!]

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, lemme know!

Emile Picani loved his job. Really, he did.

But the same traits that made him so good at it- the empathy and depth of understanding that allowed him to pour so much of his heart into his work - left him, on bad days, feeling as dim and hollow as a spent candle.

Today was a bad day.

"Are you alright?" Deceit asked, uncharacteristically direct.

Emile was slumped beside him on the couch, struggling to peel open an applesauce cup. He didn't seem to hear.

"...Em?"

"Hm? Oh, yes." His voice was thin, more like he was murmuring to himself than replying. Another long silence followed.

"One of your patients, I take it?"

Emile finally placed the applesauce cup on the coffee table, still stubbornly sealed. "Several." He straightened up and smoothed his hands over his knees. "But. Work at work, home at home." He flashed his companion what he hoped was a cheerful smile. "No need to worry. You wanna watch a show or... somethin'?"

It was not a convincing performance.

"That's not dinner, is it?" Deceit nodded to the applesauce.

Emile looked at it blankly. "Well, I can't get it open, so I suppose not."

Deceit turned his human eye to him and managed to deliver a scolding lecture on the importance of self-care in a single deadpan look. Emile would've smirked, if he still had it in him.

When he looked away instead, Deceit's heart dropped a little. He felt a bit out of his depth - heart-to-hearts were in Emile’s wheelhouse, not his (at least, not honest ones). But he sure looked like he needed one.

"Would... you care to discuss it?"

Emile did manage a warm little smile at that. "I can't, really... confidentiality and all that."

"Oh, but I'm very confidential!" Deceit replied. "Keeping secrets is my specialty."

"You have enough of my secrets, sweetheart."

Truth was, Emile really didn't want to talk about it. It was hard enough to listen to the echoes of the day's events; they’d been spinning through his mind since he'd walked through the door.

Deceit slumped back. "Well, let's find something to help you relax then."

"Honestly, Dee, I'm fine. I just need a good night's sleep is all."

"You know how you get, though. At this rate, you'll be tossing and turning all night..."

Emile sighed and let his head fall limply against the wall behind him. Another silence yawned.

"I thought you cared about me! I thought you understood!"

"...Is there a particular show you feel like rewatching?" Deceit's voice sounded far away.

"Dr. Picani, I did it again. I thought I was getting better."

"Well, if you can't get it off your chest, and you're clearly not interested in television..." Deceit was starting to grow concerned.

"Dr. Picani, I want to-"

"-Hey!" Emile squeaked, and dropped back to earth like a sack of bricks.

"That got your attention." Deceit peaked his hands under his chin and began tapping his fingers together, a villainous glint in his eye.

Emile, sensing where this was heading, drew his knees up to his chin and pressed back against the cushions. "I-if that’s how you think you’re gonna get me to relax, you’re-"

"Is it? Why, I hadn't considered it, but I must say that's an excellent idea."

"Dee, I didn't mean-" Okay, maybe he did, just a little bit. "Y-you don't have to-”

"I think we could both use a little... levity, don’t you think?"

"Wait - both of us? Is everything okay?" Picani scrambled to sit up against the arm of the chair and tilted his head with concern. "You didn’t have another nightmare, did you? I know how hard you take th-"

"Ah ah ah, don't go turnin' this back on me!" Deceit cut him off, smirking. "I'm not falling for your little therapist routines."

"Wha- that’s- it’s called emotional sensitivity, you jerk!" Picani was unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "That's not a ‘therapy routine,’ it's-"

"It's called an evasive maneuver, my dear, and I see right through it." He leaned in close, propping his chin on the other’s knees. "Evasion, after all, is my specialty."

Emile made an attempt at a stern look, but was far too distracted by the proximity of the other man (who was now stretching his fingers, catlike, up toward the ceiling) to maintain it.

"Now, if I remember correctly..." Deceit resumed poking gently up the other's sides, screwing his eyes up to the ceiling as if searching for something lost between sofa cushions. "Somewhere along here really got you last time..."

"Ack! Dee, stOPit, I'm too - I'm too tired to be ticklish - right nohow!"

Deceit actually did pause to give the doctor a look. "My dear. You are a terrible liar."

At that Emile finally cracked, unable to hold back his own nervous giggles any longer. One of the challenges (or perks, depending on how much of a lee mood he was in) of being tickled by someone who was the literal embodiment of deception (or so he claimed) was his skill in sleight of hand. It made trying to anticipate when and where he would strike virtually impossible. Emile could only press himself as far back into the pillows as he could, drawing his arms up to shield himself more as a reflex than serious defensive tactic.

"Oh, I remember now," the darker man drawled. "It was riiiight about... here."

Emile squeaked again and flinched sideways as long fingers began scribbling into his ribs. Deceit was also a strategic 'ler: he kept track of the precise pressure points that made his victim squirm most desperately, like the bottom edge of the ribcage, for example, or the space immediately above the hipbones. In Emile's case, he'd found places where skeleton met softness were particularly effective.

Of course, Deceit had to dig a little to find them, as Emile was... well, primarily composed of softness. But this only contributed to the stuttering giggles the therapist was now shaking with. And it gave Deceit an excellent excuse to slip a hand under his sweater to get a better feel.

"Dee- DEHEHE!"

"Yes dear?" Though the darker man's voice was perfectly calm, Emile caught a quick twitch in the corner of his mouth, betraying his true feelings. He was loving this.

So was Emile - at least, the part of him that wasn't trying to halt the progression of Deceit's hand against his bare skin. He succeeded only in trapping it even closer to his body. Deceit felt his glove slip off as Emile jammed his elbow into his fingers, and, shooting him a positively evil smirk, began skittering his now-free fingernails up and across Emile's belly.

"AH-aha! STOPPIT!" It didn't help that Deceit's hands were freezing cold. Must be why he wears those ridiculous yellow gloves all the time... Emile's train of thought came abruptly to a halt as Deceit found a sweet spot exactly halfway between the base of his ribs and his bellybutton. The poor doctor crumpled sideways and wheezed with laughter, desperately clutching at Deceit's sleeve.

"Goodness. That's a good spot." Deceit was outright grinning now, unable to stifle it. "Heaven help you if you ever require a Heimlich maneuver."

There was the hint of a waver to the dark side's voice as he (just barely) fought down his own case of the giggles. The man was just. so. cute.

And, unbeknownst to Deceit himself, catching that little waver was one of Emile's favorite parts of their little games. The dark side’s own giddy delight may have been subtle to onlookers, carefully tucked under his usual suave, sly persona, but the therapist was just as skilled at seeing through emotional facades as Deceit was at producing them. Emile could read him like an open book.

And being able to find a crack in the composure of someone so careful to maintain it? Somehow it felt to Emile as if a shy puppy had chosen him as his favorite.

When Emile lost his breath completely, Deceit finally withdrew his hand and patted the rumpled sweater back into place. It took Emile a moment to collect himself, still quivering with soft, hiccupy giggles.

"You're..." he slowly propped himself back upright. "Good... at that..."

Deceit only leaned back with a chuckle of his own. And a very fond smile.

Emile had always struggled to put his work aside long enough to adequately recharge his emotional batteries. But when he needed to forget the weight of the world, at least long enough to get some sleep, Deceit was always happy to help.

After all, it was his specialty.

[shy-violet-soul]

Bite Me, Bit Fit!

Title:  Bite Me, Bit Fit! Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Summary:  Dean is introduced to wearable fitness technology.  It doesn’t go well. Rating: E for everyone Warnings: fitness-related fluff; canon-compliant violence Word Count: 1,500

A/N:  I just recently got a FitBit™.  Quite the handy little contraption - because my job is sedentary, the little buzzing reminders on my wrist are good for me to go take a walk.  In the midst of a crazy moment, when that thing buzzed, I had to roll my eyes.  Then it made me wonder what Dean would think of it.  I took some creatively liberties with the actual functionalities of the app/device for the plot.  Enjoy!

A/N: somehow this got completed deleted from Tumblr. ???

*************************************************************

Suspicion lasered out of Dean’s narrowed green eyes as he stood there, arms crossed over his chest, while Sam wiggled the slim box in his direction.  

“C’mon, Dean.  It’ll be good for both of us.  It monitors exercise, your sleeping patterns…”

“None of which I do.”

“...Steps taken, water intake, calories burned...”

“None of which I care about.”

“And look - we can compete with each other on stats.”  Not to be outdone, Sam whipped out his phone, swiping quickly to an app.  “See?  We can set up a ‘Step Showdown’ or a ‘Workweek Water’ challenge.”

Plucking the phone from Sam’s grasp, Dean scrolled through the app dubiously.  “Does the ‘Weekend Warrior’ measure machete swings?”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Look, you were just saying how you needed to take better care of yourself.”

“No, you said that.”  Dean extended the phone back to him dismissively.  “All that fancy fitness crap is your wheelhouse, so go wheel yourself along.”

Pocketing his phone, Sam propped his hands on his hips and sighed as he looked down at the floor.  “Well, that’s fine.  I figured you wouldn’t be up for it.  I mean, with you getting older, I’m sure competitions like this are more of a toll on you.”

“Whoa, hey, what?”

“It’s fine, Dean.  I kept the receipt.  I’ll get you a new heating pad for your shoulder or something.”

Dean scowled as Sam turned to walk away.

“You saying I’m too old?”

“Now, I didn’t say ‘old’.  You just need to be...careful.”

“You’re the one that needs to be careful.  I could still whip you five ways from Sunday, Sammy!”

“Dean, hey, it’s fine!  We don’t need to have any stupid competitions on which of us is in better shape…”

Stomping forward, Dean snatched the box out of Sam’s hand.  “Gimme that!”  He glowered at the box for a moment before tossing it on the library table and digging out his phone.  “What the hell is the app called?”

“FitBit™.”

“BitFit, fine.  I’ll show you who’s in better shape,” he intoned, shooting his brother a glare.  Sam merely raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, then turned and hurried off before Dean could see his smirk.

*************************

Day 1

“Did you hit your step goal today?” Sam wanted to know.  Dean scoffed where he sat at the kitchen table with his laptop.

“Uh, yeah.  Like, hours ago.”

Sam frowned in surprise.  “Really?  ‘Cuz I literally just hit 10,000 after walking around the storage room all day.”

Dean blinked at his brother.  “My goal is 3,000.”

“Dean!”

His brother cavalierly waved off his protest.  “Hey, you said ‘step goal’.  You didn’t say whose step goal.”

Bitch Face Level 1 volleyed at Dean as Sam tossed his hands up in disgust.  “You can’t just change the goal after the challenge begins!  That’s like cheating!”

“It’s not cheating!  It’s...creative interpretation of the ground rules.”

“Dean!”

“Fine!  I’ll change it to 10,000.  Bitch,” he grumbled.

So validated, Sam sniffed in offense.  “Jerk.”

Day 3

Jaws popping around a yawn, Sam headed for the kitchen and the coffee pot.  The unknown case in Wichita Falls, with only blue-eyed victims missing their left eyes and their hair mysteriously purple, meant a lot of caffeine to fuel the lore research.  He’d no sooner stepped down into the kitchen when a phone suddenly arrowed into his face.

“HA!  Look at that!”  

Sam sucked in a breath as he tried to slow his heart rate.  “For cryin’ out loud, Dean!”

“Hydrate challenge...completed!” Dean crowed with a swaggering gesture.  “Eight glasses, Sammy.  Read it and weep.”

“You - Dean Winchester - drank eight servings of water, eight ounces each?” his brother side eyed him as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Pocketing his phone, Dean brandished a plastic bottle aloft, shaking the dregs of water in it vigorously.  “That’s right.  And, no, some of it wasn’t beer,” he griped when Sam quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Good for you, Dean.  You win this one,” he praised around a yawn as he trudged back to the library, Dean in tow.  Dean pulled a laptop towards him as he sat across from Sam, sending him a confident smile.

“What can I say, Sammy?  You shouldn’t mess with the master.  Oh, and check this out!”  Chugging the last couple of swallows, Dean reopened the app and added his latest bottle to his daily total.  The app exploded in confetti and triumphant notes rang out happily.  “Ta-dah! Gotta say, this BitFit is pretty cool.”

“It’s FitBit™, Dean.”

“That’s what I said.” 

Too tired to formulate a comment, Sammy just smiled.

Day 8

“Uh-oh.”

Dean cracked an eye at the tinny sounding voice.

“We’re worried about you.”

Frowning his eyes open, Dean groaned as he turned his head and the muscles cricked up painfully.  As much as he loved his Baby, sleeping here was hell on his body.  He and Sammy had rolled into McCook, Nebraska yesterday after reports of three deaths proved weird enough to be their kind of thing.  Three dead guys, working for the same company, burned to a crisp in at the same golf course and one eyewitness groundskeeper swearing he saw a lion at the scene.  Awesome.  Lore hadn’t turned up any ideas on the monster yet, and the hours on the road had caught up with him.

The device on his wrist buzzed, catching his attention as another “uh-oh!” chirped from his phone.  Fumbling it up, Dean squinted as the app showed him a very sleep sad face emoji.  

“You only got two hours of sleep last night.  Remember - you’re at your best with eight!” the app notified dutifully.  Dragging himself fully upright, Dean tossed the phone into the passenger seat as he headed to meet up with Sam.  

“Shut up, fitness warden,” he grumbled, pulling back onto the road.

Day 10

The friendly blue band lit up and buzzed merrily.

“Congratulations!  You’ve hit 250 steps this hour!”

Dean didn’t even flinch as he sprinted through the woods at full tilt, flames licking at his heels in advance of the unearthly roar behind him.

“Sammy!”

“This way, Dean!”

The creature dug its claws in, clots of dirt tossing up as it spun to track Dean when he turned a tight corner towards his brother.  Snapping its jaws, it growled before giving chase once more.

“Uh-oh!  Your heart rate appears to be elevated past the peak rate.”  No shit.  He could feel his heart pounding with every footstep, but when a blast of dragon-lion-monster breath hit the back of his neck, Dean poured on the speed.  The ground beneath him rumbled, roiling and quaking in threatening earthquake omens as the chimera behind him roared again.  Who knew Greek monsters could pop up in freakin’ Nebraska?  “Doing cardio activity past peak level for extended periods hasn’t proved to be beneficial.  Stay at the cardio level for maximum impact.”  

“I’m about to maximum impact all over the place, godammit!  SAM!  I’m about to be cat-lizard food!” he blared out.

“Now!” Sam shouted, and his tall frame was suddenly there, crossbow at the ready with a hastily prepared iron spear locked and loaded.  “Tuck and roll, Dean!”

His bad shoulder cracked ominously as Dean hit the ground, his trajectory scraping a Dean-sized swipe in the foliage as Sam aimed, fired, and ducked.  The iron met the chimera’s spewing flames dead center, arrowing into the heart of the beast.  A heartbeat later, it exploded into sparkling, burning bits that dissipated into purple-y, ashy clouds almost instantly.  The earthquake stopped in its tracks, leaving the brothers’ spines twitching and ears itching.  

The trees held nothing but silence as Dean wheezed for oxygen.  He could feel his heartbeat all the way in his boots as he rolled over to check on Sam.  Twigs poked up out of his ridiculous hair as he gingerly pressed against the knee he’d twisted a few minutes before, sucking at air like it was going out of style.  Huffing out a sound that could have been a laugh, Dean nodded when Sam gave him a thumbs up.  They did it.  They killed the bastard.  And they didn’t die this time.  Although his lungs felt like they might make a liar out of him in a moment.

Then, into the quiet came two merry voices in stereo.

“Congratulations!  You’ve hit 10,000 steps!  Fastest record yet!” their phones chorused.  Sam groaned as Dean sneezed a leaf out of his nose.

“Bite me, BitFit, you son-of-a-bitch!”

[theajaheira]

imperfections (50/?)

read it on ao3!

50 CHAPTERS, Y’ALL. and we JUST hit 100k words. this is kind of insane. not only that, but ideas are starting to solidify wrt where i want to take the second half (fdhklshdfs help) of this fic, and i’m starting to think that maybe. possibly. i might finish it this year. crazy!!!!

“This is just more boxes,” said Buffy upon entering the living room. “This is just a whole bunch of boxes, only now they’re stacked to the ceiling. This is like Box Hell.”

“Yes, well, that is usually what moving entails,” said Giles with a small smile. “Not exactly the best Christmas party—”

“Are you kidding? This is amazing! I feel like I’m back in college!” Jen slid by in socks, leggings, and the truly terrible sweater that Giles had knitted her. “Faith, you’d better finish packing your room before I pack it for you, Xander, I think I called your mom again and she said she’d drop any extra stuff off at the new place, Rupert, how many boxes of books do we still need to load onto the truck?”

“Five,” said Giles, catching Jen’s arm before she slid into a stack of boxes. “Buffy, is your mum stopping by for dinner?”

“I said I’d call her when all the boxes were cleared out,” Buffy answered obligingly. “She’s bringing a roast, is that cool?”

“We have a teenage boy and two Slayers,” said Giles dryly. “I daresay we need all the food we can get.” Buffy made a face at Giles. Solemnly, Giles made a face right back. “Faith, have you finished packing your room?” he added.

“Mostly,” said Faith evasively.

Jen made a reproving little noise, tugged herself free of Giles’s hand, and slid across the floor to collide with the couch. Giles winced. “There isn’t too much left to pack, I hope,” said Jen, tugging affectionately at the sleeve of Faith’s leather jacket.

Faith thought about her still-unpacked dresser, winced a little, and said, “Is it cool if I just throw the clothes into a cardboard box without folding them?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” said Giles, at the same time Jen said, “I mean, that’s what I’ve been doing,” at which point they exchanged an alarmed look.

Deciding to take that as a yes, Faith pulled herself up off the couch, squeezed around Xander and Cordelia (who were very busy making out in the middle of a nest of boxes), and stepped into the hallway, opening the door to her near-barren bedroom.

The no-longer-broken TV had been packed already, as had the full-length mirror and most of her clothing. The dresser remained, half of its drawers open, clothing strewn haphazardly about the room and across the bed. Faith made a face at the mess, decided that she could sort most of it out at the new house, and started tossing clothing into a nearby cardboard box.

“Need some help?”

Faith jumped, then grinned. “Sure,” she said, straightening up to face Buffy. “You gonna go postal if you touch one of my bras?”

“I’m never gonna live that one down, huh?” said Buffy wryly, stooping to pick up one of Faith’s tank tops.

For a while, they packed in companionable silence. Then, her mind on all those lingering touches, Faith said casually, “So how’s your love life been going?”

Buffy made a gagging noise.

“That bad?”

“I don’t think I ever wanna date again,” said Buffy, wrinkling her nose as she folded the tank top. “At best, you end up with a broken heart, and at worst, your boyfriend goes postal and tries to kill your computer science teacher.”

“You ever consider trying girls?”

The tank top slipped out of Buffy’s hands. She didn’t notice. “Girls?” she echoed, in that same squeaky voice that had said that’s a nice bra.

“Well,” Faith shrugged, “yeah. I mean, I—” God, her palms were sweaty. “I like girls,” she said, and all but hurled one of her sweaters in the general direction of the box. It missed by a mile. “So. You know. It’s always an option.”

“Huh,” said Buffy. Faith hadn’t even known human voices could reach that pitch. “You mean you—you think girls are pretty, right? ‘Cause I figured everyone thinks that kind of thing.”

Faith looked up, amused. “There’s a fine line between thinking girls are pretty and thinking girls are pretty,” she said. “And I, uh,” she faltered, aware that she had left plausible deniability behind a long while ago, “think that second one. Girls are pretty, man.” She then busied herself with throwing the next sweater at the box (it also missed).

Buffy leaned down to pick up one of the sweaters by the box, folding it while looking somewhat nervously at Faith. “Huh,” she said. “I-I didn’t know—I mean, I never figured—”

“You cool with it?” Faith kept her voice light, tried to infuse a half-threatening challenge into the question.

Buffy smiled somewhat shyly. “You’re my friend,” she said. “I’m totally cool with it. I might need a little bit to, uh, recalibrate, I guess, but…” She trailed off. “It’s just another piece of the Faith puzzle,” she finished.

God, B was sweet. “You’re, uh,” Faith shrugged, doing her best to look nonchalant, “kinda the first person I told.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t even tell Ms. Calendar?”

“Uh,” said Faith, thinking about all the significant looks Jen had directed at her every single time she’d tried to flirt with Buffy. “Not directly.”

Buffy was blushing a gentle pink that all but matched her magenta sweater. “Then, um, thanks,” she said shyly. “It means a lot to know you trust me like that.”

“Yeah, I, I do,” said Faith, feeling all warm and fluttery.

Buffy opened her mouth, and for a moment, the nervous softness in her eyes made Faith all but certain that they were gonna start getting all sappy and romantic and shit. Like, high-school-rom-com sappy, and maybe they’d even start making out in her bedroom, and Faith was already moving to shut the door when the look faded from Buffy’s face. She shut her mouth, looking significantly sadder, then said, “It’s honestly gonna be a while before I try dating anyone. Boys or—” and then her eyes moved to Faith, wary and warm all at once, “—or anyone.”

You’d have to be a fuckin’ moron not to get that message. “Sure,” said Faith, her heart pounding. “But, uh, I’m not goin’ anywhere. Just so you know.”

Buffy gave her a small, tired grin. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

“Stop that,” said Rupert, taking the mixing bowl from Jenny. “That’s for much later, and didn’t you read that article I gave you about the dangers of raw cookie dough?”

“Rupert, the odds of me dying by random vampire attack are far higher than the odds of me contracting salmonella,” said Jenny, making a production of licking the spatula.

“That’s unhygienic—”

“Have you finished packing?”

“Are you just trying to get me to leave the kitchen in order to eat the rest of the cookie dough?”

“Yes,” said Jenny. “I am transparent, awful, and a paragon of unhealthy behavior. Have you finished packing?”

Rupert rolled his eyes, smiling indulgently. “Yes, dear,” he said. “I have finished packing.”

Jenny looked at him, then at the large stack of books on the kitchen table, then back at him. “Well, those aren’t mine,” she began.

“Those…” Rupert trailed off, his expression clouded. “Those belong to the Council,” he said.

Jenny’s smile faded. “Oh,” she said. “So are we bringing them with us?”

“I’m honestly not sure.” Rupert’s gaze turned to the books, studying them pensively. “Tentatively, I plan to resign from the Council after Buffy’s Cruciamentum—”

“You said that wasn’t happening,” said Jenny sharply.

Rupert turned back to her, looking alarmed. “Of course it isn’t!” he said, and the genuine surprise in his voice relaxed Jenny. “If I resign before she is supposed to take her Cruciamentum, the new Watcher will simply implement it themselves. I intend to resign only after I’ve ensured that Buffy won’t have to go through such a thing.”

“Right answer,” said Jenny, and tugged on his sweater, pulling him down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek . “Okay. So the right-now question is are we packing these books, but the for-later question is are you still going to be able to utilize Council resources after your resignation, right?”

“Indeed,” said Rupert, looking back towards the books. “Generally speaking, Watchers who resign are still allowed to retain Council resources and connections, but if it’s revealed that I tampered with the Cruciamentum—”

“They’ll kick you out on the spot?”

“Precisely,” said Rupert dismally. “You see my predicament.”

“Not really,” said Jenny. Off Rupert’s look, she said, “Look, we’ve already established that the Council is staffed by idiots, right? They convinced you that your love for me was putting me in danger, they decided that Faith was too volatile to everbe a good Slayer, and they hired Gwendolyn Post. And you,” she stepped up, pressing her hands against Rupert’s chest, “are my sexy, capable Watcher boyfriend with an actually functioning brain—you know, sometimes—”

“Oh, thanks ever so—”

“Shush,” said Jenny, dropping a placating kiss to his mouth. “My point is that you’re one of the smartest guys I know, and it’s already established that I’m a fucking genius. It is well within our wheelhouse to pull the wool over the eyes of the Watchers’ Council.”

Rupert preened. “One of the smartest you know?”

“Take it with a grain of salt,” said Jenny, patting his shoulder. “I could just be blinded by love.”

“Either way, it turns out excellently for me,” said Rupert with a grin.

Jenny rolled her eyes, smiling. “Pack the boxes,” she said, giving him another kiss.

“Absolutely,” said Rupert, kissing her back.

“Put up some warning signs!” came Buffy’s voice from the hallway.

Rupert pulled away. “Buffy, this is our house,” he reminded her.

“Not anymore it’s not, remember?” Buffy countered. “You guys have that nifty little place a few blocks from school, with all the bedrooms and the big backyard and the room for the fifteen thousand books?”

“Be that as it may,” said Rupert mildly, “this is a private kitchen—”

“You didn’t close the door!”

“—and I have full liberty to kiss my lovely girlfriend whenever I see fit,” said Rupert, and then proceeded to attack a laughing Jenny’s neck with kisses.

“This is your fault,” Buffy informed Jenny, but a reluctant smile was beginning. “He was never this bad till you showed up.”

“Oh, he was intolerable when I showed up,” said Jenny between giggles, finally managing to push Rupert away. “Hey, Snobby—”

“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” said Rupert with an easy grin.

“—pack those books,” Jenny finished, and grinned back, stepping into the hallway to meet Buffy. “So how’s our winter solstice dinner looking?”

“Well, almost all the boxes are in the U-Haul,” said Buffy, “which means we only have to do the heavy lifting, and you said that was for after dinner, right?”

“Right,” Jenny agreed. “You wanna call your mom, see if she can bring over that roast? I’ll start setting up a few more folding chairs for the living room.”

“On it,” said Buffy, skipping out into the living room.

Jenny followed Buffy through the hallway, but made a sharp left into Faith’s room, which was very nearly packed up. Faith was working on stuffing an already-overstuffed cardboard box with the last of her clothing, looking extremely annoyed with the box for not closing. “You know you can use more than one box, right?” said Jenny helpfully.

“I’m committed to the process,” said Faith without looking up. “Think I can punch it into submission?”

“Hold up,” said Jenny, stepping over to the box and taking out a few tank tops. “These are small. How about you just wear five of these until we get to the new house?”

“Already getting started on the mom jokes, huh?” said Faith.

“Eat your greens, sweetie,” said Jenny, patting Faith’s shoulder.

Giles and Ms. Calendar’s long-anticipated solstice dinner took place in their mostly-barren living room, everyone either squeezed onto the small green couch or perched on an uncomfortable folding chair. The dinner itself was tasty, but the really fun part was when Giles and Ms. Calendar brought out gifts, at least in Buffy’s opinion.

“Nice!” said Xander, holding up a comic that Buffy totally didn’t recognize, and fist-bumped Ms. Calendar.

“It’s so thoughtful of you,” Willow was saying delightedly to Giles, hugging the Growing Witch’s Book of Spells to her chest. “And so cute!”

“Neat,” said Oz, examining the record.

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m regifting,” began an apologetic Giles, who was handing Ms. Calendar her present.

“No, it’s great,” said Oz, and he actually sounded closer to enthused than his usual relaxed-yet-unfazed. “Thanks, man.”

“Thanks from all of us,” Buffy chimed in. She was pretty sure Ms. Calendar had been the one to pick out her present, possibly with some help from Faith; there was no way Giles could have picked an aqua top that was so absolutely her style.

“This,” said Ms. Calendar abruptly, “is terrible.” She gave Giles a smitten grin, then showed the room the floppy-disk earrings she had just unwrapped. “He’s trying to turn me into some cheesy teacher who relies on outfit-related prop comedy,” she informed Buffy’s mom happily.

“Well, that’s…” Buffy’s mom trailed off. “Very Magic School Bus,” she said finally, which made Ms. Calendar start laughing so hard she wheezed.

“Have I been insulted?” Giles asked Buffy, looking somewhat bemused.

“You know, I’m really not sure,” said Buffy, squinting at Ms. Calendar. “I mean, she did just call your gift cheesy, but she also did it while giving you puppy-dog eyes.” For some reason, that phrase made Giles choke a little on his water and then start giggling himself. “What?”

“Oh, hey,” said Faith appreciatively, holding up the silver cross necklace Willow had given her. “Never had one of these before.”

“It’s on account of safety during patrol!” said Willow with a shy smile. “Buffy’s always talking about how worried she is when you just go rushing in—”

“Is she,” said Faith, and as she donned the cross necklace, she was looking at Buffy through her eyelashes with a pleased, flirty grin on her face. Buffy felt jumpy butterflies in her stomach as she smiled back.

[officialleehadan]

Between Lives

Eislynn tucked herself into a tight ball and rolled as she and her sister were thrown into a metal-lined cell.

They had been exploring an abandoned base. A base of whom, neither of them knew, but Stara swore she could sense magical resonance from somewhere, and Eislynn didn’t doubt her.

Stara was usually right about magic.

Her judgement about how abandoned the base really was left something to be desired, however.

Not that Eislynn could really cast that particular stone. She was supposed to be the one who looked out for them, and she hadn’t noticed the guards until it was too late.

The door slammed behind them before they could scramble out gain, and Eislynn left a significant dent when she hit the metal as hard as she could. Unfortunately, dent or no, the door remained where it was.

She muttered curses, turned to examine their cell, and froze.

Stara fell as silent when she spotted what Eislynn had a moment earlier.

There was a woman, tied to a chair, in the exact center of the room.

Everything about her screamed threat to Eislynn’s senses, and it was clear that their captors felt the same. Tough climbing rope bound the woman hand and foot to the chair, and the chair itself seemed to be bolted to the floor.

There was a thick blindfold over her eyes, her lips were painted a deep red, and she wore a skin-tight suit of something matte black. It looked like it might be sophisticated body armor, or maybe a stealth suit. Straps here and there were clearly designed to secure weapons.

“Don’t worry girls, I don’t bite.”

Eislynn flinched back when the woman spoke, muscles tensing, ready for a fight.

“And if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already,” she added, lips twisting into a crooked smile. “But you can relax. Killing children isn’t usually my wheelhouse.”

“What do you mean that you would have hurt us already?” Stara asked, peeping over her older sister’s shoulder. “You’re tied up, and the chair is bolted down."

The woman shrugged one shoulder, somehow casual despite her bonds and their captivity.

“Not exactly an issue. At least, no one I can’t solve easy enough.”

Eislynn gave the woman a closer look and edged nearer. There was a lot of hard muscle under the woman’s suit. She was a fighter, that was for sure. She wasn’t very big though. Probably not more than an inch taller than Eislynn herself, and thin as a rail to boot.

But something deep in Eislynn’s gut told her that this woman was the most deadly thing she and Stara had ever met.

And she couldn’t put her finger on why.

“How is being tied up not an issue? Do you have a knife or something?” Stara wanted to know, and the woman chuckled wryly, still easy in her bonds, and far too comfortable in their situation.

“Well yes,” the woman replied, still smiling. Eislynn tried to spot the knives and tilted her head thoughtfully. There weren’t a lot of places to hide a knife in that skin-tight suit. “Several, although I hardly need one for this. 9.9 climbing rope is crap for tying anyone up, and I’m not anyone.”

Despite the blindfold she managed to convey deep, catlike offense at being so badly underestimated.

“Do you want us to at least take off your blindfold?” Stara offered, clearly having decided that the woman wasn’t a threat to them. “I mean, it can’t be nice to have it on, right?”

Eislynn wasn’t as trusting, and she was careful to stay between the woman and her sister.

“Sure, go for it.” The woman answered Stara, but seemed to be tracking Eislynn by sound, or maybe scent. “Lack of sight doesn’t bother me much, but this rag smells like unwashed soldier.”

Stara nudged to get past Eislynn, and pouted when Eislynn refused to budge. There was danger here, and she wasn’t about to let her little sister walk into it.

She was thirteen, not stupid. She knew a trap when she saw one, and wasn’t stupid enough to mess with someone so quick after meeting them.

The woman laughed like she could hear Eislynn’s thoughts.

Maybe she could.

“Don’t worry, little warrior. I’m not going to hurt your sister.”

Eislynn didn’t believe her, and glared until Stara stayed put before cautiously coming to the woman’s side. The blindfold was tied tightly in place, and it took a minute of frustrated tugging before she was able to pull it away.

The sight of the woman’s eyes brought her up short.

Only Fae had eyes that particular shade of silver-flecked grey. The same shade that Eislynn and Stara shared with their father, and grandfather.

Stara came over to see what had rattled her sister so much, and gasped when she saw the woman’s eyes.

“You’re Fae!” she announced, like it was the answer to a riddle. Maybe to her it was. “I mean, only Fae have that kind of eyes, right?”

“I’m not a pure-blood.” The woman told them, smile still playing around her lips. “I just have enough to make the going a little easier here and there. Faerie blood has some advantages after all.”

“Are we cousins?” Stara was starting to bounce and Eislynn’s bad feeling was getting worse. She preemptively tangled her fingers in the back of Stara’s shirt, ready to pull her away if the woman decided to hurt them after all. “We have a lot of cousins. We keep meeting more of them in the weirdest places.”

“All Fae are related one way or another,” the woman shrugged casually. “There’s not enough of them around to avoid that. We’re not cousins. That I can tell you for certain.”

“What’s your name?” Eislynn demanded, curiosity making her nervous. The woman was hiding something, and she was starting to have an idea, a strange, impossible idea that didn’t make any sense, except that maybe it did, and somehow, she had to figure out how. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ghost.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No, but it will do for the moment.”

Eislynn tensed farther, wary of the way the woman was looking at them.

Stara noticed as well, but spoke up again, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Have we met you before?” she asked, and Eislynn realized that she’d picked up on the same hints that Eislynn was reading, even if she wasn’t usually as ready for a fight.

“No, little one. We haven’t met before, and we won’t again, I think.” Ghost answered gently. Her smile went soft around the edges as she looked at the twelve-year-old, and sad when her eyes landed on Eislynn’s own. “Calm down, warrior. You’re on the right path. I’m not a threat to you, or her.”

“Maerie Teague then? Our grandmother?” Stara pressed, although her eyes flickered between them curiously. Eislynn kept her thoughts to herself. Either she was right, or she wasn’t, and there was no reason to alarm her sister.

“Yes, I know Maerie.”

There was fondness in her voice as Ghost spoke of their grandmother, and it somehow managed to send a chill down Eislynn’s spine and relax her at the same time.

Stara brightened like her namesake, and Eislynn noticed a tint of sadness come to the woman’s eyes. It unnerved her, and she backed away a step. The woman noticed her retreat but didn’t call attention to it as Stara babbled on, trying to find out more about the woman despite the sparse answers she was receiving in return.

The clues were starting to line up in Eislynn’s mind

When she met the penetrating grey gaze that had settled on her, she knew she was right.

Before she could ask the question that sprang to her lips, Ghost nodded, just barely.

“Yes,” she said, cutting Stara off. “Coming together, huh? Just about got it figured out”

Eislynn sat down hard on the tile floor and stared at the woman. Her hands shook and she curled them into fists so hard that her nails bit into flesh.

“How?”

“How do you think?”

Stara was looking between them, confusion wrinkling her forehead.

“What are you talking about?” she asked softly, trying to figure out whatever it was that Eislynn had seen. “Eisa, what’s going on?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you.” Ghost said apologetically. She looked away from Eislynn and gave Stara a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, little star, you’ll know soon enough.”

“But-” Stara tried to protest and was cut off again by a stern glance.

“Not yet,” Ghost told her firmly. “I meant it. I can’t tell you.”

“What’s your kill-count?” Eislynn asked as something like panic rushed through her veins. Her palms stung, and she ignored them. “How many?”

Stara gasped.

Ghost closed her eyes and sighed.

“Three thousand, five hundred, seventy-one. Four planets. One ‘Verse.”

Stara blanched and reeled away from the woman. Ghost hardly seemed to notice, although bone-deep sadness crept in around the edges of her eyes.

Eislynn couldn’t take her gaze off the woman. The panic she had been feeling was being replaced by horror with every heartbeat.

“How-“ she tried to ask, but realized she didn’t even know what to ask, or how to ask it.

Ghost did though, and she gave a short, abortive shake of her head.

“Most of them had it coming,” she promised darkly. ” The planets are a long story, but believe me when I say that the alternative was worse. The ‘Verse… is complicated.”

That did make it a little better, and Eislynn managed a nod, though Stara had gone pale.

“If you- do I…?” Eisa asked, hoping Sidhe would understand what she was trying to ask. “How-“

She did, and smiled, blood-tinted lips quirking up at the ends.

“You’ll never regret it.” she said, a strange sort of satisfaction in her voice. “Some of the ones who came later, yes, never that first one.”

Stara had regained her nerve, but before she could ask any of the questions that riddled her mind, there came the sound of the old key in the lock of their door.

Ghost’s smile became bladed again and her eyes hardened with murderous resolve.

“Get behind me, both of you,” she ordered shortly. “Stay there, no matter what you see.”

Both girls scampered behind the woman as the heavy door creaked in. The man who had questioned them before stepped into the room, his broad shoulders filling the door.

He looked a lot more nervous now than he had before, and he froze when he saw that Ghost’s blindfold was gone.

“Herk, I am deeply disappointed in you. I may have to kill you for this.” Ghost said lightly before he could speak.

The man, Herk, tensed, but he only moved enough to let four other men into the room. More that Eislynn could take on by herself, even with Stara’s magic backing her.

Of course, they were not the ones these men considered a danger.

“Very ambitious of you, Murderer,” Herk answered, deep voice rumbling. “The price on your head in this world alone will finance my army for centuries.”

Ghost’s smile only grew, and Eislynn saw her hands twist around the ropes that held her.

“Eislynn, cover her eyes,” she murmured to Eislynn, completely steady despite the bad odds. “Time to raise that count by five.”

That was enough warning for Eislynn. She pulled Stara back against the wall and pressed a hand over her eyes. When the younger girl tried to protest, Eislynn hushed her.

“It’s going to be a lot of blood,” she shared. She had no real way to know for sure, but if Ghost was who Eislynn thought she was, she would know about Stara too. “You don’t like blood.”

Before Stara could decide whether she was going to push Eislynn’s hand away, Ghost burst into movement.

The ropes that had been holding her snapped like they were thread. The knives she claimed to have mentioned appeared in her hands and at the tips of her boots like magic.

She was far faster than even Eislynn had expected, and she watched with a strange sort of detached admiration as the woman massacred every man in the room.

There was no other word for it, and Eislynn realized only seconds had passed when the last body, Herk’s she noted absently, hit the floor with a muffled and somewhat wet thud.

There was blood everywhere except on Ghost.

Gruesome business attended to, Ghost walked over and knelt next to them.

“Little star, I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed for a few minutes,” she said, and helped them to their feet. “My work isn’t something you’re ready to see.”

“What d-do you mean, your work?” Stara asked, but she let the other two walk her past the bodies. Eislynn noticed that she kept her eyes closed, and breathed a sigh of relief when they were out of the little room.

The stink of blood burned at her nose, and horror wrapped around her heart and settled there like a vicious parasite, sapping her strength.

There were more bloodstains on the walls, and Eislynn knew without asking that Ghost had caused some, or all, of them.

“I kill people.” Ghost explained to Stara as they made their way down the hallway and into open air. “You’re not ready to see how good at it I am. There we go. We’re clear.”

Eislynn looked around, and suddenly felt the tingle on her skin that announced the Gate was about to grab them again. It was time to discover a new ‘Verse, and whatever new things waited for them. With any luck, they would have a little time to recover before something new tried to kill them.

Ghost felt the Gate too, and sank to her knees before pulling them both in for a tight hug.

“Rely on each other always.” She ordered. “Don’t fight your instincts. They’ll keep you safe.”

Eislynn felt the Gate shiver again and hugged the woman back.

“Will you be okay?” she asked desperately. “We can’t leave you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine, I have help on the way.” Ghost promised, before pulling away reluctantly and pressing a soft kiss to each of their foreheads. “Be careful, be smart, be safe.”

Before they could say anything more, the Gate swirled around them, up-down-everywhere energy that had a grip as inescapable as it was fluid.

Eislynn’s last sight of Ghost was of the woman, one hand raised in farewell and a smile on her lips as a shimmering starship touched down behind her.

And then she was gone, and all that was left was inescapable power, shooting them forward between worlds.

When the Gate finally let them go, Eislynn let herself sit down and just breathe for a minute. Stara leaned against her side, rattled, but taking a moment to collect herself.

“You knew her.” Stara said at last, quietly. “You never trust anyone that quick, so you had to know her. How?”

Eislynn nodded and struggled to her feet. She didn’t know where they were, but it wasn’t home, and the air smelled like magic.

“Yeah, I knew her.” She admitted reluctantly, like saying it out loud would make it real.

Like saying it out loud would make it inevitable

“So who was she?”

“Me.”

 +++

Uncollected Fantasy:

Below the Fog

Glitter Bold

God-Touched Tide

Into the Darkness

Turn Me

Wolf Moon

Blood Moon

Hallowed Halls Memorial

A Kiss to Heal a Broken Heart

Cursebroken

Nothing but Trouble

Build a House of Paper

Unspoken Words

Imagine Reality (Patreon-Only)

+++

Support me on Patreon

My Tip Jar

[veryotl]

Sooo for the past... three or four albums I’ve done a reaction to the Highlight Medley... And I really need to get back into making content again! So here we go! Here’s my breakdown of the “You Make My Day” Highlight Medley!

1. Oh My!

I will be completely honest here: I wasn’t liking the sound of this song until I saw the MV teaser. It felt a little bit busy with all the noises in the background, and a little bit jarring without a before or after section to show a progression in music. However, in the MV teaser, we got a little bit more of the song as well as some of the dance to kind of bring the beat and melody a little more to the forefront, and with the added context of the progression of the song, I can now say I’m very excited to hear the rest of this song. It’s not really like anything Seventeen has ever done, and relies a little more heavily on strange synth-y noises instead of the Seventeen style of funky bass and really present instrumentals. If I had to draw a connection anywhere, it would be to Change Up. A repeating melody line with mostly simple instrumentals, however even that isn’t exactly what this song is. But as always, far be it for me to say what Seventeen’s style is or isn’t, not after Clap and Call Call Call were so good. They constantly subvert my expectations and I trust they’ll pull this off like they always do.

2. Holiday

The snippet of this song we’re given seems to be from the first chorus, judging by the drop and how kind of understated and simplistic the backing vocals and instrumentals are, if it was later in the song I think there’d be more. It seems like a lighthearted fun song like Thinkin About You or Healing, although a little more chill and laid back than those. There’s not a whole lot I cans say about it from the teaser, except for that it seems to really fit the flow of this album? Thematically speaking, this album looks to be really cohesive and strong, but we’ll get back to that later.

3. Come To Me (Vocal Unit)

If you have been following me for any length of time, you probably know how excited I am for this song because for years I have been talking about how much I want to see Vocal Unit break out of their ballad element. Don’t get me wrong, I love their ballads, and they’ve taken some interesting creative turns like Don’t Listen in Secret having a jazzy-nightclub feel, but they haven’t had an upbeat happy song since 20, and while I can understand wanting a vocally impressive song it’s not like you can’t do that with a brighter tone. In the past, I’ve recommended a 50′s-60′s style song or a Vocal Unit Band song to break Vocal Unit out of their arena, but the direction that this song takes is much more chill house vibes, which is kind of the style right now. Which is fine, especially since Joshua has already exhibited his abilities to jive with that style on Rocket. You can really tell this is a vocal unit song, though, because even in the short clip they gave us you can hear like 3 layers of harmony. I’m super stoked for this departure from the norm and I hope this song is vocally challenging and also successful enough that it gives Vocal Unit some confidence to explore other styles!

4. What’s Good (Hip Hop Unit)

Now it’s time for the pendulum to swing in the complete opposite direction, and that’s because Hip Hop Unit has done it AGAIN. They’ve done a full 180 on my expectations and explored yet ANOTHER new style. Hip Hop Unit is probably the most unexpected unit in my opinion because every time they drop something new it’s completely against their established style. Ah Yeah seemed to be a good solid style, but then Fronting came out of nowhere with this peppy chill vibe, then Monday to Saturday took it a step up and brought back some kind of classic Hip Hop vibes while still exploring this idea of laid back rapping, and then Lean on Me comes out of nowhere with vocals and ballads, and then If I seems to go back into a darker vibe with some super heavy backing instrumentals and melody, and then Trauma goes modern??? With autotune and Mingyu doing vocals?? And now we’ve got this weird... pop... upbeat... groovy song? Hip Hop Unit always zags when I think they’re gonna zig. I cannot wait for this song and for Hip Hop Unit to zag on me again. This is gonna be great. 

5. Moonwalker (Performance Unit)

In some aspects, Performance Unit is similar to Vocal Unit in that they found a style with the success of Highlight and Swimming Fool and are sticking to it, and Moonwalker is in that wheelhouse. However, I can’t really begrudge them anything because they’re all FRICKIN BOPS and the style they’ve found I think really fits with their general feel as a group and the individual styles of the members. Plus, with songs like Who and The Real Thing, the members will often break out of their comfort zones and I appreciate that. Maybe in the future, I’d like to see another Who-style sexy intense song, but for now I’m perfectly content with another Electronic dance song, especially if accompanied by a sick dance like Swimming Fool was. Plus, I lowkey expect Dino to shine in this song, which is something we haven’t seen a whole lot of.

6. Our Dawn is Hotter Than Our Day

First off, this sounds like it could be a bridge-esque clip, maybe near to the end of the song, so the flow of the song might be different. Secondly, I think this might be a mistranslation, where “hotter” or “뜨겁다” should refer to a burning passion instead of a physical heat? Either way, I love this clip. The8 seems to be the main voice with maybe Coups and/or Wonwoo backing him, and it seems like a real impact moment, and I love that they’re kind of giving it to The8 as the main instead of their usual impact-hitters of Jun or Wonwoo. In terms of the general sound, it’s got this kind of lower energy vibe to it, something kind of akin to Campfire or Smile Flower in terms of atmosphere, but also more hopeful and positive in terms of feeling. The kind of song you listen to in the dusk of a summer night with the top down and the feeling of winding down instead of at 3 am with the feeling of looking back and crying. A very content song, I think. In general, the teaser doesn’t give us a whole lot in terms of progression, but I really want to see where the song goes as a whole and what they do with it.

Full Album Summary

In general, I think this album is a lot more thematically put-together than some of the older albums. I feel like they’ve recently tried to be thematically consistent, but there’s usually one song that breaks the theme, like Swimming Fool on Al1 or Clap/Hello on Teen.Age. That’s not a bad thing necessarily, especially in the recent years of not having to listen to an entire CD to hear the songs you like. However, having a super solid album that is consistent from top to bottom could make it so that more Hip Hop unit fans start to listen to Performance Unit, more people listen to the full album every time instead of just various songs, more people want to buy the entire album. 

As for the style, it’s a direction I didn’t really expect Seventeen to take, however it feels like a natural progression from Teen.age thanks to the inclusion of songs like Rocket and Change Up and even Without You to an extent? I think it’s a step away from Seventeen’s established style, but not necessarily a step in the wrong direction. In fact, I love that they don’t feel trapped in making the same song six comebacks in a row to have to keep their fans. They’re free to explore genres and styles and evolve and change, which is a necessity for any artist who doesn’t want to feel confined and trapped in their art. 

To make some predictions for this album, I think DK will become a real star this time around. This style really appeals to some of his voice’s natural charms. Joshua is going to do well with this concept, but I’m worried he’s not gonna get a lot of recognition for it due to the fact that he fits it so well that it feels very much like he’s a part of the furniture and not necessarily having a spotline shone on him. More on the concept of the MV, I think Seungkwan will be a big point in this comeback because the color scheme fits him super well and he stands out against warm colors really nicely. Also, we can expect to see more of debut, childlike playful Hoshi coming back this era. Vocal Unit’s solo will be a summer staple, Wonwoo’s solo part in the Hip Hop Unit song will kill and Vernon and Mingyu will shine in the concept, and Dino will come into his own with this Performance Unit song. Hopefully, The8 will become a popular pitch-hitter like Jun and Wonwoo this comeback as well!

No matter what, though, I absolutely cannot wait for this comeback!

[billgavemeextrachips]

How's about 14 for Chummy and Fred?

Excellent request, @nunonabun! Ask and ye shall receive. :-)

Also, @callthemoonbeam, I am brainstorming a reply to your ask as well. I love how I reblog a list of friendship prompts and get nothing but Chummy-and-Fred requests. Truly, this is my wheelhouse. :-D

That’s Not How I Remember It

After he didn’t make the cut for grammar school, Freddiehad started helping Mr. Buckle with repairs around Nonnatus House. The oldfamily friend became more than just Freddie’s mentor in plumbing, woodworkingand gardening. The pair were soon good friends in their own right.

In June 1974, overa busted pipe, the elder Fred admitted to the younger that the upcoming AnnualBuckle-Gee-Jackson-Smart-Dooley-Foster Multi-Generational Weekend CampingExtravaganza was… not shaping up to be extravagant.

“Vi’s back can’t take a night on an RV pull-out sofa. Marlene and her crew ‘aven’t turned up since ’68, no matter‘ow many times I ask. Vi’s grandkids all say they can’t come, they got summerjobs. Betcha ‘alf of ‘em are slinkin’ off to the woods that same weekend wivfriends, smokin’ all sorts a things and listenin’ to sumfink anarchist, like…”he shrugged. 

“Like Pink Floyd,” Freddie volunteered eagerly. “OrJethro Tull, or-” 

“Righ’, yeah,” the older Fred grunted from behind hiscigar. “All vem, I reckon. Anyways, it’s jus’ me and Reggie, and your AuntieDolly and ‘er four.” He sighed. “But we’ll make a good show of it. For the youngertwo’s sakes, at least.”

“I feel bad for him,” Freddie told his family oversupper that evening. “You should hear how he talks about the trips a few yearsback. They had twenty-two people in 1968! And now it’s down to seven. It bums himout, I think. He really likes planning big, fun events for lots of people.” 

But Freddie knew of someone else with a tendencytowards grand plans. After the dishes were cleared, Dad and the other kidssettled in front of the telly. Freddie went into the dining room, and sat downacross from Mum and her trusty old Singer.

Chummy stopped the sewing machine. She could sense heroldest had something to say. She looked up, blinking as her eyes adjusted tothe other half of her thick bifocals.

“Freddie, is everything alright?”

“I thought it might be nice if we went with them,” heblurted. “The Buckles. Camping. We all get on well, and I think they’d like thecompany.”

“I rather agree,” she said.

“But the thing is, Mr. Buckle’s too proud to inviteus, and we can’t just invite ourselves…”

“Quite right,” his mother smiled. “I shall speak toMrs. Buckle. If she approves of your plan, she can nudge old Fred into it. She’llprobably have him thinking it was his idea all along!”

This is precisely what happened. Two weeks later, theypacked Fred’s RV with supplies, and the Smart and Noakes kids piled into theback of a rented van. Peter couldn’t get off work that weekend, and Dolly andher husband had separated years ago. That left four adults- Fred, Reggie,Chummy and Dolly- in charge of seven children between the ages of twelve and sixteen.

“It’ll be like Scouts all over again. Akela andBagheera, reining in the chaos,” Peter teased his wife. They drew close,holding hands, and he gave her a peck on the cheek. He would have liked to giveher a grander send-off, but they were both mindful of their adolescentaudience.

It was a two-hour drive to the campsite in Sussex. (Notcounting the half hour at the petrol station, picking out snacks and makingsure everyone had a chance to use the loo.) Fred drove the RV, with Dolly ashis “co-pilot.” If Chummy had to guess, Fred was taking their time alone to tryand assess what sort of help, both practical and financial, he could give Dollyand her children. It was a fraught ritual that occurred periodically between all caring fathers and their grown daughters. Particularly if the daughter had gottenless in life than the father thought she deserved.

The van was much livelier. Chummy drove, Reggie wasthe keeper of the radio, and behind them the children practically bounced off thewalls. The Smart children were remarkably nonchalant about Bea’s arms. PerhapsDolly had briefed them ahead of time, or they were open-minded towardsdisability because of their cousin Reggie. Either way, Bea was still putting onsome of her new-crowd bravado, trying to prove the “thalidomide girl” was notjust normal, but great fun too.

The van crept down the tree-shaded dirt roadinto the campsite. Even as they parked, Bea continued leading the others in a radio sing-along.Chummy switched off the ignition but left the radio on.

“Ah, Mater! WantJet to always love me. Ah, Mater! Much later…”

“That’s a weird name.” Jackie Smart, the youngest,wrinkled her nose. “You reckon Paul’s got a friend called Mater, or did he make it up?”

“Mater’s not a name, silly!” said her older sister,Sam. “It’s what posh people say instead of ‘Mum’!”

“That’s not true! You’re puttin’ us on!”

Fred had disembarked the RV and was approachingChummy’s open window when he overheard this. He broke into a crooked grin.

“It is true, Jackie. Why, Mrs. Noakes ‘ere ‘ad a‘Mater’, God rest her soul. I met her when Mrs. Noakes and Mr. Noakes gotmarried, I did.”

“Tell ‘em about the sandwiches, Mr. Buckle,” Freddiepiped up. “And the bridesmaids in nurses’ uniforms!”

“Bridesmaids in what?”squealed Diane, the middle Smart girl.

The four girls dissolved into their umpteenth gigglefit today. Tony Smart groaned, rolled his eyes, then shoved his way to the vandoor. Chummy’s middle son Davey followed suit. As the girls began peltingChummy with questions, her son Freddie caught her eye in the rearview mirror.He looked apologetic. So did her old friend Fred, for that matter.

Yes, there was a time when she would have been bashful-but that was many years ago. Before she’d explained Bea’s disability tocountless gawking strangers, and advocated her daughter’s needs to dozens ofdoctors. Before she’d taken Freddie’s teachers aside year after year, managingto persuade only some of them: He’s reallyquite bright. And he’s not hard of hearing- well, not exactly. He just needspeace and quiet to understand. Or if you could just write everything down…

A trip down Memory Lane would be a cakewalk comparedto that. Chummy smiled as she tuckedher salt-and-pepper hair behind her ears, got out of the van and stretched herlong legs.

“What are camping trips for, if not for old stories? Butwe must set up the pup tents first. Once that’s done and dusted, Grandpa Bucklecan tell you all about my wedding.” She grinned wickedly. “And then I’ll tell you all about Evie, GrandpaBuckle’s beloved pet pig.”

The kids cackled. Reggie beamed. “I’ll tell them aboutthe flowers in your garden!” he said.

“Ooh I’ve got one!” cried Dolly as she hopped downfrom the RV. “Do they know the story of the day Sam and Freddie were born?”

“Or how her Grandpa initially mistook poor Samanthafor a little boy?” Chummy teased.

“That’s not how I remember it!” Fred shook his head,chuckling. “I’ll go and get the tents.”

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior Home and Drive-In Edition June 26, 2020 – MY SPY, IRRESISTIBLE, THE GHOST OF PETER SELLERS and more!

June comes to an end as we passed through the summer solstice over the weekend. The 4th of July is next week, and the opening of movie theaters in New York and L.A. is edging closer, yet it still feels like the summer of 2020 will be forever known as the summer that never happened. I’m not even sure if I’ll be trying to predict the box office until things settle down, and we get into some semblance of normalcy, and that may never happen if scientists are to be believed that COVID will return in the fall.

The big release for the week isn’t actually coming to theaters but to Amazon, and it might be the biggest movie to air on the streamer to date. As you may have guessed from the title, I’m talking about the STXfilms action-comedy MY SPY, starring David Bautista, which was one of the first movies to be delayed when COVID hit back in March, but that was after it was already delayed a number of times before that. The simple high-concept premise has Bautista playing super-spy JJ, who is demoted to keep an eye on the wife of a suspected gunsmuggler with his tech assistant (Kristen Schaal). No sooner do they start this surveillance mission, the woman’s 9-year-old daughter Sophie (Chloe Coleman) catches them and she blackmails JJ to teach her how to be a spy.

Yup, this new comedy from Peter Segal (Get Smart, Second Act) is as high concept as you can possibly get, and yet, and quite surprisingly, My Spy is rated PG-13, as opposed to be a straight-up kiddie friendly PG, but you can read more about that in my review.

Mini-Review: It seems like every potential muscle-bound action star has to have one of these movies in their filmography where they’re teamed with a young child co-star that inevitably steals all their scenes – I won’t bother to list them all. Former WWE star and Marvel regular, Dave Bautista, has a precocious co-star in Chloe Coleman, who is so delightful as Sophie you can easily forget that this is straight-up formula comedy  

I’ll be honest about the fact that totally unironically, I’ve been looking forward to seeing My Spy since I first saw a preview at Cinema-Con back in 2019. It was a bummer to miss the press screening in March, because it meant having to wait three extra months to finally watch it on my computer. Surprise, surprise, the movie more than met up to my expectations, as I found it funny, cute and from time to time, it even throws in a few unexpected surprises.

I’m definitely in the camp that Bautista hasn’t done anything particularly great as an actor outside playing Drax in the MCU, and JJ isn’t that much smarter or less muscle-bound. The set-up for his character to connect with Coleman’s Sophie is pretty obvious, but there’s no denying that Bautista and Coleman are so adorable and hilarious as an on-screen duo that it more than makes up for any of the misgivings one might have about what is meant as an accessible movie with mainstream appeal.  (In other words, this was never meant as an artfilm, so if you’re one of those snobby critics who gushed all over last year’s Uncut Gems, and you refuse to accept that there’s an audience for My Spy, then you’re a fucking hypocrite, plain and simple.)

Speaking of the F-word, I have to mention My Spy’s rating, which is not the PG one might normally expect, though it’s not due to violence or bad language or anything that awful that you couldn’t watch and enjoy this with your 8 to 10 year old. I felt I should get that out there in case any parents have misgivings.

Besides the main duo, there’s some nice added comedy from Kristen Schaal, as well as the seemingly obligatory gay neighbors, played by Devere Rogers and Noah Dalton Danby, who somehow manage to avoid stereotypes while providing a recurring bit of humor.

The movie starts getting a little predictable when Sophie pushes JJ to start dating her now-single mom, and things start losing a little steam as the movie gets away from the JJ/Sophie bonding and back to the actual plot, and that’s where the movie’s biggest problems lie. When the “villain” of the piece shows up, things get back into the usual formula that most will be expecting anyway. I will add that director Peter Segal seems to be particularly well suited at directing this, particularly when it gets into some of the action in the last act.

Sure, some of My Spy’s funniest jokes have shown up in various trailers, but turns out that it’s a fairly warm and funny movie that does its job in providing solid family entertainment.

Rating: 7/10

Jon Stewart returns to political comedy with his new movie, IRRESISTIBLE, (Focus Features), starring his former “Daily Show” correspondent Steve Carell as Gary Zimmer, the Democratic strategist who failed so horribly running the 2016 Presidential election. Undaunted, Zimmer hopes to revive the party by rallying behind a likeable everyman, Col. Jack Hastings (Chris Cooper), as he runs for mayor of the small town of Deerlaken, Wisconsin. It would seem like an odd decision but clearly, the Republicans know that Zimmer has something bigger planned so they send their own strategist, Faith Brewster (Rose Byrne), to get behind the incumbent Republican mayor.

It’s pretty obvious this movie is probably more in Stewart’s wheelhouse than his previous film, Rosewater, but it also has more mainstream appeal and could help Stewart continue to get directing work in the future. Sure, there have been many similar political comedies like this that have tried to find the audience -- Bob Roberts, Primary Colours, Wag the Dog,Swing Vote -- but I’m not sure any of those came out when the country has been as divided as it is now.

It’s pretty nice seeing Stewart reuniting with Carell, who does a decent job in this fish-out-of-water comedy that mostly relies on how a DC bigwig might acclimate to a sociable smalltown – think Groundhog Day to the Nth level – which makes this comedy fall more into the vein of  Matt Damon and John Krasinski’s Promised Land, which I thought was a very underrated political film.

I’m a big Rose Byrne stan, and once again, we can see how delightfully funny she can be when playing such an awful person like Faith Brewster, but there’s quite a bit of fun awkward sexual tension between her and Carell. Another part of the equation is Hastings grown daughter, played by Mackenzie Davis, and most people watching this will probably hope this doesn’t go too far into that romantic realm, and thankfully, it doesn’t.

Irresistible may be a little predictable at times, but there’s a nice turn towards the end that makes up for some of the more obvious aspects of the storytelling, and Stewart certainly seems to be enough in his element to make this not too horrible an experience.

This week’s “Featured Film” is Peter Medak’s documentary, THE GHOST OF PETER SELLERS (1091), about how Hungarian filmmaker ran into problems with Sellers while trying to make the 1973 pirate comedy Ghost in the Noonday Sun, an experience that almost ruined the filmmaker’s career. It’s kind of interesting for a filmmaker to take an in-depth look back at his own failures, but Medak’s story is particularly touching, only because it didn’t seem like he stood a chance when Sellers refused to show up on set and then brought in his equally eclectic best friend Spike Milligan to work on the script and create even more chaos.

Honestly, I have never seen Ghost in the Noonday Sun, but I enjoy a lot of Medak’s films that followed, including The Changeling and the excellent Romeo is Bleeding, so I went into this doc knowing that this incident didn’t completely kill Medak’s career, but obviously, it had a huge effect. It ends up being a fairly emotional film as Medak interviews some of the producers on the film as well as Milligan’s widows and others who were around during that period. He also learns new things about how he was dismissed from the project and used as a scapegoat for all the problems faced by the production, which began when the boat built for the movie crashed upon arriving in Cypress.  I generally like movies about the making of movies even when I haven’t seen the original movie, and Medak finds a way to offer some true sentiment and emotional insight into his tenuous relationship with Sellers.

Out now on VOD is Laura Holliday’s DADDY ISSUES (Gravitas Ventures), starring Kimberley Datnow as a Henrietta, a 20-something stand-up who has moved from London back to L.A. to take over the family business after her father dies and leaves her the company. She takes on this challenge in hopes of earning her now dead father’s approval.

I knew from almost the minute this started that I was going to hate this twee high concept indie that seems like so many other indie movies where the person putting it together had so many ideas but not enough actual story glue to hold all those ideas together. It’s fairly obvious from the slice of “Henry’s” stand-up set that begins this movie that she isn’t particularly funny. On top of that, she seems like another one of those spoiled and entitled Millennials who just isn’t happy unless she’s getting her own way. When the story quickly shifts  to L.A., and she’s surrounded by even more annoying Millennials, it gets even worse, especially because it feels the need to follow her best friend and housemate on their own journeys as well.

I have to say, as someone who didn’t automatically hate the recent Valley Girl remake, that Daddy Issues is infinitely worse, not only because it doesn’t have the fun musical numbers but just because it seems like such a precious endeavor that doesn’t seem like it will really be able to connect with anyone other than the filmmakers.  I found Datnow’s Henrietta to be so pathetic and again, not very funny, so getting through this movie was grueling, to say the least. At one point, Henri falls for an asshole named Hunter whom she had one date with. When that doesn’t work, she tries to reconnect with a couple other idiotic guys, but then she goes back with Hunter, and the whole time I was watching this movie thinking, “What’s the point? Are there really people this stupid and annoying on the planet?” (That’s rhetorical.)

Jon Swab’s RUN WITH THE HUNTED (Vertical) stars Michel Pitt, Ron Perlman and Dree Hemingway, and it will premiere On Demand this Friday. At first, it follows a young boy named Oscar (Mitchell Paulson), who commits a murder and runs away from home, leaving his childhood friend Loux wondering where he went after saving her from an abusive father. Oscar joins a band of misfit kids who pick pockets and commit crimes, but 15 years later, Loux goes looking for Oscar (now played by Michael Pitt).  

I’m not even sure where to begin with this indie crime-thriller that’s so flawed from beginning to end, it was tough to get through most of it.  The first hour deals with the younger Oscar and much of it deals with him getting in with a teen girl named Peaches and a young gang of hoodlums, led by Mark Boone Junior and Ron Perlman. It’s kind of interesting seeing Perlman playing the leader of a group of young pickpockets and thieves since he played the protector of those sorts of kids in one of my favorite movies, The City of Lost Children. That’s really the only thing those two movies have in common, as this feels like another poorly-realized attempt at… possibly modernizing Oliver Twist? (I mean, the band le by Pitt’s character are even referred to as “The Lost Boys,” so it’s obvious that Swab didn’t care too much about originality.

The sad truth is that Pitt has been fairly mediocre as an actor lately, after showing so much promise in his early days, and Run with the Hunted doesn’t really offer anything particularly new to what’s generally a pretty tired genre. Perlman is one of the better parts of the movie along with Isiah Whitlock (last seen in Da Five Bloods), and they have a fine scene together, but otherwise, the material is weak, and it leads to a dull and often outright dumb offering.

I still haven’t figured out what Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is, but apparently, it’s a spoof comedy starring Will Ferrell and Rachel McAdams that will debut on Netflix this Friday. It also reunites McAdams with her Wedding Crashers director, David Dobkin, so I’ll definitely check it out, since it looks very funny. 

Mini-Review: I have to admit this movie seemed to come from out of nowhere. I really felt like I only started hearing about it when the trailer debuted last week, but otherwise, I had no idea that Ferrell had reteamed with his Wedding Crashers director and with that film’s romantic lead, Rachel McAdams. What this spoof comedy has going for it is that it combines a number of things I enjoy, including music and Iceland.

Will Ferrell plays Lars Erikson, one half of the synth duo Fire Saga, with his childhood friend Sigrit (McAdams), the two of them having the life-long dream of representing Iceland in the annual Eurovision Song Contest. Lars also has to contend with his disapproving father, played by Pierce Brosnan, but in general, everyone in their Icelandic town thinks they’re awful. They seem like longshots to represent Iceland in the song contest but an unfortunate incident leaves them as the only option.

We might as well get out of the way the fact that this is essentially a one or two joke comedy that follows the formula of so many other Will Ferrell movies, including Blades of Glory, but if you’re a fan of his comedy, then you’ll probably enjoy his latest offering, which he also co-wrote and produced. When Dan Stevens shows up as the Russian competitor, Alexander Lemtov, who has machinations for Sigrid, it’s pretty easy to figure out where things are going.

Either you like what Ferrell does while in full-on “idiot mode” or not, and Fire Saga’s on-stage mishaps probably offer the biggest laughs. The other level of humor involves just how silly the actual Eurovision is, even though it’s obviously more of a European thing than it is something that Americans will understand. I’ve always loved Rachel McAdams, and I generally think she’s better when she’s doing comedy, as she makes for a great counter to Ferrell’s zaniness.

In general, the movie allows actors like McAdams, Stevens and Brosnan to goof around and have a fun time being as outlandish as Ferrell.  (Just watching Brosnan trying to pull off an Icelandic accent may be worth the price of admission alone.)

Make no mistake that this is not a small movie, and it’s quite a huge production when you consider all the enormous musical numbers representing the different international contestants. I could have easily seen this doing decently in theaters, although its 2-hour run time does seem a bit frivolous since there’s also quite a bit that could have been trimmed.

As much as Eurovision Song Contest leans heavy on its main overall joke about Fire Saga being quite inept, particularly Ferrell’s Lars, I generally enjoy this type of spoof of comedy even when it ventures into very predictable territory. In the end, Eurovision Song Contest offers as many laughs as Popstar: Never Stop Stopping, even if it’s not quite as heady as a movie like Walk Hard.

Rating: 7/10

Former lawyer turned filmmaker, Cam Cowan’s documentary, Madagasikara (Global Digital Releasing), takes a look at three women in Madagascar fighting for the survival of their families and education of their children amidst domestic political instability and the poverty that’s been caused by it. Cowan made his first trip to Madagascar in June 2014 and spent four years filming and doing post on the documentary which will debut on Amazon Prime and Docurama Friday after its festival run, but will be available platforms down the line.

The Blind Melon/Shannon Hoon doc All I Can Say (Oscilloscope) has the singer returning from the grave by compiling the many videos he filmed of himself between 1990 and 1995 before his death at the age of 28.  Co-directed by Danny Clinch, Taryn Gould and Colleen Hennessy, it will hit virtual cinemas as well as record stores and music venues this Friday.  (Not quite sure how that all works, but hey, I was never really a Blind Melon fan anyway.)

Coming to Virtual Cinema on Friday is Ina Weiss’ The Audition (Strand Releasing) that follows a violin teacher named Anna Bronchy (Nina Hoss) who finds talent within Alexander, a student at the music-focused high school, neglecting her own family in the process.

Opening in Virtual Cinema Friday through almost 50 arthouse theaters across the country, including Brooklyn’s BAM, is the British-Nigerian drama, The Last Tree (Artmattan Films) from filmmaker Shola Amoo, which received a number of awards at the British Independent Film Award after its Sundance 2019 World Premiere.

Film at Lincoln Center’s Virtual Cinema will present Three Short Films by Sergei Parajanov (FilmLinc), featuring work by the Armenian-Georgian filmmaker that range from 1967 through 1988. FilmLinc will also premiere Bora Kim’s 2018 South Korean film, House of Hummingbird (West Go USA/Kino Marquee), a Berlinale prize winner set in that country I 1994, as it follows a 14-year-old through a series of romances and indiscretions.

Film Forum’s own Virtual Cinema will conclude its Alaistar Sim trilogy with the 1951 comedy, Laughter in Paradise, directed by Mario Zampi, as well as screen Zhang Yimou’s 1995 film Shanghai Triad, starring Gong Li. (There’s actually a lot of movies available via Virtual Cinema that will end this Friday, including two series of Kid Flicks shorts, so definitely try to go through the listings and catch what you can!)

This week also sees the third and final volume of Time Warp: The Greatest Cult Films of All-Time with Volume 3 looking at “Comedy and Camp,” once again hosted by Joe Dante, John Waters, Ileana Douglas and Kevin Pollak. Some of the movies covered in this volume include Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Rock and Roll High School, Office Space, Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Showgirls with guests that include Gina Gershon, John Cleese, Fred Willard, Jon Heder and many more. I really have enjoyed this documentary series, and if you’re a fan of movies that are just a little outside leftfield, this is a great addition to your library.

Available on DVD this Friday is the documentary No Small Matter (Abramorama), co-directed by Danny Alpert, Greg Jacobs and Jon Siskel, which looks at early childhood education and how that has changed how kids learn, now at an earlier age than ever.

This week’s big virtual festival is the 25th Nantucket Film Festival, which will be running from June 23 – 30 with a combination of films and events like a number of “In Their Shoes..” talks with Norman Lear and screenwriter Eric Roth (both hosted by my pal Ophira Eisenberg), as well as one with improv comics, Thomas Middleditch and Ben Schwartz, that one moderated by Michel Ian Black. Also, the Oxford Film Festival will screen two features virtually starting on Friday, Mindy Beldsoe’s The In Between and Braden King’s The Evening Hour, although the latter can only be viewed in Mississippi.You can get tickets for both on Oxford’s Eventive site.

Also this weekend, there are a few returning shows, but they’re coming to HBO Max only, and that includes the third season of Search Party and the second season of Doom Patrol, which originally premiered on DC Universe. So yeah, there’s definitely a lot to watch this weekend.

Netflix will also release George Lopez’s new stand-up special, George Lopez: We’ll Do It In Half on Saturday and the third season of the German series, Dark.

Next week, it’s the 4th of July weekend, and we’ll have more movies not necessarily in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!