#And the Winston clips hanging around here

[missxoier]

Hi Billions fans, do you have another space for one more?

I know I hyperfix myself with strange things but this???? I don't know how it happened

[babydolls-writing-space]

⊹₊ ⋆┊The Outsiders Characters as caregivers┊ ɞ ⊹₊ ⋆

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

Darry: 

☆ Hands down the most responsible caregiver out of all of them-  

☆ He is good with any age of regressors, but he prefers to have ones who have tiner mindsets, he just adores babies. 

☆ He will carry you as much as he can, “Whats wrong honey? Your to small to walk? Don't worry baby dada’s here” 

☆ He calls you honey, sweetheart, baby, and little one 

☆ He always makes sure to have one of your comfort items or foods near by 

☆ If he needs a babysitter, he asks Sodapop to help take care of you  

☆ He has a little box of toys for you in his room and when he gets a home or on a day off he will get the toys out and play with you 

Sodapop: 

☆ He is such a fun caregiver-  

☆ He loves to take his little ones outside to play games. He loves playing tag, going to the park, and in the summer, he takes you to the pool. 

☆ He thinks its adorable when you wear his flannels or his work shirts 

☆ he loves when you play with his hair (bonus points when you use the butterfly clips, he got you)  

☆ Since he is around Steve a lot, he is also probably one of your Carrers/babysitters. 

☆ He brings you little snacks from his work every once in a while 

☆ He calls you sugar, sunshine, prince(ss), baby, little one, kiddo, and squirt  

Ponyboy: 

☆ He is more of a quiter caregiver but nonetheless he is still a good one 

☆ He loves when its night time because he loves to curl up with you in bed and read you bedtime stories

☆ He knows (tries his best) to remember all of your stuffies 

☆ He will write little reminders about how he loves you and how he is so happy to take care of you  

☆ movie nights at the in are also a big thing 

☆ he calls you little one, baby, and love 

☆ He hangs with johnny a lot so he is also probably a Carrer/babysitter 

Johnny: 

☆ He like ponyboy is also more of a quiter caregiver  

☆ Johnny tries his best to help his little one with things like tying their shoes and helping them open their snacks 

☆ Johnny dosent really have a lot of money to get you tiny things but he tries to make up for it such as sneaking you in to the drive in for a movie or by asking ponyboy to barrow some of his art supplies so you can color. 

☆ Johnny loves to see you with his jacket on, he thinks its adorable 

☆  Johnny calls you “kid, little one, bug, and doll”

☆ He loves taking you to the park. He thinks its cute when you let him push you on the swings and sit on his lap as you go down the slide 

☆ If the two of you are at the curtis house and you get sleepy he kinda tucks you into his  jacket so you can  sleep 

Dally: 

☆ Dally Winston is- well- He is a protective caregiver, but he also needs help with it sometimes. Its not to say he is a bad caregiver he just wants to understand your needs better cause he doesn't wanna mess anything up with you 

☆ It takes him a little bit to get used to being a caregiver but when he does, he secretly enjoys doing it 

☆ He obviously gives you his necklace to fidget with (and so people know to leave you alone)

☆ He also gives you his jacket to wear ( He adores you in it ) 

☆ He has a space in his room that his hides your regression gear in  

☆ Dally always has an arm around you, he wants to make sure that people dont mess with you and so you dont get lost- 

☆ When its late at night and the two of you are in his room he loves when you  play with his hair  

☆ He calls you kiddo, baby, little one, baby doll, doll, and short stack ( it dosent matter if your taller than him he still dose)  

Two-bit 

☆ Two bit is such a good and fun caregiver ngl- 

☆ he is always watching mickey mouse in the curtis house anyways so when he found out you were a little he obviously let you watch with him 

☆ I personally head cannon that he is really good with younger ages and toddlers-   

☆ He gets you a shirt to match his ( he calls you the minnie to his mickey )  

☆ He defiantly buys you art supplies- and when he dose he loves to color with you  

☆ OMG man is the definition of tickle monster- He dose it because he loves hearing you laugh  

☆ He calls you minnie, kiddo, bug, little one, and baby 

Steve:

☆ Steve like dally needs a little help at first being a cg but when he gets it done he is a pretty good one 

☆ Steve loves carrying you and giving you piggyback rides 

☆ He takes you in his car to the diner or if your having trouble sleeping he drives you around at night with the raido on low to try and help you fall asleep 

☆ you are the ONLY one allowed to mess with his hair, He takes a lot of pride in his hair so he lets you play with it to show that he loves and trust you  

☆ When steve has to work he brings you with him- He lets you sit on the chair while he fixes up the cars and proably ask you to bring some tools for him while he tells funny stories 

☆  He calls you kiddo, babydoll, Prince(ss), and pumpkin 

☆ He knows not to give you sugar late but sometimes he cant help it, who else is he gonna share his chocolate cake with. He also thinks its cute when you  let him feed it to you  

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

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[paandaan]

“But she doesn’t count and you know it.” Winston took the lighter off the coffee table and lit his cigarette.

“She’s got to count a hell of a lot if you’re marrying her.” David looked out the living-room window with his hands wedged deeply into his jeans pockets.

“Why?” Winston blew the smoke noisily between his tight jaws. “She wanted a husband—I needed a wife. It’s straight out of a soap opera. And they lived happily ever after until the next floor-wax commercial.”

David shook his head slowly. “If that’s your attitude, then I feel sorry for that girl. She’s got some life waiting for her.”

“What other attitude am I supposed to have?” He savagely crushed the freshly lit cigarette into the tray. “I didn’t want this—they did. And I’d think you’d save a little of that pity you’re so generous with for me. What kind of life am I gonna have, goddammit!”

“It’s the kind you want, Winston.”

“That’s a lie."

[...]

“Then if it’s a lie, son, I guess you’ll be thinking about marriage soon.” Mr. Alcott narrowed his eyes as he spoke, and he tapped the envelope in his hand gently on the top of his desk. “I assume you’re seeing someone now. A young man with your looks and future must be beating them off with a stick.” He smiled slowly.

“Sure, I date a lot.” Winston’s throat was dry. “But I don’t see any need to rush into something serious. For God’s sake, I’m only thirty, Dad.”

“Well, I’d already had two children by the time I was your age.” He continued to stare at his son.

“The world’s a lot different now.” Winston hated the tone creeping into his voice; it was too defensive. And in spite of the air-conditioning in the office, he felt himself sweating. “Some men aren’t settling down until their forties. I figured once I’m thirty-five or so I’d start thinking about it. By then my career should be—”

“By then …” Mr. Alcott’s voice suddenly shed its soft covering. “You might not have a career. Whoever sent me this letter threatened to send one to the senior partner in your firm. And they said that the next one would be accompanied by pictures.”

“Pictures of what?” Winston leaned forward in his chair. “Of me having lunch with David? Of us walking down the street or sailing out at the lake? Those are the only type of pictures that anyone could have. And they can send them to be printed up in the damn newspaper for all I care.” He was horrified because he couldn’t control the rising hysteria in his voice. “Or maybe that sick creep will clip out the picture from our college yearbook, where David has his arm across my shoulder at graduation—yeah, that’s certainly hard-core evidence to condemn me with.”

“It just might be.” Mr. Alcott frowned at the envelope in his hand. “Remember who you are and where you are. A law firm like Farragut and Conway would kick you out tomorrow if you sneezed wrong. So do you think a black man can afford to have these types of rumors hanging over his head?”

“I’m telling you, they’re a lot of filthy lies.” Winston was trembling visibly. “But if you want to believe them, go ahead.”

“Lies or not”—Mr. Alcott came from around the desk and put his hand on Winston’s shoulder—“filthy or not”—he squeezed the narrow back—“they’ll make you hang for it, son. I didn’t invent this world, Winston. But I broke my ass so you and your brother could have it a lot easier than I did. And you’ve done me proud. Your life’s barely begun and you’re already living in Linden Hills. I could never dream of that when I was your age. Sure, worse comes to worst, you could come here and work for me. But in ten years, twenty years, would you be happy as a lousy insurance broker? You’re brilliant, boy. Don’t throw away a chance to be a corporate lawyer with a firm like that because of … well, because you’re young and can’t really see what it might mean later. And since you say you’re planning to think about marriage, now is as good a time as any, isn’t it?”

There was a long silence.

“Well, isn’t it?” Mr. Alcott repeated himself, but Winston knew it was no longer an open question. It was a final challenge to confirm or deny that letter.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good.” Mr. Alcott patted his back. “No one’s asking you to rush out and marry the first woman you see outside today. But mull it over and I think, with all things considered, you’ll realize that it’s the kind of life you want, Winston.”

[...]

“If it’s not the life you really want”—David turned away from the living-room window—“remember, I offered you another.” And his round, brown eyes melted slowly into his words. They melted for Winston like the mist on his steamed bathroom mirror as he stood before it clean and wet with the memory of the hot, beaded water still caressing his back and shoulders. And him reaching out with his hand to clear it away—first from the face that stared back so like his own. The firm even jaw, the damp wiry beard that could be traced down into the chest if he were careful and gentle enough to move aside the stray hairs that grew into the smooth plane of the neck. The mist sliding down the neck toward the chest under his slowly circling hand, revealing the silvery image of his waist, his hips, his lean and woven thighs. The wetness slipping across the sweating glass over the fine down on the testicles and collecting there like crystal welts. Palm following palm, breath meeting breath through the blurred mirror—complete.

Winston tore his eyes from David’s face and they followed his voice into his hands. “I can’t live with you. Not in Linden Hills. That would be suicide, and you know it.”

“There are other places to live.”

“Not like this—and my future is here. My career …”

“Fine!” David threw up his hands. “I don’t need a thousand replays of that tune—I’ve heard it all before. I understand where you’re coming from, believe me. And all this new development means is that you’ve chosen to live without me. It’s really sort of simple, isn’t it?”

Winston looked up at him with narrowing eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? We’ve been through so much together. Why do you want to try and hurt me now? You know she can’t touch what we have between us. If you really understood, you wouldn’t be standing there trying to make me choose when there’s really no choice about it.”

“For Christ’s sake!” David’s fist came down on the windowsill. “No one is making you do anything. You have chosen, brother. So just act like a man and admit it. Have enough backbone for once in your life to accept responsibility for what you really want. Not your father, not your law firm—you, Winston. Because I’m man enough to know what I want. And it’s not playing second fiddle in anybody’s life.”

“So because I have to do this, you’re telling me that it’s over.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t believe you.” Winston shook his head. “I don’t believe that you can turn your back on eight years just like that. People don’t give up friends that way.”

“Sure, we can still be friends. And as your best friend, I’m standing up with you as your best man next week, aren’t I? It would look sort of strange if I didn’t. But that’s not what we’re talking about now, so don’t play games with me.”

Winston looked down into his hands again. No, that’s not what they were talking about. And they weren’t even talking about remaining lovers; they had moved beyond that years ago. Because when two people still held on like he and David, after all the illusions had died, and accepted the other’s lacks and ugliness and irritating rhythms—when they had known the joys of a communion that far outstripped the flesh—they could hardly just be lovers. No, this man gave him his center, but the world had given him no words—and ultimately no way—with which to cherish that. He smiled bitterly and looked up. “Don’t you see what I’m up against? How am I going to live with you when they haven’t even made up the right words for what we are to each other?”

“Oh, they’ve made up plenty of words and you can read them on any public bathroom wall. And that’s what you can’t face. You want the world to turn inside out and make up a nice, neat title that you can put on your desk. And that’s not about to happen. You can’t handle anything less than that because you’re a made man, Winston. They made you a good son, a promising young lawyer, and now they’ve made you ashamed of what you are. You can go ahead and run from it. But don’t expect me to run with you.”

“I’m not running from anything.” Winston forced his voice through his closing throat. “I’ve accepted that I can’t live without you. And I’ve been trying to tell you that all afternoon in every way I can. Do you want to make me beg now, is that it?”

David sighed and went over to the couch and lifted Winston’s face gently. “The only thing I want you to do is finally to try and start making yourself. Make yourself happy with that girl—please, do that.” He took his hand away. “Because she’s all you’ve got now.”

Winston’s face slowly crumbled and he reached for a cigarette, but his hands were trembling so badly he brought them back to his lap ashamed.

David watched him with a sharp tenderness in his stomach, and before he could stop the words, they burst out of his mouth. “But you remember, I was willing to do anything for you.”

Winston’s smile was almost cruel. “You can’t walk into Sinai Baptist next week and marry me.”

David pressed his lips together as if he’d been slapped.

“Right.” He nodded his head slowly. “You got me there. And since I can’t be your wife, I won’t be your whore.”

Linden Hills, Gloria Naylor

[unproduciblesmackdown]

will roland as winston in billions 5x08

[rai-wick]

Gally x Reader Chapter 22: Escape

Y/N'S P.O.V

"Everybody this way!" We followed Thomas down the passage to the Blades.

"Keep it up guys, we're almost there"I called back as we turned into section 7. Thomas put up his hand and we flattened ourselves against the wall as he looked around the corner.

"Is it a Griever?"He nodded.

"Shit"Chuck muttered.

"You take this, Chuck. Stay behind us"Minho handed him the key.

"It's okay. Just stick with me"I nodded gratefully at Teresa as she tied her hair up.

"Everyone listen up"I gripped my machete and explained the plan"Once we're through, it will activate and the door will open. We stay close, we stick together, we get through this. We get out now, or we die trying"I gave a little smirk of confidence as they agreed.

"Ready?"Thomas nodded at me.

"Ready"

"Let's go!"We let out a yell and ran into the chamber.The Griever roared and we began our attack. We tried pushing it to the edge but it knocked a glader over the edge and sent the key flying out of Chuck's hand. He ran after it, followed by Teresa. We sent the Griever over the ledge only to hear Chuck and Teresa scream as more Grievers arrived.

"The door!"I yelled, shoving a Griever back.

"Thomas, there's a code!"Teresa yelled"Eight numbers!"I saw him thinking just as a tail approached.

"Thomas!"I covered him to give him more time.

"Eight sections of the Maze!"He yelled"Hey _____! What's the sequence?"

"What?!"

"The sections of the maze, what's the sequence?"

"Seven! One! Five! Two! Six! Four!"

"Head's up!"Newt yelled as a Griever came down. I shoved Minho out of the way as it landed on top of me.

"____!"I shoved my pole in it's mouth, feeling it's teeth coming closer when I heard a yell as Jeff shoved his pole into it's skull.I scrambled up as Jeff was pulled away.

"Jeff!"Winston screamed.

"The sequence!"Teresa yelled.

"Six! Four! Eight! Three!"The door opened and the walls came down, crushing the Grievers. The door sealed shut and we were dropped down. A door was slightly open as we got up. I glanced at the others before carefully opening the door. We winced at the bright lights, finding ourselves in a long passage way. We carefully began walking down before coming to a door at the end which had a glowing sign saying EXIT on it.

"Seriously?"Frypan said as Thomas approached the door.He opened the door to reveal hazard light and dead bodies everywhere. We carefully made our way down.

"What happened here?" I shrugged to Winston's question. We entered a lab which was spluttering sparks. We walked around, looking for answers. Newt and Frypan looked at the computer where surveillance was set up.

"So they were watching us"He said as he looked down at the empty Glade"This whole time"

I ignored the feelings of embarrassment when I thought back to those nights alone with Gally. Pushing my thoughts aside, I turned away from the screen.

'Hello' We jumped as we saw a screen pop up. I felt anger surge over me as I recognized the blond woman. We gathered around the screen.

'My name is Doctor Ava Paige. I'm Director of Operations of the World Catastrophe Killzone Department. If you're watching this, that mean you have successfully completed the Maze Trials. I wish I could be there in person to congratulate you but circumstances seem to have prevented it.I'm sure by now, you must all be very confused, angry, frightened. I can only assure you that everything that's happened to you, everything we've done to you, it was all done for a reason" The clip changed showing destruction and chaos.

"You won't remember but the Sun has scorched our world. Billions of lives lost to fire, famine, suffering on a global scale. The fallout was unimaginable. What came after was worse. We called it the Flare, a deadly virus that attacks the brain. It is violent, unpredictable, incurable. Or so we thought" It showed a flare infected victim before switching back to Ava.

"In time, a new generation emerged that could survive the virus. Suddenly, there was a reason to hope for a cure. But finding it would not be easy. The young would have to be tested, even sacrificed inside harsh environments where their brain activity could be studied. All in an effort to understand what makes them different...what makes you different. You may not realize it, but you're very important"Behind her, chaos had ensued. People were packing up and running as gunshots were fired.

"Unfortunately, your trials have only just begun. As you will no doubt soon discover, not everyone agrees with our methods. Progress is slow, people are scared. It may be too late for us, for me but not for you.The outside world awaits. Remember, WCKD is good"She shot herself making us all wince and look away. We looked over and saw the lifeless body of Ava lying there. There was an alarm then a door opened.

"Is it over?"Chuck asked.

"She said we were important"Newt pondered"What are we supposed to do now?"

"I don't know"Thomas shook his head, looking back at the body"Let's get out of here"I nodded and we began to walk towards the door.

"No"I whipped around to see Gally.

"Gally!"I was about to run into his arms but Newt held me back"Newt le-"

"That's not Gally"I looked back to the shaking Gally, who had a gun in his hand."He's been stung"I felt my eyes pricking.

"We can't leave"Gally shook his head, tears in his eyes.

"We did. Gally, we're out"Thomas carefully spoke"We're free"

"Free?"He scoffed"You think we're free out there?"He gestured towards the door"No, there's no escape from this place"He brought up the gun, pointing it right at Thomas.

"Gally, please don't do this"I stepped in front of Thomas"We can save you like we saved Alby"

"I don't want your help. You chose them. You chose him over me!"The gun trembled in his hand.

"Gally, listen to me. You're not thinking straight. You're not. Now, we can help you, just put down the gun"Thomas calmly told him.

"I belong to the maze"

"Just put down the gun"

"We all do"He pulled the trigger and I felt myself being shoved out of the way as there was a bang. At the same time, Minho threw his spear into Gally's heart. My heart shattered into a million pieces as I heard Chuck say "Thomas". I turned to see blood spreading through Chuck's chest.

"Chuck!"I grabbed him as his legs gave way.Putting his head in my lap, Thomas clutched his shirt.

"Chuck look at me! I got you, buddy. Just hang on, it's okay"

"Thomas, Thomas"He grabbed his arm, holding up his little carving. Tears pricking, I pressed my lips together to stop them trembling as I ran my hand over Chuck's curls.

"No, Chuck. You're gonna give it to them yourself"Thomas enclosed his hand around Chuck's fist"Remember I told you that"

"Take it"

"No"He whispered"No, Chuck, you're goi-"

"Thank you"Chuck weakly smiled before going limp.

"Chuck?"Thomas shook his body as I felt tears rolling down my face"Chuck?! Hey Chuck, come on! Wake up" I sensed someone gently picking me up, I looked to see Newt softly patting my back. I hugged him tightly, sobbing into his chest"We made it. Come on"Thomas cried"I'm sorry! God damn it!"A door opened to revealed to masked, armed men running in. They grabbed us, two of them tearing Thomas away from Chuck. He resisted, clinging onto Chuck's lifeless body. I looked back onto the limp body of Gally feeling fresh tears flow as I held onto Newt, the men bringing us towards a helicopter. We sat inside and it took off, one of the men tore off his mask.

"You guys alright? Don't worry. You're safe now" I looked out of the window as the helicopter flew over the vast desert wasteland we had called home, approaching a ruined city.

"Relax kid, everything is gonna change" The man said.

I just hoped for the better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[jazzicology]

JAZZPRING!

This will seem topsy-turvy to those of you in the Northern hemisphere - but in New Zealand, Spring is just around the corner. And here at Jazzicology headquarters in Queenstown, we’re busy preparing for our Spring jazz gigs. Putting together a set on a specific theme is a great incentive to search for and learn new material. Here’s our ‘Jazzpring’ setlist with some notes on each. We’ve aimed for a mix of tempos and contrasting jazz styles. In amongst some old standards are some quirky additions: possibly the only song written from the perspective of a frightened tomato (Hang on Little Tomato); and a wonderful number that perfectly sets Shakespeare’s ‘It was a lover and his lass’ to a catchy melody and jazz chords – it deserves to be in everyone’s Spring set list. I was amazed how many jazz songs there are on topics relating to Spring – far too many to include in just one gig!

Joyspring. 1954 composition by Clifford Brown, jazz trumpeter and a key figure in the Hard Bop movement. The lyrics I use are by Jezra Kay. This is a super-fast-paced, up-beat tune. I discovered, rather too late for this gig, that there are also some wonderfully poetic lyrics by Jon Hendricks, a leading jazz lyricist who is responsible for the lyrics for many well-known jazz songs composed as instrumentals. You can read about Hendrick’s lyrics for JoySpring here.

You must believe in Spring. Composed by Michel LeGrand (1964), this song shares some features with his other, better-known compositions (Windmills of Your Mind; What Are You Doing For The Rest of Your Life). The chords and melody strike a reflective and melancholy, yet hopeful, mood. It is a truly beautiful number that I had not previously been aware of. I have been listening to Bill Evans’s instrumental version of it – it just incredible - and this vocal performance by Sarah McKenzie. It was originally called La Chanson de Maxence and was written for the French film ‘Les Demoiselles de Rochefort’. Looking at the original French lyrics, it is clear the English lyrics are not a translation; the song’s theme of Spring is entirely attributable to the authors of the English language lyricists Bergman and Bergman. Indeed, these lyrics are so well crafted that it is difficult to believe the phrase ‘You Must Believe in Spring’ wasn’t originally in Le Grand’s mind when he wrote it! Listening to various vocal recordings over the last few weeks, I discovered some additional lyrics that, as far as I can tell, appear only in a recording by Barbra Streisand. I don’t know who wrote them (possibly Streisand), but they seem apt for a troubled world, so here they are for other singers who may be interested in using them:

When angry voices drown the music of the spheres 

And children face a world that’s far beyond their years 

Above the darkest skies, The far horizons lie 

With all the reasons why you must believe in Spring.

Spring can really hang you up the most. Composer Tommy Wolf (1955), lyrics Fran Landesman. Spring isn’t all rainbows and daffodils – like all fun times of year, for those who are down or lonely it can serve to underline your own misery. The title of the song is a jazz twist on the opening line of T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land: "April is the cruellest month". My favourite version of this song is by Carmen McCrae – it’s like a masterclass in jazz vocals. I was surprised how difficult this song was to learn – and was relieved to find an entire blog written about it, claiming that the obscene number of verses and lyrics, and wide vocal range and unusual phrasings are clearly the work of someone who hates singers! Fortunately, I love a challenge.

Blue Skies. Irving Berlin (1926). Blue Skies is probably the best-known and certainly the oldest song in this set. Thelonious Monk wrote a Be-Bop number, ‘Suddenly in Walked Bud’, based on the chord progressions in Blue Skies, as a tribute to his friend, the jazz pianist, Bud Powell. The lyrics are a virtual who’s-who list of jazz greats from that time. Monk’s ‘In Walked Bud’ is an example of a jazz ‘contrafact’: where a new melody is laid over existing chords (in this case, Blue Skies). There are lots of examples of this in Bop from the 1940s, because it was a way for jazz musicians to create new pieces “for performance and recording on which they could immediately improvise, without having to seek permission or pay publisher fees for copyrighted materials (while melodies can be copyrighted, the underlying harmonic structure cannot be)”. Since the lyrics and melody for ‘In Walked Bud’ work perfectly well over the chords for ‘Blue Skies’ (apart from the bridge) I’ll incorporate elements of them into our performance.

It might as well be Spring. Composed by Rodgers and Hammerstein (1945) for the movie State Fair, for which it won an Academy Award for best original song. Many people have recorded this, but I’ve been listening to Ella Fitzerald and this lovely French version by (the aptly Spring-named) Blossom Dearie.

They say its Spring. Composers Bob Haymes and Marty Clark (1950s). With a melody and lyrics that are as light and floaty as a feather, this is a quintessential Spring song about being in love. Blossom Dearie appears to have been the first to record it, in 1957.

Nature Boy/Nardis. Composed by Eden Ahbez (1947). Nature boy is on Jazzicology’s set list – but with a twist! We will perform it using the principal motif from Miles Davis’ Nardis in both the Intro and coda. This was an idea developed by me and UK jazz pianist Sid Thomas, and you can listen to Sid and I performing it here. The ‘back story’ to Nature Boy is pretty interesting in its own right and can be found in a previous Jazzicology blog penned by Sid, ‘The one hit wonders of jazz’.

I love Paris in the Springtime. Cole Porter (1954). A classic recording of this by Ella Fitzgerald. However, I very much like this version, which has a Parisian café feel. This is a relatively simple melody to learn, with the chief challenge for the vocalist being the wide vocal range needed to change register.

Timeless Place. Composed by Jimmy Rowles in the 1970s as an instrumental (‘The Peacocks’) and recorded by him and sax legend Stan Getz in the 1975 album of the same name. The wonderful, reflective lyrics were added much later by UK jazz vocalist, Norma Winstone, and included on her 1993 album Well Kept Secret. This song is technically very challenging for a vocalist: the melody over the ‘bridge’ is a little non-intuitive and sits outside the harmony – it creates a tension which resolves into the main refrain. The word Spring appears nowhere in the song, but I’m going to justify its inclusion here because the lyrics include a beautiful formal garden with flowers and trees.

Double Rainbow. Composed by Brazilian jazz maestro, Antonio Jobim in 1970. This is one of his lesser-known numbers. It perfectly captures a spring garden, after a sudden rain-shower, with rainbows, puddles and a little robin hopping about. Actually, because the song is written in Portugese, the little bird in the song is a chico-chico, so robin is used as the equivalent in the English translation (maybe I should use a bellbird instead?). In Portugese, the title is Chovendo na Roseira (the rain is falling on the roses) and I perform it using first the Portugese and then the English lyrics – both are lovely, and the different languages each lend a slightly different feel to song.

Hang on Little Tomato. Music and lyrics by Patrick Abbey, China Forbes and Thomas Lauderdale and released on the Pink Martini album of the same name in 2004. For those who have gotten their tomato seedlings off to an early start, this the song you need to sing to them when they get planted outside. It’s a scary world out there for a little tomato. It’s a seriously cute little song, and a reminder that we all need to keep hanging on to the vine. The song title is apparently a reference to a Hunt's Ketchup ad campaign "Hang On, Little Tomato!" in a 1964 issue of Life magazine. (Is it a coincidence that Pink Martini’s named their own record label Heinz, I wonder?)

Hey Nonny No! Composed by UK jazz composer and pianist Sid Thomas, this up-beat, toe-tappin’ number captures the feel of Spring brilliantly and the melody and chords provide a fabulous setting for Shakespeare’s ‘It was a lover and his lass’ from As you Like it. You’ll be humming this one on the way home.

Seed Leaves. Another Sid Thomas composition, this one setting to music the poem ‘Seed Leaves’ by Poet Laureate and two times Pulitzer Prize winner Richard Wilbur. You can find the poem here. Anyone wishing to request the music for ‘Hey Nonny No’ or ‘Seed Leaves’ can contact Sid Thomas here.

Surrey with the Fringe on top. Rogers and Hammerstein, from Oklahoma (1946). Is it a little bit twee? Maybe, but hey – it is also very sweet. And it was a part of Miles Davis’ repertoire in the 1950s, so there’s no arguing with that!

Up Jumped Spring. Composed by US jazz trumpet player Freddie Hubbard in 1962, and included in his album Backlash. The lyrics were added later by vocalist US jazz vocalist Abbey Lincoln. This clip of the song being sung live by Audrey Silver is really worth listening to - what a confident, flawless performance.

So, there you have it: an eclectic Spring jazz set involving Shakespeare, tomatoes, rainbows, birds, toads, seedlings, melting snow, new love and a little sprinkling of melancholy. The lyrics in this set contain the words ‘isinglass’ and ‘yggdrasil’ – not words you hear every day – come to our gig on September 5th (assuming Queenstown is out of lockdown by then!) and see if you can spot them!

Other suggestions for Spring songs can be found here: 

https://jazz.fm/classic-jazz-songs-about-spring/ 

https://www.wrti.org/post/10-jazz-tunes-remind-you-its-spring

Nance Wilson

Nance Wilson is one half of Queenstown-based jazz duo, Jazzicology, together with pianist Mark Rendall-Wilson. 

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/nance-wilson-trio 

Facebook: Jazzicology

[touchingoldmagic]

Comic Review

Today Issue Two landed! I liked most of this issue more than I liked Issue One, but I'm kinda biased because Ray is my favorite...

Here's my review of the issue. As always, under the cut is all teh spoilers, so venture at your own risk.

With Issue Two, the comic cements its feel of a collection of snippets, rather than one solid storyline. Ray's issue isn't really any sort of continuation of the story we were being told in Winston's issue. (Poe is safe!) It's still following the plot of the guys being interviewed for a book, but the interviews jump around to different subjects.

It makes sense, really. With the new movie opening soon, IDW no doubt wanted a storyline that new readers could jump in without worrying about all the convoluted plots and comic-only characters that make up the IDW canon so far. Year One is a great jumping in point for new readers, since it only concerns itself with the first movie. And in fact, anyone could pick up Issue 2 without having read Issue 1 first, and that will probably be true of #3 and #4 as well.

Just like with Issue One, we begin the story with a page of interviews between movie characters and Rebecca, the writer preparing to write a book about the GB's.

I laughed so hard at Dana here.

I kinda feel, though, that we didn't need more of these interviews? It was a good set-up to start the mini-series off and establish that these are interviews between characters, but if it's going to be the first page or two of all four issues, that's a lot of pages we could have used for actual story.

On the other hand, it sets up for some good jokes. One of Peter's students drops a reference to Animal House, the first movie Harold Ramis ever wrote. That cracked me up.

Even more so than with Winston's issue, Ray's issue feels like a bunch of brief reaction scenes, reflecting on things that were mentioned in the movie. The next page has Ray talking to Rebecca about witnessing a mass sponge migration, which of course is a line from the movie.

It's interesting that the comic writers took a different twist on the line than I think most do. While to me it seems that Ray is implying to Peter in the movie that the sponges had some sort of paranormal reason for moving, here in the comic Ray's explanation to Rebecca is more like he was just using his observation of the sponges to explain how he's fascinated with things in life/nature that have no known explanation.

Rebecca isn't interested and asks him instead how he met Egon and Peter. That leads to the next two pages, which is a flashback to Peter introducing Ray to Egon (again, this is just a reference to a line in the movie, where Peter says he introduced the two of them).

Okay but this is HILARIOUS and it's my favorite part of the issue. Because Egon, Peter, and Ray HAVE 70's HAIR. It's big and has volume and is AMAZING. I'm in love. (Also Egon is wearing a 4th Doctor scarf and I am also in love with that.) Also it's snowing and the art is just so pretty!

To be honest, though, the scene with them meeting felt a little bland to me. But I don't think that's a fault of the comic. I've read a lot of GB fanfics, and many fic authors have done their own version of the "meeting in college" scene. So I've just seen it so many times already, in a way. This one didn't stand out, it felt like any fanfic I've read before. (That's not an insult to the comic, I've read a lot of really awesome GB fanfics.)

Although I do admit I got a chuckle out of the dialog. Egon says he met Peter in a woman's studies class, due to a scheduling mistake, and Peter convinced him to stay in it to learn to be more comfortable with people. (Of course, the joke is that Peter would only take a women's studies class to meet woman.)

Great lines: Rebecca: Though they glossed over where you got the nuclear material for your proton packs... Ray: Uh, we actually had that left over from a previously approved experiment.

So then after the flashback we jump to Ray's recounting of the library situation. There's a few pages of Dan re-drawing screenshots directly from the library scene, including where the ghost transforms. I don't know why, but this recounting didn't bother me as much as it did with Winston's issue, even though there's more of it here than in Issue One. Maybe it's because Ray's my fave character, so I'm enjoying it more, or maybe it's just more obvious that this issue is more of a "clip show" than Winston's was. Either way, I'm still enjoying it.

Ray is about to turn the interview onto another topic, but Rebecca asks him if they ever went back to deal with the librarian ghost. We jump to another flashback, a point where Winston is already with the team. The library administrator shows up at the firehouse and asks for their help, saying the ghost is getting worse. Ray agrees to resolve the issue for free considering their history with the library. Peter: You didn't even negotiate, Ray. Ray: I didn't? Wow. Amazing how annoying that is, isn't it? Winston: Do I even want to know what they're fighting about? Egon: I usually find it's better to not.

The scene that follows is, I think, a loving homage to the GB Video Game, which has a whole level of the guys trying to bust the librarian ghost. We get a lot of references to the game: the ghost runs off and hides, a bunch of books become flying creatures that try to attack the guys, and the ghost's name is Eleanor Twitty.

(Interesting to note, I think there's also an easter egg reference to Afterlife in this scene. Winston asks if they have something like a duck call, that would bring the ghosts to them. Egon says they never needed one before. We know from the Afterlife toys that a similar invention, the Ghost Whistle, will be a part of the new movie.)

So they don't want to just start blasting because the books in the library are irreplaceable. This is like the rare instance where the guys are really concerned with collateral damage. It's refreshing! Especially since it's books, which are near and dear to my own heart.

Ray thinks to hold up a rare one-of-a-kind book and threatens to blast it to bits if the ghost doesn't come forward (though later he tells Rebecca he was just lying and that wasn't what he was holding).

It works and the ghost appears, and they snag and trap her, leaving the library a mess but mostly undamaged.

Peter: -to the trap- All you had to do was make polite conversation a few months back, this whole thing could've gone a whole different way. Winston: I don't think you need to taunt them when they're trapped, man. Peter: Sure you do! Ghosts have ears everywhere. This'll strike fear in their hearts.

The last page wraps up the interview. Ray tells Rebecca he was glad they didn't damage the library books, and that the administrator sold him some of the library's occult collection. He thinks about opening an occult library of his own someday, and Rebecca says he should make it a bookstore instead. This, of course, being another reference, this time to the second movie.

(Btw, Ray wore a bowtie during this interview and it's super adorable.)

So basically everything in this issue was just extrapolating on different scenes from the movie, but I still really liked it. It felt like Issue One covered Winston's feelings a little more than this issue delved into Ray's, but I liked the little interactions between Ray and Peter, and Ray meeting Egon. I wish we had more of that.

Next issue is Peter's issue, and I'm curious how much Dana is going to be a part of it! He has her photo hanging in his locker in this issue, which is really cute but weirdly high-school-ish. Somehow, that fits Peter lol.

[flowerssalers123-blog]

The most effective method to Think Like a Florist When Choosing and Caring for Fresh Flowers at Home

As an occasion flower vendor, keeping blossoms alive and looking great is a quite essential piece of my employment at Winston and Main. I frequently joke that with or without plan and creativity, I'm extremely to a greater degree a triage nurture for my botanical companions. I survey their condition and get them stable, so they can leave my attentive gaze and make their wonderful route on the planet.

I'm constantly excited by my customers' enthusiastic reaction to my work, and doubly glad to hear that my blossoms went on for a truly significant time-frame. Obviously, a few blossoms simply aren't far from passing on once they're cut, or there's a warmth wave, or they were harmed in travel. Notwithstanding these conditions that are out of your control, here are a couple of tips and deceives for ensuring your blossoms look great and keep going as far as might be feasible once you get them home.

 At the point when You're Shopping

 On the off chance that you have the alternative to purchase new, nearby blossoms, start there. Blossom ranches, ranchers markets, and your city's bloom advertise (in case you're in a major city like LA, or SF) are for the most part great choices. Try not to be hesitant to ask where your blossoms originated from or to what extent your vender has had them. Here are a couple of additionally shopping tips you can apply regardless of where you're shopping (your neighborhood supermarket) or where you're blossoms originated from (regularly South America):

Bloom stems ought to be firm and strong. Wonderful dahlias, ranunculus, and numerous different blossoms aren't far from passing on once their stems go delicate.

Roses ought to be for the most part quit for the day on the off chance that you press them (delicately) they should feel firm, not soft. Soft roses = old roses.

While "raindrops on roses" may be somebody's preferred thing it, it unquestionably isn't mine. Water decays roses, and a lot of different blossoms, so in the event that you see water impractically shimmering on those blossoms, soft earthy colored petals most likely aren't a long ways behind (or more regrettable, they're as of now there, stowing away on the roses/blossoms within the pack) Steer clear.

 Purchase blossoms before they are completely open. When they're at their greatest, most excellent best (peony my companion, I'm taking a gander at you), they are really toward a mind-blowing finish cycle, and it's not some time before they start dropping petals or potentially hanging.

 ·         Post Image

·         Spare

·         PIN IT

·         Enter Prism

·         SEE MORE IMAGES

Molding When You Get Home

 When you get your blossoms home, it's an ideal opportunity to condition them. Blossoms have regularly voyage significant distances and need to rehydrate and rest before you can organize them. Plan ahead and purchase somewhat early, so you aren't enticed to jump right to the orchestrating.

 ·         This is what I do when I return from the blossom bazaar:

·         I blend blossom food with cold water in clean pails.

·         I evacuate any leaves that will be beneath the water line in my cans

 I utilize botanical shears to cut my stems, at that point I immediately put my blossoms in water—you have around 10 seconds before stems close up. Botanical shears or a sharp blade are fundamental since you would prefer not to crunch the stem and harm the blossoms capacity to drink.

I put my blossom cans in a dull, cool room and leave them to rest, regularly overnight.

At the point when it's an ideal opportunity to mastermind my blossoms, I re-clip each stem as I place it in its last container or vessel. https://jardinfleurs.com

 Keeping up Your Beautiful Buds

Your work doesn't end once the blossoms make it into the jar. There is a ton you can do to keep up the vibe of your sprouts and keep them searching better for more.

Messy water is loaded with bloom eliminating microbes, so consistently or two change the water. Clean the container, include new water and blossom food, and re-cut the stems as you place them back in the jar.

Keep your blossoms out of direct daylight, and away from the radiator/climate control system/fan.

Get your blossoms far from new organic product. Numerous natural products discharge ethylene gas and numerous blossoms are delicate to it, so it will abbreviate their jar life.

 What's more, since you know the "rules" you can break them:

 Recollect what I said up there about water spoiling your blossoms? Peonies and hydrangea are two special cases. Don't hesitate to dunk tragic hydrangea in water, sprout first, to help rehydrate them, or on the off chance that you have a difficult peony that won't open (or on the off chance that you, ahem, need it open for an occasion) you can lower it in water, head first, and trust that the enchantment will occur.

Cheerful blossom masterminding! Inform me as to whether you have any blossom explicit inquiries.

[nitewrighter]

Do you have any Mchanzo fluff? Love the way you write Nite,がんばり続ける❤💙

Thank you!!! I hardly ever get requests for them and I’ve been meaning to continue my “Hanzo on the Watchpoint” fics.

…I guess this is less “Fluff” and more of “Two Grown-ass dudes realize they have a lot in common in regards to their fucked up lifestyles and weird combinations of flightiness and devotion to their families.”

This fic takes place after Take 2 but before A Conversation.

—-

It was 2230 hours, and the Watchpoint was in the midst of shutting down for the night. The mess hall was cleaned up and locked up. The training grounds were dead silent. Bastion and Orisa were running their evening patrols, ever the vanguards with Omnics not needing sleep. Mercy was still hard at work in her lab, of course, with Genji hanging around and helping drain her coffee to make sure she made it to bed at a semi-human hour as he was wont to do. Sleep, however, was a precious resource on the watchpoint, and one the agents of the reformed Overwatch had to take advantage of when they had the chance, and they were more than happy to with the previous night’s interruption.

After a lengthy tour of the Watchpoint, Hanzo was relieved to see his sleeping arrangements weren’t in a cell like the night before, however his new arrangements he also found questionable. 

Hanzo folded his arms, staring at the bed. “Is this really necessary?” he said, looking up from the bed.

“Somethin’ wrong with it?” said McCree, leaning against the wall next to the stairwell, “I mean you could ask Genji and the doc if you could crash on their couch–I’d love to see the Doc’s reaction to that.”

Hanzo remembered the coldness in Mercy’s eyes and the tautness of her voice from earlier that day and suppressed a shudder. “No, no I am willing to sleep down here.”  He gave a skeptical glance to another bed in the opposite corner of the Watchpoint dormitories, the walls surrounding it plastered with newspaper clippings and a tattered ‘Six Gun Killer’ poster.

“’Fraid that bit’s non-negotiable,” said McCree, walking over to his own bed, “Me being your probationary agent all. Plus I’ve already been sleeping down here.”

“Is there a reason for that?”

“Watchpoint apartments didn’t feel right. Felt like I’d just trash the place on my own, to be honest,” said McCree with a shrug.

“Also minimalist. Easy to leave if you have to,” said Hanzo, glancing over at the few possessions McCree kept near the bed.

“Well y’know, if the Watchpoint itself ever gets compromised..” said McCree.

“You also positioned it so that you have a clear vision of the exits,” said Hanzo.

“Well that’s just common sense,” said McCree.

“…You’ve been on the run as well,” said Hanzo, looking over at McCree.

“I did mention the bounty on my head earlier, didn’t I?” said McCree.

Hanzo blinked. “To be honest, I had forgotten. I was just… noticing the signs,” said Hanzo.

“There go the backhanded compliments again,” said McCree folding his arm.

“You picked a dormitory where you were able to act the quickest when there was an infiltrator,” said Hanzo.

“Well you were the infiltrator,” muttered McCree.

“First to defend it, but easiest to leave it,” Hanzo said a bit mindlessly.

“Did I ask you for a psychoanalysis based on my sleeping situation?” said McCree, folding his arms.

“Should we not get to know each other if you’re going to be my ‘probationary agent?’” Hanzo arched an eyebrow.

“Well you could ask, like a normal person. Not play Sherlock Ass-Holmes.” McCree muttered under his breath before walking over to his own bed and taking off his hat and serape.

“You’re going to sleep already?” said Hanzo.

“Well as you recall, last night someone got everyone on the watchpoint up at three in the goddamn morning so he could attack two of our agents and yell at the rest of us like a nutjob. Orisa’s fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

“The security drone?” said Hanzo.

“Her name is—Ugh,” McCree rubbed his forehead. “We’re all just background noise to you, ain’t we? You’re just here so you can stop kicking your own ass over Genji, and then you’re going to dip, and us, the people who care about Genji, the people Genji cares about, mean jack shit–That’s the deal, ain’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Hanzo’s voice was low.

“Well, figure it out before you hurt him again,” said McCree, taking off his shirt.

“I will try,” said Hanzo. McCree’s back was to him as he undid his belt, set the belt aside, and unceremoniously shuffled out of his pants. Hanzo noted the point on his arm where the metal of the prosthetic ended and the remains of his organic arm began. An image flashed in his mind of the bloody stump of Genji’s arm, the red stain eking across the tatami, the sound of Genji struggling to breathe echoed in his ears. Panic clawed at the interior of Hanzo’s chest. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here. Run. He had to run.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” said McCree. Hanzo was suddenly thrust back to reality, his breath catching in his throat. McCree was standing in front of him in just a tank top and a pair of briefs and Hanzo immediately cast his eyes downward from the sheer whiplash of his mental image and the physical one before him.

“Sorry, I was just… thinking,” said Hanzo. He gestured at McCree’s arm. “How did that happen?”

McCree looked at his own prosthetic arm. 

“It was during the disbandment,” he said with a shrug, “Pretty shortly after I ditched… I guess maybe a part of me was still assuming I’d have a team at my back when… I didn’t,” he brought his arm down, “But that was on me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hanzo.

“Eh. I’m pretty used to it at this point,” said McCree. 

McCree didn’t seem to want to go further into details than that, so Hanzo let the subject drop. 

“Welp, better settle in for the night. I guess Winston and Jack’ll have a better idea for what you can do here tomorrow.” McCree slouched down onto his own bed and picked up a pair of reading glasses and a well-worn paperback, lighting a small lamp clipped to the headboard of his own bed and reading. Hanzo wasn’t sure if he was making a big show of reading out of politeness to give him some space to disrobe for bed, or if this was just part of his own nightly rituals, then again, Hanzo was becoming increasingly aware of how much of a disruption his own presence was. Hanzo had folded his own clothes and set them on the footlocker at the foot of his own bed when he glanced over to see McCree still reading.

Probationary agent, Hanzo realized, He can’t let himself fall asleep before me.

McCree’s eyes flicked up from the page of his book at Hanzo, made eye contact, then calmly flicked down again. A still-spiteful part of Hanzo considered staying up as late as he possibly could, wearing the cowboy out physically and mentally. in retribution for the beatings sustained from the night before, but as Hanzo sat down on the mattress and felt it sink slightly with his weight, that desperate survivalist part of him said, They won’t kill you. Not yet. Sleep while you can in case they change their minds later.” He also knew sleep would put more distance between him and the residual nausea from being sleep-darted the night before. Hanzo’s eyes warily flicked back at McCree again. 

McCree licked a finger and turned a page and Hanzo laid down and pulled the sheets over himself. As soon as he was laying down, an exhaustion washed over him, his body leaping at the opportunity to make up for years and years of nights awake to the gray hours of dawn, kept going only by adrenaline, spite, and a desire for redemption. That same spite and stubbornness though, kept his eyes fixed on the cowboy, still reading his stupid little book, looking far older than he actually was with those reading glasses. He could stay up later than the cowboy. He knew he could. He could definitely, absolutely���

McCree glanced up from his book to see Hanzo had fallen asleep. McCree closed his book, took off his glasses, set both on the footlocker and turned off the lamp. 

Maybe it was a blessing that the night terrors only really kicked in at 5 AM.

McCree woke up to muttering in Japanese, the sound of Hanzo talking jerked him awake, and it took a few seconds for the haze of sleepiness to lift slightly for McCree to realize Hanzo was still in bed. McCree slid out of bed, his bare feet padding across the cold concrete floor of the watchpoint dormitories over to where Hanzo slept. McCree took a knee next to Hanzo’s bed as Hanzo continued muttering and thrashing in his sleep. That grayish-blue dawn light was lighting up the stairwell, and in its dimness McCree could make out beads of sweat glistening on Hanzo’s forehead, shoulder, and at the dip of his collarbone. Hanzo was on the edge of hyperventilating, his eyes squeezed shut, his knuckles white with his sheets in a death grip. He muttered something in Japanese again and his breath suddenly quickened and he flinched and tossed and turned.

McCree took a deep breath.

“Han–” he started and Hanzo suddenly flinched awake hard and moved to strike him on pure reflex. McCree managed to catch his wrist in his prosthetic and there was a half-beat where Hanzo was moving to counter, still on reflex, when McCree spoke and Hanzo barely managed to stop himself, “Easy!” he held Hanzo’s wrist, “Easy…”

Hanzo was still breathing rapidly, his eyes flicked around the dormitory, and then flicked to McCree, and then flicked to his wrist caught in McCree’s hand.

“Are you gonna hit me if I let go?” said McCree.

“No–” Hanzo seemed to be getting his breath under control, “No–I–I’m sorry.” 

McCree released his wrist. “Look, wherever the hell you were, you’re not there anymore,” he said, “You’re here now, you hear me? You’re here.”

Hanzo rolled his wrist, before looking back up at McCree.

“Do you need to talk about it?” asked McCree.

“I… not now,” said Hanzo. 

“All right,” said McCree, getting up to his feet.

A long pause passed between them.

“Nothing to say?” said Hanzo.

“What can I say? I’ve been through that shit and it sucks. Genji went through that shit and it sucks. It’s hard to see anyone go through that shit. No matter how much of an asshole they are.”

“It’s a torment well-deserved,” said Hanzo, wiping some of the sweat off of his forehead with a frown.

“Oh for fuck’s–There’s no ‘deserve’ about this shit, Hanzo. Genji wants the two of you to try and put what’s left of your family back together, try and heal from all that Yakuza shit. If you’re just gonna lie down and take the shit your brain hands you, how’s that going to help anyone?”

Hanzo was quiet.

McCree huffed. “Look, we don’t need to go opening up cans of worms right away at…” he glanced over his shoulder at the clock, “…5 in the morning…” he sighed, “But my point is I don’t think you’re here so you can keep doing the… up-your-ass stoic thing you’ve been doing to stay alive the past…”

“Decade,” said Hanzo.

“Decade,” McCree repeated incredulously. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, half the watchpoint’s going to be up in an hour anyway, you want to sleep in more, or should I pick the lock on the mess hall and fix us some eggs?”

Hanzo’s stomach growled. Admittedly the aftereffects of the sleep dart had killed his appetite for most of the previous day, but the prospect of actual food was welcome at this time. And it might provide a bit of mental distance from the nightmares. 

“I can fix my own breakfast,” said Hanzo, grabbing his folded clothes off of his footlocker.

“Yeah, but I fix the best breakfast,” said McCree.

“Is that a challenge?” said Hanzo, pulling his pants on.

“Genji did say you were competitive…” said McCree with a wry smirk, “It’s me being nice, asshole.”

“Yes, I could tell by the ‘asshole.’” said Hanzo.

“Come on,” McCree pulled on his own pants and shirt. “Let’s get some food. Winning omelette cook doesn’t have to do dishes?”

“I hope you enjoy doing dishes, cowboy,” said Hanzo, ascending the stairs after him.

[nailriddenbat]

Road Trip | Series - More Like a Beauty Queen (1)

Requested by: Anonymous ; Yo! How about Steve and reader going a a road trip together for spring break and being cute and coupley?

Summary: It’s the summer of 1987. Another year of college is over for Steve Harrington and he is ready to hit the road for his drive back to Hawkins, but things change when he receives unexpected company.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (SLOWBURN)

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: surprise ~ so this story is going to be slightly different from the request, but i hope do it justice. i’m very excited to share this with you and i really hope you all enjoy it. xoxo - k

Tags (PLEASE message me if you want to be added to the permanent tag list for any fic, especially if you already asked and I forgot!): @thegirlwhoisintoomanyfandoms @la-fille-en-aiguilles @jj-writes-shit @thebitterbookeater @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @richletozler @royalwolfhard @just-smile-darling @w-ingardiumleviosa @buckysmaingir l @magic-and-timetravel  @jupiter-leo @ttrraasshh @somekryptonitewriting @dudee-what @tmalchow @hedabucky @wallacetdog @twelvedacrewoods @mikeygc3000 @stressedoutkylo  @istanuriss @anevenstrangerblog @scintillllating @dylanowhyyien  @daniimiss @xguardiangel  @me-a-hopeless-romantic @negroneon @sweetheartmendes @goimaginethiss  @madhatterweasley @cupcaitlyn96 @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @poets-are-sinners @harringtonhuddle @kingkenzieo @ssweet-empowerment @blackhawklove @harringtonwife @lola-winston-harrington @im-disgustingly-vain @alwaysmebeforeyou  @kinghairington @lilo-1398 @xanaphorax @ash-the-reader @heckin-harrington 

Parts:

More Like a Beauty Queen (1)

Don’t Masquerade (2)

Let’s Rock (3)

He Seemed Brokenhearted (4)

He Was With Me (5) ( Coming Soon)

Steve took a deep breath of that fresh California air, leaning his head back. The summer breeze hit him and tossed his hair back lightly and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his denim jeans. His dorm building stood tall behind him as its occupants fled for the summer break. They would be back in a few short months and so would he, and he would be ready to tackle his fourth and final year of college.

He pulled one hand out of his pocket and walked over to the payphones that were pressed against the exterior of the building. He pulled out the appropriate amount of change and listened as they hit the bottom before he reached for the phone and dialed the number. 

As he held the phone against his ear, Steve listened to the operator’s voice before he could hear the tone of a ringing phone. Seconds ticked by but soon he was grinning as a voice rang in his ear, “Steve! Did you hit the road yet?”

“Obviously not if I’m calling you right now, dipshit,” Steve chuckled.

Dustin Henderson had become the brother his parents could never be bothered to give him. He fit the description well. He was annoying, overbearing, and sure as hell never listened to a single thing that he was told. Dustin was also caring and compassionate and had a heart of gold, so he balanced himself out.  

“When the hell are you leaving? You have to get back here as soon as possible so we can start the next campaign!” Dustin shouted.

“How many times have I told you? I’m never going to understand that damn game,” he sighed into the phone but grinned the entire time.

“Never say never, Steve. Do you know how long it’ll take you to get back?” Dustin continued asking questions but Steve was unable to provide any answers.

“Dustin, relax for two seconds,” Steve had to cut him off abruptly. “I’m going to run out of time on this call but I’m going to fill the car up and I’ll be on the road after that.”

“Do you promise to call and check in at each stop so I know you weren’t kidnapped by some sort of psycho in the desert or some sort of truck driver? I’ve seen the movies, Steve. I know what happens,” Dustin continued to speak.

“Nothing is going to happen. I’ll call you when I can. Try to hold off on any trouble until I get there so I can keep an eye out on you losers,” Steve said his final goodbye before hanging up the phone, knowing that if he didn’t Dustin would just continue to speak.

With that being done, he was free to walk through the parking lot to where his car was parked. He swung the key loop around his finger before sitting down in the driver's seat. With the car started and the windows rolled down, Steve said farewell to the college campus as he made his way out onto the road.

Steve was comfortable with leaving the music off and listening to the sounds of California. He could hear snippets of conversations from people who were jogging by. He could hear clips of songs or the voices of local radio hosts coming from the cars around him. There were dogs barking and children laughing, and the breeze blew through the open windows. 

He would never admit it but there was something about California that had drawn him in from the second he stepped foot onto campus. He could remember the day that he made his college decision. 

Steve had been standing in an empty house. His parents were gone once again and the envelope bearing his name glared at him from its spot on the dining room table.  He could open it and face the harsh reality that he would be stuck in Hawkins forever. Or he could open it and sigh with relief that he would be getting a ticket out of there. When he decided to rip that envelope open, he nearly ripped the letter in half and dropped it on the floor. It fell facing upwards and from his standing position, Steve was able to read the life-changing words: “Dear Mr. Harrington, we are pleased to offer you our congratulations on being accepted...”

It wasn’t a decision that he made easily, but it was the best one for him. And so here he was, three years into his college career as he studied criminal justice. Steve had plans to come home and join forces with Hopper, but until then he would enjoy his time away from the crazy Hawkins, Indiana as best as he could.

Steve pulled into the gas station and parked next to the pump. As soon as he filled his tank up on gas and stopped for some snacks, he would be able to begin his peaceful road trip back home.

With his trusty wayfarers hanging on the tip of his nose, he perused the labels of chips and candy. Occasionally he would hold something up to look at it closely and it would either end up in his basket or back on the shelf. 

“How could you pass up a bag of Doritos? That’s heaven in a bag.”

Steve looked up and over to his right but turned to his left. You were leaning up against the display with your arms crossed over your chest and a red flannel tied around your waist. Your denim shorts were cut off and the edges were frayed. There was something about you that seemed so familiar. Was it the brightness of your eyes? Or was it the dimples that Steve could make out as you stared at him with a grin? Perhaps it was your sweet voice?

“It’s creepy to just stare at someone in response to a question,” you snickered.

“Sorry,” Steve cleared his throat and pulled his sunglasses off of his nose as they began to fall.

“You don’t have to ask,” you rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh. “Yes, we know each other. We go to the same school and we’ve shared a few classes. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you lingering around the quad.”

“I don’t...” Steve shook his head slowly. How the hell could he not remember you, he thought to himself?

“Ouch. I’m a little offended, Harrington. I can remember our entire first encounter and you can’t even remember my name!” you pushed yourself off of the display and wandered over to Steve. You reached forward and picked up the bag of Doritos that he had just put back and ripped open the bag.

“You can’t do that,” Steve gasped.

You shrugged and bit into the first chip with a grin, then held the bag out to him. 

“No, I don’t want any of those,” he looked around nervously, expecting an employee to storm over and kick them out.

You bit into the second chip and hummed as you chewed. “The longer you take to figure out who I am, the more chips I eat. Tick, tock, Steve,” you shrugged.

“I don’t remember who you are, okay?” he started to laugh nervously and ran his hand through his hair. “Stop eating the chips and just tell me.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically and ran your cheese covered fingers over your shorts. “We took that psych course in the fall semester. I was the girl who had all the questions about serial killers and kept throwing the professor off.”

Steve dropped his head forward. Yes, he thought. He remembered exactly who you were. The professor had been subjected to handing out copies of his handwritten notes because he was never able to get through a full lecture without you turning the conversation around. It had been amusing, but also very trying on his patience. “Y/N,” he said your name and you clapped your hands excitedly.

“Give him a round of applause for remembering me!” you began to shout.

“Okay, okay,” he waved his hand to get you to lower your voice.

“So now that you finally remembered who I am, you can tell me what you’re doing at this gas station and why you’re passing up valuable snacks,” you continued to eat the Doritos as you looked at him.

“Uh, road trip. Stocking up,” he explained briefly as he waved the basket around a bit. 

“Indiana, right?” you asked him.

“How did you...”

“I remembered you mentioning that in your class introduction. I’m from there too! Don’t exactly have a ride, though, so I’ll be hitchhiking my way back,” you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly.

“Hitchhiking?” Steve asked you. “You don’t have a car? Or a bus ticket? Couldn’t get home by plane?”

“Yes, no, no, and no,” you answered. You finished the bag of chips and crumbled it up, hiding it back on the shelves. You held your finger up to your lips and winked at him.

“That’s insane. It’ll take you ages to get back there,” he stuttered over his words.

“Do you have any other ideas, Harrington?” you turned to him and tightened the flannel around your waist. You lifted one leg so you could adjust the shoelaces of your shoes.

“Isn’t there anyone you know who could give you a ride?” he continued to ask questions. The thought of hitchhiking all the way to Indiana was absolute madness.

You walked by him and your arm brushed against his. You turned to look at him and grinned, “The only one I know who is heading to Indiana is you, Steve. You offering me a ride?”

Steve’s eyes went wide as he looked over at you. He mumbled incoherently and you grinned even more.

“I’ll go put my bags in your car, then! The BMW, right? Brownish, sort of reddish color? Indiana plates? You’re the best, Harrington!” you winked over at him and went to leave but turned back suddenly. “Might as well put Doritos in that basket.”

Before Steve could form a firm argument, you were skipping out of the store and over to where you had left your bags. As if he were under some sort of control, he scooped a few bags of Doritos into the basket before he rushed over to the counter to pay. He scrambled to grab the bags from the attendant and nearly tripped over his own two feet as you popped open his trunk and began to squeeze one of your bags in with his.

“Hey, hey! What the hell are you doing?” Steve asked you.

“Packing my bags up, what does it look like I’m doing?” you grunted as you squeezed the second bag into the trunk before closing it, moving to push the rest back into the back seat.

“I never said you could come along. I barely know you,” he started to ramble as he watched you pack up the car, but he couldn’t make any moves.

“You’ll get to know me on the trip, then!” you shouted out. You pulled back and closed the door, brushing your hands together. “I promise I’m not crazy. And think of it this way! I’ll be able to help with the driving and we can probably get back to Indiana ten times faster.”

Steve opened his mouth again, ready to present more arguing points but you reached forward and tugged the shopping bag out of his hand. “If you really don’t want me on this trip, say it. But I see Doritos in this bag which tells me that you’re okay with this.”

The two of you stared each other down as you stood next to the gas pump. Steve refused to let go of the bag so it dangled in between the two of you. After a minute or so, his hand dropped and he sighed, “You have to help with the driving and pitch in for gas and food. And do not open any other sort of snack without paying for it first.”

“You got it,” you winked and pulled the bag against your chest before sitting down in the passenger seat. 

Steve ran his hands over his face and whispered to himself, “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

Once he sat in the car and started it up, you reached forward to turn the radio on.

“I like the silence,” Steve groaned a bit.

“Fuck that, it’s the beginning of our road trip! We need good music!” you flipped through the channels but stopped when you heard the opening of one of your all-time favorite songs. “It’s Billie Jean! I love Michael Jackson!”

Steve tried to ignore you as he pulled out onto the road. You hummed along to the song as you reached into his glove compartment and pulled out the roadmap just in case it was needed. The song continued and you glanced over at Steve, unimpressed with his stoic impression. In that moment, you made it your goal to break that boy and get him to pull whatever stick had been stuck up his ass. 

“And mother always told me, be careful who you love,” you sang softly, pulling your eyes away from his.

He tried to hold in a sigh. You sang. Of course, you sang. 

“And be careful what you do, cause the lie becomes the truth...” you continued, raising your voice a little higher.

Steve gripped the steering wheel tighter and bit down on his tongue when he noticed you reach out to turn the music up even more just as the chorus began to play. He nearly pulled the car over sharply as you leaned over the center console to sing along loudly, “Billie Jean is not my lover, she’s just the girl who claims that I am the one but the kid is not my son!” You pulled yourself back dramatically, clutching your hands to your chest.

“Are you going to be like this the entire trip?” Steve shouted over the music.

You continued to sing but looked over at him, winking again. He caught your glance and suddenly felt his throat tighten. Steve looked away quickly, feeling as if there were something enchanting about your stare. As you went on with your singing performance in the passenger seat and as Steve focused on getting them onto the main road, he wondered if he had just made the best or the worst mistake of his life.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

taylor and winston getting to (and sometimes trying to) make each other laugh while Hanging Out is a top tier idea

[thearchworks]

I Like Ghostbusters (2016)

This is going to be long and I almost didn’t post it because of that, but I spent hours on this, and I’m not letting that go to waste. So here you go.

Also Spoiler Warning.

And I understand that’s a point of contention because some vocal people in the world don’t agree with the idea that some other people in the world are born with vaginas...

My heart bleeds...

I’m going to clarify before I get into the meat of this and explain why I like the movie, I don’t think it’s the best movie, I don’t even think it’s a great movie.

It’s alright. It’s about as enjoyably flawed as most other movies and I don’t see anything really terrible about it.

And I’m not saying that so I can appear neutral on the topic, I feel it’s an honest criticism that the movie is just OK, but that’s not a damnable offense.

My favourite movie (Pokémon The First Movie) is flawed as hell, from Pokemon being referred to by the wrong name, staggeringly inconsistent world-mechanics, emotional scenes almost ruined by what looks like stock on-model clip-art Pokemon smiling in the background while Ash lies “dead”, laughable uses of early 2000′s CG and even a well-meaning but ham-fisted and easily misconstrued message about ignoring the things that make people different and instead celebrating that we’re all the same in a way (which in turn limits discussion about cultural differences and why they’re so fascinating and worth sharing)

And that’s not even touching on how Meowth is honestly the true hero of the movie.

But anyway, I could go on forever about that.

What I’m laboriously trying to get to is that even movies you love and maybe consider perfect, have things wrong with them. It’s a logical truth about not just all movies, but probably all things in the universe.

And I think a wonderful way to illustrate that, whilst also talking about the main focus of this thing I’m writing right now, would be to list off a select handful of things I liked about Ghostbusters 2016 and compare them to the original movie (And maybe even the second one).

So let’s get to it.

The Ghostbusters actually all believe in ghosts.

Yeah, So I’m going to address this point with the original movie first.

You have Ray, who believes in ghosts and Egon, who also believes, or at least is interested in the actual research that goes into proving the existence of ghosts. That’s fine, you need at least one person to be a believer for the premise to make any logical sense.

But then you have Venkman, He has PHDs in psychology and a para-psychoogy. So he at least has some kind of passing interest into, at the very least, the psychological component of why people might believe ghosts are real.

But as is proven within the opening moments of the film, he doesn’t really seem to believe anything he’s spouting. You see him in the midst of an experiment on negative reinforcement and it’s affect on ESP, but he’s not doing it because he’s interested, at least not when you see him. He’s doing it to impress a female student.

Because if anything is going to get a girl probably half your age raring to go it’s electrocuting a classmate for giggles.

Anyway, moving on to Winston. It’s worth mentioning that when Aykroyd and Ramis were writing Winston they wanted him to also be a scientist, or at least someone with a higher degree of education or a background in engineering, but it was agreed later on that having the cast comprised of all scientists leaves them no every-man for the audience to relate to, so we got the Winston that is in the movie.

I have nothing against that, that’s a fine judgement call in my opinion. And I don’t think it makes his role in the movie any less valid, if anything it makes him more essential for grounding the story, because he arrives in the story to get a job hunting ghosts, something he doesn’t discredit, but also doesn’t openly believe in straight away. And remarks that as long as he gets paid he’ll believe whatever they ask him to.

So two of the four original Ghostbusters don’t believe in ghosts or at the very least don’t have a strong opinion about it either way.

In the 2016 version, all of them believe in ghosts.

Erin, believed in ghosts due to repeated encounters with an old woman who died next door when she was a little girl, prompting her parents to put her into therapy and her peers at school to ridicule her. Which is when she met Abby and they became fast friends over their mutual interest in the paranormal.

They grew up and co-wrote a book about their hypothesis about potentially encountering, interacting with and containing ghosts. Fast forward to the start of the movie, Erin has forced herself to repress her interest in ghosts and convinced herself that she doesn’t believe anymore as a means to succeed in mainstream academia.

Abby however continued to believe and eventually meets Holtzmann, who as it would seem also believed in ghosts and feels she’s capable of constructing the mechanisms necessary to fulfil Abby and Erin’s previous dreams.

Then as a result of encountering a real ghost, Erin believes again and Abby and Holtzmann have their evidence to validate their research.

Later on in the movie we are introduced to Patty, Who admittedly doesn’t indicate any previous belief in ghosts, but she is inspired to join the Ghostbusters because she encounters one, so realistically, that makes her a believer before she joins.

All four Ghostbusters are believers in the thing they set out to do in the 2016 movie for individual reasons.

Erin, because of past experiences, Abby because she bonded with her closest friend over the paranormal, Holtzmann because it’s later revealed she has a hard time fully understanding how people work and was looking for companionship from Abby and ghost hunting sounded like a cool enough reason to hang out*. And Patty actually sees a ghost before finding the right people to ask about it.

(*That isn’t to say that Holtzmann only believed because Abby did, Holtzmann clearly thinks ghosts exist, look at her reaction to the first ghost in the movie, she’s not surprised to find that Abby was right, she’s hyped as hell to see a ghost, it validated her and her friends work together.)

To move further onto this point, and introduce the next section...

The people in positions of power believe in ghosts as well.

In Ghostbusters 2016, the Mayor of New York has his people make contact with the Ghostbusters to congratulate them on their discovery, but to ultimately stop making such a big deal about it for fear of public hysteria. Because unlike in the original movie (And a little bit in two) Ghosts were happening even when the Ghostbusters weren’t around. I know it’s crazy to think about.

The original movie, somehow expected it’s audience to buy into a premise of scientists fighting against paranormal activity in a major metropolitan area where seemingly no one believed in or had ever encountered a ghost before the start of the film... It goes double for the second movie, because in the intervening time between the end of one and the beginning of two, the Ghostbusters were court ordered to stop any paranormal investigations of any kind.

So in that time, I guess nobody saw a ghost? You never hear anyone saying how they want the Ghostbusters back because they were actually providing a service? It’s ridiculous. And the men in charge of the city are still skeptics, despite everyone witnessing a giant marshmallow man about a year prior?

So yeah, the portrayal of authority in the 2016 movie is more forgiving, You probably won’t see anyone insulting the man who played the Mayor in the 2016 role for how much of a shit his character was, unlike what unfortunately happened to the actor who played Walter Peck.

And the attitudes presented by these characters (in the 2016 movie) are a constant throughout, sure there’s one scene where they publicly don’t believe Erin when she’s screaming about the impending crisis, but their role in the movie is that of a mediator between what’s actually happening and the public, it’s a facade and probably a little closer to what would actually happen in this scenario.

The Ghostbusters tech is iterative (in the 2016 version).

So everyone is familiar with the Proton packs, anyone who was a child during the 80′s and 90′s probably wanted a Proton pack or grew into an adult that eventually owned a screen-accurate one. I wager almost no one will argue that the Proton pack isn’t one of the coolest and most iconic pieces of Sci-Fi tech in film.

But it wasn’t until watching the 2016 version, that I realised I’ve always wanted to see how they made them... In the original movie they just have Proton packs, traps and a containment grid ready to go on their first mission to hunt for Slimer.

You never see the process of how they designed or constructed the tech in the original movies. The closest you get to this is in the second movie where you see Ray tinkering with the slime launcher, but even then, it’s more-or-less fully built even before they reveal what it is.

You could claim that this is a “modern cinema” way of thinking, because back in the late 80′s to early 90′s it was less important* to show how everything worked in a film like it is today.

(*There are doubtless movies from the same time that DID do it, it just wasn’t as necessary as it is today)

That’s a fine point and I honestly can’t argue against it, it is more telling about the times in which the movies were made. 

But I still feel like I would have rather have seen them even just doing a montage of putting their business together.

They buy an old firehouse and a hearse, then suddenly it’s got everything they need in it?

I will also concede that, in the 2016 movie, they seem to have access to basically all of the stuff they need despite never showing any indication of having any kind of budget.

(Also, I’m not sure why they actually needed a receptionist... Let alone budgeted in the wages for one...)

I don’t know much, but I reckon it’s not easy to make four portable nuclear accelerators on the cheap, even if they’re made of salvaged scrap. But you do have to allow for a little suspension of disbelief with Sci-Fi comedies. 

So yeah, both have a some inconsistencies on where exactly their tech comes from or how they can afford to make them, but whatever.

I also really enjoyed the variances of the tech in the 2016 version, you have a ghost vacuum crossed with a paper shredder, a hand mounted, punch activated proton gauntlet, the... I’ll be honest I can’t tell what it is that Erin uses during the final scenes is it a proton grenade launcher or a shotgun or what? Speaking of grenades they also have those and then the show piece, Holtzmann’s duel Proton whips.

These variations of the same basic tech are brilliant and I love them. Why would you just have one catch-all (Pun some-what intended) device that all ghosts are susceptible to? I mean there’s going to be instances where a ghost is too large or small for a proton pack right? Or what if a ghost presents itself to be too dangerous to risk the time it’d take to capture?

The original movie never really touched on the idea of killing ghosts (Despite doing so at least twice), probably because on paper it sounds nonsensical, but when you give ghosts a physical presence that can be interacted with and through proton manipulation, moved around and held indefinitely, killing them becomes less absurd. The movies can easily work around it by simply saying “we didn’t kill a ghost, we just destabilised it.”

Which honestly works for me. You don’t really need to explain further, you shot lasers at a thing until it turned to mist, righteo!

And that is a thing that actually happens in the 2016 film, during the final scenes the team squares off against an entire street of different kinds of human-shaped ghosts. And they don’t capture any of them, there are no prisoners in the 2016 film.

They successfully capture one ghost and then set it free to spite one of their biggest and most vocal naysayers. But the actual reason they don’t catch any ghosts in this one, is because they don’t have a containment grid until the END of the movie when the government has finally recognised their efforts and provides them funding.

Giving yet another reason why the authority figures in the 2016 version are better than the originals.

OK, that’s probably going to do it, because this became really long, really fast. But I would like to just very quickly speak directly about some criticisms the movie received.

“Women can’t be Ghostbusters”.

This is the most common one and it baffles me to no end. I don’t remember that being firmly established within the first two movies. I mean looking at the evidence you can at least say that until recently all Ghostbusters were male, but that in itself still doesn’t state that women CAN’T be Ghostbusters... 

I’ve also heard a variation of the argument, saying that it isn’t that they’re women it’s because they’re all women, and fair enough. I can’t say that the movie would or wouldn’t have been better or at least more favourably received if there were at least one male Ghostbuster, but that’s not the direction they took, so we’ll never know.

But ultimately there is nothing stopping women from putting on a back pack and shooting lasers at ghosts. Nothing at all. I could do it from my chair, it doesn’t take much effort. So any out-dated argument about it being a physically demanding, manly job for strong, manly men, just remember, the first movie was about three nerds shooting lasers at ghosts.

“There was a Queef joke within five minutes of the movie starting!”

That’s your metric for whether a movie is bad? are you fucking five? I’ve watched movies in the past where the central joke was that people fart. If a movie with a female cast want to make something their bodies do into a joke, then let them... in the grand scheme of things, one queef joke is nothing compared to the near endless stream of farts, poops, puke, burps and erections I’ve seen in movies. Fuck in Super Bad a girl has her period on a dudes leg. Now let me just go see... Nope I checked there isn’t mass hysteria in the streets over this...

Fucking grow up.

And it’s not even like it carries on that way throughout the movie. as I said, I’ve seen whole films about the core conceit that farts are funny.

But no, if the Ghostbusters want to make one throw away gag about yet another kind of gaseous expulsion, then that’s too far!

“All the men in the movie are stupid!”

Yeah, OK. Name a comedy that hasn’t included at least one stupid male character.

Also, only two of them are stupid in the typical sense. The rest are skeptical.

And I wouldn’t mind this argument if some of those characters weren’t justifiably stupid.

Let’s look at the classic example, Kevin the receptionist. So this is a man who is textbook handsome but absolutely stupid to the point of possibly being a danger to himself and others. But he kind of has to be that way.

You’re probably confused so let me validate that claim. He at some point saw a job listing to be a receptionist for a new private business, the name of the business is a bunch of long words he can’t even remember half the time but it’s something about paranormal whats-its and it’s located above a Chinese restaurant.

Would you, go for that job? I know money is tight for everyone, but still. imagine that job listing and then imagine the kind of person who would go for it.

And I bet you’re imagining the kind of person who takes the lenses out of their glasses to stop them from getting dirty.

“We don’t need to reboot Ghostbusters!”

Actually, I fully agree. This is my one major problem with the film. We didn’t need to reboot it.

I know it’s been 30 years since we had a Ghostbusters movie and reboot is the new original IP in the current movie business. But there is one line in the original move that validates spin-off movies over flat out reboots or remakes.

“The franchise rights alone will make us rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

This is a line that Venkman says to Ray when they gather the funding for their business.

The full intention was to make Ghostbusting a FRANCHISE, not a single business.

So there is in no uncertain terms more than enough wiggle room to create Ghostbuster movies set in different places. I mean what if it became an international franchise? the possibilities are now endless.

But they went with a reboot. Because.

And that is honestly the only major criticism I can think of.

[fccdcmt-blog]

DAY 2: Why Are We Here?

Jesse and Pastor Paul started our morning run at 6am and met up with the other runners from the other teams at the FEC (Family Empowerment Center) here in Rogers Park neighborhood. FEC gave us red shirts to spread the word out about their ministry into the community. As we run the 3-mile to and back from Lake Michigan, God empowers us to know that we run with a higher purpose. Here are a couple clips: 

We started the morning with breakfast and worship: 

Worship was led by one of the three FEC pastors, Tony: 

Pastor Scott gave us our first orientation by splitting us into groups and having us introduce ourselves: 

Today was pretty much a whole day of intensive training. Learning about this community with 1/5 families living below poverty, which is $24,000/year income for a family of 4. A somewhat nice 2-bedroom apt here would cost around $2,000/month, leaving these families with hardly anything to feed their families with. 

We also learned that the community around us is extremely diverse: age, religiously, socially, and economically. Later in the day, groups split up to do an hour of prayer walk turning to the Holy Spirit to show us the needs and the lost people without the Gospel. We reflected on our roles here, and faced with the challenging question, “Why am I here?” 

During break time, Jesse was able to briefly ask Scott a few more questions about the city of Chicago to get a better understanding of the community we are going to serve for the rest of the week: 

This is Matt, one of the interns that is behind the scenes in accommodating us:

This is Dylan, the family and children director of FEC, who also lives in the interns housing apt where we are sleeping:

Dylan prepared us for our 3-day VBS coming up, including complicated but exciting motions for the songs: 

The leaders from the 3 teams united together to figure out which student will be responsible for which age group and task.

During debrief tonight, the 12 praised God for the people He allowed us to meet today and the ways that we are breaking down barriers: within the community through prayer walks, going outside our comfort zones to work with others, and to be a family of believers that break down cliques. 

Sandy shared with our students one of the female leaders from the Minnesota team shared her testimony with Sandy and how she adopted her daughter from China who is also serving with us as a student. 

Winston shared about his personal mission of wanting to hang out with the younger boys more and cared so much about Abraham to really push him in basketball today during free time. 

Abraham opened up to the team and was genuine in sharing some of his own personal struggles and the challenges he faces within AYA. As a result, we listened and recognized how much more we need to be to encourage each other not just in our actions but also in our words. 

Overall, today we were trained to listen to God, which is the key to mission. Also, the reason we come to the field is not out of personal agenda or selfish reasons, but to glorify God by making His Son known and solely rely on the works of the Holy Spirit through us. 

Prayers: 

1. The people and community we met today on the streets, that God’s love through Jesus will be known to them. 

2. The pastors, staff, and volunteers at FEC, that God can and will empower them and encourage them to continue to thrive in their local ministry.

3. Our 4th of July beach outreach on Tuesday, that we will be bold to talk to strangers relationally and continue to break our cliques within and without. 

4. The 70+ local kids we will be ministering to on Wed-Fri for VBS programs, that God will equip us and prepare their young and precious hearts also.  

[owfemslashexchange]

Thaw

For @prplxdpgnwn

Prompt was Zarya/Mei first kiss.

From @vrunkas to @prplxdpngwn 

Thaw

The thing that always dims itself in Mei’s memories is the cold.

Stupid, considering the snow and wind and brutal climate are all what make it Antarctica in the first place, but it’s easy to forget looking over pictures, or reading reports from the warm safety of her office. She remembers being cold, of course, but there is something about the freezing bite and how quickly it happens that cheapens with distance.

She flips the papers in her lap, paper clipped together so they don’t scatter with the movement of the helicopter. She hunkers down in her seat. Her breath plumes in front of her.

She should have remembered, of course. But now it is far too late.

Across from her, Zarya mimics the motion. Hands tucked into her sleeves, slipping further down into her seat. The fur on the hat she is wearing ruffles in the frigid breeze. As soon as they are out, it will be frozen stiff with collected crystals. Mei remembers that much clearly.

Zarya’s lips move. She is saying something. Mei moves to grab the headset hanging on the back of her seat but Zarya waves her off. Leans forward to touch her arm. The restraints keeping them in place stretched to their limit, only her fingertips, ghosting across Mei’s sleeve.

She isn’t wearing gloves.

Mei doesn’t really know how that’s possible.

“Unnecessary.” Zarya says, yelling now to be heard. “It was not important.”

Mei smiles. She can’t help it. There something so earnest about Zarya. Open and honest and innocent. It clashes with the image she presents. The muscled arms, the thick thighs, the scar.

A tough woman. An exposed nail, something to rip and tear and catch. But she is sweet, honestly, in her own honest way and Mei is truly glad for the company.

She’s surprised really, that Overwatch has even agreed to let her come back up here. Winston hadn’t seemed thrilled at the idea, but maybe that’s exactly why they let her go.

Winston and Lena and Angela, bless their hearts, are not Jack and Gabe and Ana. They try their best, it’s true. But the experience isn’t there. The background isn’t there. And without it…well, it just doesn’t really feel like Overwatch.

The helicopter dips, once, dramatically.

Zarya’s fingers slip from Mei’s sleeve, press once clumsily against her breasts.

“I’m sorry–” she starts to say over the rev of the blades above them as the helicopter evens back out. “I did not mean–”

And then they dip again. Stomach plummeting drop. Only to even out. The helicopter has begun its jerky descent.

They are almost there.

The Bastion unit in the corner lets out a series of beeps and Zarya glares at them. She sits back, pulls the headset down from behind her and pulls it awkwardly over her hat. Mei mirrors the motion. The Bastion has been strapped in, but there is no headset near the chair. For a moment Mei feels bad, but then the Bastion’s quiet beeping is drowned out by the oppressive silence of the headphones.

“Tell me again,” Zarya says, “why it is we brought that thing?”

“Bastion is going to be my research assistant,” Mei says. She glances over to the Omnic. The little head light flashes to match their rate of descent. “They’re amazingly resilient, you know. I’ve been running tests and the Bastion Unit was specifically designed for all sorts of harsh…environments.” Mei can feel the lecture in her. The readiness to teach, to explain. But Zarya’s gaze has glassed over just the slightest bit.

“Sorry,” Mei says with a grin. “I didn’t mean to rant.”

Zarya blinks. Frowns again, her chin tucking into the fluffy fur collar on her coat. “No,” she says. “You did not do anything wrong. I asked. You answered. But I do not like it and I do not trust it.”

Her voice, over the headset is tinny, a small filter of static. A disconnect. A separation. The Omnic Crisis hit more than just Russia. Mei remembers London. Mei remembers the articles and video feeds and the screaming.

The helicopter settles, weight settles back into Mei’s stomach, her feet. Grounded again.

Bastion beeps and trills a little victory chorus and Mei smiles.

The Omnic Crisis is far behind them.

“The real question,” Mei says, “is why are you here?”

But Zarya has already slipped off her headphones, is already unsnapping her restraints and is pulling her body up. And over the idling roar, Mei’s question is lost.

The snow, fresh fallen as it is, still crunches under Mei’s boots as she climbs out of the helicopter. Loaded down with bags and cases of equipment, she sinks a little into the crust of ice. She tugs her legs forward, breaking through further with her shin. Two of the duffles she is holding, scrape along the surface.

“You are silly,” Zarya’s voice says, yelling. Before Mei can turn there is pressure on the back of her jacket and then a little touch of weightlessness, until her feet once more touch the frozen, solid snow top. Zarya’s hand takes the duffles from her, hefts them over her own shoulder.

The skin of her fingers is already raw looking. Red. They’ll need to do something about that before Zarya comes back out. Modern medical miracles can do a lot for small frostbite cases, but Mei would sooner not risk it.

Antarctica is already a place of tragedy and loss for her.

They don’t need to tempt fate.

Bastion has converted form. They roll across the snow on tank-like treads with two bags balanced on the flat top.

In the distance, the arctic facility looms. Hulking and blurry in the falling snow. Grey shadow shapes. Ghosts and ghosts.

Mei pauses. Her heels sink into the snow crust as she looks on at the place that she had known as home. The wind nips at her. The fur on both her suit and Zarya’s has frozen as she knew it would. Little crystals of ice clinging to the fur.

Zarya must have realized Mei has stopped. She turns. Under the goggles and scarf little of her expression is visible. She says something but it is lost in the wind, in the hug of the scarf. Just a whisper of it.

Mei waves her hand, brushes it off. Behind them the helicopter lifts off.

They are truly alone.

Why did she chose to do this again?

—

“You’ve settled in then? Equipment is working okay?” Winston’s voice is clearer than his image on the little screen. Distorted movement of his fur in the feed. A constant flow, like seaweed.

Mei crosses her legs, perched awkwardly in the office chair. Her knees bump the desk and both her coffee and the holo pad shake.

“No problems so far,” she says. “Everything I’ve unpacked survived the trip. And my…assistants have seemed to…”

It’s been two days but she cannot say they are getting along. Bastion has been perfectly content, trundling around in the old labs, appearing every so often with a bit of detritus or chunk of wiring for inspection. Zarya has seemed…less happy. But there is a small gym in the dormitory halls and Mei’s coworkers had left behind everything they’d had. Some permafrost damage, but the weights Zarya had found seem to be doing an okay job of keeping her occupied.

“I think Bastion misses their bird,” Mei says, “but everything so far is…is fine. I’m sorry it took me longer than anticipated to get the feed up and running I have not been. Uhh. Been down to the labs yet.”

Winston’s paw moves in front of the video, clips out of the frame, tracks back. Waving her off at 240p.

“Take your time, take your time,” Winston says. “No one expects you to rush. Uhh. That is. Uhh.”

She was sent here on a mission. He is trying to walk the delicate line between duty and discretion. Decency.

“It’s okay, Winston,” Mei says. “I understand.”

“You do? I mean. Yeah, of course you do. You volunteered. May I just…just say that we’re all–”

Mei does not want to hear it. Cannot right now. She makes a face. Leans toward the screen.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m losing you up here. Might be…” she moves her lips. Feigns the breakup. “Wind,” she says. “I’ll contact you in two days.” She moves her lips again, smiling slightly, for good measure, before cutting the feed.

She sits back in the chair, slumps back. Closes her eyes.

“Oddest audio phenomena I have ever seen,” Zarya’s voice says from the door way.

Mei jumps. Her skin crawls. She turns, grinning just a little sheepishly.

“You heard that?”

“Hard not to. It was a good show though. Very convincing.”

Mei chuckles, pushes the heel of her hand through her bangs. Her glasses go askew for a moment, throw Zarya into weird proportions.

“I am sure you think me terrible for lying to him.”

Zarya grins, shakes her head. Under the hoodie she is wearing her shoulders shift, roll. Her hands jammed in the pocket. Hiding the ace bandages wrapped around her fingers.

“He wants what is best for you. He wants to know you are doing what is best.” Zarya pauses. Her gaze seems to tremble, she glances away from Mei and down at the ground. “We all want what is best for you.”

She is blushing.

It is pink and healthy across her cheeks.

Mei knows, of course. Mei has known for months. But the matter needs to be handled with more gentle care than she has time for at the moment. Here at the ends of the earth there is no room for any sort of romance.

She sighs.

“If you didn’t approve,” Mei says, matter of fact, “you didn’t have to come. Bastion and I could have made do.”

Zarya has the decency to look chastened. Her shoulders fall. Her hands twist together in the pocket of the hoodie, a storm beneath the material, a writhing subconscious thing.

“I did not mean it like that. I simply meant that…that he is worried for you. And that I am. You have…not been downstairs yet. Wasn’t the whole point of returning here to–”

Zarya cuts herself off. Frowning. Glaring down at the floor between her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t…push.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just…we’re gonna be here for a while, you know, I’ll get to it. Eventually.” Mei swallows. Her throat clicks, a dry little catch in the motion. “How are your fingers?”

Zarya seems to brighten at that. Her hands emerge from her pockets. The bandages Mei had applied for good measure are still in place mostly. An edge flapping here or there. A little tattered from use.

“They feel much better. The cold normally does not bother at least home in Russia but…”

Mei nods, smiles when Zarya trails off. “But it’s colder here. I always manage to forget too.”

“Thank you again for helping me to wrap them. And for the lending of your gloves.”

“It was nothing. It is nothing. I brought extras so it’s…it’s really not a problem,” Mei says. She can feel her own blush, the spread of it across the skin of her cheeks. Warm and uncomfortable.

She doesn’t have the time to indulge this. Coming up here wasn’t about this. Them. The budding blossoming whatever it is.

Snow kills flowers.

Ice massacres new growth.

And that is what she is here for. Ice and snow and chilling wind.

Zarya lingers, awkward. The silence turns over between the two of them. Restless.

“I should let you get to work,” Zarya says, finally. Nodding slightly. “I’ve uhhh. Cleaned out a majority of the crew quarters if you…wanted to come back there.”

Mei glances behind her at the cot she tossed up the first day here. Tucked into her workspace. Away from all those things she remembers.

But Zarya looks so eager again, a hopeful little up-tilt to her chin.

And Mei cannot bear to be the one who breaks that optimism.

“Yeah,” she says. “Of course. I’ll…I’ll move my stuff over after dinner.”

Time enough to wrap her head around it.

She hopes.

–

“Which bunk was yours,” Zarya asks. She sounds genuinely curious and Mei knows she isn’t asking to hurt.

But the hurt is there regardless.

A coiling knot of anxiety at the hollow of her throat.

The rooms have hardly changed. Two bunks to a room, two space heaters, a terminal and two bookshelves. The blankets in the dorm Zarya and she are currently standing in are green.

This was not Mei’s room. It was Faulkner’s and Henson’s; the joker and the quiet one.

If Mei closes her eyes she can recall their faces. Like it was yesterday. A few months ago.

Faulkner’s eyes had been frozen over there at the end; a layer of permafrost turning them hard and glassy like marbles.

“Not here,” she says when Zarya looks at her. When she tips her head in question.

Mei holds out a finger, points down the hall

“Two more that way,” she says. “Gina and I had purple blankets.”

“Do you want to move your stuff down there?”

God, no, Mei wants to say. Jesus, anything but that.

Instead she shakes her head, forces a smile. “Here is fine,” she says. “There’s…less to…”

Zarya nods when Mei trails off. “Of course,” she says. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m always making it worse aren’t I?”

“Not on purpose. It’s sweet, really.”

“You think I’m sweet?”

Mei closes her eyes, smiles. It’s so cliche, talking about this here, now. The bunks are made, the space heaters are running again. It could almost be cozy and romantic. He blows her breath out through her teeth.

“Of course I do,” Mei says. She opens her eyes. Zarya is leaning against the wall. Not looking at her. Feigning nonchalance. The tips of her ears match her hair. “You’re probably one of the sweetest people I know, you know, Zarya.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed about it.”

“I did not mean…”

“It’s okay.” Mei mirrors Zarya’s stance. She leans back against the wall, crosses her arms. Their elbows touch. Mei can tell from the instant stiffening of Zarya’s shoulders how aware of it the Russian woman is. Sensitive to every brush, every accidental contact.

“I never really thanked you properly, for…for coming up here with me. For dropping everything to…”

“There was very little to drop.”

“Still though. You left it all for a bunch of…of ice and snow and…” Mei does not say death, not matter how desperately her tongue aches to. The letters, already forming across it.

“And you,” Zarya provides. Effectively stalling Mei’s rather dark thoughts. “I mostly came here for you. Would be boring, no, with only the Omnic for company?”

It’s a joke.

Maybe a little too close to home, considering Zarya’s stance on Omnics. But Mei recognizes the shapes and forms and warmth of Zarya’s joking tone.

“Right,” Mei says. Her arm drops. Zarya’s copies the motion. For a brief second their fingers touch. A mistake. God, oh God this is such a mistake.

There is no room for this.

There is no time.

Mei turns away. Her fingers trip up Zarya’s arm to her elbow, to the swell of her bicep, strong and lean within the sleeve of the hoodie.

A thank you.

Mei can frame it as a thank you; selfish as that is. Cruel as it may be.

A proper thank you.

And then they can be over it.

Mei’s feet shift, bringing her closer, just a little closer. Zarya’s eyes are huge, her mouth an open little questioning o.

“I just–” Mei begins to say.

Except she never finishes.

Bastion, beeping and whooping and trilling busts into the room. Their joints flex and creak and clank.

And the moment is broken.

Mei looks away, steps back.

Her stuff is in the hall, she turns to retrieve it. A sleeping bag. Her personal computer. Snowball. She places her little robot down on the desk, begins hooking him to the terminal there. Bastion, unaware of the complexity of the moment, joins her. Doots and beeps and whistles at Snowball.

And Zarya watches.

Says nothing.

Her fingers are touching her own chin. Her pointer brushes her lips.

They’re going to have to talk about this eventually. Neither of them can keep it up like this. Neither of them should have to.

–

But of course, wanting to talk about it and actually talking about it, those are two very different things. And Zarya for her part, seems intent on never broaching the topic again.

Skittish when she and Mei are in the same room. Shy and awkward and bumbling when they talk. She manages to mangle an automated temperature gauge that she and Mei are putting up the first time Mei hints at the topic–two days later. She only just manages not to drop and smash a computer she is carrying the second time.

Mei finds it both endearingly cute and frustratingly unhelpful.

Bastion continues on as always. Steady.

The ghosts of things Mei remembers also clings. Lingering. Calling to her every time she happens past the hanger where the cryo-pods are stored.

Morgan’s skin gone blue. Henson’s lips white and gleaming with frostbite.

She pauses in her walk across the frozen campus.

Her fingers are sweating in her gloves. Zarya is off cooking. Bastion is…wherever it is that Bastion goes to when not assisting with the various tests Mei performs.

Mei stares up at the building. The open, garage-like front of it.

This is where they found her. Kneeling here in the snow when she came to. No trace of it now, it’s been too long, too many snowstorms have erased the surface where she sank to the ground and looked on at the crew extracting her friends.

Black fingers. Clothes like cardboard, stiff with crystals.

Mei sighs.

She enters the building.

It is far past time to.

Far, far past.

–

She’s half in the air duct down in the labs when Zarya finds her. Concern written all over her face. Fear in the turn of her lips, apprehension in the tightness around her eyes.

“What are you doing down here?” Zarya asks. “The Omnic and I have been…”

“Did I worry you?” Mei asks. She pushes herself to standing, grabs the duct cover from where she had leaned it up against the wall. Before she can go to secure it however, Zarya is there, taking it from her, helping. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“Is the least I can do. You and the Omnic handle the science. The manual stuff, I can handle that.”

“That’s selling yourself awfully short.”

Zarya goes pink again. It’s too easy to work her up. To rattle the cage of her sensibilities.

Mei grins. “So you and Bastion were both worried.”

Zarya palms the back of her head. She is still wearing the gloves Mei had given her. There is a layer of snow dusting that hasn’t melted from her hair yet. Dotted across her shoulders.

“You were outside?” Mei asks. She reaches forward, brushes the snow with her fingertips. Her bare fingers. The liquid is shockingly cool. Mei always manages to forget.

Zarya stiffens only a little at the touch. She bites her lips. “You have been gone for hours.”

Mei makes a face. She’s been working. Setting up the feeds and recording stations that should have been put up when they got here almost a week ago. Fixing the different cables that have gone rotten with frost.

“It was an hour maybe,” she says.

“More like four? You missed dinner. I have put half away in the commissary for you.”

“That’s not–” possible, Mei wants to say. But before the word has left her mouth, her stomach lets out a grumble. Her data-pad is where she left it, sitting atop her coat and gloves. Near the door. Well away from the pods.

Mei picks it up with her back to them. She tries to make the gesture seem unimportant, but Zarya’s eyes tighten.

And of course, Zarya is right.

Five and a half hours. And she’d been so absorbed in what she was doing she hadn’t even really realized it at all.

“Mei,” Zarya begins. Her voice trails off. Her mouth closes. “You have to take care of yourself,” she says.

“I am. I do.” Mei’s fingers curl around her data-pad. Her nails scratch against the plastic protective cover.

“Not eating is–”

“It was this one time. I just…lost track.”

“Did you come here to die?” Zarya asks. She isn’t looking at the floor, her gaze bores into Mei’s. Utterly unbreakable.

Mei doesn’t scoff; it’s a close thing, but she doesn’t. “No,” she says. “I came here to finish my work. To…”

To apologize.

Because she is the one who lived.

And she no idea how to reconcile that.

What to do to honor the men and women who didn’t die for her, but just died because they picked the wrong pods. There had been no drawing of straws. There had been no arguments or squabbles. Everyone had picked a pod.

And everyones’ but Mei’s had failed.

Mei looks over her shoulder.

The unit that had saved her life, the ones that had been a casket for the others, loom behind her.

Zarya has stepped closer. The first contact she has initiated since that moment in the dorms. Her gloved fingers brush down Mei’s bare arm.

“It was not your fault,” Zarya says.

“I know.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I know that,” Mei says. “I know. I know.”

“You’re a good person. You are brave and everyone in Overwatch is so proud of you.”

Mei shrugs. She lets herself sort of lean into Zarya’s form.

“I’m just lucky,” Mei says. “It could have been anyone. I’m not brave. I just…” Mei swallows. Zarya’s hand has slid to her shoulder. Her fingers brushing the strap of Mei’s tank.

“I miss them,” Mei says. The first time she has admitted it. It feels weird, saying it out loud. Like stripping something bare, skin to frozen metal, tearing away the top layer. “I really, really miss them. And I just. I can’t help thinking that if it had been…Henson or Faulkner or Muniez who had survived. Would they be–that is they wouldn’t be wasting so much–”

Zarya’s hands move to cup her chin, Zarya’s gloved fingers against her pulse point.

Zarya’s lips against her own.

Cold at the edges. From being out in the snow. Searching for Mei, thinking her dead.

Mei’s fingers twitch at her sides.

Melted snow trickles down her neck.

Every sensation. She is hyper aware of all of it. Zarya’s lips, the firm pressure of them; warming up from leeching Mei’s body heat.

And Mei unresponsive. Unresponsive.

It takes a second.

And then Zarya shrinks back. Not even pink now, her cheeks are fully red. Her eyes go wide.

“I’m sorry,” she says, hastily, before Mei has even opened her mouth. “I’m sorry. I just. I thought that. Survivor’s guilt. I know how lonely that can be and I–I am not sorry that you lived. That they didn’t is a tragedy but…it is not your tragedy. You lived and I’m sorry but I’m so, so happy that you did.”

Harsh, her words come off harsh. Mei closes her eyes. She sees the good place Zarya is coming from. The road paved with pure and sentimental intentions.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Mei says. “They were my friends.”

Zarya looks away. “During the war,” she says. “That is I…I have lost friends too, Mei. And I know how it feels to be the one to keep going. And maybe you don’t see it, and maybe it seems cruel, but I’m glad it was you. I’m glad you lived and that I lived to…to meet each other.”

Desperate sentimentality.

Mei doesn’t know what to do in the face of such honesty.

“You lost people too?” She asks. A stupid question. Zarya was a soldier and that is what soldiers do.

Zarya nods.

“Why didn’t I know that before? About your friends?” Mei asks.

“I do not talk about it much. And I…it would not have been fair, placing that much more of a burden on you.”

“It wouldn’t have been a burden. I like knowing about your past. I like that you’d trust me with it.”

Mei sighs. She steps closer, holds her hand out. Almost reluctantly, Zarya takes it. Palm to palm. Mei interlocks their fingers.

Zarya looks down and back up. She bites her lip. But she doesn’t move her hand away. She does the opposite in fact, squeezes gently. Fitting them together slightly more snug.

“I would trust you with my life,” Zarya says. Without hesitation. Escaped from her. Her expression shifts again, embarrassment flooding across her face. She covers her eyes with the hand not holding Mei’s.

Mei chuckles. She uses her grip on Zarya to tug her in again.

The height difference makes it difficult. But Mei stands up on her toes and she makes do. Her lips touch Zarya’s chin before landing on her bottom lip.

The kiss lasts a second only, shorter than the first. Mei drops back down, lets her weight settle. She grins.

“Are you sure about this?” Zarya asks. She sounds meek, bashful. Words not easily associated with her.

“You said it yourself. Survivor’s guilt. I never thought about it like that,” Mei shrugs. She looks over at the pods, she makes herself. “They wouldn’t want me to keep hesitating. To keep. Dwelling on this. I need to…to finish the set ups for the remote interfacing. And then I’m going back.”

“Back to China?”

Mei shakes her head. “Overwatch. They still will need me. I can study climate anywhere pretty much with Snowball. And I…that is if you…”

Zarya looks at her. There is an upturn at the corner of her mouth, a twitching threat of a smile. But Mei needs to ask it. She has to.

Pushing her heel through that first thick, unyielding layer of ice.

“If you would come with me, I would be glad for the company.”

Zarya does smile. She slides her free hand across the back of her neck. “And the Omnic,” she says, “as your research assistant.”

“You would want Bastion with us?”

“The machine is not as bad as I thought it would be. I have…grown somewhat accustomed to having it around.”

“If you’re sure about it, then yes. Of course,” Mei says. “The three of us.”

Her hand squeezes around Zarya’s. Interlaced. There is heat, low in her stomach. A turning over like happiness in her throat.

A thawing.

She hadn’t even realized she’d needed it.

Zarya leans down and kisses her again. Soft and simple. Mei’s eyes flutter shut. Her hand cups Zarya’s cheek.

Oh, oh, how she had needed it.

[mangofritter]

So here is the story I’ve been working on! I don’t write very much so it probably isn’t the best, but I did try. I would like an honest opinion if you have one about it. The story is under the cut! 

It felt nice having the tall grass brush against her legs. It gave her a warm feeling, one that couldn't be obtained by curling up in a warm blanket or sitting by the fire. It was also freeing. If only she didn't have to leave.

Claire knew that by nightfall her mother would be calling her back. If only she could have packed her dinner to go with her lunch. But that can't be changed. So she let it go, and ran. Smiling, she ran like the wind, letting her messy red locks flow behind her, running through the forest without stopping.

She eventually stopped on the edge of a familiar stream, but found found an unfamiliar being under the trees on to the other side of it. The creature looked like the shadow of another child, but nobody was there to cast it. The black edges of it danced like flames with the grass as it sat there still. It looked to be gazing at the light opening of the trees just past the stream.

So she walked over, letting the smooth stones and cold water slip under her feet. She tapped the dark figure where a shoulder might have been, surprised that while it looked like only someone´s shadow it seemed very much like a person. The dark figure must have jerked, as little streaks of black went straight out like puffed-up fur, enveloping her hand for a moment. It turned to look her in the eyes, with what might be it´s own being white spots in the dark.

¨Who are you?¨ It asked.

¨My name is Claire.¨

¨… Lillian. I´m Lillian.¨

¨Nice to meet you!¨” She said as she plopped down in the grass next to Lillian, showness no shyness to this strange being, and continued to talk.

* * * * *

Time flew by as Claire had made her new friend. Soon it was lunch, and Lillian, who seemed to have no initiative to go back to wherever her home was just to have lunch, was given an apple from Claire´s lunch. And what didn´t feel like much later, was dinner, when it was starting to get dark. Claire trekked her way back through the forest to her home, and Lillian went back to hers, both with plans to meet there and play again the next day.

Time after time, they kept returning to the same spot to talk and play. With each day, they became better friends, and they became practically inseparable. The went to school together, although Lillian wasn't supposed to be there, so she hid as her shadow. The little shadow even had stayed at her home. But despite Claire wanting her best friend to meet her parents, Lillian refused to let others see her, even showing a fear towards being discovered by ¨Claire´s kind¨, as she always called it. She never said the word human, like it was rude to give them a name.

Claire had gotten to know Lillian and her ilk like her own, with most of her siblings hold open arms to the curious child. Except the eldest, who didn´t seem to trust any humans, Claire being not being a total excuse. The stiff teen always complained that she wasn't supposed to be there, but never ordering her out, which seemed to be a power he had in this family. As time continued on she learned that in Lillian´s culture, the eldest did have that kind of power. When the eldest was old enough, they took the younger siblings, like their parents had. Supposedly, misfortune and illness fell upon the family if they stayed any longer.

Claire had brushed this off at first. She couldn't get sick or hurt by living with her family, right? At least she thought at first. Her parents became concerned, this isn't just an imaginary friend, they decided. But hoping they would come to acknowledge this friend as a real one was only a fantasy. They would never come to accept such a thing, Claire discovered.

To the psychiatrist they went. She took the medication. She took the therapy. But that was for people who in one way or another ¨unwell.¨ It didn't erase reality. You can't fix what isn't broken, so she never got ¨better.¨ But if something that is thought to be broken isn't fixed, it isn't left alone. The worse they had thought it was, the higher the cost it was to ¨fix.¨ At home when they thought her back was turned, the stress started disagreements, which turned to arguments, and then full on fights.

Then Lillian told her someone had moved into a home in the forest, not far from their home. And how her older brother no longer felt safe there. The plan was to leave in a few weeks, just before the stranger returned to their new home. The flaw she saw in this plan wasn't anything that brought harm to Lillian's family, it was that she would have nobody else when the were gone.

She was never a bad kid, in fact, she was quite the opposite. But a label like being ill doesn't leave a reputation untouched. Many parents told the children to shy away from her, not to take influence from her. Not to talk to her. And then it hit her. Bad luck fell upon the family if the children stayed too long, and there was an ample amount of that. If there was any sign to all that had happened to her, it was that her welcome there was used up. She had no siblings to raise, and she certainly wasn't raised to know how to care for herself at as young of an age as hers, but she knew someone who did. And that was Lillian's brother, Winston.

* * *

It was nice out that day. It was warm and sunny, only a scant few clouds in the sky. Much like the day Claire had met Lillian. This occurred to Claire herself as she just walked out the school doors. It was the last day of the school year, and none of the other children would feel the freedom that this final day brought her. But at the same time she never felt more trapped. She wished for Lillian to be there, longing to have the comfort of her friend hiding away in her shadow, but that wish wouldn't come true.

The path back to Claire´s home was a rather long one, as it trailed all the way through the town. Most parents would rather have had their children ride the bus, and so would Claire, but it did prove to be of convenience then. There was a hardware store near the middle of town. And despite the odd looks she got for being such a young age, she went in and purchased a dust mask, which ate away at much of the money she had scraped together. Once she had the mask she continued on her way.

She took her time with the walk home. She knew she would most likely never walk this path again.

* * *

The small desk in the corner of Claire´s room was littered with crumpled up papers. Every page that had been abandoned there had every word messily scribbled out or the entire paper torn to shreds. It radiated the feeling of secrets. The room was surprisingly clean, since it was usually scattered with little things from the outside like pine cones, sticks, and stones, to her parents distress. They liked having things clean and orderly, which did bring to question why they raised a child near a forest if this was the case.

What was most out of place wasn't her room, while it was off. But the letter that was left neatly on her pillow after bedtime. And Claire wasn't there.

* * *

It was the same grass Claire had walked through for years, but that night it felt different. Maybe because she had never been in the forest at night, then again, maybe not. Claire had a backpack on and another in her hand. Both were packed. She had a raincoat and a jacket on despite it being warm enough without it. The heat was smothering with the dust mask on as well, so she slid it down to hang around her neck.

After what feels like hours Claire finally came across a structure of trees and broken branches. The branches were woven together and packed with mud, and with leaves piled on top it was like nothing was there. But she knew otherwise and kicked aside the door cover, set down her bags, and climbed in. It was much cooler in there, which she found extremely relieving. She met with several pairs of faintly lit eyes, five to be exact. They all sat in silence as the small in comparison child caught her breath. They hadn´t even done anything and Claire was ready to lay down and sleep right where she sat.

¨Are you ready?” Winston asked cautiously. He wasn't sure how strong human children were, and his worry about it started to show.

¨Yes. Just another moment.¨ She replied, and then shortly after stood up, almost hitting her head on the incredibly low ceiling before catching herself, and proceeded to climb out.

The heat wasn't nearly as suffocating that time around. She slid the back on and threw the first bag her shoulder, only before she picked up the second Lillian had grabbed it herself.

The darkness that usually flowed all around her had recessed somewhat, exposing her pale face almost as white as her blank eyes. Seeing it in the moonlight it was especially eerie. Until she gave her a grin. Any sort of discomfort always evaporated when she smiled, even if the darkness almost always covered her face, you could feel it.

¨… Are you really sure about this? Are you sure you don't want to stay?¨ Winston checked with Claire. ¨You'll probably never come back.¨

Lillian looked at Claire with concern, and then looked at Winston and her other siblings.

¨Yes. Let´s go.¨

He nodded and Claire reached out for Lillian´s arm, grabbing her wrist firmly. The wisps of black that still trailed down her arms danced up Claire´s hand and around the edges of her raincoat sleeve. She ignored it and closed her eyes. She felt Lillian take a step forward and followed, leaving her eyes closed.

When she opened them she was in another whole world, darker than she had ever imagined. The sky was smoky, and light could be just barely seen through the dark green clouds, not that anything else could be seen with scant light there was. She remembered the small toy lantern clipped to her bag and turned it on. The grass-like plants underneath her feet were bright green, and other nearby plants seemed to recoil from the bright light. She hadn't gotten to see anything else before one of the siblings lurched towards the lantern and turned it off.

¨Bad idea. Not out here.¨ They said.

¨How come-¨ Claire nearly said before bursting into a hacking fit.

So much for using a dust mask to breath cleaner air. Lillian and her siblings remained unaffected. Claire wasn't made to live out there like their kind was. But it didn´t mean they prefered it.

Everyone was in complete silence as they walked and walked, Claire´s coughing the only thing breaking the silence for a while. Eventually, she managed to raspily ask how much longer they had to walk.

Lillian sighed and told her, ¨It´s not much longer… It´s quicker walking through this area than it is in the light world...¨

And the time drug on and on. She almost couldn't take it anymore when Lillian grabbed her arm. It was finally over. She closed her eyes once more and suddenly felt a rush of warm and hopefully clean air. She ripped of the dust mask and fell to her knees, gasping. She opened her eyes and the light was blindingly bright, and she could hear a crowd very nearby. Black was starting to speckle the edges of her vision… It was getting dark again...

* * *

Claire woke up to the same light again, this time not so blinding as it was before. Lillian was sitting next to her, streaks of darkness pricking up. They were both on the hard stone floor, and Claire did not have a mattress. She already ached and she hadn't even moved.

¨Guys, she's up!¨

Claire coughed before she got to say anything. Each cough was like a stabbing pain at first, but it softened after a bit. It still stung. And that made her not want to go back through there anytime soon.

¨Where am I…?¨ Claire asked.

¨Welcome to Lightvale.¨ Winston said.

He didn't ask her about anything but he looked extremely worried.

¨I´m okay.¨ She commented between coughs. ¨Where is Lightvale?¨

¨An underground city. Right under Detroit I think.

¨Detroit?¨

That was really far away from home. Claire felt like someone had tied a knot in her stomach, and it made her feel sick in a way. Guess there really is no turning back.  Besides, she had outstayed luck´s welcome in her parents house.

¨Come on. We still have a little more to go.¨

Lillian helped Claire up and then yawned. So she wasn't the only one who was tired. She wanted to ask how long she had been unconscious for, but decided it was best not to. So she kept on walking.

* * *

Several years later…

Claire sat at the counter of a bar, spinning an empty soda bottle on the counter. Lillian sat right next to her. Loud chatter was coming from everywhere, and the ancient TVs that the owners of the bar had discovered and salvaged were up and running. They had to be at least ten years old, but they had managed to hook it up to some kind of power source above the city, because Lightvale didn't have electricity, and everyone knew it. The bar had become the most popular one there for this feat.

People were always talking about it, especially since it played the news. It was pretty interesting. Claire hadn't heard almost anything about the current affairs of her own kind´s world since she had left home. Welcomer´s kind weren´t particularly important before that point.

Her attention had drifted from the TV after a while though. Until the room had jumped at least twenty decibels, and Lillian grabbed her arm and was shaking it.

The news was playing a video of one of Lillian´s kind. He had just teleported there, and and chain lizards were crawling all over him. They had already seriously cut him. An attack from those creatures in Lillian´s world wasn't uncommon, but considering teleporting to this world to escape it, much less accomplishing it, wasn´t. It was saying that an ¨unknown species¨ had been discovered and was now in a hospital.

Claire remembered so many times when she was younger wishing that humanity would discover Lillian´s kind and accept them, but she didn't even need to seen the video switch to the live video of the mob already outside the hospital to get the sinking feeling that this reality wouldn´t be the dream she had back then.

* * *

Months past and more of Lillian´s kind was discovered, and as that time past there was more controversy not only to how the world should deal with an entirely new sentient species, but despite the proof, if they were even real. It wasn't without without reason though. Both worlds had been turned upside down by this.

America was the first country to welcome this new species with open arms once they had been ¨deemed safe¨. ¨They deserved the right to at least be members of society¨. And a few other countries followed after. It felt like in all the chaos things were starting to look up.

The the missing children reports came up. Ones that described beings like ¨the shadow people¨. They had been assumed to be kidnapped by mystery criminals, but now there seemed to be a vague answer. An the case on top was Claire Bridgeman.

She was the the top case against her best friend.

* * *

Claire didn't admit to being that missing child, but being the only human in Lightvale didn't hide her. Everyone knew. To most, she was still seen as The Welcoming Child. Not only a human that accepted them but one that tried to tell the world about them, not out of malice, but out of kindness and acceptance. But because she was the missing child on those posters, she made life for them even worse. To those who couldn't come to forgive her for the evil that it caused, she became known as the Hellbringer.

So there it is! If there’s any comments someone has on a certain area, here’s the google doc. I think it will be easier since you can comment on specific parts there.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1F_rjfgRblSQ5GCt3nFWbHQZkk9dc7_PYI7tOnu2hIBE/edit?usp=sharing

[nitewrighter]

17 bunnyribbit w/ efi and the three omnic characters please

Hoo boy that’s a lot of characters! But this prompt is really cute so I’m gonna do it!

17. Gardening

—

Efi was perched on Orisa’s shoulders as D.Va and Lúcio gave the grand tour of the Watchpoint.

“So this is the launch tower,” said Lúcio, gesturing upward, “We don’t use it all that often, but there’s a really great view from the maintenance platforms.”

“I still can’t believe Winston won’t let me launch my MEKA into the stratosphere,” said D.Va, putting her hands on her hips. She turned on her heel to face Orisa and Efi, “Welp! That’s about it for the tour! As you can see the Watchpoint’s totally safe!”

Efi smiled, “See Orisa? Totally safe!” but Orisa’s photoreceptors narrowed skeptically.

“My neural mapping indicates that there is a section of the watchpoint that has not been covered in this tour,” she said, folding her arms.

D.Va and Lúcio exchanged glances, “Well… we just gave you the tour we got when we first got here,” said Lúcio, “It should have covered everything.”

“Not everything,” said Orisa, turning around and walking off with Efi protesting atop her shoulders.

“Orisa, you can’t just walk away, that’s rude!” Efi folded her arms and pouted.

“Your safety is my primary concern,” said Orisa, “We must investigate this area to be sure that this Watchpoint is indeed safe.”

Lúcio and D.Va quickly followed after Orisa and Efi as they headed off around the main hangar of the watchpoint to a fenced-off area. One area of the fence however, was flattened.

“Huh,” said D.Va as Orisa walked over the flattened point in the fence. She stepped over the flattened chain-link as well and took a few steps into a heavily grassy and overgrown sunlit area that received a nice breeze off the sea despite being further inland than most of the watchpoint. There was a small fence lining what must have been a garden at some point, with rusted and oxidized solar panels and a dilapidated greenhouse. Lining the area were several overgrown citrus trees, their branches groaning with fruit.

Lúcio whistled behind D.Va. “Man, Winston’s been holding out on us.”

“I don’t know if he even bothered looking into–” D.Va started then stepped in something that squirted, “Ew!” she said, glancing down and lifting her foot to see a half-eaten orange. “What the–?”

Something chittered at her ankle and D.Va leapt nearly a foot in the air and stumbled several feet back to see a Barbary macaque snatch the orange she had just stepped on and run off into the grass. “Stupid Gibraltar…” muttered D.Va.

“Must have wandered in from the nature reserve,” said Lúcio walking up behind her. He grabbed an orange off of one of the trees and tossed it up and down in his hand, “Can’t really blame ‘em.”

Both D.Va and Lucio perked up at the sound of Efi shouting “Orisa, wait!” and Orisa’s fusion driver powering up.

“Identify yourself!” Orisa announced loudly as both Lúcio and D.Va raced over and quickly turned a corner around the greenhouse to find Orisa pointing her fusion driver at Bastion with several macaques scattering away from them. By the looks of bastion’s tread-prints in the ground, it had apparently been there for hours, allowing the macaques to sun themselves and groom each other on it as Ganymede flitted around the overgrown garden for food.

“Orisa!” Lúcio quickly dipped between the two omnics, forcing Orisa to lift up her fusion driver away from Bastion, “It’s fine! Bastion’s with us!”

Bastion booped and gave a friendly wave behind Lúcio. Efi gasped and she quickly scrambled down from Orisa’s shoulders to the ground and shoved past Lucio and stopped in front of Bastion. She waved her arms. Bastion made a questioning beeping sound and waved its arms in turn. Ganymede swept over and alighted on Bastion’s head, and both chirped in greeting to each other.

“Amazing,” said Efi, “The Omnium never bothered with a personality matrix for the siege automatons! Who customized it?”

“No one,” said Lúcio, shrugging, “Bastion was just sort of… Bastion when we found it.”

Efi laughed and rolled her eyes, “Good one, Lúcio.” She walked around Bastion, giving it the occasional knock with her knuckles and poking at its joints with a furrowed brow. Orisa looked equally skeptical and leaned close to Bastion, prompting Bastion to whistle and chirp with some self-consciousness.

“It’s amazing it’s still functioning,” said Efi, putting her ear against Bastion’s side and giving it another knock with her knuckles, causing it to boop confusedly. Ganymede gave Orisa a quick peck, causing her to flinch back a bit, photoreceptors widening.

“Torbjorn gives it a tune-up every now and then,” said D.Va. She pointed a scolding finger at Bastion, “So this is where you’ve been wandering off to all this time! He gets all worried and grumpy when he doesn’t know where you are, you know!”

“Not a bad place to wander off to, though,” said Lucio, opening up the door to the greenhouse.

“And Winston said we’re not supposed to feed the macaques!” D.Va went on, kicking aside another half-eaten orange, which was quickly snatched up by another macaque, “This facility’s a launch site! It’s not safe for—” She glanced over her shoulder at Lúcio, who had stepped within the doorway of the greenhouse.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you are,” said D.Va, folding her arms and walking up next to Lúcio.

“Hm?” Lúcio glanced away from the greenhouse at her.

“We don’t get a lot of time between missions as is,” said D.Va.

“It wouldn’t be too hard to clear out the weeds,” said Lúcio, looking around the greenhouse, “I mean it wouldn’t be too big of a garden, just some basil, tomatoes, cilantro….”

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” said D.Va.

Lúcio snapped his fingers, “Strawberries. Strawberries would do great here.”

“You are serious,” said D.Va.

“Oh come on, half the food on the watchpoint is canned!” said Lúcio, “I used to work on community garden projects in Rio all the time! This is nothing!” As soon as he said that, a panel fell out of the ceiling of the greenhouse and landed, shattering on the floor, behind Lúcio. “…We can fix that,” he said, glancing over her shoulder. 

D.Va rolled her eyes, “You want to fix this place up, be my guest,” she said, throwing her hands up, “Not really my thing.”

“Suit yourself,” said Lúcio.

—

About a day later D.Va was playing on her handheld in the empty dining hall when Zenyatta floated past her carrying a large bag and wearing a large straw hat that she was pretty sure belonged to Mercy.

“You too?” said D.Va, glancing up from her game.

“It is good to surround yourself with growing things,” said Zenyatta, briefly stopping, “You are welcome to join me, Miss Song.”

D.Va glanced at her game, then back to Zenyatta, then clipped her handheld shut and got up from the table.

—

The garden was bustling when they reached it. Winston was setting up new solar panels while Torbjörn was trying to get the sprinkler system working again. Apparently word had spread and the prospect of fresh produce on the Watchpoint was hard to turn down.  Bastion was assisting Symmetra with repairs to the greenhouse and Efi was helping Lúcio pick oranges and lemons while Orisa would prune the trees back after they were done picking from each one. Zenyatta easily floated past D.Va with his large bag and focused on areas already cleared of weeds to plant new seeds. Winston’s presence alone seemed to be enough to keep the macaques from coming back.

“Hey!” Lúcio glanced up from one of the trees over to her, “Glad you could make it!”

“Okay don’t look so smug,” said D.Va, tying her hair back, “What do you need me to do?”

Lúcio shrugged. “Where do you want to work? Mulch? Compost? Worm garden?”

D.Va folded her arms and Lúcio snickered and clapped her on the shoulder, “Kidding. Here, you can help me with the trees,” he said, grabbing another orange and tossing it to her.

“Maybe I could get up on your shoulders so we could actually reach them,” said D.Va, tossing the orange between her hands.

“Ha-ha,” Lúcio said flatly hoisting up the basket as D.Va picked some fruit. 

–

Work got done far more quickly than D.Va anticipated. Orisa could easily till up the ground in minutes and while Bastion seemed to feel bad about picking weeds, he was eager to help when it came to hanging up birdfeeders or repairing the greenhouse. Zenyatta would make trips to the dining hall to make sure everyone stayed hydrated, and by the time the sun was going down D.Va found herself with her knees covered in dirt planting strawberries alongside Zenyatta. She wiped some sweat off her forehead.

“Okay hand me the next one,” she said, rolling her shoulders.

“That was the last one, Miss Song,” said Zenyatta.

“Huh?” D.Va sat up and glanced down the row to see a long line of strawberry plants, “Oh…” she said. Zenyatta floated up from the soil and went over to Bastion, who was clunking away from the greenhouse.

“Hey–You ready to hit the dining hall?” said Lúcio.

“Let me guess, dinner is orange chicken with orange glazed carrots and orange juice?” said D.Va.

“Nah, same MRE stuff from what I heard,” said Lúcio folding his arms, “Though rumor has it they may have whipped up some orange sorbet for dessert.”

D.Va snorted and stood up, dusting her knees off. “Oh–you got some—” Lucio reached forward and tucked a loose strand of her hair back, then wiped off some dirt that was on her cheek and temple with his thumb. “There you go.”

D.Va just smiled and plucked a leaf out of his hair. “So do you,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at Efi and Orisa who were both softly chatting over some small potted seedlings.

“You go save me a spot at the dining commons,” she said, elbowing Lúcio, “I’ll walk them back.”

Lúcio smiled and headed off and Hana let her hair down out of its messy bun. “Hey kiddo,” she called over her shoulder. Both Efi and Orisa looked up, “Ready to go?” Efi sprang to her feet and Orisa lumbered after her.

“You’re so lucky you get to date Lúcio,” said Efi as they walked through the watchpoint toward the dining commons.

D.Va snorted. “What–Oh, no we’re not dating.”

“But you’re always together in the magazines and holovids,” said Efi.

“Well yeah but they always like to push that stuff,” said D.Va shrugging.

Efi’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “So… how long have you known him?”

“I first met him when we were working on Hero of My Storm,” said D.Va, “He wrote a couple songs for that movie—the one for the club scene, that scientist montage, climax, and the end credits.”

“I love the scientist montage song,” Efi said, her eyes sparkling, “I played it on repeat when I was working on Orisa!” 

“It’s catchy, right?” said D.Va, grinning, “Well anyway, I actually met him because he needed to record me yelling for the climax song.”

Efi gasped, “For that part where it goes ‘Ah-ah-ah-ah’ and then it’s all BOOM!” She gave a hop to emphasize the beat dropping. 

“Boom!” Orisa repeated behind her.

“Yeah!” said D.Va, “I was in his sound studio for an hour trying to yell at the right pitch for him. He was…” she snickered, “Really patient and encouraging. And then we started hanging out ever since. He’d be a really good guest on my streams and stuff, and with him I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a date for fancy events and we can coordinate looks together easily, and really he’s just a good person to hang around with and make out with when you’re bored.” D.Va caught herself and slowly glanced over at Efi, who was grinning ear to ear. “…you didn’t hear that last part,” said D.Va.

“You like him,” said Efi in a sing-songy voice, grinning.

D.Va snorted. “He’s Lúcio. Who doesn’t?”

“Yeah but you kiss him,” said Efi, maintaining the sing-songy voice.

“Yeah not gonna lie, that part’s pretty sweet,” said D.Va, grinning.