#the russian code thing is the funniest to me i think

[meangirlstobin]

omg your tags about by/ler posts being on the same level as tjlc is soooo true. one post floated across my dash the other day and i was genuinely like “damn op would’ve loved bbc sherlock (derogatory)”

lol sometimes I want to ask people where they were in 2012 because its a little too familiar…

I understand it’s a part of shipping to comb through the source material to find things that support your ship, especially when it’s non-canon but some of the posts I’ve seen… um okay! I guess i’m just not sure where the fanaticism comes from??

Also, I don’t particularly consider the duffers the types of writers to hide codes in their writing, at least not on this level. So, I don’t really see the point in trying to make meaning out of the show that way? That’s where it really gets tjlc lmao, like oh so the russian code is telling us that mike will profess his love? is there gonna be a secret episode, too?

At the end of the day, it’s not really that important it’s a mid netflix show. People can and will do what they want but it does make me giggle <3

[danvolodar]

Pathologic and the Town's Russianness: Intro

I've noticed, it's common enough to see talk about, say, Russian colonization of the Steppe among the Pathologic community; or the language everyone speaks in the game being in-character Russian, or any similar ideas that equate the Capital-centered civilization that founded the Town-on-Gorkhon with the historical Russian Empire.

But the funniest bit - as for me, - that for a Russian, most of Pathologic is purposefully coded by Ice Pick Lodge to feel generic Eastern European, if not even European in general. Let me go with a brief rundown.

So brief, in fact, that this post will only serve as an introduction, and not to make it overly long, I'll write up more in separate ones.

So, the elephant in the room: Pathologic is not meant to be perfectly realistic.

The first thing that needs to be said here is: of course the Town on Gorkhon is not meant to be 100% lifelike. If you will, it is a realist painting, rather than a photography. Very visibly theatrical scenery rather than a faithful depiction of the town. It is obviously done on purpose, too: partly for gameplay reasons, party as artistic choice.

Some things had to be sacrificed for the overarching plot to make sense, so, let's call them logical limitations.

The Town is relatively large (10k+ citizens at the very least), and it's economically important, so realistically, of course it would have a hospital and multiple medical professionals. Checkhov, for instance, managed such a clinic in Zvenigorod in his youth, and that town barely had three thousand souls then. But of course nothing like that can be present in the Town as it would entirely undermine the game's premise of a handful healers fighting against the Plague and their own prejudice against each other.

Similarly, there can't be telephones (while by the rough time period of the game, somewhere in the 1910s to 1920s, there were already first automated exchanges introduced), nor electrical or even optical telegraph to connect the Town to the larger world (a technology about a century old by then), for obvious reasons.

Thematic limitations are necessary for the game's themes to work better.

For instance, Saburov is a commandant, not just a governor (and I believe he's refered to as such in the English translation of P1). But where's his command? He doesn't seem to have a single soldier under his leadership, just the ragtag town militia. Why's that? Because the game has to make the uniformed Army, when it arrives, feel utterly alien to the Town, and incompatible with it.

As another example, the only lifestock the Kin seem to be herding appears to be cattle. That's an economical absurdity for nomadic pastoralists. With no sheep, no goats, no camels, not even horses, they can't establish a sustaintable subsistence economy. But of course with the game so focused on cows, both in its visual language, the Kin mythology, and other aspects of storytelling, presenting cattle to be just one of the many species the Kin herd would reduce the impact of the game's message.

To continue in that vein, the Town interacting with the Steppe is one the game's major themes: so overgrazing by those huge herds the Bull Enterprise with its thousands of employees should be slaughtering can not be shown; and the cultivated fields (which a steppe near a major water source readily allows) that should surround the Town cannot be, either.

Then, there are the tech limitations: with seven thousand workers (as Aglaya estimates the losses in the Termitary), the Bull Enterprise must be slaughtering insane numbers of cattle every day; of course all these herds cannot be shown, just like the thousands of ordinary citizens doing the ordinary jobs that keep the Town running cannot be visible.

Finally, some of the Town's unfinished, sketch-like nature is pure artistic choice. I think the perfect example is the table lamp in Isidor Burakh's room - unplugged, yet shining brightly. I don't think it's Ice Pick simply being careless: it is more like they're blinking at us, saying "remember all of this is not real".

If anything, I must say I have an issue with some of the choices made, and particularly with the Kin dress. Some of the Town characters are fine to wear rags (such as Clara or Murky), but why do the Kin, universally (other than, perhaps, Taya, their supreme leader)? Compare their crude dress with its huge stitches to what was worn in Middle Asia at the time in reality. Even beggars wore much better than a highly respected figure like Aspity. Sure, those are to be taken as essentially theater costumes, but as far as culture-specific costumes go, they are wildly unflattening.

But the important thing to take from this part: some of the simplifications and the generalizations are necessary for the game to work, on many levels. They're not about representing a particular culture well, just about making a good game.

[hausofmamadas]

PRIMOGENITAL | the Wisdom of Fredward Horniman

From The Gentlemen, Episode 1 - Refined Agression

∴

Look, you guys. He’s really suffered, okay?

He’s been STABBED in the heart, he’s been London-BRIDGED(?), he’s been FUCKED in the face, DOGGED on the floor.

And it’s true. He has, despite being the firstborn son, been relegated to the truly harrowing fate of being the most embarrassingly, painfully, mediocre progeny in the family line, that his dad had no choice but to break with 600yrs of tradition and cut him out of the will, passing everything to younger, much cooler more responsible brother, Edwina “Eddie” Horniman. And isn’t not having a bullshit title, nor the crushing debt of his father’s failed above-board business, nor having to deal with the surprise! extensive, underground potfarm on the estate grounds and all the accompanying stress and criminal hijinx with it— well, isn’t it just the most traumatic thing you can imagine???????

Now all Freddy gets to do is:

live in historic mansion with way-too-cool-to-be-caught-dead-with-him, Inexplicable-Stunt-Driver-Wife Tamasina (known by abs legendary nickname of Wham Tam) who also, when asked by Freddy in a moment of desperation if she thinks he’s a cock, rightly points out, “all men are cocks, Freddy”

pal around in chicken costume and steal cars with chill asf brother that he only occasionally wants dead, Steady Eddie who’s legit so good at everything that Freddy doesn’t have to be good at anything

go “fishing” aka chuck live grenades into lake full of salmon, a method worthy of Park-Tuna-Assassin Ramon Arellano Félix and invent Crack!Weed another Ramon-coded pasttime with bestie-botanist and lover of all things hydroponic, hallucinogenic, and Special Sauce, Jimmy Chang …. AND

Skeet shoot out in picturesque estate garden with creature-whisperer, actual live angel, and all around Dilf-of-the-manor, Geoff

Oh, the horror.

No, but honestly, I cannot summon from memory a single character I have so biblically despised on first watch, only to full 180, violently swing in the opposite direction to straight glee/appreciation for the comedic marvel that is Mr. (not!)Duke-SirFancyPants-RoyalDumpsterFire-LordSomethingErOther, the one, the only, Frederick “Fredward” Horniman aka thisprince👇

Yeah, talk about refined aggression? I had some refined ass aggression toward ole Fred, here. Like when I tell you I hated this “man,” I h a t e d this man.

All I could think the whole time, on first watch was, wowowow, y’know what’s worse than a useless, entitled, infantile, drug-addled, narcissistic man-fetus …?

A loud useless, entitled, infantile, drug-addled, narcissistic man-fetus.

My mans, Eddie is wayyy too generous here☝️and every other time he bails Freddy out of whatever pigshit he manages to shove his full face into bc I’d be throwing more than paper. That antique furniture would regrettably be sailing thru the air, straight at that fat melon of this nepo-baby dressed in DivineRightofKings drag, if only to get a precious few fucking seconds of silence.

Like the only one reacting appropriately here is Charly☝️who Freddy snarkily calls Lady Macbeth with a mix of love and contempt only a sibling can display which like, not the best? insult? To be called one of the most groundbreaking female characters of all time? But our boy is nothing if not scholarly, right. So im sure he super paid attention when the class was reading Macbeth

So, yeah. He’s basically the worst. There’s a metric fuck ton of evidence to support that. AND YET, this mf isn’t completely useless bc after my 2nd and 3rd rewatch specifically witnessing the genius that is his alter ego, plastic Russian gangster, Anatoly Givenchy Romanov who laavs orange cars and Siberian tigers let me do tell you, against my better judgment, I found myself growing to love and adore the (2nd) funniest character in an already hilarious show (crown goes to beautiful tropical fish Jimmy bc mans always proper vibin’)

And now, when I watch this scene, instead of berserker levels of enraged, I’m struck with a disorienting combo of secondhand cringe + juvenile glee??? Like instead of wanting to aggravated manslaughter my own tv, I’m just “awww, Fredward. What a little nothing you are. Look how silly you look in your lil boarding school jumper.” And it feels good(?) but mostly bad. And then I do this

like the true American scum that I am.

═

taglist: @drabbles-mc @when-did-this-become-difficult @narcolini, @ladygoatee ⇝ tagged bc even tho you have zero intention of watching, you were diligently taking notes

[multifandombookstore]

Evil Russians

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader Genre: angst, fluff, smut Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE, evil Russians being evil, smutty fun time  Summary: After secretly liking each other for so long, it’s only fair that they confess after being held captive by evil Russians. 

As a senior in high school, I’d say I’ve accomplished quite a bit. I mean, I can’t really tell anyone about these accomplishments but they happened and I feel, well, accomplished.

It is a little weird being friends with middle schoolers, but they’re very cool middle schoolers! 

Anyway, now everything is calm and peaceful. Plus, it’s summer! Summer is literally the best. Though, I had to get a job. And, of course, the king himself helped me to get a job. Scoops Ahoy is actually pretty chill, literally and figuratively. 

The best part is I get to hang out with Steve, my crush since freshman year. 

I’ve been best friends with Nancy since we were practically in diapers. We grew up together, seeing as how I live across the street. When she and Steve started to become a thing, my heart was practically ripped from my chest. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I have feelings for it. Mainly because my heart is no longer in my chest because it’s been ripped out. 

Thanks to her though, Steve and I became friends. So, I guess I can thank her in that aspect. 

When they broke up though, I had never been happier. I couldn’t tell them that though, but I was. We were all still a team though, working to defeat evil. 

When Nancy got with Jonathon, I finally told her about my feelings for Steve. She felt like a jerk but I told her it wasn’t her fault, seeing as how I never told her till now how I felt about him. I’m just glad I have someone to go to when I want to rant about Steve. 

Anyway, Steve got me the job and we’ve only gotten closer. Plus, I gained Robin as a new best friend. Steve lowkey hates it but I don’t care. Robin is really cool and I don’t see why he can’t see that. 

As of right now, Scoops Ahoy is as chill as ever. Steve and I are on our break right now, hiding in the back and eating ice cream. Steve gets up and starts to head to the front when he hears a familiar voice, his face lighting up. He slams the door open and shouts, “Henderson!”

I quickly stand up as well, dashing upfront with a big grin. 

“You got the job!” 

“I got the job!”

“Toothless!” I screech as I appear upfront, running to him to hug him. He groans as he returns the hug, playfully scowling at me. 

“I told you not to call me that anymore,” he whines as he pulls away, smiling as Steve comes up to do their handshake. 

I giggle and shake my head, going around the counter to get him some ice cream for the munchkin. “How many children are you friends with?” Robin teases Steve. I snort and playfully elbow her as I start to scoop ice cream up for Dustin. 

We then all sit down in a booth, Dustin beaming as I hand him his ice cream. “You’re a goddess,” he whispers to me, licking his lips as he eyes the ice cream before digging in. 

He then starts telling us about his girlfriend, my heart soaring for the little dude. Things take a turn when he starts telling us about the Russians. I was intrigued instantly.

Steve was not though. He had trouble believing such a thing, despite what he’s seen and done. That is until Dustin started telling him that they’d be American heroes and get all the girls they want. I hide my frown by eating some of Dustin’s ice cream which he didn’t mind at all. 

That’s when the chaos issued. We spied around the mall looking for suspicious people, following one dude who ended up just being a pilates instructor or something. 

We then started to decipher the message that the Russians were using to talk in secret code. Man, without me, they’d be completely lost and would’ve gotten nowhere.

We then got the annoying girl to climb into a vent and let us into the storage unit the evil Russians are using. That ended up being an elevator. And that ended up trapping us underground. 

Then, one thing led to another and now, I’m tied up in a room by myself. 

I don’t bother shouting for help, knowing it’s pointless. A general came in and started to interrogate me, trying to ask who I work for and basic kidnapping the enemy questions. Not to brag or anything, but I’m a great liar. I told them, unknowingly, exactly what Steve told them. 

With each lie, they slap me across the face. I bite back my tears, laughing instead to appear strong. Or crazy. Either is fine in this situation. Eventually, they had enough of me and left, probably to interrogate Steve. 

After sitting in the uncomfortable chair for who knows how long, two men come back into the plain room and pick me up. They then continue to drag me to a different room, throwing me into it. Luckily for me, and not so lucky for Steve, I land on top of him. 

Not that he would’ve felt it, seeing as how he’s knocked out. My heart breaks at the sight of his swollen face and all the blood. I call his name as I lightly shake him, feeling myself on the verge of tears. 

As soon as the general comes in, I start to yell at him, asking him what he did to Steve. He slaps me across the face for the nth time, my already lightly bruised and red cheek feeling the sharp sting. 

A man then picks me up, practically throwing me into a chair and starting to tie us up. I struggle as I call out to Steve. 

“Steve! Steve, can you hear me? Steve, wake up! Hey, don’t touch him!”

The men leave after I spit in the general’s face, smiling cheekily at him. As soon as they’re gone, I start trying to wake up Steve again.

He wakes up eventually, my body relaxing a bit knowing he’s okay. “Steve! Oh, thank god! Okay, I have a plan!”

He smiles to himself, lightly shaking his head. You always have a plan. 

I explain the plan to him, hearing him agree that getting the scissors is smart. We start to hop over towards them before falling over, my eyes tearing up.

This is hopeless. We are legit going to die. Here of all places. After everything we’ve been up against. This is what kills us.

My body starts to shake as I cry, biting my lip hard to try and get me to stop. 

Steve starts to laugh, turning his head to try and look at me. “Are you laughing?” he asks while chuckling. 

I then sniffle, his laughter instantly dying. 

“Hey, woah. What’s with the tears, Shortcake?” he says lightly. I smile at the pet name, my crying calming a bit. He started calling me that for two reasons. 

1. I’m shorter than him 

2. Strawberry Shortcake is my favorite ice cream flavor to eat while working  

“It’s just...I can’t believe I’m going to die in an evil Russians’ basement with you. After everything we’ve been through. That’s just insane.”

He chuckles a bit, shaking his head. “We aren’t going to die here. As you said, we’ve been up against much, much worse.”

I calm down at the sound of his voice, biting my lip. “Can you...talk some more?” I whisper, sniffling again.

Steve goes quiet and I start to blush. That’s so stupid. I go to tell him sorry and that I’m stupid when he starts to talk. 

“Do you remember in gym class when the boys were playing basketball and that stupid Hargrove guy kept smacking the ball out of my hand and shoving me to the floor?”

I sniffle once more and nod my head, wishing I could wipe my face. “Yeah, why?” I ask softly. 

He laughs as he starts to shake his head, smiling as he recalls the day. 

“After the game was over, you marched right up to Hargrove and challenged him to a one on one game. Everyone thought you were way out of your league. You only played basketball in sixth grade and absolutely hated it. But you challenged him anyway.”

I close my eyes and picture it, remembering it like it was yesterday. 

“You said whoever gets a basket first wins. He was so cocky, smirking at you as he stared down at you with his stupid, flirty eyes.”

You laugh at the last part, feeling much better than before. 

“One of his ugly friends through the ball up for you both. Billy didn’t even bother jumping. He just let you get the ball, smirking that horrible smirk of his. As soon as you started running towards your goal, he followed after you.” 

You start to smile more, waiting for the climax of the story. 

“He ran in front of you when you reached the free-throw line, jumping to block your shot. Your sly self faked the jump and then jumped as he came down. You shot that ball right into the net and left everyone speechless. You then sashayed away from him with a proud smirk on your face, right over to me.” 

I let out a happy sigh, reminiscing on the face Billy had when I faked him out and made the shot. 

“It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen you do.” 

I instantly go speechless at that, my jaw hanging open. “That, out of all things, is the hottest? What about when I took your spiked bat from you and hit the Demogorgon right in the face? That did nothing to you?”

He laughs loudly at your response, nodding his head even though you can’t see him. “No, no. That’s hot too. I can’t brag to people about that though.”

He once again renders me speechless. Does he brag about me to people? When I don’t give him a response, he keeps going. 

“(Y/n), there’s something I’ve been mea—”

Just then, the evil Russians return with their doctor. They give us some weird looking blue shot and then leave again. Steve and I sit there for a long moment, trying to figure out if we feel any different.

That’s when we start acting like crackheads on steroids. 

“You know earlier when I called you hot?” Steve asks while giggling like a fool.

I giggle and nod my head, laughing harder when I remember that he can’t see me. 

“Yeah,” I say after I calm down my laughter. 

“Yeah, well, you’re like really hot,” Steve says as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said in his life. 

I giggle at his words, finding him absolutely ridiculous. “Oh yeah? Well, I think you’re insanely hot,” I argue. 

He calms his laughter to chuckling to reply to me. “Yeah, well, I think you’re, like, crazy hot.” 

It then goes back and forth like that until we are interrupted again. The general and his men come back, trying to ask us questions again. We once again give them nothing, only angering the general more. 

Alarms then start to go off. I can already tell that Steve is smirking up at the general. Everyone except for the doctor runs out. I start to mock the siren, making Steve laugh and the doctor to get annoyed. 

It didn’t take long for Dustin to bust in and shock the doctor, sending him crippling to the ground. 

“Henderson!” Steve shouts happily at the same time I call out, “Toothless!” 

The young boy then goes about rescuing us, bringing us to a movie theater. I happily munch on the popcorn as we watch the movie, completely confused as to what is going on. I go to take a drink of the soda we got when I realize it’s empty. 

Steve drank it all. 

“Stevie!” I whine too loudly, making people shush us. Steve and I turn around and shush the people right back, making us giggle. I then get up to go get something else to drink, Steve following right after me. I drink from the water fountain for what felt like forever until Steve was complaining that he wants some too. 

I pull away and step to the side, allowing Steve to drink from the fountain. He pulls away after a moment and complains that he has to pee. I snort at him as we walk to the restrooms, saying dumb stuff on the way. 

I sit in one of the stalls as he pees, making fun of him for the way it sounds. Out of nowhere, we both feel sick. I lean over the toilet and empty my insides into it, hearing Steve doing the same thing. I groan as I hold my head, flushing the toilet. Steve didn’t sound any better than I did. 

Once we start to feel better, we start to talk again. We mainly talked about all the stupid stuff we said while drugged. We laugh afterward, eventually calming down and falling silent. 

“Hey, (Y/n),” Steve calls softly from his stall. 

I look up towards his stall as if I can see him. “Yeah?”

It’s silent for another minute until he speaks. “I don’t know if you remember or not...but back in the evil Russians’ basement, we kept going back and forth about how the other is hotter. Um...”

He trails off again, making me frown. I can feel a blush settling on my cheeks at the memory, mentally moving that memory to my longterm memory. I never want to forget that moment. 

“Before the evil dudes came back, I was going to tell you something,” he says softly. I remain quiet for a long time, my heart starting to race. Is this going where I think it’s going? 

“(Y/n), I like you,” he whispers so softly that I have to strain my ears to hear it. My jaw unhinges to the floor I’m sitting on, staring at the stall wall in shock. I almost yelp when he suddenly slides under the wall, looking at me with furrowed brows as he waits for my response. 

I guess I take too long because he quickly starts to back-peddle, a dark, embarrassed blush coming to his face. “Oh, uh, sorry! Please ignore that. Oh jeez, sorry. I-”

“Harrington, shut it. If we both didn’t just puke up our intestines, I’d kiss you right now.” That definitely makes him stop rambling, a wide grin coming to his face. 

“Can I kiss you anyways? I’ve been dying to kiss you for the longest time,” he begs. Your nose wrinkles as you stand, dusting yourself off before offering him a hand. He takes it and you help pull him up as you respond. 

“Not happening, pretty boy. As soon as we brush our teeth, I’m all yours. Until then, how about a hug?” I offer. 

He grins brighter than the sun as he quickly wraps his arms around my shoulders, my arms going around his waist. We start to crack up when someone comes into the restroom and sees us standing in the open stall hugging. 

Once we defeat the mind flayer, a heavy weight left my body. We defeated a new enemy, hopefully for good this time, and Steve and I confessed to each other. 

I don't think I've ever felt happier. Steve insists on taking me home after the ambulance checks us out, giving us permission to go home. I accept, wanting to fall asleep in his arms. 

Unlike Nancy's parents, my parents are pretty chill and don't care that I have a boy up in my room. They trust me, so they trust my decisions. They just want him to be gone by a certain time and to keep the door open, but other than that, they don't really care. 

I let Steve take a shower in my shower while I go to take a shower in my parent's room. Before I go to take mine though, I get some of my dad's clothes for Steve to borrow. I let him use his pajama pants, that have strings that he can tie tight seeing as how they are two completely different sizes, and a random, old shirt. 

I come back to my room and set the clothes on the bed for him, letting Steve know before going to take my shower. Halfway through my shower, I curse myself for being so dumb.

I got Steve a change of clothes but forgot my own. Gosh, it's like something out of a cheesy romance movie. 

I finish up with my shower and wrap the towel around my cold body, grunting as I quickly go to my room. My parents are downstairs watching a movie, so I didn't have to worry about them seeing me. 

I just had to worry about Steve.

I was hoping that I could beat him to my room and get dressed before he finished his shower but when I open the door, Steve is fully dressed and lounging on my bed playing on his phone. 

"Man, girls take such long showe- oh..."

My face goes vibrant red as we make eye contact, my heart lurching up to my throat. We stare at each other for a long moment before his eyes starting to wander, looking at the water droplets that are dripping down from my hair onto my bare skin. 

He clears his throat before quickly turning away, rolling over on the bed to give me some privacy. "Sorry," he says softly. I smile at his apology, giggling as I head over towards my dresser. 

"For what?' I tease, getting out pajama shorts. I toss those on the opposite side of the bed before closing that drawer and pulling out another one. I get out a pair of old underwear before pausing, biting my lip. I put them back and pull out a pair of my nice, lacy panties.

Just in case.

Steve starts to stutter at my question, not really sure what he's apologizing for either. I chuckle at his stuttering, walking to my closet and getting a hoodie out. I decided to skip on the bra seeing as how we are just going to be chilling in my bed. 

"I'm just teasing," I reply as I walk to my bed, making sure Steve's back is to me before dropping my towel. I see him tense when he hears the towel, hit the floor. I quickly slip on my panties before slipping on my hoodie, sliding my shorts on last. 

"You're good," I say as I pick up the towel to dry my hair. He slowly rolls over to look up over at me, smiling when he sees me. 

"What?" I ask with my own smile, a blush growing on my face. 

"Nothing, nothing. You just...you're so beautiful," he whispers, smiling like the dork he is. My blush only gets worse, playfully hitting him with my towel. 

"Shut up! You're just trying to get into my pants!" I jokingly shout, making sure to be quiet enough so that my parents don't hear me. He laughs in response, tugging me onto the bed. He pulls me flush against him, smirking down at me. 

"Maybe," he jokes, looking serious as he says it. I stare up at him wide-eyed, trying to think of a good response. With our bodies pressed so closely together, I began to wonder if he could feel my pounding heart against him. 

Before I can think of anything a moment more, his lips meet mine. All coherent thoughts leave my mind after that. I hum into the kiss, slowly deepening it. He hums back when he feels my tongue slide out, gratefully accepting it into his mouth. 

We make out like that for a while, simply holding each other as we let our mouths explore the other's. After a while, our hands start to wander. His hands slip under my hoodie, staying respectfully on my hips. I internally groan at how much of a gentleman he is, wanting him to take charge and ravish me. 

I pull my hands away from his abdomen to pull his hands to my breasts, moaning when he gets with the program. He flips over me, squeezing my breasts as he pulls away from my mouth to kiss down my neck. I pant as I stare up a the ceiling, trying to wrap my head around the fact that we are actually doing this. The amount of times I've daydreamed in class or have woken up wet from a wet dream of him is ridiculous. 

Finally, those dreams are coming true. 

I moan louder when one of his hands leave my breasts to go to my heat, rubbing me through my panties. He brings his head away from my neck to look down at me, shushing me gently. 

"You have to be quiet, baby. The door is open and I'd rather not be shot by your dad if he catches us in this position."

I nod my head, taking a deep breath as I bite onto my lip. "Have you ever done...this before?" he whispers to me as his fingers rub over my clothed clit. 

I shake my head as I let out a shaky breath, my hands tightly gripping my covers. "No...not with someone else, anyway..." I reply sheepishly. His eyes widen at my words, for many reasons. 

For one, he's glad that he'll be the first one to be with me. Second of all, not with someone else but with...

He smirks devilishly as he pieces it together. "Do you have toys?" he asks in a new tone I've never heard before. It's deeper, darker. 

"I, um, uh..." I stutter out, trying to find a good way to deny his accusations. 

He practically growls as he moves my panties to the side and slips a finger inside of me. "God, I knew you were hot but this is just insane," he says lowly as he pumps his finger. 

"I can imagine you lied out on your bed, pumping one of your toys in and out of y-"

I quickly tig him down to keep me from moaning. Dirty talk is one of my weaknesses. A sound leaves his throat as he slips another finger inside, making me moan against his lips. He takes the chance to slide his tongue into my mouth, his free hand pinching one of my nipples. My head gets dizzy at all the different sensations, my body starting to shake. 

Before I can stop myself or warn him, I'm cumming. I cover my mouth as I do so, knowing I'll end up being loud. 

His eyes widen as he watches me, his fingers slowing down as I clench around them. After a couple of seconds, he feels his fingers get wetter and hears the squelching noise increase as he moves his fingers. 

He pulls his fingers out slowly with wide eyes, watching his fingers retreat from my core. He opens and closes his fingers, watching the strings of my juices drip down his fingers and make his hand even dirtier. 

I watch him with half-lidded eyes, my breathing making my chest rise and fall rapidly. He slowly brings his fingers to his lips, making eye contact with you as he licks at his fingers. 

I can't help but moan, shaking my head as my hips jolt up towards him. I bring my hand to his pants, palming him through his bottoms. He stops licking his fingers at that, grunting as he looks down at my hands. 

He bites his lip as he wipes his hand on his pants before slipping them off. I gape when his member springs free, hitting his abdomen. I forgot he's not wearing any underwear. I mewl at the realization, bringing my hand to his hard member to start pumping it. 

He bites his lip as he watches my hand move, his body tensing. I then bring my hand to my mouth, licking from my palm to my fingers before bringing my hand back. My hand now easily glides up and down, his hips jutting forward occasionally. 

After a couple of minutes of giving him a handjob, he shakily pulls my hand away. He brings his hands to my shorts, looking up at me through his long hair. 

"Can I?" he whispers, voice thick with want. I quickly nod my head, wanting nothing more. He slowly slips my shorts and panties off, groaning at the sight of my dripping heat. 

"God, you can't be real," he groans, pumping his member as he stares at my opening for a moment before looking up into my eyes. 

"Condom?" he whispers, smiling when he sees my flushed cheeks. I always get flustered so easily. I gulp at his question and shake my head, licking my lips. 

"No. I didn't exactly think that I'd be having sex with Steve The-Hair Harrington," I joke, my voice shakey from excitement. His face falls at my words, quietly cursing. 

He starts to pull away from me, okay with doing oral, before I stop him. "Hey," I say softly, bringing his eyes to mine. "I trust you," I whisper.

His eyes widen, his body going rigid. "I...you...what?" I giggle at his stuttering, running my hand through his hair. 

"I trust you. Just, please, don't cum in me," I tease. His face breaks out with color, making me giggle more. He nods his head though and brings his hips down, rubbing his member through my slick to get himself wet enough to not hurt me when he pushes in. 

When he finally does though, both of us can't help but moan. He then starts to thrust nice and slow, wanting it to be slow and sensual for our first time. We smile softly at each other before we start to kiss, this kiss being as slow as his thrusts. 

Even with the slow pace, I cum quickly. I'm not used to this in any way and plus, I've already came once, so I'm sensitive. He moans quietly when he feels me clench around him, knowing I came again. 

He hisses as he gets close, quickly pulling out and jacking off until he cums on my stomach. 

We pant as we stare at each other with lidded eyes, Steve slowly falling to my side. 

"Great. Now, I'll have to shower again," I joke as I cuddle into him, making him chuckle and kiss my forehead. 

MASTERLIST

[introvertguide]

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964); AFI #39

The most recent movie for the group to review was the Kubrick dark comedy, Dr. Strangelove (I am not writing out the whole title each time). This film has some of the most legitimately funny lines of bewilderment, with some occasions involving an actor playing across from himself. For most film goers, this will be Peter Seller’s most famous role since he plays three main characters, all with different accents, appearances, and quirks. The film was nominated for 4 Academy Awards (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay, and Best Actor) but did not take home any trophies. The film did win best picture at the BAFTAs. This film was definitely in the style of Kubrick, but it was in a genre that I don’t believe he delved into again. I want to review the plot before discussing further, so let me get the usual out of the way:

SPOILER ALERT!!! I AM ABOUT TO GIVE AWAY THE WHOLE PLOT OF THE FILM!!! IF YOU WANT TO WATCH THE FILM ON YOUR OWN WITHOUT HAVING ANYTHING SPOILED, STOP NOW AND WATCH THE FILM!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

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At the start, we are introduced to United States Air Force Brigadier General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) who is commander of Burpelson Air Force Base. This base houses a group of B-52 bombers armed with hydrogen bombs that are constantly in the air. The planes are constantly within two hours from their targets inside the USSR in case of nuclear war. General Ripper orders his executive officer, Group Captain Lionel Mandrake of the UK Royal Air Force (Peter Sellers), to put the base on alert and to issue "Wing Attack Plan R" to the patrolling bombers, one of which is commanded by Major T. J. "King" Kong (Slim Pickens). All of the aircraft commence an attack flight on the USSR, and set their radios to allow communications only through their CRM 114 discriminators, which was designed to accept only communications preceded by a secret three-letter code known only to General Ripper. Mandrake discovers that no attack order has been issued by the Pentagon and tries to stop Ripper, who locks them both in his office. Ripper tells Mandrake that he believes the Soviets have been fluoridating American water supplies to pollute the "precious bodily fluids" of Americans. Mandrake realizes Ripper has gone insane.

In the War Room at the Pentagon, General Buck Turgidson (George C Scott) briefs President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers again) and other officers about how "Plan R" enables a senior officer to launch a retaliatory nuclear attack on the Soviets if all superiors have been killed in a first strike on the United States. It would take two days to try every CRM code combination to issue the recall order, but the planes are due to reach their targets within hours. Muffley orders the U.S. Army to storm the base and arrest General Ripper. Turgidson then attempts to convince Muffley to let the attack continue, but Muffley refuses. Instead, he brings Soviet ambassador Alexei de Sadeski (Peter Bull) into the War Room to telephone Soviet Premier Dimitri Kissov on the "hotline". Muffley warns the Premier of the impending attack, and offers to reveal the positions of the bombers and their targets so that the Soviets can protect themselves.

After a heated discussion in Russian with the Premier, the ambassador informs President Muffley that the Soviet Union had created a doomsday machine as a nuclear deterrent; it consists of many buried bombs jacketed with "cobalt-thorium G", which are set to detonate automatically should any nuclear attack strike the country. Within two months after detonation, the cobalt-thorium G would encircle the planet in a radioactive shroud that would render the Earth's surface uninhabitable. The device cannot be deactivated, as it is programmed to explode if any such attempt is made. The President's wheelchair-bound scientific advisor, former Nazi German Dr. Strangelove (Peter Sellers one more time), points out that such a doomsday machine would only be an effective deterrent if everyone knew about it; Alexei replies that the Soviet Premier had planned to reveal its existence to the world the following week.

Meanwhile, U.S. Army troops arrive at Burpelson, and General Ripper commits suicide. Mandrake identifies Ripper's CRM code from his desk blotter and relays it to the Pentagon. Using the code, Strategic Air Command successfully recalls all of the bombers except Major Kong's, whose radio equipment has been damaged in a missile attack. The Soviets attempt to find it, but Kong has the bomber attack a closer target due to dwindling fuel. As the plane approaches the new target, a Soviet ICBM site, the crew is unable to open the damaged bomb bay doors. Kong enters the bay and repairs the broken electrical wiring while sitting on a H-bomb, whereupon the doors open and the bomb is dropped. Kong joyfully straddles the bomb as it falls and detonates over the target.

Back in the War Room, Dr. Strangelove recommends that the President gather several hundred thousand people to live in deep underground mines where the radiation will not penetrate. He suggests a 10:1 female-to-male ratio for a breeding program to repopulate the Earth once the radiation has subsided. Worried that the Soviets will do the same, Turgidson warns about a "mineshaft gap" while Alexei secretly photographs the war room. Dr. Strangelove declares he has a plan, but then rises from his wheelchair and announces "Mein Führer, I can walk!" as the Doomsday Machine activates. The film ends with a montage of many nuclear explosions, accompanied by Vera Lynn's rendition of the song "We'll Meet Again".

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This is a pretty weird film, but it has some of the funniest lines in cinema. Discussions of not letting a Russian envoy into the war room because he will “see the big board,” the president announcing there is no fighting in the war room, a crazy general constantly talking about a plot to steal American bodily fluids, and a discussion about how the high ranking officials and generals would be hidden in shelters with a 10-1 ratio of hot women to men with the expectation of constant impregnation which everybody suddenly favors: it is all absurd. But I really love it and laugh every time I watch.

The three roles of Peter Sellers is especially noteworthy, as all of his characters are so different. He plays a very British foreign exchange officer (I am not sure this exists), an absolutely whacky former Nazi scientist, and the straight man of the film in the form of the US president. Since Dr. Strangelove was an advisor to the president, there were many scenes in which Peter Sellers was acting across from a stunt shoulder or the back of a head that was supposed to be him. He did a fantastic job of making light of total world destruction during the cold war.

One very notable thing about the acting of Peter Sellers was that he had a couple of ad libs during the movie. Stanley Kubrick is not a director that particularly cares if he gets along with his actors, often times demanding dozens of takes for even the simplest of background scenes. Long dialogue scenes are repeated over and over to the point that many actors did not want to work with Kubrick. And still, the director seemed to like Sellers quite a bit and kept a couple of the takes that were ad-libbed, specifically for the character of Dr. Strangelove. Perhaps the crazy former Nazi character was so unpredictable that random whacky outbursts (like the scream for “Mein Fuhrer” at the end) seemed appropriate.

A little side note is that this was the first film appearance of James Earl Jones as one of the bombardiers on the B-52. He was known for his work in the theatre at the time, so of course he had a bit part in which he was mostly covered in a flight suit and said very little. Now that is a misuse of talent. 

A point about the movie that I was unaware but was pointed out by a follower of the group was that the promotional material for the film shows that the plane was named “Leper Colony” (thank you @themightyfoo). This implies that this group was actually a bunch of screw ups, which is part of the overall joke that this group was given access to world ending bombing capabilities. Maybe it was assumed that the order to drop the bombs would never be given and this group was just given this detail to get them out of the way.

So does this movie belong on the AFI list? Yes, but maybe not ranked so high. It has a lot of name recognition, but I think that is more due to the very distinct naming and the titular role. Maybe the notoriety is also due to the subject matter and the time it was released. It is a fine film with great acting, but I find it hard to put above Jaws, Rocky, or Taxi Driver. I guess that is more my humble opinion, but I agree the list would be lacking without this film. So would I recommend it? Absolutely. It is an interesting story about how red tape allowed one high ranking individual to literally destroy the world. And it is a joke. It is such a well told story that they had to put a disclaimer at the front. A great lesson, even today. 

[hopesbarnes]

Black Swan (2)

Summary: Y/N used to be a Russian spy under the code name Black Swan. But that was a lifetime ago, now she’s a part-time avenger, dance teacher, surrogate sister to Natasha Romanoff, and trainer to new Shield Agents. She’s come a long way from the days of killing targets and being tortured. But when someone from her past comes around will she be able to ignore her history anymore? Or will she end up falling in love with the only man her sister ever loved?

Warnings: Mentions of past hydra abuse 

A/N: Italics is a flashback! Taglist is open, send an ask. Make sure to check out my 900 follower writing challenge in my bio!!

It had been an especially gruesome day. Training seemed to last all morning and it felt like every inch of you was bruised or broken. It probably was. Luckily, you were given the afternoon off for ‘studies’. It happened very little that you were given any time without being watched, so everyone took advantage and relaxed. 

Natasha came up to you with a pleading look, “Пожалуйста, прикрой меня (Please cover me)” she said. 

“Куда ты идешь (Where are you going?)” You asked, despite the fact you were pretty sure where she was headed. 

She smiled sweetly, “на свидание с Джеймсом (On a date with James)” 

She was so naive when it came to him. From the moment they met, she was infatuated.  “будь осторожен, не попадись (Be careful, don’t get caught)” I said before adding “повеселись (have fun)”.

 You wanted to protect her from heartbreak, or something worse. But at the same time, she deserved to be happy. She ran away and you sighed. Nat was head over heels for the man, and you just hoped it didn’t interfere in training or get her in trouble.

James had arrived an hour ago and looked the same as he did over two decades ago. It was as if time had frozen and you were years younger. But if you’re being honest, Natasha and you looked the same too. All that genetic testing and drugs pumped into you slowed your aging amongst other things. 

 Memories started to come back when you saw him, some more pleasant than others. In particular, you remembered one of the times Tasha snuck out to see him. She used to be so innocent before the world hardened her. Seeing him was even harder on her. She couldn’t even stay in the same room as him. She left moments after he arrived with a shaky “I have to go do something”. Everyone seemed fine with that, but you knew she was freaking out inside. Sisters always knew when something was wrong.

You mistakenly called him James before he mentioned that he preferred to be called Bucky. When you had said his name he looks at you with confusion, as if he’s trying to search his brain for a memory that he’s unsure exists. He says he has few memories from the past, and all of them were right before he was ‘wiped’. You don’t mention the red room where he spent some of his missing time. Probably a blessing in disguise, all that happened there was bloody. Not worth remembering if it could be avoided.

After some polite small talk with Steve and Bucky, you excuse yourself to find Nat. You’ve seen her at her worst and know when she’s not alright. And this was one of those times.

You knock on her door, but don’t wait for an answer to enter the room. 

“What if I was naked?” she yells out annoyed when you find her attacking a punching bag viciously. 

You laugh, “As if that would stop me!” she joins you in laughing but continues to brutalize the bag. “Hey, what did that bag do to you сестренка? (sis)” You tease. 

She huffs in annoyance. “Does he remember?” 

“No, but when I called him James he looked like he was trying to. It might only be a matter of time,” you reply honestly. She should be ready for her past to come back.

“Duly noted,” she says. 

“I’m guessing by the state of this bag you remember though,” you say pointing at the bag missing stuffing. 

“Not hard, no matter how many times they cleared my head he always came back. It’s like he’s forever etched in my brain in grave details.” You nod and she slumps down against the wall. You go over and sit next to her and she rests her head on your shoulder. 

“I really did love him at one point. In fact, I think he’s the only guy I’ve ever loved.” You feel wetness on your sleeve but don’t dare to say that aloud. 

“Oh honey, I know,” you say stroking her hair. “But he’s not that person anymore, and neither are you.” She hums in agreement with this. 

“Do you think we can keep this between us. It’s not in any file and you are the only one who knows.” You’ve only heard her this broken a few times before. 

“I was never going to tell anyone, любовь (love). You keep a million things quiet for me, and I a million for you. That’s what sisters are for.” You both just sit in silence with her leaning against you for a while. 

A few weeks had gone by since Bucky moved in. He got into a schedule, and the initial awkwardness died down. Tasha still couldn’t be in a room with him for more than 5 minutes, but she’s slowly coming to terms that he isn’t going anywhere. 

You started putting together the girl’s solos for competition and finished the large group before moving on to a small group of the younger girls. You also started to train new SHIELD agents, a compromise you made to get off the field more. They all picked up skills easily and were quick on their feet. You were only needed for one mission at that time, and it was a quick recon that only took three days. Child’s work really.

It was a Thursday afternoon and the rest of the team was doing some press to promote the image that Avengers wasn’t just a group of superheroes who sometimes ruined cities. This left you and Bucky alone in the compound. You tried to avoid him, but he was everywhere. 

In the gym? He was working out. In the library? He was reading a book. In the garden? He was planting seeds. By the time you ran into him in the kitchen you had run out of excuses for why you kept leaving. This meant having to stay sitting on a stool and pretend you didn’t feel insanely uncomfortable around him. You resented him so much, but it’s hard to resent someone who doesn’t remember you at all.

“I know you,” he says frankly, pulling you from your thoughts. It takes a moment for the words to completely register.

 “Uhm yeah? We’ve been living in the same building for a month now.” You hear yourself say, praying that it’s what he is referring to, but knowing it’s not.

 “No, I knew you. From when I was the soldier, right?” You sigh. You knew he would remember eventually but you just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. 

“Yeah, we knew each other,” You confirm. He frowns as if this was the harder of the replies you could give. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“It wasn’t a particularly fun time for me. Plus, I uh- hated you. Probably still do. It’s unclear, you returning is super confusing for me.” He laughs at this, and you’re left confused. Who chuckles when you admit to hating them? 

“You think this is confusing? Try not remembering anything but snippets of your life! It sucks!” he's hysterical now. As if you had just told the funniest joke ever. “Russia right? I remember the cold.” 

You nod, “Да, добро старый отчизна (Yes, good old motherland).” He laughs again. 

“не очень по-матерински, да? (Not very motherly, huh?)” This makes you join in with his laughter. 

“So, you hate me?” he asks. 

“Hated,” you correct. “I’m unsure how I feel about you now.” 

He looks apologetic at this and says “I’m sorry for whatever I did to you.” 

“It’s not like you hurt me, and I know it wasn’t you. God, they were horrible,” you tell him before asking, “What do you remember about then?” 

He thinks for a moment before saying, “Not much. Lots of blood.” He says shrugging, blood was sadly a normal occurrence in both your lives. “A building with people telling me what to do. The cryo. But I remember you, and other girls. Why?” Deciding that this would take some time, you get up to make some coffee. 

“Hold up, let’s get some coffee and I’ll tell you about back then.” He nods.

After pouring two cups of coffee, both black you guide him to sit on the couch with him and get comfortable. 

“So around 30 years ago both my parents died. I was 18 years old and had no idea what I was doing, or how to protect myself.” he looks astonished by this. 

“But you look 25!” he exclaims. 

“You don’t look 100,” you add and he makes a face in agreement. 

You continue with your story. “I met a man and fell for him. Thought he was the love of my life. Turns out he was just looking for someone to turn into a spy for the Russian government. Within three months I was put in the red room or Красная комната as it was called. It’s where they trained their female spies. They took me because I was a ballerina. It had created was discipline, strength, and flexibility. All things you want in a spy.” 

“Steve said you were a dancer,” he says, “You don’t need to say anymore if you don’t want to. I get it.” You shake your head. 

“I need to do this,” you admit to him. He nods encouragingly.

“We also were experimented on. Injected with their versions of the super-soldier serum. Close to what they put into you. They did other medical things to make us into the best spies. I was put through the ‘wiping’ a few times, but it never stuck for the important stuff, just made little details fuzzy. We trained to be silent and deadly. They had me be part of the national ballet, as a cover. In between shows I was sent on missions to kill people, or steal information. Nobody ever expected a girl who wore tutus in front of thousands of people. I got the tag, Black Swan, after the ballet and it stuck.” 

You pause to take a sip of your coffee. “That’s where I met Natasha, she was also part of the red room. She was a few years younger and I tried my best to protect her in any way that I could.” 

“Where do I fit into this?” he asks. 

“You trained me. In all combat-related areas. Taught me how to shoot a gun, where to hold your arms to snap someone's neck. How to tackle someone twice your size.” He looks ashamed of this. “I know it wasn’t you, and if you weren’t there it would have been someone else to train me. It’s not the entire reason I hated you but it’s a part of it.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your past still haunts you. “Is that why Natasha leaves the room whenever I’m around?” He asks. You nod. “Thank you for telling me all of that, I know it’s hard.” You smile back at him. 

“Okay! On that note, how about we watch a movie. Ever see Mean Girls?”

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[myfanfictiongarden]

Stranger Things 3 live reactions (part 2) SPOILERS!!!!! (the next three episodes kinda mixes up in one blur) - Mike, Lucas and Will enjoying a new campaign- well, more or less - I don’t know what you see in that scene, but I see a boy who has been robbed nearly 3 years of his life, the last years of carefree childhood, a time when the only monsters were plastic figures and the only girls who would occupy your thoughts noble maidens on paper, a time when you could write your own future. With everything Will has been through I can’t blame him for wishing to turn everything back to the way it was before- even appearing selfish and desillusioneted. Traumata is not a joke - “Finding all sorts of wrong.” is the perfect description of what one could find in Billy’s room - the search for Heather goes on, and btw I got chills when they found the whistle - The Void is an incredible visual place - the only thing more creepy and dangerous then crazy Billy is polite Billy - Heather offering fresh backed is scarier then it sounds - and Billy and Heather continue working together - once again poor Will - I appreciate how Mike and Lucas immediately decided to go find Will, they are truly best friends - Will acknowledging something is coming - assembling the team in Mike’s basement - realizing closing the Gate was not the end - (I just love whenever they connect all the dots) - Joyce and Hopper’s way to interrogate the mayor is... special - meanwhile at the mall not only is the code deciphered, but we also know there is some hidden room - getting Erica to join the secret mission in the mall is one of the best scenes ever - the actress playing Erica is priceless - liked the little talk Nancy had with her mom (although I still think it should be addressed how Nancy acted quite selfish and that that is never correct- even if at the end of the day her story was true) - the sauna-test begins - ok, Dacre Montgomery is killing it in this role - Mike to the rescue!!!! - hmm, I think Mrs. Prescott is not feeling well - and once again the song choice at the end of the episode- when we see all the infected people with Billy and Heather- is spots on - now we know that the secret room is actually a secret elevator, and still that is not very helping when you’re trapped in it - next episode has Joyce and Hopper continuing their search of what is so important about the bought up farms - secret weapon in the basement - that killer guy really looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger - Joyce driving for her life - when girls are in the bathroom they are of course conspiring against you- and not, like, tending to their wounds in battle (but what do I know, I never had a boyfriend, or been to a monster-hunting battle) - Nancy and Jonathan joining the team - is it just me or is this season the funniest so far? Because Joyce and Hopper walking through the forest with this Russian scientists only to have him lead them finally to a gas station where Hopper takes over a car is freaking hilarious to watch - and of course the closest trustworthy person to know Russian is Bauman - Dustin and Steve realizing why a secret military complex would be built under Hawkins - Steve actually winning a fight!!! - “extended family” at the hospital - how does Mike not know what an olive branch stands for? XD - how... is this hospital so deserted? that is kinda the most unrealistic thing so far - for a moment I really feared that was the end of Jonathan - it is probably just me but... I really don’t think the current design of the monsters (and how they come to be) as interesting as the two seasons before

[a-room-with-a-mew]

SCOOP by Evelyn Waugh

‘The funniest novel ever written about journalism’… I don’t know; is it just me or does this not really sell it? Is journalism a natural place we go to for laughs? I mean.. Yeah, there are comic-features writers, and journos who write books and scripts and maybe even do stand up. But in terms of fiction, of stories, I’d almost always think of journalism as high drama, a noble pursuit like in All the President’s Men or Superman. Waugh is interested in hackism. Okay he is indulging in a little self-parody here, as a writer himself, but for quite a time, this book feels like a long in-joke, a nudge to a colleague. While it works well as a series of jokes, sketches, and odd-ball characters in crazy situations, the fact that this is a novel means that we are invited to rest our feet upon the rocky conceit of a war in a far-off, fictional foreign land, which may or may not reflect a real war/ place. And additionally, as the place and people aren’t real, only ‘inspired by’, Waugh can say whatever he bally likes about them with impunity. A bit like The Life of Brian, only well – not as funny! Tall order though of course.

Let’s dive in. I managed to stick with and read SCOOP on my third attempt after owning the novel for years. Like a lot of books, the cover mystifies. Who are these? Mrs Stitch presumably? There’s only two watery female characters in the book so must be her. She doesn’t figure much so the cynic in me thinks the publishers are attempting to glam up the story.. With her fur and hat and the moody black and white. Reminds me of an edition of Brideshead I saw once in a shop – the cover had a cartoon slinky flapper girl – the hat, the stole, elbow-length gloves, cigarette holder, diamonds and whatnot. Missing the point a bit I think! So! Here we have two snoots getting on a plane. This doesn’t happen in the book. Natch.

Story

Likely the appeal or not of this story will depend upon whether you like action / adventure stories and seek thrills and fantastic places and daring endeavours. Of course you do! Well, I don’t. Or at least – I don’t tend to read them. Give me Indiana Jones on the big screen – but I don’t know if I’d read Alexander Fleming or the da Vinci Code (again). In the books I read, people tend to sit around thinking, or drive thinking, or potter around the kitchen, thinking, or fall in love but not realize it or declare it, or holiday and develop the self, but very subtly, or befall intensely personal disasters,  make human connexions that you have to squint to see.

Suffice to say I loved, say, A Handful of Dust to distraction. Brilliant book. What actually happened? What was the plot? Ahm… Well.. Hard to describe, the slow, tragic dissolution of a marriage. That makes it sound boring. It isn’t!! SCOOP kind of is, and yet the action doesn’t let up for a paragraph.

Waugh – probably joyfully – breaks the golden rule of writing by NOT introducing his main character in the first page / chapter. Tries to fox us, he does. Very clever – in fact the whole book is, very clever: maybe that’s why it left me behind in the dust. Okay, so though some administrative cock-up, our hero, William Boot - a very sheltered country-squire sort who generally never leaves his decaying mansion full of ancient relatives – he’s never described physically, but go ahead and imagine the plus-fours, Norfolk jacket, pristine boots, hunting hat, moustache - finds himself sent, as a foreign correspondent, to a war-torn country of which he has never heard. Promising premise.  

What follows is William’s whirlwind adventure of being summoned to his new post, preparing to go to Africa, complete with the bare essentials - collapsible boat and hockey-sticks and back-street passports. Everything is charged back to the paper – The Beast – and so there is a real consumer-fetish going on here too! As William is one of those old-fashioned toffs who own great estates but are somehow stony broke.

Much of the novel is taken up with travelling – to this fabled Ishmaelia, which was initially founded by an American family called the Jacksons, and various in-fighting and coups have taken place within the dynasty for generations. Now they’re out of power, and socialism is threatening to sneak in via the Russians. I do believe? And there’s much interest in this particular country from other well-to-do nations. Of course this doesn’t come about for a while, and for most of the mission, William wanders around hearing snippets and spending the paper’s money. Is Waugh indulging in a little revenge fantasy? William is incapable as a journalist, but just happens to be in the right place at the right time and know the right people, and comes through with the climactic glory of the story – not the exposure of the truth, but a good story with lots of COLOUR.

Characterization

Okay well, as I’ve mentioned somewhere, Waugh is not a writer whose strongest suit is characterization – it’s his writing, wording that shines, and we’ll get to that in a minute. And yet the characters are the reason we generally love a story, no? Or at least – if you are interested in the human psyche, the intricacies of human relations, the effect of surroundings upon the humans therein. But for Waugh, his love is words and the ways he can string them beautifully: he sees the novel "not as an investigation of character, but as an exercise in the use of language.” An exercise! Like you do at school.

William Boot, the protagonist, is so wan and inconsequential that his mistaken namesake is introduced first, and more memorably. He reminds me of Paul Pennyfeather from Decline and Fall – he is only there to go along with the plot, adding nothing to it with his own input, but only to observe the zany characters around him. And Paul annoyed me so much! The way the others were breaking curfew in college, and Paul blandly took the blame without a fight. And he floats through the rest of it. Although William differs from Paul in one way – though William is rather pushed into this job, and takes the glamour and action in his stride, he retains a strong and immovable affection for his dreary old homestead, and that is the true love of the story – his affection for the country-side and desire to walk “feather-footed through the plashy fen.” William says no – and he’s such a blah character that it truly surprises and delights when he does.

At one stage he purports to be in love with a woman – she does him out of a load of money and a boat, in which he helps her and her husband escape. It’s not as noble as it sounds! Each and every character in this story is out for themselves. If they can’t see past their nose, why ought we invest?

SCOOP has memorable caricatures – larger-than-life, humorous, and distinctive, but they are there to portray ideas, not to have their own agency and accountability and foibles. They run around building and holding in place Waugh’s ideas, they exist to show the deftness of his pen, they are satire, they are text.

Writing

Brilliant as always, and makes the reader wish that Waugh’s themes and characters were as wonderful and satisfying as his prose.

“The immense trees which encircled Boot Magna Hall, shaded its drives and rides, and stood (tastefully disposed at the whim of some forgotten, provincial predecessor at Repton), singly and in groups about the park, had suffered, some from ivy, some from lightening, some from the various malignant disorders that vegetation is heir to, but all principally from old age. Some were supported with trusses and crutches of iron, some were filled with cement; some, even now, in June, could show only a handful of green leaves at their extremities. Sap ran thin and slow; a gutsy night always brought down a litter of dead timber.”

Now who else is going to describe a group of trees so well? Not only are they so very clear to picture, he has given them history, and in doing the history of the house, the family, and possibly the decaying aristocracy itself. I bet the fields are thick with meadowsweet and all!

Waugh has lots of fun with the journalistic jargon; the idea that an article must have news, but to sell, it must have colour – love that term: it must have some literary merit, some artistic verve, really appeal to the reader. Elsewhere William keeps getting increasingly frantic and mysteriously coded cables from the newspaper offices in London, going to despair because he’s not providing any stories he promised and running up enormous bills. Finally he manages: “Please don’t worry quite safe and well in fact rather enjoying things weather improving will cable again if there’s any news Yours Boot.” And later “Nothing much has happened except the president who has been imprisoned in his own palace.” The downplaying is so dry and delightful. I wish I knew what was going on. Maybe that’s the point!

[filmfictioncallumbriggs]

Horror Genre

For this Genre we were tasked with watch two films

Happy Death Day

This Horror film is more a comedy than anything if you could even call it that, the jokes are stale and the attempts at making the viewer feel emotions is so very cringe inducing I had to look away at almost every instance. The horror aspects in this film lack any real impact as they seem to want to set the movie up as a horror film as they have creepy music with a long hallway and a small creepy music box. The idea of having to relive your own death was a very interesting concept however it is ruined by the main charter looking as if she is going out of her way to end up dying. Happy death day is a very confusing film to understand the purpose of, what I mean by this is that at times it wants to be a conventional horror with a meaningful and interesting premise however it doesn’t seem to take itself seriously. The horror aspects of this movie is drowned out by dry unfunny “comedy” this is very distracting when watching the film as it ruins any of the impact that the characters actions have. For instance after learning that her previous deaths toll up and actually affect her body, the main character decides to kill herself to say a witty line when she had an opportunity to end the cycle. This would have no purpose other than to make the main character seem like the stereotypical Horror character, I think they missed an opportunity of subverting the audience’s expectations of the character. What I mean by this is that the usual Horror movie character is incredibly stupid and let silly decisions try to make sense however they could have changed this about the character tree but they kept her incredibly stupid.

This film was hard for me to decide whether it was a linear or a non-linear story so I am going to argue the points. When asking other opinions, they say that the story is non-linear as the same story replays every day, even though that is true and it is a valid argument I believe the story is still linear. I think this because the main character’s interpretation of the events has a beginning middle and end the initial event her finding a solution and then the resolution. To back up my claim further although tree is reliving the same day she does different things in these days so they are not really the same event. Another instance of this is the fact that every time she dies her body is taking damage, which therefore implies that she is having different experiences from the “same day”. Due to this I think that the story Is linear but it is trying to be Non-linear which in my opinion is something it isn’t, seems like quite a recurring theme as the film tried to be funny to.Visually the movie is actually very well shot. The camera work is done well and it keeps the viewer at least a little bit interested.The way they are able to tell a story visually is very interesting as they use a lot of repetition in this film to show us that the same day is happening over and over again.

 This is very good as they are showing the audience not telling them which I value a lot.As surprising as it is the genre for happy death day is a Horror movie, I know how surprising. In this movie I can only recall one scary scene, if you could even call it that, when tree was walking down the alley and there was a music box in the middle of the walkway.The attempt at horror here is so hilariously pathetic it could be argued as the funniest scene in the movie. Talking about comedy, this movie is surprisingly a comedy as well, it is so incredibly cringe inducing I was unable to look at the screen or even tolerate the fact that someone in production said “Oh my god this is so funny”. It angers me that they didn’t even follow the simple codes and conventions of a horror movie, a few jump scares, screechy music and a lot of silence to give the impression of isolation.

From what I gather from the film I can only assume that this film was directed at people my age (16). However it failed miserably I have never been more excited to see the end credits of a movie in my life. Honestly from what the audience expects from a horror/Comedy is at least a few scares and laughs however the movie fails to provide either.One of the only remotely spooky scenes in Happy Death Day was the first death, it was a nice refreshing subversion from the cheery light setting of the campus to the dark alley way. I also like the way that the camera focuses to the middle of the alleyway to make sure that your focus is on the music box. The only truly wrong thing with this scene is the attempted jump scare it was very boring and uninspired from the way he just jumped down.

Don’t Knock Twice

As a Horror film you are to expect a scary film obviously but this film is actually very deep and could be interpreted as a film about how people can mourn differently or how drastic change can change someones mind set. For instance at first I though the MC was going crazy my first suspicion of this was in the dorm because all of the sudden all of her dorm mates left the room before something could happen, and that when the monster tried to get her. This movie also shows the drastic love that a mother will always have for there daughter as even through what they have been through she stuck with Chloe.

Unlike Happy Death Day this movie actually follows the code and conventions of a Horror Film. For instance, at times this movie is completely silence which is a nice contrast to the very screechy violins that seem to be in use whenever something bad happens. As well as this Don’t Knock Twice is actually scary at sometimes and has some successful jump scares.

What I like about this movie however is they make the characters somewhat intelligent, what I mean by this is that they are not completely brain dead and they are being sensible about how to evade the monster, they do this by avoiding and burning all the doors in the house so that the monster has nothing to knock on.

Although This is a horror movie I feel like it would make viewers more uncomfortable than scared. What I mean by this is that most of the topics in the movie are more graphic or gruesome than spooky or spooky, for instance when the mother is dreaming about the Russian lady and she kills herself that would have been scarier if it wasn’t a dream but instead a vision or something along those lines. Because of this I feel like it was aimed at teenagers especially ones that where the same age as the main character as it would have more impact on the way in which the audience perceives the situation that she is unfortunately in.One of my favorite scenes from the film was the scene where the monster was knocking on the closet and came through but the MC wasn’t able to get out because she had barricaded herself in. This is my favorite scene because from the mum’s perspective at the that point her daughter is completely insane because she was screaming at what appeared to be nothing in the room, this shows the love that the mother harbors for her child as well because she doesn’t want to turn her away.

[wikiwalking]

“Wodehouse saved my life”

The Daily Telegraph, 27 May 1999.

With today's reissue of P. G. Wodehouse's books, Hugh Laurie tells how the comic genius made him clean up his 'squalid' existence

To be able to write about P. G. Wodehouse is the sort of honour that comes rarely in any man's life, let alone mine. This is rarity of a rare order. Halley's comet seems like a blasted nuisance in comparison.

If you'd knocked on my head 20 years ago and told me that a time would come when I, Hugh Laurie - scraper-through of O-levels, mover of lips (own) while reading, loafer, scrounger, pettifogger and general berk of this parish - would be able to carve my initials in the broad bark of the Master's oak, I'm pretty certain that I would have said "garn", or something like it.

I was, in truth, a horrible child. Not much given to things of a bookery nature, I spent a large part of my youth smoking Number Six and cheating in French vocabulary tests. I wore platform boots with a brass skull and crossbones over the ankle, my hair was disgraceful, and I somehow contrived to pull off the gruesome trick of being both fat and thin at the same time. If you had passed me in the street during those pimply years, I am confident that you would, at the very least, have quickened your pace.

You think I exaggerate? I do not. Glancing over my school reports from the year 1972, I observe that the words "ghastly" and "desperate" feature strongly, while "no", "not", "never" and "again" also crop up more often than one would expect in a random sample. My history teacher's report actually took the form of a postcard from Vancouver.

But this, you will be nauseated to learn, is a tale of redemption. In about my 13th year, it so happened that a copy of Galahad at Blandings by P. G. Wodehouse entered my squalid universe, and things quickly began to change. From the very first sentence of my very first Wodehouse story, life appeared to grow somehow larger. There had always been height, depth, width and time, and in these prosaic dimensions I had hitherto snarled, cursed, and not washed my hair. But now, suddenly, there was Wodehouse, and the discovery seemed to make me gentler every day. By the middle of the fifth chapter I was able to use a knife and fork, and I like to think that I have made reasonable strides since.

I spent the following couple of years meandering happily back and forth through Blandings Castle and its environs - learning how often the trains ran, at what times the post was collected, how one could tell if the Empress was off-colour, why the Emsworth Arms was preferable to the Blue Boar - until the time came for me to roll up the map of adolescence and set forth into my first Jeeves novel. It was The Code of the Woosters, and things, as they used to say, would never be the same again.

The facts in this case, ladies and gentlemen, are simple. The first thing you should know, and probably the last, too, is that P. G. Wodehouse is still the funniest writer ever to have put words on paper. Fact number two: with the Jeeves stories, Wodehouse created the best of the best. I speak as one whose first love was Blandings, and who later took immense pleasure from Psmith, but Jeeves is the jewel, and anyone who tries to tell you different can be shown the door, the mini-cab, the train station, and Terminal 4 at Heathrow with a clear conscience. The world of Jeeves is complete and integral, every bit as structured, layered, ordered, complex and self-contained as King Lear, and considerably funnier.

Now let the pages of the calendar tumble as autumn leaves, until 10 years are understood to have passed. A man came to us - to me and to my comedy partner, Stephen Fry - with a proposition. He asked me if I would like to play Bertram W. Wooster in 23 hours of televised drama, opposite the internationally tall Fry in the role of Jeeves.

"Fiddle," one of us said. I forget which.

"Sticks," said the other. "Wodehouse on television? It's lunacy. A disaster in kit form. Get a grip, man."

The man, a television producer, pressed home his argument with skill and determination.

"All right," he said, shrugging on his coat. "I'll ask someone else."

"Whoa, hold up," said one of us, shooting a startled look at the other.

"Steady," said the other, returning the S. L. with top-spin.

There was a pause.

"You'll never get a cab in this weather," we said, in unison.

And so it was that, a few months later, I found myself slipping into a double-breasted suit in a Prince of Wales check while my colleague made himself at home inside an enormous bowler hat, and the two of us embarked on our separate disciplines. Him for the noiseless opening of decanters, me for the twirling of the whangee.

So the great P. G. was making his presence felt in my life once more. And I soon learnt that I still had much to learn. How to smoke plain cigarettes, how to drive a 1927 Aston Martin, how to mix a Martini with five parts water and one part water (for filming purposes only), how to attach a pair of spats in less than a day and a half, and so on.

But the thing that really worried us, that had us saying "crikey" for weeks on end, was this business of The Words. Let me give you an example. Bertie is leaving in a huff: " 'Tinkerty tonk,' I said, and I meant it to sting." I ask you: how is one to do justice of even the roughest sort to a line like that? How can any human actor, with his clumsily attached ears, and his irritating voice, and his completely misguided hair, hope to deliver a line as pure as that? It cannot be done. You begin with a diamond on the page, and you end up with a blob of Pritt, The Non-Sticky Sticky Stuff, on the screen.

Wodehouse on the page can be taken in the reader's own time; on the screen, the beautiful sentence often seems to whip by, like an attractive member of the opposite sex glimpsed from the back of a cab. You, as the viewer, try desperately to fix the image in your mind - but it is too late, because suddenly you're into a commercial break and someone is telling you how your home may be at risk if you eat the wrong breakast cereal.

Naturally, one hopes there were compensations in watching Wodehouse on the screen - pleasant scenery, amusing clothes, a particular actor's eyebrows - but it can never replicate the experience of reading him. If I may go slightly culinary for a moment: a dish of foie gras nestling on a bed of truffles, with a side-order of lobster and caviar may provide you with a wonderful sensation; but no matter how wonderful, you simply don't want to be spoon-fed the stuff by a perfect stranger. You need to hold the spoon, and decide for yourself when to wolf and when to nibble.

And so I am back to reading, rather than playing Jeeves. And my Wodehousian redemption is, I hope, complete. Indeed, there is nothing left for me to say, except to wish, as I fold away my penknife and gaze up at the huge oak towering overhead, that my history teacher could see me now.

via The Russian Wodehouse Society

[olmopress]

Farticipatory culture!

week 7: Harry Jenkins, Convergence culture: Where old and new media collide, Introduction and Chapter 4

Shiiiit was reading Henry Jenkins boring. Oh my God. All those useless stories and that endless circumnavigation of issues. Man I understand you had to reach a certain wordcount to get someone to publish you but maaaaaaaaan I got so bored.

You are more than welcome to imagine that the stuff I liked about Mr. Jenkins is very little

BUT

I have to say we share a common interest in Star Wars. To honor that, I am unleashing the first FRANCHISE-THEMED post on this blog.

Yes kids! The visual content of this blog post will feature exclusively material from Star Wars!

If you like my idea you can contact me in private for donations. I would love to raise a little profit out of George Lucas’ copyrighted material because

SCREW HIM

So hit me up with your money, we shall use it to fund modern heroes fighting against the horrendous kebab imperialism of the Turkish fils de pute president.

OK here we go. Jerkin’ Mr. Jenkins has three concepts for us and

INCREDIBLY ENOUGH

none of them is particularly original. At times I fell almost like this guy is just a great affabulatore who probably got great grades in his college papers because he could babble for 2000 words without saying much of particular relevance.

BUT THIS IS JUST ME BEING NASTY

Sure.

Jenkins’ first and most important concept is that of convergence. We dumbasses who had to go through COM 220 in this university are already familiar with this word and associate it either with technological convergence or media ownership convergence. But just like that time in which the Buddha taught for 40 years straight just wake up one day and be

HOLD UP BRO IT WAS ALL A BIG EXPEDIENT TO PREPARE YOU FOR THE TRUTH OF THE

LOTUS SUTRA

Jenkins surprises us silly undergraduate with a sort of ULTIMATE MEANING of convergence. To him, convergence is neither solely about technology, nor solely about ownership. By convergence, he means

“the flow of content across ultiple media platforms, the cooperation between multiple media industries, and the migratory behavior of media audiences who will go almost anywhere in search of the kinds of entertainment experiences they want” (2)

Just the kind of definition I need the weekend before a midterm. Thanks Harry. So what I gather from this is that the converge he is talking about is essentially about content, or I mean comunque about themes and instances orbiting around a certain kind of content. Right? I guess. And so Jenkins focuses on how these kinds of contents are reproduced by and sought on different media.

Much of the rest of his introduction is Jenkins bustling with his own confused concepts to gain a degree of clarity of this stuff on convergence. Which in a way is fun to watch in itself. Because first he traces the supposedly linear history of the development of the idea – by the way quoting (and fortunately criticizing that JERK of Negroponte who believed that “monolithic empires of mass media are dissolving into an array of cottage industries” – and then he embarks on a frankly boring and useless story about this New Orleans Media Experience of 2003 about which honestly nobody gives a shit and even which even more honestly is just boring. Did I say that already? Oh sorry.

BUT IT’S TRUE

This story is infused (as frankly the rest of the stuff I have read) with a disgusting romantic notion of corporate behavior and aims, as if big media companies just couldn’t go on without including their audiences because they LOVE THEM.

FUCK NO HARRY THEY JUST WANT THEIR MONEY AND THEY’LL DO EVERYTHING IT TAKES TO SQUEEZE AS MUCH OF IT AS POSSIBLE FROM THEIR OUR POCKETS AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT GODDAMNIT YOU TEACH AT USC IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WERE BORN YESTERDAY

I’m sorry. You may have noticed I have slight tendency in losing my temper at

MANAGERIAL CAPITALIST PIGS

No I mean with people who see things differently from me. But let us go on. By the way there is a moment in which Jenkins, talking about the way in which corporations were dealing with the emergence of convergence (I rhymed!), writes:

“The old paradigms were breaking down faster than the new ones were emerging, producing panic among those most invested in the status quo and curiosity in those who saw change as an opportunity” (7)

You what this reminds me? Look it up here. This guy first wrote it. See that part about the monsters? Does it remind you of anything? Am I implying that media giants especially of the internet are giving us a new fascism? Did you know that Charlemagne most probably didn’t want to be crowned emperor by Pope Leo III?

Unless you’re a historian of the Middle Ages, one of the answers for those last two questions is “Yes.”

Btw you should know that I decided I was heterosexual when I was 3 and went to see Phantom Menace and got acquainted with the looks of this lady up here.

Anyway. Back to convergence. Jenkins goes on and on and on and on about this talking about the different lifespans of delivery technologies and media, about his self-defined Black Box Fallacy (because to him, and he honestly has a point, while hardware diverges, content converges), about the fact that convergence is a process and not an endpoint, and about all sorts of things

UNTIL

He basically says that convergence is a top-down process as much as it is a bottom-up one. And at this point, Harry, you kinda lost me. You have used so many different and contrasting ways of defining what is it that you’re trying to define that I do not know anymore if I am reading you or fucking Spinoza. And I AM SORRY, you ain’t as cool as my lad Baruch.

So yeah I was left pretty much like this:

I think we should stick to the explanation I gave in the beginning. let us move to a second concept, which will be hopefully easier to define.

I wanna talk about collective intelligence because Jerkings only suggests it. So let me do the explanation know.

Collective intelligence was at work fo instance on the Game of Thrones’ subreddit who higitus figidus cracked the secret behind Jon Snow’s lineage YEARS before the thing was revealed in the series. Like in those beautiful communist revolutions we don’t do anymore, commoners pooled their wits and skills to fuck over the greedy and ugly masters who enslaved them. This is collective intelligence: to unionize cognitive processes and screw capital ownership.

OK maybe this was a little bit too political but you get the point right? It’s about people pooling resources and working together to solve problems or propose stuff. It’s actually quite cool. And it happens all the time on the internet. Because it’s easier to pool those cognitive resources over there.

DONE!

Let’s move to the last one.

The third point in Jenkins’ reading was participatory culture. His endless spiel about Star Wars fandom was at times interesting and times suicide-inducing. Potentially cool as a case study, but we don’t really need it for the purposes of this post. So.

The stuff we need to know is contained in the first few pages of the chapter. First of all, Jenkins rightly notes that while fandom as always existed, the internet has tipped the scales because it makes fan culture more visible. Which is in itself quite OK.

aaaaand here’s a beautiful example of Star Wars’ participatory culture.

He then distinguishes between interactivity and participation. To him, interactivity refers only to the fact that people get more feedback when they consume cultural products. Participation, he says, is deeper because it is basically in the consumer’s (I hate this word) hands: it is “open-ended” and not constrained by the decision of the designers of the original/official products. The rest of the chapter deals in ways in which companies address fan-generated content. Funnily enough, he distinguishes between prohibitionists (tight-ass douchebags who don’t want you to mess with their precious product) and collaborationists (other douchebags who instead see the staff you do as yet one more opportunity to steal time and labor from you). Nice, huh?

The funniest thing is that he chooses COLLABORATIONISTS: I mean really? You really wanna make me do that association between capitalism and fascism again? It was your choice huh.

A good example that Jenkins makes is that of game modders, who manipulate the code of videogames to construct personalized fantasies that might expand the universe of the original game, or maybe even take it to a completely new direction. Here’s an example De’Noantri:

I guess I broke my rule about Star Wars. Too bad. But I am the one who calls te shots here. I’m your lider maximo here. This is a READ ONLY blog. You shut up and read, comrade!

To reach a conclusion, the whole story of how LucasArt deals with fandom content is surely fascinating, but Jenkins repeatedly fails to look at a very important issue. When George Lucas in ANY way makes use of content created by fans, most of the times directly appropriating the copyright for it, he is

EXPLOITING

those silly fans. Instance: when the devs of Star Wars Galaxies sought fan advice for developing the game, did these fans got paid? Where are their rights? Where is the compensation for the time and labor they offered? Nowhere. And so they have been exploited, allowing George Lucas to save money on people he would have had to pay for the same services. But he had the fans he wanted to iNcLuDe… 

I mean you really thought I was not going to use this?

So the conclusion is:

FANS OF ALL NATIONS, UNIONIZE!

CLAIM YOUR SHARE OF PROFIT!

DEMAND COLLECTIVIZATION OF FRANCHISES!

DEMAND LIBERALIZATION OF FAN FICTION!

DEMAND THE FUTURE!

Here you can see a visual depiction of the fandom working class rising up against bourgeoise privilege.

Since I already broke the rule, culture time will be free this week too. This is a great Russian composer who certainly influenced Williams when composing Star Wars’ music. It is one of my favorites pieces of music ever so ENJOY!

Here instead you can see Caravaggio depicting me making it barely alive out of this week’s readings:

It happens every now and then. Let’s hope next it’ll be better.

auf Wiedersehen!

Image Sources: GIPHY.com, squillace.org, wikiart.org

[artificialqueens]

saint in the city ch.8 (katlaska) - comeapart

a/n: thank you endlessly for the kind comments. this chapter is a little longer than the others, because it’s the last ever update of sitc. ch.1 here & ch.2 here & ch.3 here & ch.4 here & ch.5 here & ch.6 here & ch.7 here. always and forever, comeapart

The first thing Alaska did after the conversation with Courtney was find Katya’s office. Katya was busy, probably in the OR with Willam, and Alaska didn’t bother going to check as she let herself in. Katya’s computer was still open, and Alaska shook her head, amazed at the fact Katya hadn’t managed to have her identity stolen yet. She grabbed a sheet of paper from the side, taking a pen and getting to work returning the messages.

‘Hi(eee), asshole (Katya.) This is a note from me, Alaska (I don’t have a middle name, but I’m being open - see how easy it is?) Thunder(fuck) (5000, if you’re nasty,) and it’s not anonymous because I am not an asshole. I like you too, and if you are interested, I am free every night this week (except for thursday and friday because I have double shifts) (which you probably already know about because you seem to know more about my schedule than I do.) In the spirit of being open, ASK ME OUT ON A DATE. Thank you.’ She scribbled down, adding her number and then both Willam and Courtney’s numbers too, because she wasn’t trying to hide anything.

It was the least anonymous note she had ever written. She was pretty proud of it. She then went home, and made Courtney watch the Golden Girls with her until she stopped stressing out. Courtney made pasta, because neither of them were particularly good at cooking, and drank an entire bottle of wine between them. Alaska was pretty proud of them, and she finally managed to relax. It was what it was, and if Katya decided to ignore her completely obvious note, then nothing would be able to change that.

The door swung open at ten, and Alaska wasn’t particularly prepared in her ridiculously pink pyjamas and no bra, for Willam and Katya to walk in. Katya looked like she had walked in on something she shouldn’t have seen, but Alaska was only slightly too eager, and Katya visibly relaxed.

“I brought home something for Alaska five-thousand to do while I steal Courtney. Fair trade, right?” Willam smiled, and Alaska would’ve been mad, but Willam was a fucking genius. Even if she could’ve done with a warning beforehand.

Before Alaska could object, Willam had pulled Courtney up and dragged her away to the bedroom, locking the door behind them and leaving her alone with Katya. Willam was one shady bitch.

“I promise was going to call you,” Katya said quickly, closing the door behind her before walking over. She looked awkward, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch anything. Alaska shuffled up on the seat, patting the cushion besides her.

“Yeah?” She smiled, watching Katya walk over and looking up at her. “If I had known you were coming back, I would’ve worn like… Actual clothes.”

“You look good, though. I’m living for the Hello Kitty shorts,” Katya laughed, shaking her head and glancing to the TV. “What are you watching?”

“I don’t know. It was Golden Girls, but then Courtney was bored, so we put on Kitchen Nightmares. I think she has a crush on the chef?”

“Probably. He has the same manly, hairy shoulders Willam does,” Katya deadpanned, and Alaska laughed ridiculously loudly. Once Alaska finished laughing, Katya turned to her and raised a brow. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go on a date. I could pick you up tomorrow at nine?”

“Okay,” Alaska nodded, pursing her lips. “Is there a dress code? Should I wear a jacket, or just a blouse?”

“I… I don’t know? You can wear whatever you want to,” Katya shrugged, very clearly staring at Alaska’s lips. “I personally love when my dates wear their scrubs. I love the nurse fantasy.”

“One time Trixie called me out for that,” Alaska said. “I told her I was going to a costume party with a girl, and she asked what I was going to be, and I said a nurse. And then she was like, oh, you’re a shitty nurse, because a medical professional would know to put clothes on when it’s snowing outside.”

“I can guarantee I’m not going to call you out if you turn up as a slutty nurse,” Katya said seriously. “I should probably go home. I’ve had a very busy day, dealing with Willam talking about fucking Courtney while I try to operate on someone.”

“Yeah, she does that. You should try living with them. It got worse when they got engaged, too. They don’t even try to be secretive about it, they just fuck all the time,” Alaska laughed, shaking her head. “Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you to get sick before our date. You can take me to the door, if you really want to,” Katya said, and stood up. Alaska got up too, taking Katya’s hand and making the most of the ridiculously short walk to the door.

Katya kissed her as she was about to leave, and Alaska smiled for the rest of the night.

*

Work was weird after, but in the best way. Katya was definitely following her around, but Alaska didn’t let it distract her, and the kiss from the night before kept her going through the long clinic hours and the mass of paperwork she had to fill in between her regular consultations. Courtney and Willam both turned up late, but Alaska didn’t even mind. She even laughed when Katya texted her, something about how her name was almost a matching amount of characters, and replied with a smiley face and a kiss.

She took off for lunch ten minutes early, and practically ran down to the Starbucks down the road and ordered two hot chocolates. About five minutes later, the door swung open, and Alaska couldn’t help but smile.

“Beat you,” Alaska winked, and Katya looked embarrassed. She shook her head, and it looked like she was actually blushing. Alaska really couldn’t stop staring, even if she wanted to.

“I was going to get you coffee,” Katya said, defeatedly.

“Oh, I know,” Alaska laughed, handing her the second cup. “I just figured, I owe you at least two months worth of these, and I’d like to get a head start on that. If it’s not too much trouble. Now, do you prefer sushi, or are you more into hot food?”

“I really like the bones of dead animals.”

“Are - Are you serious?”

“Oh my god, no,” Katya laughed, and Alaska laughed too, more out of relief than anything else. “I like sushi. Let’s get sushi.”

“I like bones, but not as food,” Alaska nodded, and lead Katya the entire way to the next shop, buying her regular order twice over and not giving Katya the chance to pay. When Katya went to complain, Alaska just shook her head, smiling wider. “C’mon. If we go to your office, we won’t get Australia’s biggest food thief on our backs for at least ten minutes.”

“Okay. I’m paying for dinner, though. Tonight,” Katya said. She looked a little shocked, but didn’t voice any problems, so Alaska just grinned as they walked back and tried not to come off as too over-eager. She didn’t think Katya would mind if she was eager, but she didn’t want to ruin anything before the first date had even happened.

Katya was still reserved, and Alaska wasn’t really sure why. They had managed to waste four years being reserved and shy already. Even now, being able to see hints of Katya’s personality shine through, Alaska felt so much better.

“So,” Alaska said, biting her lip as she tried to think about the things in Katya’s office. There wasn’t much in there, other than books about medical practises, so she took a shot in the dark at a conversation topic. “I think American pop music is superior to European pop music.”

“Listen, that’s just unrealistic. Have you heard English pop music? It’s so good, they have so many sad vocalists. And the Russian music scene is so good, and besides -”

They started walking again, and Alaska nodded in understanding with every point Katya brought up. They made it all the way back to Katya’s office without any sign of Katya shutting up, and Alaska liked it, throwing herself onto the nice couch in Katya’s office and nodding and making all the appropriate noises.

It only took Katya another five minutes to realise what Alaska had done, and eyed her suspiciously. “You did that on purpose,” She said, sitting at her desk and getting out her own food.

“I think that Russian gymnasts are nothing compared to Brazil’s gymnasts. Or China’s gymnasts,” Alaska grinned, and Katya burst out laughing, shaking her head and waving her hand in the air as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Katya lifted the little plastic fork she had, pointing it at Alaska accusingly.

“Shut up and eat your lunch, sleeping beauty,” Katya grinned.

They sat and ate in silence, and every time Alaska went to look at Katya, Katya was busy sneaking glances at her too. The second they were both finished, Alaska put the empty dish on the armrest and stretched out, declaring, “Lunch is over.” Katya looked up and smiled, and Alaska didn’t have to wait to take the hint, getting up and walking over and sitting on Katya’s lap, lacking the grace and dignity she wanted to have.

Katya opened her mouth to say something, wrapping her arms around Alaska to support her, but Alaska leant in enough that their lips brushed against each other and Katya’s mouth closed again. She tried to look up at Alaska, but she went cross-eyed in the process, and Alaska laughed hard, pulling away to properly react.

“What?” Katya pouted, holding her a little tighter when she realised Alaska was about to fall off of her lap, pulling her back in. “Not all of us normal people can be as graceful and beautiful as you, Alaska Thunder-fuck.”

“It’s not two words. It’s one. And it’s a joke, you should know that by now,” Alaska smiled, leaning back in and looking back down at her. It would’ve been more romantic if Alaska wasn’t the same height as a baby giraffe, but Katya wasn’t particularly picky, and she just shook her head.

“Not all of us are stoners, like you,” Alaska laughed again, but this time, she was quieter. She smiled a little more, leaning in, and Katya pulled back. “I have a consultation in ten,” she murmured, and her breath was hot against Alaska’s lips.

“That’s cool,” Alaska said, and Katya moved a hand up to Alaska’s hair, holding her without making the first move. Alaska wanted her to, but she wasn’t going to ask. After what Courtney had said to her, she knew she had to let Katya move at her own pace, otherwise she would never end up with her at all.

“Cool,” Katya nodded, and Alaska pulled back, getting up off of her lap and nodding. Katya nodded back, watching as Alaska left, her eyes full of desire. Alaska didn’t look back as she walked down the halls, but she could swear that Katya was watching.

*

“Alaska, girl, she’s seen you in your scrubs after refusing to sleep for like, three days. And she had sex with you, right? She’s seen you in those ugly Hello Kitty pyjamas, the ones which you can see your nipples through. I really don’t think it matters what you wear. Fuck, she probably even saw you after Sharon broke up with you, and if she still likes you after that, then you have a keeper,” Courtney said, splaying out on Alaska’s bed as Alaska ripped through her entire wardrobe in an attempt to find something.

“You don’t get it, it does matter,” Alaska muttered, staring at three different green dresses. All of them were absolutely disgusting, and completely inappropriate for a first date, and Alaska was halfway to a breakdown just looking at them. “It was different back then. I didn’t have a chance back then.”

“Alaska, you should know by now not to let societal expectations dictate and force you into anything you don’t want to wear. It’s misogynistic, and if Katya doesn’t get it, then -”

“Oh my god, Courtney, no,” Alaska said, shaking her head and throwing the dresses to the floor, and the growing pile of perfectly fine clothes. “Listen, it’s okay if you want to wear the same three hoodies and tennis skirts on your nights out, because you’re engaged. You’re starting to sound like Trixie, going on about how manicures are misogynistic.”

“Listen, you’re no fun,” Courtney pouted, staring up at her. “What about wearing something Willam has? It might be short on you, but she has some really nice stuff… There’s this one black dress I think would look really great on you?”

“Go get it,” Alaska said, and tried not to pick at her nails whilst Courtney dug it out. It had been worn a total of two times, had a designer label, and made Alaska’s body look extra good. She had ridiculously wide hips, but the dress made it look more like she had a thinner waist, and it definitely helped her feel better about herself. She nodded, looking at Courtney in the mirror and smiled wide. “This is perfect. Thank you, Fairy Oz Mother.”

“Oh my god, stop, Willam was talking about having kids, and I don’t wanna think about it. She can’t even keep a houseplant alive, I don’t know how the fuck she thinks she’ll be able to take care of a real living and breathing baby. I think I’m going to suggest we get a puppy instead,” Courtney nodded thoughtfully, stretching out on the bed. “You should wear the jewelry I got you for Christmas.”

“I’m going to! Is my hair okay? It’s not too flat right?” Alaska said, trying to pull her fingers through the mass of tangled hair and frowning, adding, “Is it overkill if I wear my white fluffy jacket for luck?

“Alaska, it’s never overkill to wear something for luck. You look good in literally anything, too, so,” Courtney said solemnly, so Alaska put it on, and she felt like a filmstar. “Your hair is fine. It’s never flat. Don’t forget to wear lipgloss, though.”

“Fuck,” Alaska mumbled, putting her kitten heels on and grabbing the lipgloss, applying it with a heavy hand and pocketing the tube for later, and then there was knocking on the door and it was five to nine and Alaska nearly fell over twice in her rush to say goodbye to Courtney and pick up her wallet and to answer the door, all in the same ten seconds.

When she did answer the door, Katya was wearing a knitted dress, and her hair was curlier than usual. She wasn’t sure what the fuck a knitted dress was supposed to mean, but she wasn’t about to shoot it down, especially when she looked so gorgeous in it. “You bitch,” Alaska said, opening the door wider.

“What?” Katya raised her brows, licking over her lips as she looked over Alaska. “I’m sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You’re wearing a knitted dress. Am I dressed too formal? I can go get changed, I have normal clothes, ones that don’t make me look like I robbed a Versace store -”

“Alaska, sweetheart, you look beautiful. You’re dressed perfectly. I just like this dress, and Trixie said she would kill me if I wore jeans on our first date,” Katya explained, and Alaska wasn’t particularly convinced.

“Okay, well… I need to change my jacket, because we’re clashing right now,” Alaska said, and then smiled.

“I don’t really think we clash,” Katya shrugged, following Alaska into the apartment as Alaska ripped off her jacket with some force and threw it to the ground, searching for a new jacket. “If we’re both wearing something with yellow tones, surely that means we match?”

“No, that’s worse. I really can’t - No, okay, this is a lesson for the second date, because fashion and colour-groups is too long for me to explain right now, but you need to know about it,” Alaska explained, settling on a pink jacket and pulling it on. Katya just laughed, shaking her head and leading Alaska out of her apartment, taking her hand and squeezing it as they maneuvered the stairs. Alaska was pretty sure it was already the best date she’d ever managed to have, even if she didn’t really know what was going on.

*

If Alaska had learnt one thing about Katya, it was that she had no idea how to plan a date. It was probably the worst date she had ever been on.

Katya took her to a restaurant where they only spoke Russian. She was completely overdressed, and she really should’ve settled on jeans and a t-shirt. She felt like a dumb bitch from the second she walked in, completely unable to understand anything, and even when Katya ordered for her, Alaska could see people staring at her. The only good part was that Katya got just as many judgemental looks, so they managed to match on that part. The waiter was ridiculously rude, and Alaska couldn’t figure out what he said, but she was pretty sure he was being homophobic.

The food wasn’t awful, but it was cold, and halfway through the meal, their conversation had managed to fizzle out entirely, and they both sat in silence listening to the Russian folk music playing over the speakers. This was definitely the kind of place Alaska never expected to be in, ever.

Katya must’ve realised how uncomfortable Alaska felt, because she nudged her with her foot under the table and smiled ever so slightly.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Katya asked, and Alaska lifted her head, giving Katya an ever so slightly desperate look of gratitude. Alaska went to pay, but Katya insisted, and Alaska wasn’t about to argue. Once they were back at Katya’s car, Alaska sat and watched Katya smoke, looking miserable. She threw the cigarette to the ground, putting it out with her shoe and looking back to Alaska. “I’m sorry, I thought… I sort of thought it would be really romantic?”

“It’s okay, Katya. It doesn’t matter,” Alaska mumbled, glancing down at her feet. “We can go back to mine and watch movies? And Willam and Courtney will probably be asleep by now, so you don’t have to worry about them.”

“But this was -” Katya paused, pocketing her lighter before staring directly at Alaska. “This was meant to be special. And make up for being like… Kind of creepy and stalkerish?”

“I don’t think you need to worry,” Alaska touched Katya’s kand lightly, looking up at her. “You pretty much saved my life. Even if it was kind of weird.”

Katya looked at her, eyes bright between dark lashes casting shadows against her skin. “I’m glad. You’re too pretty to die young,” she said. “Do you want to come back to mine?”

“Sure,” Alaska nodded, and Katya got back in and then they were driving.

After the silence had turned from awkward to comfortable, it was nice, Katya driving down empty roads. She had a nice car, with smooth handling and comfortable seats, and Alaska didn’t feel as anxious as she had before. She felt like she was in a movie, with the lights painting Katya’s face the end credits to a story that should’ve ended long ago. Katya was beautiful, and Alaska found herself reaching back over to touch her hand again, just as a reminder that everything was real. It was the happiest she’d been in years.

When Katya pulled the car into a parking lot, Alaska blinked sleep out of her eyes that she hadn’t realised had been there. After the extra shifts she’d been taking on, she’d found herself more exhausted than before, and the shift of light made her sit up straighter. By the time Katya had parked, Alaska was completely awake again, undoing the buckle of the seatbelt and tilting her head to look up at Katya.

Katya had leaned over, her face comfortably close to her. “Hi,” Alaska breathed, and Katya kissed the curve of her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and then her lips. Alaska moved into the kiss, tilting her head and smiling at the ghost of Katya’s fingertips on her jaw.

“You were falling asleep,” Katya said quietly. “Do you want me to take you home? You don’t have to come in with me.”

Alaska whined, shaking her head and pulling back. She stayed quiet, moving slowly and stretching once she was out of the car, sighing at the comforting click of her back. She followed Katya into the building, realising that she lived in the nice part of New York City, and was only slightly surprised. What surprised her more was the fact that Katya lived alone, and that most of her apartment was filled with Russian tchotchkes.

It looked less lived in than Alaska had expected, with everything clean and in place, but it was beautiful. There were windows filling the wall and showing off the view that Katya paid for, and it felt cold. Part of Alaska was expecting Trixie or Kim to appear from nowhere, or maybe Willam, and tell her this was all a fever dream. It didn’t come, no matter how hard she pinched herself.

“The view is so pretty,” Alaska mumbled, and Katya turned ever so slightly to smile at her, eyes bright. They were already close, and when Alaska leaned in, Katya met her halfway. The kiss was slow and everything Alaska wanted, and then Katya moved in closer and wrapped her hands around her, and Alaska sighed and opened her mouth and tilted her head so that Katya didn’t have to reach up as much.

It was cold in the living space, and Alaska didn’t care, even though there were blankets folded and left on the couch cushions, because she didn’t feel it when Katya was there next to her. It felt like they had finally done something right, as if they had a world of their own in the apartment, and no amount of wrong in the world could change the way Katya was breathing unsteadily against her and all of Alaska’s thoughts were focused on Katya. Katya’s mouth on hers, her fingertips playing with the blonde curls, Katya’s hands moving ever so slightly higher on her body.

Alaska pulled away eventually, glancing back out to the neon city and the life that they couldn’t see in the darkness of the night. “Okay,” she smiled, looking back to Katya. “This is really romantic.”

“Yeah?” Katya said, and nipped at Alaska’s bottom lip, kissing her as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. “We should probably watch a movie. Like you said. Have you ever heard of the movie Contact?”

“No, but I’m down to watch it,” Alaska mumbled, glancing over Katya’s swollen lips and her smudged lipstick and the rise and fall of her chest, biting her own lip. “Go put it on.”

*

Somewhere between Katya putting the movie on and Alaska deciding she didn’t have enough patience, they had managed to make their way back to Katya’s bedroom. Alaska had suggested that they went slow on their way to the bed, and Katya had managed to take it to heart, which Alaska regretted from the second they were naked, because nobody could go slow like Katya Zamolodchikova. If Alaska didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that the idea of being in charge got Katya off.

Alaska was embarrassed, because in her history of one night stands and dating, nobody had made her as desperate as Katya had. She whined and pushed back against Katya, while Katya licked her open, slow and unfair, holding onto her thigh like her hand was a vice. Alaska threw her head back against the pillow, whining, and said, “Katya, please,” and Katya just pulled away, because apparently sex was a game to her. Once Alaska was pouting, she moved back down, going down on her with a certain determination that Alaska was sure was a new form of torture.

At one point, Katya laughed, because she was evil and wanted Alaska to die, but everything got better the second that Katya moved to use her hands, pulling up to kiss her again. Alaska thought that this was where she wanted to be, if she had to pick anywhere, and she vaguely wondered if heaven could hear them breathing. Everything she had been taught as a child meant nothing, and it was almost as if she had closure from lying besides Katya, that it wasn’t as big of a deal as everyone had made it before.

If this was taboo, she was more than happy to share with Katya, and when she moved to return the favour, Katya kissed her like she meant it.

*

Bianca Del Rio, as it turned out, was actually a lot nicer than Alaska had originally thought. She was still terrified of her, but being in on the joke made it a lot easier to like her, and Katya’s friends slowly became her friends too. It was always uncomfortable when they were caught, though. Bianca stared like she wanted to kill them.

“I thought,” Bianca said, the voice echoing through the office and causing Alaska to pull away, glancing over. “I told you bitches to keep it in your pants. STDs aren’t cute, Alaska. You don’t know where Katya’s been.”

“I think I know where she’s been,” Alaska smirked, giggling when she turned back to see Katya blushing. “What’s up?”

“We’re going out for drinks on Thursday. I’ve been told I can invite you both, on the condition that you don’t make everyone else uncomfortable with your newfound and overbearing love,” Bianca said, staring up at Katya. “I’m sure you’ll see the text if you actually, y’know, look at your phone, dumb bitch.”

Alaska turned to reply, but Bianca was already gone. She was like a terrifying, anti-fun stepmother. Katya had moved back on her desk, swinging her legs a little awkwardly now Alaska had moved from between them.

“We aren’t that bad, are we?” Alaska asked, moving back and kissing her, completely ignoring what they had just been told and focusing on the comments on their supposed overbearing love. What the fuck did Bianca know about love?

“We’re fine. We are maybe a little bit disgusting, but that’s my gig. I’m 80% sexy, 20% disgusting.”

“I know. I’ve seen your search history,” Alaska deadpanned, and Katya laughed, shaking her head. Katya’s face changed entirely when she laughed, moving from the serious doctor to the med student that hadn’t quite yet been broken by capitalism, and Alaska loved it. Alaska thought that if she had seen Katya actually laugh in the past few months, she would’ve realised immediately, and everything would’ve happened a lot sooner. Katya’s eyes were like mirrors, and they showed everything she was thinking, including how they were entirely focused on Alaska, and hey, Alaska loved that too.

Alaska moved back to kiss her again, but stopped when she heard the door swing open again, expecting the worst. Instead, she heard Trixie groan, and said, “For god’s sake, do you guys never stop?”

Katya jutted her bottom lip out, looking over at her friend, and moved her hand to balance on the desk. Alaska thought it was sweet that Katya was shorter, even if she knew Katya was annoyed by it.

“Why do you hate me, Tracey? I don’t know why you won’t let me live my best life, you were the one who kept telling me to just ask her out,” Katya asked sadly, and Trixie rolled her eyes.

“You guys have to stop. You’re worse than Willam and Courtney, and they’re practically married,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “I don’t even know why you’re so happy. All that’s changed is that you admitted that you both had feelings, and now Katya wears clothes that don’t look like they were bought from the children’s section at Target.”

“That’s some shady shade,” Alaska laughed, before leaning in, kissing Katya again and curling her fingers through the messy strands of hair beside her ear. Behind them, Trixie made a gagging sound, coughing very loudly.

“Katya, surgery. We have surgery in literally like, five minutes,” Trixie groaned, trying not to sound as angry as she was. “Hurry the fuck up or I’m going to set Bianca and Michelle on you. I’m not kidding.”

She didn’t hesitate to slam the door on her way out. Alaska, full of good ideas, pulled away and batted her stacked lashes at Katya. “I know what we can do in five -”

“I have to go,” Katya smiled, and got down from the desk, pushing her hair back out of her face. “If you want to continue that thought in about an hour, I’ll be wandering the halls looking for my sexy nurse girlfriend.”

“I head home in an hour,” Alaska frowned, defeat spreading across her face.

“I know,” Katya said.

“But… Uh, maybe if you call me, I can let you in. I don’t want to wake the Belli-Acts.”

“Lasky, you’re exhausted. You need to go to bed, and I’ll see you tomorrow. We can manage one night apart,” Katya smiled, and Alaska pouted even harder. She hadn’t even been that exhausted, the clinic just annoyed her, and she was probably about to get disgustingly sick with the little amount of free time she had. When she refused to kiss Katya goodbye, Katya sighed, and pursed her lips. “Maybe I could come over tonight. But no sex, because I refuse to be the reason you have to take another nap in the staffroom. Okay?”

“Sounds perfect… I should really just get you a key,” Alaska smiled, and walked off, adding, “See you tonight.”

The rest of her shift was finishing off the last of her work, and then heading home with a sense of accomplishment that she had managed to last the entire day without feeling awful. She tried to help Willam and Courtney cook, but when it went terribly wrong, Alaska ordered takeout and covered the leftovers in case Katya decided she was hungry when she came over. She watched TV, settling on The Method after scrolling through the options of Russian subtitled shows on their cable subscription, and then bed.

When she was asleep, three hours in, she felt warmth against her and the familiar curves of Katya pressing up against her and mumbling goodnight, kissing just below Alaska’s ear before wrapping her arms around her. Katya held onto Alaska like if she didn’t, then she would disappear, and it made Alaska feel more at home than any lover she had ever had.

She lay in the dark and drifted back to sleep to the sound of their breathing, ignoring the way her head spun, and thought that this was where she wanted to be.

[mikegchambers]

Nothing is Safer than Cloud

The security features of cloud providers give you the best processes, tools and practices to truly beef up your game

Padlocks floating in the matrix are especially secure.

There’s nothing like making broad claims with a headline featuring some dubious grammar, especially at the beginning of the week. But bear with me and we will slice and dice the ever-nagging issues of security in this post.

Get the Security Team On Board

In the on-premise enterprise world, IT security groups are becoming the Department of No. If you use any sort of agile release train, like frequent releases of mobile app versions for your organization, you’ll be familiar with scans, audits and the general slowdown that occurs when you enter the security orbit. Modern software is about change and yet change is the enemy of security in the on-premise environment.

This is a conundrum since you want to release software regularly but don’t want to be that executive who opened a security hole that caused the theft of all your client data. In fairness to the security folks, on-premise security is really difficult since it exists at many levels, it’s often applied as an after-thought and their job is like plugging a million microscopic holes in a dam.

In cloud there’s a better way, and it resolves the conflicting tension between needing to introduce changes in the software, and ensuring the environment is secure. There are four features that security teams will love (I’m picking from AWS here but similar magic exists elsewhere):

The security team can define the roles and rights of every user and process in the system, making it pretty much impossible to create new instances (servers) or deployments that open ports or violate security policies. Instead of policing per application, they can focus on the entire organization in an abstract, generalized way.

Automation at every level minimizes intentional damage or accidental screw-up. From machine images to auto-scaling and templating, you can guarantee that the 100,000th instance is using the same security policies as the first. This goes a long way to making sure that growing complexity in the environment doesn’t create vulnerabilities.

Security tools such as Amazon Inspector provide constant security assessments and look for weaknesses 24/7. These applications ensure that any windows left open are slammed shut asap.

Centralized automatic logging of every action, API call and event make it much easier to see what’s happening and isolate problems when they occur. This eliminates operating in stealth mode so audit trails abound for every user and process.

The TL;DR version is that cloud gives security teams a fully configurable sandbox where developers can play and get sand in their eyes but not burn down the playground in the process. This compares to on-premise, which is more like trying to keep watch over a hundred caffeinated 5-year olds in a knife store.

With proper configuration, a security team can own and monitor a bulletproof environment and not need to firefight on a per-project basis.

But really, how can my data ever be safe in the cloud?

This is a legitimate question especially for non-technical people but before I answer, let’s start with one mind-blowing fact that people often forget when discussing digital things.

For physical products, locking them up in a place where you can see them will deter thieves and usually stop them from being stolen. This works because (1) the thief may not know you have said riches (2) the riches are put in a place that’s hard to find and (3) the riches are secured with locks, safes and armed guards that make it easier for the thief to steal from other people.

Under no circumstances are the items ever totally immune from theft, it’s just that stealing the Hope Diamond is an order of magnitude more difficult than stealing cash from a gym locker. You also know when your riches are stolen because they are gone.

Hackers also freeze when a human enters the room.

For digital products and data, the same deterrents don’t work the same way. If your corporate data is stored on your CEO’s laptop on the top floor of a heavily guarded building, the thief doesn’t need to enter the lobby Matrix-style to physically reach the laptop.

Hackers will attempt to breach your network, overcome digital security safeguards and then copy the file(s) if they find them. You may never know the data has been stolen because the original file is still there. Or the boss might just use the password Password123 and accidentally leaves his PC in the back of a taxi — that’s more common than you’d think.

So why is cloud safer than on-premise attempts to protect data? Well, the cloud was born in a public space so consequently has security baked into every layer of its design from the get-go:

This is what encrypted data looks like without the key. It’s harder to see the woman in the red dress.

When set up properly, cloud encrypts data at rest (i.e. when it’s stored somewhere) and in flight (i.e. when it’s moving around). AWS for example offers digital envelope encryption and complex rotating key management. Translated to English, this is like a safe where the code changes every minute. I’m simplifying but essentially just stealing the data isn’t enough to get you very far — you have to do an unreasonable amount of work to read it because the math makes A Beautiful Mind look like he was just typing “Hello” upside-down on a calculator.

Amazon’s Snowball lets you ship corporate data from your armed guards direct to their data centers using UPS. So hijackers could presumably hit the UPS truck and steal all your corporate data, right? Unfortunately not — the encryption’s so tight that even if you have access to the hard disks with the data, you’ll still need a few hundred years to figure out the contents because of the method used.

Access controls and auditing are granular and very robust. Since most hackers are actually disgruntled employees on the way out of the building (or well-meaning workers accidentally doing damage), a well-designed set of policies will prevent 99% of all typical data loss events. And recovering from snapshots in the cloud is elegantly simple.

Major cloud providers have a slew of secrets, proprietary tools, potions and tricks up their sleeves to catch bad guys before you even know about it. Since you’re already in the secure area of their environment, you benefit from the multiple levels of threat detection they use non-stop. It’s like having an invisible Secret Service watching your back all the time.

Encryption and hacking aside, much corporate data loss happens because backups fail or, more likely, were never made in the first place. Automation in the cloud makes it much easier to create policies where every byte of data is held somewhere forever and you don’t have a server farm that somehow got forgotten when the network guy was on vacation in Hawaii.

What about Google and Amazon reading your data?

That’s what you really want to know about, right? There are rumors that Jeff Bezos and Larry Page get together at the weekends, laughing at their customer’s funniest emails and selling their corporate secrets to Russian mercenaries. They really only invented cloud services just to lure you into sharing your secrets with them.

Yeah, none of that is even remotely true and they have built billion dollars clouds precisely because they don’t do this. If this sounds nuts, let me add this — one Chief Operating Officer I met at a very large retail company told me that he would never, ever allow cloud in his business because Google and Amazon would steal all their point of sale transaction data and learn about their margins. Okaaay…

Security is the number one priority for all cloud platforms. They are all very, very secure.

But really, is my data safe?

Alright, here are some random thoughts to make you feel a bit safer:

Files stored in AWS are really held on multiple seal-healing hard disks which means they survive natural failure. This makes durability so impressive (99.999999999% — 11 9s, count ‘em!) that for 10,000 files stored, you would expect to lose a single file every 10 million years. If that’s not good enough, you can automate replication to other regions or other cloud providers and get so close to 100% that Extinction Level Events on a planetary level will be your biggest worry.

Encryption is a complex subject but in many of the key management systems, if you lose your own keys, nobody can read the data — not you, me, Amazon, Google or the NSA. There is no backdoor. Your key was the only way in.

The US government stores a ton of sensitive data in AWS (GovCloud) so Jeff Bezos risks the wrath of people trained in waterboarding if the security isn’t great. I’d hazard a guess that plenty of foreign governments have thrown their best minds into breaking in.

Often, we’re just trying to guard against stupidity

Finally, in my twenty glorious years in this industry, security failures are usually typified not by Homeland-style hacking squads bent on stealing your information, but the mundane stupid things that happen.

We once lost a team’s entire codebase because the lead developer kept it on his laptop and never checked it into source control — that was expensive.

A helpful intern once ‘cleaned up’ the shared drive at a company and wiped out all their marketing collateral for the last five years.

A client’s office kept their triply-backed up files all in the same building and it was washed away by floods.

And a receptionist installed viruses on an entire network by plugging in a USB stick to help out a sales rep off the street. He said just wanted to print a file.

Cloud providers give you the best processes, tools and practices to truly beef up your security game and, with the correct configuration, become world-class. Nothing in the on-premise world even comes close.

Nothing is Safer than Cloud was originally published in A Cloud Guru on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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