#the titles a pun get it 'day with the sun' cause like. The Beach. also arakawa is the light of my life. also masato is Their Son LAUGH NOW-

[todayisafridaynight]

[General fic, but Arasawa if you squint. 1990's Arakawa Family (Masumi Arakawa, Masato Arakawa, Jo Sawashiro)]

Masato wants to spend the day at the beach- so Masumi hears from Jo. Nowadays, it seemed as though the only way Masumi could hear from his son with through his second-in-command: if Masato really wanted a nice day by the sea, it seemed only fair to invite their family's courier to the trip.

[writefightandflightclub]

Return to Sender: (Richard Alonso Muñoz x GN reader)

What is this? This is 4/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. I’m not gonna share the prompt as it’s spoilery, but it was requested by @sergeantkane​ who is a genius for picking this combo! It’s a prompt about LOVE LETTERS! Omg! And thus, it matches perfectly with Richard (trust me, I had NOT made that connection when I made the prompt list :P). Thank you so much for requesting, Clarke, and I hope you enjoy it. I’m excited about this one!

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Oh, I really quite like this one. Hope it makes you feel as soft as I did for Richard while writing it! Also- it’s my first bash at writing him, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who helped with film details too: those not already tagged in the post- @prurientpuddlejumper​ @witchyavenger​ @veuliee2​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @pascal-isaac​

Word count: 4.5 k. So not a blurb, then? :P

Rating: Mature, for light steam (not explicit, but 18+ or out, please!)

Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Mild angst (but it ends well), Steamy. Kissing, brief non-explicit mention of erection. Implied coitus (cut scene). Richard works in a “correctional facility”. Small mention of attempted break-in. If I missed any let me know.

Tagging: @anetteaneta​ @isvvc-pvscvl​ @nowritingonthewall​ @supernovafeather​ (ONLY READ IF 18+)

GIF by @nathan-bateman​

“Have you ever received a love letter?” Richard wonders shyly, without looking up from his crossword puzzle, his long eyelashes fanned out as his gaze dances over the monochrome squares.

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up immediately from your magazine, which you are idly leafing through, a breath catching in your chest.

You bristle at the question, and yet Richard seems either entirely oblivious, or entirely determined not to look-up at you. Perhaps both. So, instead of looking, he simply slurps the dregs of his milkshake, and pushes his plate of waffle remnants further toward the far end of the diner booth.

When he finally raises his gaze – a gentle prompt for you to answer him- his eyes are large and shining under the fluorescent lights as he peers at you over his glass, dabbing at his thick moustache with a paper napkin shortly after.

“No, never,” you state sadly, heeding his prompt with a small smile and a shake of your head. Not even a love e-mail.

“I’m surprised,” he flatters with a cautious smile. And, if you’re not mistaken, his eyes light-up with the faintest trace of desire. The barest undercurrent of passion, which is enough to have your heart beating like a drum. You notice it sometimes; this dull heat emanating off of him. It is a spark which never ignites, however - to your endless disappointment; you would fan that flame if only you knew how.

You swallow. He’s surprised? He can’t be that surprised, you think, a stone sinking through your stomach as you dwell too long on the topic of love letters, and meanwhile, Richard’s attention seamlessly diverts back to 3 across.

“You deserve one,” he says, still looking at the page, but a smile animating his wiry moustache. “A letter.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a spiralling sadness catching hold of you. Does he not understand what this is doing to you? This painful reminder? “Can we drop it, Richard?” you say tensely, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are even more soft and cautious than usual, causing you to admonish yourself for the bite in your tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course,” he smiles thinly, apologetically.

It’s simply the new job, you think. Director of Communications. The man has letters on the brain. Richard is so considerate, that you realise he must not intend to hurt you in dredging up the past; he would never. In a way though, you think, it’s even worse that he brings it up so… casually. You can only conclude he has forgotten that you sent your letter to him at all. Had your heartfelt words, declaring your love, had so little impact on him?

Maybe that’s it. After all, they seemed to have so little impact upon him at the time. What could you expect years later? On the other hand, you -apparently- remain rather sore about the topic, all this time later. It’s natural to be sensitive though, isn’t it? You’d written him a love letter and he didn’t write you back. He didn’t say it back. Didn’t feel it back.

And, perhaps it still stings so much, even all these years later, because you never did stop loving him, even if he never started loving you.

Feeling a sudden, overwhelming haste to leave, you thumb through the pages of your magazine so furiously that the next table turn their heads to look at you, until you find what you were searching for.

“Here, Richard. The article I mentioned. Dramatherapy for people who are incarcerated.”

You fold the magazine back on itself, fobbing it off on him with an unprecedented urgency, hurriedly signalling to the waitress that you’d like the check. The roomy diner booth suddenly feels suffocating, and you want to get out. Meanwhile, oblivious, Richard chuckles at the title of the article -some kind of pun, you recall- as you try to push down the unpleasant emotions surfacing within you.

“Thank you for this,” he smiles, looking up at you earnestly. Looking concerned as he reads the expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes fix on the table, where his fingertips inch hesitantly across the surface, hovering moments from yours as he debates whether to extend comfort. You make the decision for him, snatching your hand back from his reach.

“Yes. I’m Fine,” you say, unconvincingly. “Can we please go? I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Richard agrees gently. He looks a little flustered, but, now sensing your urgency, he begins to sweep up his papers and to shrug on his jacket. He pulls out a small comb to fix his neat curls in place, and offers you a soft smile. “Maybe we can go to the park next?” he suggests.  

As much as you want to run, you nod, some of your agitation dissipating now that the prior topic seems to be forgotten. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” You school your expression into something calm, and you offer him a reassuring smile as his soulful eyes dance over you, a lingering but unobtrusive concern there.

As you split the check, you tell yourself for the millionth time that being his friend is enough; but even after the millionth time, you can’t quite believe it.

Still, today -Sunday- is your one day with him this week. And, no matter what you can’t have; you’ll take anything you can get.

He’s too dear to you to settle for anything less.

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

One month later:

You crouch in amongst the boxes on Richard’s front lawn. He is having a clear-out, setting out some items for goodwill, and some for a neighbourhood yard sale happening next weekend.

You are having fun assisting him in sifting through various items, occasionally bursting into a fit of laughter when he reveals yet another ill-informed, late night shopping channel “bargain” – usually some new-fangled, scarcely-used exercise contraption, which he proceeds to demonstrate in good-humour, making you fold over clutching your stomach in mirth. Occasionally, as you rifle through the boxes, you’ll be overcome by a pang of sentimentality when he uncovers an item with a memory attached; and -no matter how useless- he usually sneaks said item into his ever-growing “to-keep” pile.

“But this is the picnic hamper we took to Bound Beach Island! For your birthday, remember?”  

“Yeah, Richard, but it’s battered! It has holes! It needs to go.”

“It was a beautiful day. The light and the dunes were beautiful… and… and y-“

“-Oh my goodness, what is this?! Please for the love of God tell me you never actually wore this!”

You work through the midday sun until you come to a tired, dead halt on the grass, finally parking your ass down and wiping your brow. Richard looks warm too, a “v” of sweat soaking his old, oversized “Save the Turtles” t-shirt. No - he really doesn’t throw anything away. You smile fondly, though, remembering his sea turtle phase. Of course, he’d read some article. He always was looking for a cause.

“I’ll make us some iced tea,” Richard announces with a tired puff of breath, looking more spent than he probably wants to admit after shuttling the various boxes. Still, the way his grizzled curls have fallen away from his harsh side-part appeals to you, sitting disobedient and undone on his forehead.

Thinking of him undone, you hear a faint beating of drums sound in your chest.

You ignore the music though, like always, instead smiling gratefully as he heads inside, and you take a second to collect yourself before dragging the nearest box towards you, deciding you may as well continue. This next box is taped securely shut, and you chuckle quietly to yourself when you notice it’s labelled “workout-gear”.

You peel the packing tape away and open it up, scooping out the pile of miscellaneous papers sitting right on top. Beginning to leaf through, you surmise it’s mainly unopened junk mail; mainly garishly printed promotional flyers - from a pizzeria which closed down years ago, you recognise. Probably hastily stuffed in before his last move and never dealt with. Absent-mindedly, you begin to bundle it up for the recycling pile, when a smaller, more humble envelope drops out on to your lap, a hand-scrawled address on the front. The stationary is resoundingly familiar.

In fact, everything about it is familiar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as it immediately dawns on you.

It’s your letter.

The letter you sent him, all those years ago. You’d needed to be apart from him- needed to go away to take care of family, and you simply couldn’t go without letting him know. Letting him know you were in love with him.

The memory is like a slow knife sinking into your chest as you idly turn it over in your hands.

But… It can’t be…?

It’s… unopened.

All the air leaves you lungs.

No. No. It doesn’t make a shred of sense.

You’d spoken to him right afterward, on the phone. The first time he’d called after you left town he’d almost pleaded with you, giving you an unequivocally clear, and endlessly painful answer that he didn’t want what you wanted. What you’d written about. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he simply wanted to be friends. “I- I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay exactly like it is between us – please? Can we still talk every day?”

But if he didn’t read it…?

You heart pounds so hard that you hear blood rushing in your ears.

He doesn’t know.

His words didn’t mean what you…

Oh my god. All this time.  

You shoot abruptly to standing when you see him approach, as if you’ve been caught red-handed, guiltily stuffing the letter into your back pocket before he can ask you what it is, an abundance of thoughts screaming in your head.

He hands you the glass of tea, ice tinkling gently, and you take it from him, the coolness shocking your palms.

Assessing what you’ve been up to in his absence, and noting the carcass of another box, Richard glances down at the pile of papers strewn at your feet. He looks suddenly worried for a moment, as if you might have found an old porn stash or something – and he looks just as suddenly relieved when he sees they are more innocent papers, scooping them up from the grass.

“Richard?” you say, your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and the letter burning a hole in your pocket as he drops the items into the recycling. He hums for you to go on. “Do you... You know when I moved away...?” your voice is strained, and you gulp hard. “Just before, do you remember getting any unusual letters or... weird post from me?”

“Like what kind of thing?” he asks curiously, turning back to you.

“I don’t know exactly,” you lie, nervously. “I have a feeling I sent you something? A sappy goodbye thing?”

You see him mull it over, combing his impressive moustache with his fingers. “I don’t remember, sorry. But apparently I was drowning in junk mail at that apartment. Maybe it got lost, or returned to sender?”

Despite everything, you exhale a small laugh. In a roundabout way, you suppose it had been returned to sender after all. You look at the ground.

“Was it important?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looks at you.

Biding time, you take a sip of your tea while you search for an answer. It’s refreshing.

“It… Uh. It was a long, long time ago. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” you muse, masking your sadness, and he nods, looking at least half-satisfied with your answer.

Except, it does matter. It matters more than anything. And, with a sudden, overwhelming need to grab on to the past, you track to the “to go” box, rescuing the battered picnic basket from the pile of junk.

“You shouldn’t get rid of this,” you state, your back to Richard, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice falters. You tense as you feel him settle by your side, his hand hovering tentatively at the small of your back but never quite touching. “It was a beautiful day.”

“No,” he insists. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hang on to it.”

His words are like a punch in the gut. You turn your head to your side, where Richard is, your eyes and heart almost overflowing.

Noting your sadness, and connecting it to the picnic basket, he does everything he can to smooth things over, like always. “We can get a new one,” he says, his brown eyes sweet and hopeful and bright.

You love him. You love him still and you can’t help but turn towards him and reach out your arms, dragging him in for a hug.

“No! No, I’m sweaty,” he protests self-consciously, but you don’t care. You just need to hold him, even only for a moment – and, for a moment he stills as you loop around him, never quite clutching you back.

When you pull away though, you could swear that dim spark of passion is present in his eyes again. That spark that never catches, no matter how much or how often or how hard you wish it would. Oh, how you wish.

“Don’t ever change, Richard,” you say sincerely, your voice imbued with fondness. “Okay? You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”

His eyes are immediately soft and bashful again, the colour of his cheeks deepening a little, a crimson undertone blooming under his brown skin.

“Yes. Okay,” he offers, with a nod, his eyes creasing at the corners, and his posture even bolstered by the compliment, you could swear, his chest puffing out proudly.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ignore the unread words in the back of your pocket; but for the life of you, you can’t ignore those drums.

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

One month later:

You bundle the yapping, happy little white dog into your arms, relieved that she’s okay as her little tail happily beats against your arm.

“Are you okay, Lady?” you coo as she nuzzles her snoot into your face, eagerly lapping little kisses on to your cheek. “Thanks goodness, sweet little floof,” you baby-talk as your eyes quickly scan around Richard’s place, setting his spare key down on the kitchen counter.

You’d barrelled across town to get here, after receiving a call about an attempted break-in. His neighbour to the left had your contact details in case of an emergency -it’s not very easy to reach him at work, of course- so here you are. You came to give things a quick checking over, assured that no-one suspicious had continued to loiter. Richard won’t be much longer -his shift has nearly ended, and you’d left him a voicemail so you’re sure he’ll hurry- but you still thought you’d go on ahead of him, especially so that he wouldn’t worry about Lady.

Looking around, thankfully all seems well, and you don’t think anyone made it inside after all. Slowly then, you allow your nerves to calm and your heart to settle, bouncing the little bundle of fur in your arms, and feeding her a treat from the packet on top of the microwave, just in case she’d been stressed out.

Calming, you can’t help but smile as you look around, absorbing all the little details of Richard. You do hang out in his apartment a fair amount, but most often you will meet or sit outdoors, when the weather allows. After all, he loves to feel the sun and fresh air on his face, especially after spending all day cooped-up in windowless rooms. To you though, this Richard-ness is like a breath of fresh air, and you let it all wash over you, drinking in the details of his simple daily routine. The discarded half-plate of frijoles and rice by the sink. The ironing-board piled with identical uniform-issue shirts, pants, and plain white t-shirts. The photos on the fridge door – some of you and him too.

Doing a lap of the living space, you further note the dining-for-one TV table, evidence of his relatively solitary existence, and you can almost see him sitting there. Can almost hear his soft voice relating the far-fetched storylines of his favourite telenovelas. You imagine him chuckling warmly - perhaps shedding a tear sometimes too.

You decide you should pop your head into the bedroom and bathroom to check there too, for good measure, and you set Lady down, the dog trotting along at your heels. Once you’ve done a loop, you sigh, seeking out a fresh task, and you circle back to the sink, scraping his discarded plate and rinsing it, stacking it in the dishrack. Then, you move towards the TV chair, intending simply to sit yourself down and wait for Richard to come home. After all, you’re here now - you may as well say hello; or, maybe you can even prepare him dinner after his long shift, you muse.

As you revisit the small, rickety table, however, your eyes more keenly notice that a bunch of papers are strewn over it, all identical- a series of pastel pink leaves of paper and envelopes.

Letters.

Handwritten, in his familiar scrawl.

Letters addressed to you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, as you wonder what they could be. You don’t want to invade his privacy, of course, but perhaps this is something that’s meant for you? After all, sometimes he leaves you notes when you come over to feed or walk Lady.  

Still, this feels different, and, with a lump in your throat that you don’t quite understand, you pick up one of the leaves at random, skimming the first line, yet feeling only more confused than you did before.  

You see your name at the head of the paper, followed by the words “my dearest love,”, and underneath, some other half-formed paragraphs, scribbled over and crossed out.

No, you shake your head, your stomach flipping over. That can’t be right, you think, even as your fingers scramble for another leaf - for leaf upon leaf, until you piece together what’s going on. Until, with every line you read, fragments of both English and Spanish, you feel as though you are piecing together his heart.

Could it be true? Is this really true?

Your fingers dive for a sheet more developed that the rest, where you see paragraphs of writing, and you devour the words like you are starved of love; for you are, aren’t you? Starved? And yet, you suddenly feel so full. Brimming.

My darling,

There are infinite ways to fall in love. Some are elemental, like a raging fire. A shock of lightning on first sight. Some are slow-burning and constant, the heat of friendship warming your hearth, defrosting your iced fingertips when you come in from the cold.

There are infinite ways to fall in love, and I should know, my heart, as I have experienced every one of them with you.

You can barely read the rest as tears blur your eyes, and your hand comes to clamp over your mouth as realisation sinks through to the pit of you, the page quaking -like a leaf- in your fingers.

You make my heart beat like a drum. When I look at you, I am music, without being played. When you’re with me I am dancing, without movement. If only you would touch my skin, I feel like I would sing. If only you would-

“-Are you safe? Are you alright?” Richard asks from behind you, and you tear your eyes away from the page with a start. You were so absorbed by this swell of beating music that you didn’t hear the scrape of his key in the lock. You didn’t hear his hurried footsteps coming up behind you.  

“Richard,” you suspire, and for once his touch is on you without hesitation, his hands clasped around each of your shoulders, slowly running down your arms, and you nod quickly to reassure him, your mouth opening wordlessly. You’re safe.

His touch is warm through your clothes, and you think he is right- your skin would sing for him too if he touched you. Your love rattles you, like drums beating musically in your chest, pulsing through your body.

Then, Richard clocks your sideward, guilty glance at the pile of letters, and you see his panic instantly surface at the thought of all his unsent and unspoken words laid bare before you. All the pieces of his heart exposed.

At first, he looks apologetic, but then you step forwards a little more, into the circle of his arms. Arms which suddenly fall, unsure, at his sides once again. And, achingly slow, endlessly sure, you lift up you hand and you place it on his chest, over his heart, smoothing over his shirt and over the cool metal of the shield he wears there. You feel his heart really is beating like a drum. His chest is rising and falling beneath your hand, his breath quickened – eyes nervous.

You step a little closer, and your fingers continue their slow crawl, dancing up around his collar, inching further up until your fingers finally brush the bare skin at the nape of his neck, pushing up into the curls behind his ears, your thumb skimming his sideburn. You touch him, with your fingertips, and he does sing for you, a half-choked moan leaving his mouth at your tender caress.

“Richard,” you say breathily, searching his face, eyes openly appraising his beauty. “Don’t worry, sweet man. I love you too.” And, when you next meet his eyes there is no nervousness there. Not any longer. Instead, you find his dark, expressive eyes brewing with adoration, and that gentle but ever ascending note of passion.

“Darling, can I kiss you?” he pleads, his voice dogged by desire, his brow knitting together and his hands slipping bravely to your waist, circling you as you arch into him.

“Yes. Yes,” you say, and his mouth meets yours in a desperate, tumultuous crush. You sing too, your skin thrumming as you finally know the feeling of his thick moustache brushing against you. As you taste the sweet flavour of cherry sucker on his kiss. As you finally feel the texture of his slicked curls beneath your fingertips.

You kiss, urgently, until you are each smiling too broadly to continue, and instead Richard beams and presses sweet, intermittent kisses all over – your cheeks, your forehead, your hair, your neck- his moustache tickling wherever it touches. His hands are everywhere they can be politely, roaming over your back and your arms and your hair, and it feels so good to finally be held like this.

Eventually, he pulls back, his smile no longer tugging at his lips so keenly -lips now kiss flushed with deep colour- but shining in his liquid eyes. “How long have you loved me back?” he asks in a still choked, disbelieving voice.

You bite your lip, but then allow your face to split in a radiant, unrestrained grin.

Always. Always. I loved you first, you think.

You reach for your bag, reluctant to break from him so trailing your love’s hand in yours- and you fish out the letter. The one you’ve carried around since it was returned to you. “Take a look, Richard,” you encourage.

He looks from you to the small envelope, turning it in his spare hand as you pass it to him. “What is this?”

His brows rise in confusion as you tap the stamped postmark with your index finger. Years. Years ago.

“I sent you a letter,” you explain. “Telling you I loved you. That I love you,” you correct, squeezing his hand tightly in yours, amazed at how natural it feels already, to touch him.

He audibly gasps in air, looking pained. Devastated. “I never got it. I would’ve-“, he fumbles for words, but he can’t finish them, the magnitude of all those years lost to yearning too big to wrap his lips around. “I never got it,” he repeats sorrowfully.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about that now,” you soothe. “I got your letter.” And, as you engulf him with your arms a soft smile takes over his features once again. He can’t help it.

“I’m so glad you did,” he beams, drawing you to him for another kiss, which you eagerly accept, opening your mouth to him.

God, he’s a good kisser, his tongue in you deep and eager, and the heat generated is quick to catch, a fire lit in the pit of you. That moustache is a divine thing too, his lips soft and full beneath, his mild-mannered tongue positively sinful as it works against yours.

Letting the kiss grow, you grab hold of him by the belt to draw his body closer to yours, arching your hips into his, and you feel an impressive bulge greet you as you do so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bashfully, angling his hips away from you, in case you’re not ready for… that yet. “You’re perfection. So perfect, I… I’m a little bit, uh, excited.”

You don’t blame him. You’re a little bit excited too. There’s a drum beating in your chest. Music in your heart. A song everywhere. A dance in your body.

“W-would you like to take me to the bedroom, Richard?” you purr, softly. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You wish you could capture the bliss which sparks in his eyes then, and keep stoking it forever more. His whole being glows as if you are the sun shining down on him. He loves the sun on his face. He loves you.

He loves you.

*******

Later that night:

At some point after round three, Richard is ravenous, and so you head to the kitchen to grab some snacks. One of Richard’s plaid shirts wards off the slight chill, settled over your otherwise naked body. As you microwave something quick, you can barely keep the smile from your face – even more so as you glance over at the table full of half-finished letters. As the microwave pings and you grab out the plate, another idea occurs to you, and you simply can’t help yourself.

So, you pad mysteriously back towards the bedroom, where Richard is waiting. The blanket is slung low over his hips, skimming the dark trail of hair which draws your gaze down beyond his abdomen. He is covered, and yet you bloom blissfully with heat at your new-found knowledge of what lays beneath. He’s laying with one hand folded behind his head, and one hand rested on the soft, roundness of his stomach, which you had laid your head on only moments ago.

Richard’s eyes shine with unadulterated admiration as you enter, and you flash him a mischievous smile as you transfer the plate to his hands, and subsequently tip a cascade of his letters into the middle of the bed.

“What’s all this?” he asks, with a contented laugh as you bounce eagerly into bed by his side, humming in equal contentment as you slot yourself under his arm.  

“I want you to read them to me. Will you?” you ask, sweetly, and he looks bashful all over again. “No-one has ever sent me a love letter.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles. “Or I thought so…”

He hesitates, perhaps feeling shy, but he wraps his arm around you securely, nuzzling you into his side as he picks up the closest leaf of paper.

He hums gratefully as you begin to stroke his smooth chest. He really does sing whenever you touch him.

“They’re not finished,” he caveats. “I wanted to find the perfect words and I… I couldn’t.”

“The words don’t have to be perfect. It’s more important that they’re delivered,” you say, your voice soft as you sink into him, and so, he gently clears his throat and he begins to read, his words and his rich, soothing voice filtering over you like warm sunshine.

After a moment listening, and letting his love and his letters envelop you, you interrupt him gently. “My sweet man. Promise me you’ll never write me another love letter?”

“Are they that awful?!” Richard exclaims.

“No!” you laugh, into his chest, tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just… I think I hate love letters, Richard. They’ve only ever kept me from you.”

His expression becomes wistful, lost in thought until a smile finally captures him. Then, with a finger curling gently under your chin, he dips down to plant a small kiss to the very tip of your nose.

“No more letters then,” he promises softly. “Let’s always promise to say it out loud from now on. Let’s talk every day.”

You heart full, you bring your hand up to caress his cheek, before planting a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips; and, despite what you’d just suggested, you plead for him to keep reading to you, his voice and his love lulling you to sleep in his arms.

With the love letters as kindling, your dim spark finally catches, your fire now blazing. You set it in a hearth in your chest, and you vow to keep it stoked for always.

THE END

Bonus:

[no-no-notorious-writes]

In-Tents - t.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Summary: Some of the cast and crew of Spiderman: Far From Home take a few days off and decide to go camping together.

Word Count: 2600+

Warnings: language?, uh that’s about it

A/N: I’m kind of frustrated with the way this turned out. I just couldn’t settle myself into the story. Like I knew what I wanted to happen, but couldn’t get the words right. I’m not going to stare at it anymore, so here it is. It’s just some fluffy Tom x reader. Excuse the dumb title pun, couldn’t help myself.

In-Tents

“Nope. Nope. Nope,” you said coming out of your tent. “I’m not doing this.”

“Who had ten minutes after putting up her tent?” Zendaya asked.

You and your friends had a nice long weekend off. This was not how you had wanted to spend it, though. You’re plan was to rent some movies and lay on the couch. Filming had been arduous and you weren’t even staring in the movie. You couldn’t imagine what Tom was feeling. So when he suggested that you all go camping for the weekend, you thought he had finally cracked. Clearly, all the web-slinging had made him lose his mind. 

“Oh, shit! I did!” Jacob exclaimed, with his head sticking out of his tent. “Does this mean I win the money?”

“Wait, did you fuckers all bet on me?” you asked. 

You had whipped around to look at all of your cast-mates, the people who you thought you could call your friends. You did not feel like a dramatic person. Yes, you were an actor, but you didn’t live your life in the dramatics. Actually, you hated drama, but that didn’t stop it from following you. But at that moment, you felt really dramatic.

“Well, we all just figured that since this wasn’t your thing, eventually you would kinda…” Zendaya started.

“Snap?” Jacob finished. “It’s not personal, purely business,” he chuckled, holding his hand out as Zendaya reached into her bag to grab the money. 

“I was so fucking close!” Haz called out from inside his tent, before coming out. “I had twenty minutes from when we parked.” 

“I had ten minutes after we all go to bed,” Tom said pulling the firewood out of the truck bed. 

“I had thirty minutes into the drive here,” Harry muttered, putting up the few chairs that they packed. 

You turned toward your friend and only female companion on this trip, Zendaya, to give her a look of, ‘Can you believe these assholes?’ But your snarky look fell when you realized she was giving you a guilty sort of smile. 

“Z?” you asked. 

“So, remember that I love you?”

“Z?,” you asked a little more impatient, the anger mounting.

“She had that you wouldn’t even get in the car,” Haz said clapping a hand to your shoulder.

“UGH,” you groaned as you stepped into your tent. 

Ignoring Zendaya’s shouts of apologies and the boys laughed at your pain, you zipped up the door to your tent and sat on the hard ground trying to figure out how to blow up your air mattress. You figured if they were going to bet on your abilities, then you weren’t going to help them set up camp. They could all handle it on their own. They were clearly more capable than you. 

After twenty minutes and several small fits of anger, your air mattress was fully inflated and your tent seemed to be ready for the night. Were you? Probably not. You kept thinking about all the wild animals that were surely in the area. What happened if one came into your camp, or worse, your tent?

“Y/N?” you felt your tent shake as Tom “knocked” on your door. “We’re going swimming in the lake. Come join us.”

You shook the terrible, terrifying thoughts from your head. “Yeah, let me, uh – just change,” you stuttered. 

/////\\\

You and Zendaya sat on the beach of the lake watching as the boys were horsing around in the water. They were splashing each other and trying to pull each other under or dunk each other. It seemed to be something about boys that when they entered a body of water, they seemed to become acrobats whose only purpose was to drown their fellow acrobats.

You knew that you would have to forgive Zendaya eventually, but you really wanted her to apologize to you first. It didn’t seem fair. So you would wait. Wait for her to apologize. Wait for her to say something first. 

Meanwhile, you tried not to stare at Tom’s bare chest. It was perfectly toned and it was incredibly distracting. So much so that you didn’t realize how long you had been staring. When Tom turned toward you and caught your eye, he winked, which caused your heart to race faster. You had been caught. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You laid back on your towel and tried desperately to sink into the sand and disappear. 

“Don’t worry. He’s oblivious, too.” You heard Zendaya say next to you. 

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked, pretending like you didn’t know what she was talking. 

“Look, you both may be oblivious, but the rest of us aren’t,” she pushed her sunglasses on top of her head to properly look you in the eye. “We all see the way you stare at each other.”

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, we’re still ignoring it all. Got it,” Zendaya said with a wink before walking toward the lake. 

Yeah, you definitely still aren’t talking to her.  

/////\\\

Later that night after you were all tired from the sun and water, you all changed into dry clothes and started to make dinner. When you all met to plan the trip, you each had agreed to make something for dinner. So while Tom and Haz made steak on the portable grill they had brought, Jacob, Harry, and Zendaya worked on the vegetables and potatoes. You had agreed to make dessert, so once everything had settled and dinner was finished, you pulled out the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate before getting to work on the actual dessert – a campfire peach cobbler. 

“Seriously, Y/N? We made like a full dinner and you brought s’mores?” Haz laughed. 

“Shut it, Haz! I’m making dessert now. S’mores are the pre-dessert,” you yelled back. “Don’t get your panties in a knot!” You carried the cast iron dutch oven over to the fire to let it cook. 

“What did you make, Y/N?” Tom asked. 

“It’s, uh, peach cobbler.”

“Nice!” Jacob said looking up from the magazine he had brought with him. 

You looked around the campfire but there seemed to be no open seats, except for the one next to Tom. Someone had taken a log and split it down the center length-wise and used one half as the bench bottom and the other half as the bench back. Clearly someone had taken their time to create something useful from a fallen tree, which you would have been impressed with had you anywhere else to sit right now. 

You pulled the oven mitt off your hand and put it on the end of the bench. Then went back to the long picnic table you all had been using to prepare food on. You grabbed the plates, forks, and the large serving spoon before slowly walking back over to the fire. You were hoping that in the time it would take you to get back over there, someone would get up from their seat and you could quickly steal it. 

Since realizing about two weeks ago that your feelings for Tom were a little more than friendly, you had been trying to avoid situations where he could put his arm around you or you could be in close enough contact to touch his arm without realizing what you were doing while you talked. Before that, you and Tom had spent pretty much all your free time together. You would watch movies in your trailers or hotel rooms. The two of you had no problem cuddling up together under a blanket and falling asleep to whatever played on the screen. If you happened to be sitting next to each other on a couch, which you seemed to always be sitting next to each other, he would easily sling his arm over the back, allowing it to rest just near you. His fingers would twirl your hair or tickle the back of your neck making you squirm. He would call you things like, “darling” or “sweetheart” or, your personal favorite, “love” in his English accent. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out that none of it was really intentional on his part, though. He would say the same things to Zendaya. And he always thanked the food service girl with an easy “sweetheart.” It all felt very much the same. Like Tom was just a sweet, easy-going guy who had no trouble with showing platonic forms of affection to women. For you, though, it felt like so much more. It was probably what had created the butterflies that swarmed your stomach whenever you were around him. They were starting to feel sugary-sweet though, which was making you sick. 

“Come join me, love,” Tom said patting the empty space on the bench. 

As you put the plates and utensils down next to the oven mitt, you catch Zendaya’s eye. She has an “I told you so” look that you are truly not appreciating right now. You didn’t need it shoved in your face that Tom was just far too much of a gentleman for his own good.

You sat on the log-bench far enough away that Tom’s arm couldn’t reach you and pulled your legs up tight against your body. It was starting to get chilly. You were glad to have remembered to pack a few pairs of sweatpants. But now you were wishing you had also brought your blanket out to wrap around yourself. The fire was helping but not enough. 

“So, Y/N, what do you think?” Harry asked. 

“What’s the topic?”

“Tom’s secret crush. We’re trying to figure out who it is,” Haz answered.

“Oh,” you let the word tumble out of your mouth before you could think of anything better. 

“Yeah, on the way up here, he was all giddy texting this girl–” Harry started. 

You turned to look at Tom. He refused to make eye contact with anyone. But he was staring at his brother, like he might just strangle him. You couldn’t tell if it was sunburn or if his cheeks were pink from the firelight. 

“Hey, now, we don’t know if it was a girl.” Haz chuckled. 

Tom’s head whipped toward his best friend. “Dude?”

“Tom, we love you for you. It doesn’t matter who you love,” Haz said before everyone around the fire began to laugh. 

The topic quickly changed after the laughter died down. S’mores and beers were being passed around. Everything seemed easy after that. When the cobbler was done, you scooped some onto plates and passed it around to everyone. But it started to get colder. 

“Where are you going, love?” Tom asked as you moved to your tent. 

“Blanket.”

“Come on now, Y/N! Why didn’t you say something? Tom can keep you warm.” You heard the jest in Haz’s voice, but that didn’t stop the pink from creeping up your neck. You stood in your tent, blanket in your hand, taking deep breaths trying to calm yourself and willing the pink to recede. 

“Oh, I didn’t want to take him away from you, Haz. I know you love when Tom spoons you at night,” you joked, before heading back to your seat still just as far away from Tom as you had been. 

Your group laughed again as you felt Tom’s fingers on your shoulders. Had he moved closer? You looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the topic had already changed and it seemed like no one was paying any attention to the two of you. You draped the blanket over yourself and hid your shaking hands under it. It was going to be a long night, especially if Tom continued to inch closer. 

/////\\\

You couldn’t sleep. 

You knew this would happen. You could hear the crickets and the sound of something off in the distance. It did not sound friendly. And you were pretty positive that you could hear a crack of thunder. But you were also pretty sure you heard a bear outside your tent a moment ago. You knew your mind was playing tricks on you.

What could you do, though? If you went to sleep in the car, you were sure that you would never hear the end of it. 

You stared at the tent ceiling trying to calm your breathing down. You tried to take deep even breaths and think about anything but the wilderness. It seemed to be working, until you spotted a spider in the corner of your tent. It wasn’t that big, but it felt like the final straw. 

You grabbed your blanket and quickly unzipped your tent door. You instantly regretted it. Where were you supposed to go now? You looked to your left and right, both Zendaya and Jacob’s tents were silent. They were definitely asleep. You could hear the light snoring coming Haz and Harry’s mansion of a tent they agreed to share. Tom’s tent rustled in the dark. You could hear a deep sigh. Someone else was having trouble sleeping. 

You crept over to Tom’s tent and whispered, “Tom?”

“Shit!” Tom unzipped his tent’s front door, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack, love?”

“Sorry,” you muttered sheepishly. “There’s a spider in my tent…”

“Oh, I’ll get it,” Tom said grabbing for his shoes.

“No!” 

“What?”

“Can I just stay with you?” you asked quietly. “I can’t sleep.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tom moved over to allow you inside, “anything for you, love.”

He zippered the door to his tent back up as you sat in the corner looking up for spiders or other kind of bugs. He moved over on his queen air mattress and cleared his throat. You looked into his chocolate eyes for something, anything – any sign of more than “just friends.” It didn’t matter, though. You couldn’t back out now. You did this to yourself. You crawled over to the empty side of his air mattress and pulled your blanket over you. 

“Um, thanks Tom.”

“Of course, love.” 

You both tried to sleep. But it was too much for you. It felt like you hadn’t left your tent. Instead of the wilderness keeping you up, it was the heat radiating from Tom and the sound of his breathing. It was the sheer idea that he was lying right next to you, close enough to touch. 

Sure that he had fallen asleep, you turned on your side and let your fingers run along his exposed collarbone without actually touching him. You wondered how soft his skin actually felt, though. He quickly reached up and grabbed your hand in his own and held it against his chest. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of you. 

“Don’t tease, love.”

“I – I…”

Tom used his free hand to push your hair behind your ear, before letting his fingers cup your cheek. It felt like the air had been removed from the tent and everything was moving in slow motion. You closed your eyes, hoping that if this was a dream, you would wake up. But when you opened them and Tom was still staring at you intently, a cheeky grin plastered on his lips, you realized, if this was a dream, you weren’t going to wake up. 

When his lips softly touched yours, it felt like your entire body was on fire. His hand trailed into your hair as his tongue begged for entrance. You were still dealing with the shock of Tom fucking Holland kissing you. 

“You were the only one I texting on the way up here,” he said, his forehead gently resting against yours. 

“Oh.” It was the only word that your brain could comprehend at the moment. 

“C’mere,” he said pulling you closer to him. 

Your head rested on his chest and you could hear how fast his heart was beating in his chest, just about as fast as yours.

[fly-pow-bye]

DuckTales 2017 - “The Spear of Selene!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow

Written by: Madison Bateman

Directed by: Dana Terrace

Storyboard by: Emmy Cicirega, Ben Holm, Jason Reicher

Mythical!

The episode starts with Dewey and Webby intentionally trying to cause the Sun Chaser to crash. Okay, there's a little more to it than that, but that what is essentially happening. Judging by the faces, it appears to be Webby's idea.

They'll have to make an emergency "landing", this is Launchpad McQuack, after all, on an island. Checking his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, Huey realizes that they are landing on uncharted territory which Scrooge happens to know about: the mythical land of Ithaquack. How Dewey or Webby knew about this place's whereabouts is unknown. A really good hunch, perhaps?

They do know one thing: it's a good place to start looking for clues about Dewey's long lost mother, Della. This is due to a note first seen in The Great Dime Chase. It’s a note that directly ties into the fate of Della, one of the two biggest mysteries of Clan McDuck. According to the note, Della took the Spear of Selene, and since Selene is a Greek goddess, where else to look but a Greek island? I almost forgot about this, I should have been more hyped about the title.

Their plan is to find the Spear of Selene. They sure are making a lot of assumptions about it. Namely, they assume they can find the Spear of Selene again, as if Della took the Spear of Selene to put it back where it came from. Assumptions will play a significant role in this episode, as we will learn later.

The rest of the nephews are just as excited to explore this new island, though Scrooge and Donald aren't. We get to see Donald's reason just minutes after, as he gets smothered by someone who considers him one of his old friends: the legendary Greek hero Storkules! It's the usual "big muscles, little brain" cliche. We get a shot of Donald Duck being stuck between his pecs.

Storkules also sees his "kin", and despite apparently just meeting them, he happens to know they're his nephews without being told they are. This one-sided reunion is interrupted by his father, Scrooge's reason for not wanting to go here.

It's a duck version of Zeus, proof that great power doesn't necessarily come with great responsibility. In this cartoon, in the original Greek myths, and certainly not the incarnation in Disney's own version of those Greek myths. He also happens to be named Zeus; unlike Ithaca and Hercules, the Gods don’t really care about having duck pun names, I guess.

Huey's first reaction, outside of ecstatic that all myths are real, is to step on Zeus's foot to see if Greek Gods can feel pain. Yeah, Huey may be the smart one, but he should count his blessings that Zeus has bigger ducks to fry. Namely, a certain super rich duck.

We get some backstory via Greek jars: Zeus, King of the Gods, also sees himself as the God of Hospitality, and the King of the Beach. This all changed when Scrooge McDuck showed up and really, and even made better sand castles while continuing to find even more treaure just under them. Isn't that more of a Gladstone Gander thing than a Scrooge thing? Zeus ended up losing his popularity, though a hissy-fit-caused lightning storm probably did not help.

This scene establishes that Zeus happens to be a sore loser, though he gets his chance to make it up. Storkules tells his father that he should prepare a party for their new, courtesy of his father, the God of Hospitality himself. With his almighty power, power greater than all of the Gods of Olympus combined, the King of the Beach pulls out...

...a cooler, some grapes, a pegasus playing harp music, and some chips and dip. Scrooge says that the dip too salty, and he is immediately called out by Zeus for disparaging Olympus!

He challenges Scrooge and the rest of the nephews that aren't in the A-Plot to a series of heroic trials. Heroic trials that are in no way a way for Zeus to get back at Scrooge for lowering. Storkules is pretty excited to see how these adventurers are going to tackle them, but Scrooge and Donald are slowly trying to back away from this.

Unfortunately for them, a lightning dome, courtesy of Zeus, blocks them from escaping. The nephews and Donald will have to compete whether they like it or not, and they sure show the contrast right before the commercial break:

Huey and Louie: Woo-hoo!

Donald and Scrooge: Oh, phooey.

Cannot help but notice that Huey and Louie's new distinct personalities aren't being used to put them into different roles this time. While we get hints of this, with Huey pulling out the Junior Woodchuck Book, and Louie relaxing with his grapes. It's better than making one of them just not appear for no reason.

While the adults and the rest of the kids have to deal with what is essentially Zeus's temper tantrum, Dewey and Webby have to go through heroic trials of their own. One of the main problems that comes up is their wildly different interpretations. Dewey does not want to think of his Mom as a stealer of artifacts and betrayer of the McDucks, while Webby keeps implying that to his chagrin.

This escalates further and further as their search for the Spear of Selene, or where it was, continues, as they keep finding artifacts that are not what they are looking for. They go through a trap filled room only to find the Sword of Selene, and they have to fight a monster until the monster tells them they won't get the Spear of Poseidon. After telling him that's not what they're looking for, the monster puts them down and gives them directions, even waving goodbye at them once they leave. It seems like a gag from The Powerpuff Girls. The real one.

Of course, Dewey isn’t alone, as we get some hints from someone who probably experienced what happened to Della firsthand. While Storkules is talking about his friendship, he brings up Donald's "fiery sister"...and wonders where she is. All Donald can do is look at his nephews, and solemnly tell Storkules that he does not adventure anymore. He gives one extra detail in a later scene.

Donald Duck: I don’t adventure anymore, someone always gets hurt.

Storkules: And what would your fiery sister say...

Donald Duck: Because she can’t...someone always gets hurt.

Really cuts deep, even in his trademark voice. I've noticed that I just accept it now.

To prove even further how much he does not want to go back to his adventuring days, even under the literal thunder dome, he does not even try to win in these heroic trials. Unfortunately, a combination of his bad luck and Storkules' lack of anything that isn't muscles to make him fail at failing. Despite winning, Zeus keeps the trials going, as he really does not want to admit failure.

This turns into a montage of sorts. There's a race to a bag full of wind, a discus throw, a chariot race, and even a sculpting competition! In each event, Donald tries his best to keep himself from winning, only for either the nephews to win, or for Storkules to do something not too smart.

Then again, it is possible that Storkules is intentionally losing, considering this, I do not know if I should say "flattering", portrayal of his opponent. Zeus still did not consider this a winner, and considers a "final challenge."

Said final challenge is to steal the golden fleece from a small child. This child would turn out to be a siren, which hypnotizes Storkules to strangle the nephews. The siren's song doesn't hypnotize the nephews because...I do not know. Targeted singing, perhaps?

Thanks to the rather friendly monster, they end up at a scale model of the mountain they were climbing to get to the temple, which leads to a circular tomb that may have the spear. Suddenly, some ancient Greek writing appears on top of said tomb, and Dewey asks Webby, knower of all languages in this series, if it says that Della died a hero. He'd rather imagine his mother is dead than to consider that she didn't have the absolute best of intentions. Again, pretty deep.

The tomb then starts to close really, really slowly. Those ancient tomb makers really have a thing for those. They can’t be bothered to make it just shut, they have to have some sort of mechanism that makes it really easy for intruders to get out of their traps. There is an explanation later on.

Dewey eventually starts to block Webby, as the conflict between them gets violent. He get an dramatic scene here where Dewey has to wrestle Webby down, as if, deep down, he knows he's not going to like what's in that tomb. He even throws Webby down the mountain at one point. There's a little humor sprinkled here and there, mostly regarding a chimera statuette, but not enough to ruin the scene. Eventually, Dewey curls up, sad, and Webby just decides to stop.

Webby: I guess there’s some mysteries that don’t need to be solved.

Dewey immediately changes his mind at the last second at that, almost as if he knew he was violating his show’s own theme song. Well, it was might solve a mystery, but still. He grabs Webby, and does under the door at the last minute...only to find a stranger telling them "gotcha."

It turns out, it's a Greek goddess who doesn't use a duck pun for her name: Selene! She's slightly disappointed until she recognizes how Dewey looks just like Della. While the answers are still out there, it is a sastisfying scene for those who want to know a little more about Della. The most I will say is that this mystery goes far deeper that a stolen artifact. They have to keep this mystery going; we got two seasons of this show.

The Zeus plot also wraps up pretty well, with Scrooge possibly getting some inspiration to almost end this conflict. I say almost because something from the other plot interferes in a way I won't spoil. The episode has many bookends: it ends with a Launchpad joke, a storm, and the same amount of progress in trying to find Dewey's mother.

How does it stack up?

Disappointments when it comes to closure are to be expected when it comes to mid-season episodes, but it does end with a shocking twist. This episode has it all: good comedy, good characters of the week, some dramatic moments, and a good twist. Highly recommended.

Next, the other major cliffhanger from The Great Dime Chase gets resolved! Unfortunately, I will have to take a week off due to birthday plans. I do not have anything set in stone on whether or not I'll repeat the same thing I did the last time I missed a PPG 2016 review.

← The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest! 🦆 Beware The B.U.D.D.Y. System! →

[wendibird]

A Witch with a Sandwich on a Sandy Picnic

Summary:   Rowena decided a picnic was in order, and a certain exclusive golf course had a beautiful patch of sand just perfect for the occasion. Of course, ulterior motives were at play, and she and her Road Trip buddy, Charlie, were up to some mischief, but what does one expect from two fiery red-heads like them? Characters: Rowena & AU Charlie, (Sam mentioned) Ships: None explicitly stated (though if you DO ship Rowena/Charlie, it doesn’t outright deny it) Word Count:  1536 Cross-posted to AO3 at: https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/14961677   Author's Note: This is actually my response to the GISH puzzle challenge titled "We Put a Spell On You" where we were supposed to find any creative way we wanted to depict the answer to the riddle. The answer itself is the title of my piece, and what you see here is the result of me picturing a certain red-headed witch eating a sandwich at a picnic someplace sandy. It went through a few variations, (originally, it was MUCH more bloody, but, I figured present-day Rowena is trying to turn over a new leaf and all,) and I hope people enjoy it for the fun piece it's meant to be. (I also hope the PTB at GISH will accept this as my artistic rendering, since I kind of suck at drawing anything other than trees and rocks. *LOL*)

Also, this takes place sometime between the end of episode 13X22 and most of what happens in 13X23.

The sun which beat down with unrelenting intensity was reflected back up again by the bright sand and would have proven horribly uncomfortable for the ginger-haired witch if it weren't for the large, colorfully striped beach umbrella under which she lounged on a blanket. Just next to her was a little wooden table on which perched a cocktail, the glass beading with condensation as well as a small plate with tiny cucumber sandwiches, all de-crusted and cut into dainty triangles. 

She languidly selected one from the plate, her nails, the deep red of scabs, complimented the plum-colored dress she wore, and took a bite, savoring the cream-cheese spread used, seasoned with dill and a hint of roasted red-pepper. "Och, Peter, I must say, your chefs here are quite up to par." She then laughed a little at the unintended pun as Peter, a tall, tanned, dark-haired young man smiled in a manner that could only be considered solicitous.

"We all strive to do our best, Miss Rowena," he responded, bowing his head a little, the earpiece that had formerly been in his left ear now dangling from where it emerged from under his shirt collar. He had also loosened the straps on his utility vest which had SECURITY in large, white, block letters emblazoned across the back.

On Rowena's other side another man in security clothing waved a large fan towards the witch while a third man wearing the clothes of a golf caddy was busy peeling a small bowl of grapes.

A few others in various clothing ranging from security personal to caddies to waiters all seemed engaged in some task or another for the red-head.  Some fetched food, one was plumping a pillow behind her, and a middle-aged, somewhat plump man who was wearing expensive golfing clothes was quite busy giving her a foot massage.

From further off, yet another security man cautiously approached the sand trap on which Rowena had set up her little picnic, the brilliant green grass of the golf-course contrasting sharply with his black attire. He tilted his head a little as something apparently came to him over his earpiece. "Negative," he responded in a low tone, "still no indication as to why Jones and the others haven't apprehended the... security risk," he finished, not seeming too sure of what to call her exactly. "Moving in now."

As he drew a bit closer he paused, a look of confusion blooming on his face as he got a better look at the scene before him. "Um... the Senator has been located. He... uh... he seems... er... it appears he's giving the "security risk" a foot massage." He winced a bit as a sharp response came over the earpiece. "No, I am NOT making this up!" he loud-whispered. "Everyone else is accounted for. No one appears to be injured but... no one's... well, acting right. I'll try to move in closer to see if I can make contact."

As he indeed moved closer he crossed an unseen barrier, one formed by the 5 hex-bags Rowena had placed around her little beach oasis amongst the rolling fields of green, and his eyes briefly flashed with a violet light before his entire demeanor changed. Where before he had been tightly wound, like a cat stalking its prey, he now relaxed, holstering his gun as a somewhat vague but happy smile spread over his face. When the voice on the other end of the earpiece continued squawking at him, he simply pulled it out as the others before him had done and continued walking towards the sand trap at a leisurely saunter.

Rowena looked up, lowering her sunglasses a bit to better appraise the newcomer approaching them. "Well, aren't you a tall drink o' water?" she observed of the man who flashed her a cheery grin. "Why don't ye help Julio over there with the grapes?" she suggested as she gestured towards the shorter man.

Nodding, the man hopped down into the trap and walked over to Julio who moved over just a bit to give the other guy room. Just then, the distinct tones of "Scotland the Brave" jingled from her little clutch-purse and with a world-weary sigh, Rowena retrieved her phone and answered. "Yes Charlie dear, everything's going splendid. Have ye finished with all your computer-y mumbo-jumbo yet?" She waited as the voice on the other end of the line chattered away for a few moments. "Excellent! I'll just wrap things up here and meet ye at the rendezvous in five minutes."

With that, she ended the call, dropping her phone back into her clutch purse. Seeming to know what she wanted, the Senator had already started putting her glitzy, bronze-looking sandals back on her feet, and once that was done, she beckoned Peter over who gave her a hand standing back up again. The one who'd been fanning her set about retrieving the blanket and after he and another shook the sand from it, they folded it up carefully. Julio and the newest addition to her appropriated "staff" eagerly presented her with the bowl of peeled grapes, which she happily took, along with the blanket which was draped over her other arm. Someone else had already collapsed the beach umbrella and now they handed her that too.

Seeming satisfied, she fished a 6th hex bag out of her clutch-purse and muttered an incantation. Everyone who'd been under her spell all started yawning before apparently deciding it was a great time for a nap and began laying down wherever they stood. Once everyone was down and out she dropped the hex bag and said a few more words in Latin and that one, along with the five others arrayed out around her burst into flames. She then sauntered away, heading for a gap in the fencing through which she'd entered the golf course in the first place.

Waiting just on the other side was a little yellow Prius with the hatch already popped open. After depositing the blanket and umbrella inside, she closed it and went around to the passenger side, climbing in. Extending the crystal bowl of peeled grapes to the other red-head, she removed her sunglasses and quirked an eyebrow, smiling mischievously. "Well, that went well."

Charlie giggled and happily plunked one of the grapes into her mouth before hitting the gas. "Definitely! I was able to hack into ALL of that douche-bag's tech he had with him. His phone, his tablet, his laptop. You would not BELIEVE the things he's kept on that, by the way."

Rowena sighed happily and enjoyed one of the grapes herself, leaning her head back as her co-conspirator rattled on.

"I got his passwords for his porn subscriptions, especially the VERY illegal ones, texts between him and his mistress, his account info for the rather expensive escort business he patronizes regularly, not to mention all the e-mails talking about the bribes for this, that, and the other-" Rowena made a shushing gesture as she finished chewing a grape.

"Yes, yes, I get the picture. Lots o' dirt on the filthy blighter... though, I will say he gives a good foot massage, but now what are ye goin' to do with it?"

Charlie grinned as she reached over, taking another grape herself. "Already done. While I was still connected to their server, I uploaded it to several news outlets as well as a bunch of online forums. That way if they try to trace any of it, it'll just lead back to the golf course. Which, by the way, is owned by our supreme ruler-in-chief."

Rowena just smiled as Charlie got them onto the freeway, heading for the open road. "So..." Charlie hedged a little, "Your distraction sure seemed to work. No one even noticed what I was up to. But, everyone's okay, right?"

Rowena rolled her eyes a little but nodded. "Don't be worryin' about that. None of em'll remember a thing, and no one got hurt. They're all takin a nice nap, and should be wakin up..." she took a moment to consult the gold, locket-like pendant watch hanging around her neck, "eh, in about five more minutes."

Charlie smiled with relief. "Good! Cause, they're all just-"

"Doin' their jobs." Rowena finished for her, chuckling a little herself. "I know, I know. Trust me, Samuel already gave me "the talk" before you an I left."

Charlie nodded emphatically. "So... what's next on our itinerary?"

"Ah, I don't know." Despite the attempted bored look she was affecting, mischief glinted from the witch's green eyes. "There's a certain Orange Baboon that could stand to be taken down a peg or two from what I hear."

Charlie grinned. "Oooo... Secret Service. You're actually gonna make me flex my muscles on this one."

"Practice makes perfect m'dear." Rowena sing-songed. "I have my witchery an' ye have yours. An clever witches can make strange magic happen in the world."

Charlie titled her head a bit, a contemplative look on her face. "Does this make me a technomancer?"

Since Rowena wasn't quite sure what that was, she just chuckled and popped an Enya CD into the player, and the ladies drove on towards the next destination on their extended adventure.

[davedimartino]

NEW THIS WEEK 10.13.08

We're veering toward the middle of the year's fourth quarter--a time when nearly every week brings us a handful of new releases that will instantly emerge at the top of the charts and make everybody but us fabulously wealthy!

And sure, some weeks will bring us inevitable No. 1's like rapper T.I. or Metallica, or hot new contenders like Jennifer Hudson or Robin Thicke. On the other hand, however--some weeks won't!

Perhaps signaling a temporary lull in the inevitable sales storm is this week--which aside from heartwarming country hat-wearer Kenny Chesney, offers little today's top record execs can write home to their moms about!

But you know what? It's OK! Look at the bright side: There are a lot of new TV shows debuting, a lot of great new DVDs also out this week, and now, lots of time to spend combing today's hottest social networks looking for old friends and new acquaintances! You could also read a book, but heck: they're expensive! Oh well!

Kenny Chesney: Lucky Old Sun (BNA) Country fave KC throws his ever-present hat in the ring this time out with a hot collection of tracks featuring guest stars such as Dave Matthews, Willie Nelson, the Wailers and Mac MacAnally, and it looks like he's got another surefire winner! Ironically selecting the same title track chosen by former Beach Boy Brian Wilson to highlight his new album--but I assure you that's the only less-than-original idea to be had here--Chesney seems to be looking leftward during these exciting political times, at least if the album cover picture is any indication! For a while my favorite track was "Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven (with The Wailers)" until I realized the words in parentheses weren't actually part of the lyrics, but who knows? It may well be yours! I'm just thrilled with the whole thing!

Keane: Perfect Symmetry (Interscope) Following up a huge debut album with one not quite so successful could be a stumbling block for bands of lesser talent, but England's Keane return here with a winningly melodic, choice third album that I'd call "keen" if, like you, I enjoyed bad puns! One thing's for sure: My notion of them as a sugar-sweet, almost sappy poppish band changed significantly, in light of the upbeat, energetic tracks found here in great number! Additionally, I think any English band with a member named Tim Rice-Oxley is supposed to be good according to some old rock critic rule or something! And I'm as gullible as the next guy! Between you and me, I should probably focus on my craft more!

Nikka Costa: Pebble To A Pearl (Stax/Go Funk Yourself) A welcome return from Miss Costa, a soulful, zesty singer who made big noise a few years ago and is now back awaiting your purchase, listening, and evaluation! Perhaps chastened by the public humiliation of choosing a title for her last album-- can'tneverdidnotthin'--that was both grammatically incorrect and poorly punctuated, Costa soars admirably throughout most of the tracks here, though luckily for all of us, she apparently held tightly to her microphone! Favorite tracks include "Keep Wanting More," "Keep Pushin'" and "Cry Baby," but that may be a factor of my susceptibility to suggestion! I'd suggest buying this and waiting for additional orders!

Johnny Cash: Johnny Cash At Folsom Prison: Legacy Edition (Columbia/Legacy) Sometimes record labels try to milk everything they've got in their archives by slapping a few additional tracks onto a classic album and selling it all over again, but this is absolutely not the case here! Cash's historic 1968 album is loaded to the gills with superb extras--including both shows the country legend gave that day at Folsom Prison, additional performances by Carl Perkins and the Statler Brothers, and a compelling two-hour film documentary included on an additional DVD. One of the year's best reissues by far; if you can't afford it, please don't steal it, as these kind of things don't happen in jails much these days!

Ray LaMontagne: Gossip In The Grain (RCA) Singer-songwriter Ray LaMontagne is still going strong, and this--his third album--is a step up for him in terms of album sound: There are more players, more textures, and lots more to listen to while admiring his well-crafted, highly emotive songs. Back again with producer Ethan Johns, LaMontagne need only drop the pretentious "La" from his last name--I mean, the Royal "we" is so old school--to become good ol' "Ray Montagne" and ascend to the throne of rightly-named singer-songwriter supremacy! And if the cover photograph depicts him telepathically ordering consumers to buy his album, so be it!

Copeland: You Are My Sunshine (Tooth & Nail) Some people contend that all the good songs in the world have already been written--just ask  Kenny Chesney and Brian Wilson--but it must be pointed out that classic track "You Are My Sunshine" is not actually heard here, it's just--let's face it--a dandy album title! I actually like what I hear here, but be forewarned: The first time I heard this band, I thought their lead singer sounded like a male version of Christine McVie! This band shows lots of growth, and facial hair is only partially relevant!

Phoebe Snow: Live (Verve Forecast) When I was just out of college I worked at a magazine that specialized in humorous captions! It was great! One day a woman called up and asked me how come she'd been dropped off the complimentary mailing list, and--get this--it was Phoebe Snow herself! She liked the funny captions! So I put her back on the list! From that point forward, I've had nothing but the greatest admiration for Miss Snow--so I'd like to point out that her new live album, recorded in Woodstock, New York, is a fine assemblage of well-played, well-sung tunes, including her classic hit "Poetry Man," covers of "It's All In The Game" and "Piece Of My Heart," and much more. That said, if her album cover bore a really funny caption--like "The Microphone God was not fooled by Phoebe's false piety!"--it might sell a few more copies in New Jersey!

Ingrid Michaelson: Be OK (Cabin 24) An up-and-coming singer-songwriter who has admirably attached herself to the Stand Up To Cancer organization, Michaelson has assembled this collection of demos, live tracks and cover songs in part to benefit that cause. Word is she's about to launch a "Be OK" tour that will feature a "Be OK" necklace as part of her tour merchandise, the proceeds of which will go to that same fine cause. My advice: Buy the record, promote the cause, but don't give the necklace to anyone named Kay!

Bobbie Gentry: Ode to Billie Joe/Touch 'Em With Love (Raven Australian import) Though I try not to write about albums issue outside this country--it's, like, not patriotic--the fact that this album is available domestically via MP3 download has opened the floodgates! Containing the first and fifth albums by this marvelous and unique singer-songwriter--born in Chickasaw County, Mississippi, no less!--this package is a great collection featuring Billie Joe's title track, the very surreal "Bugs," other great originals, and an array of covers including "Son Of A Preacher Man," "Niki Hoeky," and "You've Made Me So Very Happy." Historic note to Beatle haters: Ode To Billie Joe knocked Sgt. Pepper's off the top of the album charts! She probably laughed evilly when it happened! What more could you ask for?  

Connie Talbot: Over The Rainbow (AAO) An astounding vocalist with a big, big voice, Talbot seems destined for an enormously successful career! And hopefully budding singers will take note that getting an excessive number of facelifts often reaps unexpected results!