#Jacobi: It's usually the commander right.

[clonerightsagenda]

It's my firm conviction that every time Maxwell sets foot on a station she gets the lowdown on AI social dynamics via the system readouts. After tracking down a power allocation anomaly and seeing that Hilbert's quarters are a brisk 55 degrees because heat is being diverted to the comms room she's like guys you will NEVER believe who the favorite is on this one.

[nobodysdaydreams]

If Pryce and Cutter hate the youths so much, then why don't they move across the universe to get the marriage counseling they clearly need and stop making their BS everyone else's problem?

(Or my reaction to Episodes 59-60 of Wolf359).

I said I would have self control. I said I wouldn’t listen to or react to anymore Wolf359 this whole weekend. But guess what dear readers? As usual, I lied, to you and myself. Sadly, I am weak. Now, with my confession out of the way, let’s get into it!

Tagging the mutuals who got me invested in this, and if you want to be tagged or untagged from these posts, lmk, or you can follow my blog or simply follow the tag "#bods wolf359 reactions". Anyone who has followed me for a while knows my updates are inconsistent, so I apologize in advance for that and for any spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts.

@sophieswundergarten @oflightningandstars @acollectionofcuriousreblogs @herawell @commsroom @lovelyladylavie

Episode 59: Crash and Burn

"Oh how fun. Come on kids, scream if you want to go faster." It's trippy that when I hear Pryce talk for a moment I'm like "Hera?" and then I realize. Also she and Cutter really do act like criticizing and mean disappointed parents.

"But just a small fire, and look it's out now!" good point Doug.

"This time you finally killed us" Congrats Doug!

"It's a fire on a spaceship, you shouldn't need explicit instruction to know it's a bad idea" "You don't know the first thing about commanding Douglas F. Eiffel" LET HIM KNOW DOUG!

"Cyborg De Vil" Eiffel really does have the best nicknames.

"I'm just a poor little old lady" Oh, I've met old ladies like you Pryce. Terribly entertaining, but awful all the same. Hated their own children too. At this point, I'm just waiting for your sad little backstory.

"Nobody says "thank you" anymore. Kids these days..." Pryce, maybe when you do something worthy of thanks, then you will be thanked.

"If it seems like I'm wrong, you don't have all the data" Well geez, I hope that pride doesn't kill you.

"Why are you asking us to read the values for you?" OH GET HER MINKOWSKI.

Okay, Pryce, in fairness to Doug, I think we've well established that most characters in this show are "metaphorically blind" in one way or another.

"Blinded by my own survival manual" it's fitting to be honest. The next edition? No, we don't need another edition Miranda.

"Well this should be easy!" Doug...Doug when is it ever easy?

Well gang, it looks like the gang's not getting out of this one this time. I will miss you all. Minkowski and Doug most of all. Kepler and Pryce less so.

Calling Pryce's husband is unfortunately the only plan. Let's see how he feels about wifey being in danger. This is either gonna go one of...potentially a few ways, and I'm very interested to see his reaction.

Will he leave her to die in space? Will he feel bad about that? Will he give up an advantage for her?

Wait. Is this Hera? Oh it's Marcus and Hera. I love the juxtaposition between Doug and Pryce and Marcus and Hera. I guess they both have a common interest. Nothing brings people together quite like it.

Oh gross Rachel's here too.

Skin alive whoever designed the flight's pod system? But this is so arbitrary...if all their enemies had been the ones to get blasted off, Cutter would give the man a promotion. For a guy who only promotes "the best" a lot of this is really just luck.

Wait. GUESTS???

Oh they got Lovelace and Jacobi. Oh dear. At least they can't kill or control Lovelace.

"I can't do much without her" I see. So she is the brain's behind Cutter's little happy murder business operation.

"Part of my signature look" Jacobi's sarcasm is growing on me the more he uses it against the right people.

"Pretty please with sugar on top" OH SO CUTTER DID HEAR JACOBI SAY THAT AND THREATEN TO SHOOT KEPLER. I think those were the exactly words he used too.

And speaking of that episode, we're back to singing about beer! 🍻Jacobi really is (formerly)evil Doug. 😂 They even sing the same song.

Is Pryce threatening to...EAT Doug? Well this is creepy.

Pryce, shut it. If you're so much of a grownup, stop acting like a pouty child.

Geez all Pryce knows how to do is complain. I guess Cutter is into that. For some weird reason. "Do I have to do everything around here." All you do is make trouble.

"You can't afford to take a chance on this" CALL HIM OUT JACOBI! I love his arc, I love his arc so much, it took way too long, but I'm so happy he's gotten here.

Oh dear. Is Jacobi in the right headspace for this? "Prettiest pumpkin princess at the ball?" Well good for Jacobi. Also very similar to the line Pryce gave to Hera. It's scary how much they sound and speak alike.

That is true. It might need to be a self-sacrifice mission. If Jacobi misses, Cutter kills him, and Eiffel and Minkowski don't survive. It's a tough situation, especially because we're not even sure how many lives are at stake here. But Jacobi, the whole point of self-sacrifice is that the people making the sacrifice agree to it, or there's literally no other way.

Yeah, Doug, Pryce is not gonna be reassuring. That's not in her generation's vocabulary.

Uh oh. Jacobi, I hope you know what you're doing.

Oh dear. Marcus seems testy.

And how much longer do we have with Rachel and Reimann? (Yes, I was corrected on the spelling).

"Just get it right this time Marcus" wow she is demanding.

Ah...there it is.

...or not...

...Jacobi?

...DUCK BOY?

Well they got them. But what happens now?

Oh great Marcus' slow clapping. And let me guess, he kills him anyway?

Business to catch up on? Pryce doesn't sound too happy.

And yeah Minkowski, hold her at gunpoint! (Though in my experience, people like her don't fear death, rather they complain it's not coming fast enough), but whatever gives you the upper hand.

Episode 60: Terms and Conditions

What's with the beeping?

"You are alright?" Strange that Rachel asks that. I guess she'd be the one to notice he's quiet.

Ah. The sunset. Very fitting.

Westerns. Cutter probably saw some of them down at the old timey picture show when he was a wee lad.

Yes, yes, "the bigger picture". But what if there is a bigger picture to even your story, Cutter? One that you're not in control over?

Cutter knows what's about to happen. He knows it's time to choose. Work wifey or scary evil plan? What's it gonna be old man?

"Who is it?" 😂 I love Doug. I love him so much.

"We could have a cup of tea" oh gosh Cutter really is every old person stereotype.

"Reflect on the working conditions. Are you fostering a supportive company culture? One that values the contributions of its employees?" Doug is the best. Doug is the best.

"If you ever want to see your worst half ever again" 👏 Tell him. TELL HIM.

So now Cutter has to a choice. He can go Legend of Korra and kick Pryce to the curb, or he can drop his tragic backstory and try to come to an understanding.

"Can you guarantee the safe recover of Dr. Pryce?" "96%" Hm. Cutter doesn't seem happy with those numbers.

Special Projects? "Similar to you while still not you. You will see what you miss and say what you don't want to" interesting. So that's why Cutter keeps Rachel around.

"How possible would it be to complete the mission without Dr. Pryce?"

DANNGGGGGGG... Rachel asking the real questions.

"I don't know what your partnership with Dr. Pryce means" Interesting...so Cutter kept that even closer to his chest.

"Before I decide, I want the information" Cutter is unraveling.

See this is why you shouldn't talk when Cutter can hear them.

"Handle this personally?" Did he just crack his knuckles? Is he going to try to fight them? 😂

Neat idea? Is Cutter gonna make his own radio show?

Kepler and Lovelace are speaking for them? This is weird. And unnecessary unless some other mischief is a foot.

CUTTER IS MAKING HER DO THE "MM-HM" 😂😂😂

Kepler reading out Eiffel's words too 😂

Cutter's promises are stupid. And taking the collar off Hera doesn't mean that Pryce can't do something else terrible.

"Those are big promises" That's basic human decency.

"That's one thing. I'm giving you three. What else?"

Kepler and Pryce are two people. I love how it clearly shows Cutter views Kepler, who he's having Lovelace talk to, a disposable.

"You wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone if you didn't need them for something." CALL HIM OUT. CALL HIM OUT. 👏👏👏

"With all due respect to you Warren, that Dr. Pryce's return is worth two of your demands" wow, Cutter just went there didn't he?

"We won't annoy you" "I'm not sure you can promise that" "First off this is...this is your boy, Douggie Fresh at the mic" 😂 I knew it was Doug when he said the "won't annoy you" thing, but having him use Kepler like this is amazing. "Gumming up the works" I love Eiffel. I love his whole speech.

Is Cutter making her slow clap? Cutter and Eiffel really are a theatrical duo.

Reject your terms? Taking advantage of you guys? You should be asking for way more. That's very true. They should ask for way more. They really should. But um...what is Cutter doing???

Ugh. It's like Cutter is still trying to teach them a lesson. Like an evil twisted mentorship figure.

I have a bad feeling about it too.

"You two crazy kids still there?" Shut up Cutter (no offense Isabel).

Cutter is gonna destroy the sol when it leaves. He has a plan to do so.

"No catch" THERE IS ALWAYS A CATCH.

"Talk to us baby" Aw, I'm so happy Hera loves it. 💕🥰

"Tell us who you are and what you're doing up here?"

YES! THE TRUTH AT LAST.

Ah, Doug has figured it out. Cutter is just ecstatic.

"Super old, look like you're 28, no need to sleep or eat, know everything, obsessed with aliens..." Oh Doug thinks they are aliens.

Not a bad theory Doug, but I feel like you're not correct.

I feel like they're about to say something like "no silly Doug. We're not aliens. Don't be an idiot. That would be over the top and ridiculous. We're obviously cyborgs from the past and future who have travels here to enslave all of humanity and rewrite the course of human history. Which is SO much more reasonable."

Also given that Lovelace WAS an alien, it's not that crazy of a guess. They're being a little unfairly mean to him right now.

Modified???? Wait, no, no deal, what does modified mean? Explain that first please, explain it now.

Send Kepler first. Cutter doesn't care about him.

"You want to stay with us" "No Boy" oh dear. Looks like they're in the middle of a little marriage spat. "You'll never be rid of me 214" I knew it, Pryce has a thing for keeping Hera under control.

Yeah, what did Jacobi do? Hopefully that alien blood works quick.

OH WHAT IS THE TEA THE BOOMERS ARE FIGHTINGGGGG!!!!

"Better to be lucky than good" something tells me you won't be for long, Miranda.

Rachel is going with them? Um. It doesn't sound like either of them like that. "Fill you in on the details" that's obviously code for something. I don't like how fast Rachel agreed to that.

Oh dear. Trouble in paradise it would seem. Worried about wifey, Marcus? "Be quiet. I was worried." "For me?" "I was." "You're not immortal" "yet" "of course, I was worried for you."

"Your only task is to back my play" wow. They really ARE a toxic married couple from the early 1900s. I guess Cutter couldn't stand the thought of losing his precious cold detached mean evil science early 1900's house/work wife.

"Friends?" "Partners." Hm.

This relationship fascinates me. Miranda shows him hardly any respect or gratitude. Yet Cutter seems to care about her in a...weirdly toxic way. Though I do wonder if Miranda feels the same.

Very true something has to be wrong here. Cutter wouldn't let them leave unless...

Wait. Unless it was irrelevant to his plans. Unless them getting back to Earth didn't matter.

"That's not why you're not gonna leave" ...um Rachel. What are you talking about? Please fill us in on the plan.

Oh Kepler's here too.

THE END OF THE WORLD?????

Wait...oh my gosh...

So...there will be no Earth to return to? And all the people on it?

ARE PRYCE AND CUTTER TRYING TO MAKE A DEAL WITH THE ALIENS???

Well I did say in a private discord chat that it was odd that they mentioned Minkowski’s husband and Doug’s daughter only to never bring up threatening their lives again. I guess they really saved that one in their back pockets for the grand finale.

Kepler, how much longer are you going to go along with this? If they destroy the Earth, everything on it goes too, including your beloved Whiskey.

Rachel, idk how much longer you think Cutter is gonna keep you around, but he clearly only cares about his evil science arm candy, and that's not you or Reimann. He'll toss you both under the bus when he's done.

Cutter, wifey seems a bit unstable, and Pryce, your man seems to not be valuing you as an equal, and as much as I dislike you, I'm still not cool with that on principle. Perhaps the two of you ought to see to some marriage counseling, somewhere...oh I don't know...far far far far far away on the other side of the universe? Where you two can finally stop having to deal with those pesky youths you claim to hate so much?

Well at least the thing about Cutter naming the AI and putting on a charming appearance and Pryce hating it and acting so cold towards them makes so much sense now. Cutter wants to play house. House where he casts himself in the role of a toxic, stereotypical, controlling, abusive, and terrible father, with a flimsy "I care so deeply" facade and horrible taste in women, but house all the same. I guess it makes sense given when he was born. Pryce views the AI and their employees as things, Cutter views them as their children or rather their "creations" but at the end of the day, their views amount to the same thing: tools from which they demand unquestioning obedience that they can cast aside if and when they chose to do so. Absolutely disgusting.

Wait. 2 hours?

THE LAST EPISODE IS TWO FULL HOURS.

And Volte Face is one hour. But then...when will I have the time to...

oh boy. Stay tuned everyone. Hopefully I'll get my answers soon. Thanks for reading!

[burtonsdoodles]

MORE RANDOM NEWSIES NOTES… PART THREE

Having sat in Brooklyn, I now 100% understand what they mean when they say seize the day really takes it out of them - you can see the sweat dripping, hear the huffs of breath and there were genuine tears falling on a number of faces as they tried to hold it together for the picture… though granted those tears could have been more to do with it being the final OGs performance… 🤷‍♀️ but no matter the reason, it was incredible and I have a whole new appreciation for it now… phenomenal!

Speaking of seize the day - I am obsessed with the changes - the sound of the sirens coming in as things heat up - adding the roll call (did anyone who was at the last OG show catch the names Jordan and Zach used - I didn’t and I’m just curious.) Though my absolute favourite section is when things slow down and turn into a bit of an Irish jig (no clue if that’s actually an accurate way of describing it but that’s what I’m going with). I love it so much - it gets me every time! Whoever’s decision it was to do that deserves ALL the gold stars!!!

Now we need to talk about Josh Barnett as Race because… PERFECTION!! While I love bens race and livesies in general is incredible - it’s the thing which started it all… but I have really gotten to love the original film and the grit it has - something that wasn't transferred into the Broadway show - but this uk production really feels as inspired by it as it is its Broadway predecessor… but once again I digress, Josh’s race feels like he could have been plucked from the streets of 92sies - he has that same grit and wit of max casellas race who commands his own respect amongst the streets separate from Jack… I think I’ve said this in another post but it’s cool so I’m saying it again, one of my favourite changes is that Jack isn’t the one who starts the show - race is - he’s the one who kicks everything off and calls all the other newsies to order, the action doesn’t start without his say so — and I love that!

Now to the thing I noticed on my last visit which was really interesting — when it comes to the day of the strike and davey and Jack are trying to make out that everything is fine even though barely anyone has shown up and race and finch are questioning everything and then they bring up spot conlon and daveys like “well if you see spot conlon then they’re with us”… race looked like he was about to absolutely thump davey for that - “why you litt—! ⬇️

Scratch that - Saw it again last night and race full on went for him - “why you son of a b—!” - only being stopped by Jack - race was fuming, as the scene went on and the others are talking, race is at the gate with davey and got right up in his face to say something to him - I didn’t actually catch what it was - but it was along the lines of “don’t ever speak to me like that again”… it might not have been that but whatever it was it was intense and I am now obsessed with this moment and absolutely love seeing an angrier/offended side to race

OH MY GOD I now fully understand why people rave about finch so much - he is a fascinating character to watch! Apparently Woodside is a prime finch spotting location… he actually did the bit albert usually does which is holding crutchie whilst Jack has the crutch… but he did not look happy to be doing it - the face he had as he held onto crutchies hand and Jack messed with the delanceys was the picture of - I don’t want to be a part of this! I don’t want to be a part of this! I don’t want to be a part of this! Jack stop causing trouble! As Jack was being chased finch literally called out to him - “you’re an idiot!” And from that point on finch was all I was watching throughout the rest of the show… (I might go into this more in another post)

Also I am now enamoured by the bond between finch and Mike, they had a load of little moments together and they were really cute… the main one that’s stuck with me is when Jacobi hands out the cups of water, Mike and finch are sharing a table, Mike gets the water but then shares it with finch, and there was a moment when finch really tentatively put his hand on mikes arm/shoulder when they’re talking about potentially being on the front page… it was just such a soft moment unlike most of the other who would do the same things but with much more gusto and enthusiastic weight… I just found it really sweet… mikes another one I’ve never really paid much attention to so have never really had any reference as to his character personality - but I see now that he’s one of the more guarded ones, wary of causing too much of a stir, keeps to the back but always listening… he actually goes really well with jittery mr. finch

Jack and Katherine kiss and all the newsies catch on… splasher: it’s about time

The delanceys give Jack a beating back stage before pushing him towards the paper press

Still more to come…

PART ONE | PART TWO

[everamazingfe]

A Close Shave

Fic Summary: After being picked up by the Urania and brought back to the Hephaestus station, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel tries to come to terms with his new look. It doesn’t go well. Luckily, Jacobi comes along to save the day. 

----------------------------------------------------

Words in this fic: 2082 Pairings: Doug Eiffel/Daniel Jacobi Warnings for this fic: Brief mentions of abuse

Notes: I got into Wolf 359 at the start of this year, and after relistening to it recently I decided to start writing some fics. I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I couldn't keep it in my drafts forever, so here it is! There’s also a link to this fic over on A O 3 as the source of this post! Click it to go read it over there, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site.

----------------------------------------------------

There was something about him, Eiffel had decided within the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time. His face was mostly blank unless he had some sly comment to say, some sarcastic remark, and then that stony expression was replaced by something cockier, more smug. Sometimes there was a flash of softness to it, usually when Maxwell was speaking. But even when his face was at its blankest, there was a mischievous gleam in those bright green eyes of his.

Eiffel had never really noticed anyone’s eyes before. He didn’t know Minkowski’s eye color, or Lovelace’s for that matter. Hell, Eiffel didn’t even know if he knew his own eye color at this point, he avoided looking in mirrors at all costs. But for some reason, he’d noticed Jacobi’s. Not only had he noticed it, but he had committed it to memory as well. 

For a moment, he was convinced he could picture them clearly as he stared out the window above his comms panel, making eye contact with them in the reflection of the glass. Somehow, he was able to picture his face with perfect clarity too, despite only seeing it a handful of times while he was in sound mind. 

“Feel good to be home?” The Jacobi that Eiffel thought he was picturing in his mind so clearly spoke, startling him out of his trance and making him jump because it wasn’t his imagination, it was the real deal. It made sense, he’d never had a very visual imagination anyway, but there was always hope for a change of mind. “Wow, I didn’t think I was all that scary, Officer Eiffel.”

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.” 

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room. 

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked. 

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes. 

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away. 

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with. 

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.” 

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter. 

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten). 

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting. 

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. 

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker. 

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.” 

“Well then we’d better get you back to the lazy embrace of zero-g.”

[davidfosterwallaceandgromit]

4, 5, 7 [trapdoor, obvs], 9

4: Tell me about one of your abandoned WIPs. Why did you abandon it?

Last summer @twutch and I came up with an elaborate Wolf 359 Stargate AU where the W359 characters were part of the Stargate program, and I was going to specifically write the "Divide and Conquer" episode with the Zatarcs (sleeper agents, brain scanner that picks up repressed memories that they think are brainwashing, but it's really O'Neill and Carter's feelings for each other, iconic)

Eiffel is the guy in the control booth yelling "chevron locked!" Former SG-12 Captain Lovelace has recently gotten a Tok'ra symbiote to save her from cancer and left the gate team and her trusty lieutenant Minkowski behind. And then of course Kepler and Jacobi of the highly competent SG-5 team are the ones dealing with the repressed feelings in the chain of command problem. I elaborately outlined and got like 6K in but I ran out of steam and never finished it ;_; Maybe someday.

7: Were there any ideas you had for Trapdoor that you couldn’t make work? What were they?

When Dean goes on his anger vacation, he spends a month living in a motel in a little town in Minnesota and befriends the local bartender Darren, who is like a big burly Benny-type guy. I did write a scene where Darren takes him on a moonlight ride on his motorcycle down to the lake. In the end that was too gay, so I had Dean get in a bar fight instead.

9: Are there any fics you’d love to see but don’t want to write yourself? What are they?

I want Ketch to be in The Dean Winchester Beat Sheet

5: Share a snippet that you’re proud of from an upcoming fic/chapter.

Jack & Dean at the burger shack from Trapdoor Ch 2 (under the cut bc long)

Inside, Bubba's was cream-tiled with red accents, and an intoxicating smell of fries and grease. Families with little kids, teenage couples, and a few lone truckers waited in three long lines, in front of three red-visored young cashiers behind a high white counter. The low overhead lighting was long fluorescent tubes. One was flickering.

Dean rubbed his eye. Jack was reading the menu with his usual concentration.

“You hungry?”

“A little,” Jack admitted.

“The seal took it out of you, huh?”

“I guess so,” said Jack. “What’s a fish and chips?”

“Something you should not buy from a burger place in Missouri,” said Dean. “Just get a cheeseburger.”

“Okay.”

Dean took out his wallet and extracted a $20 bill. He handed it to Jack. His memory was doing the skipping-record thing again, and he thought maybe it was because he was hungry, or maybe because he needed a beer.

“Get me a double bacon cheeseburger and a large fry, and a beer.”

“Double bacon cheeseburger, large fry, beer,” Jack said.

“Yep,” said Dean, pulling a $20 bill out of his wallet.

“You already gave me money,” said Jack, holding up a $20 bill.

Dean frowned at it. “Right.” He pocketed his wallet. “Be right back.”

The bathroom was cramped and dingy, with a garbage can overflowing with used brown paper towels. Dean splashed some water on his face and considered his reflection in the glass. His eyes were bloodshot. He rubbed his eyes again and blinked at his reflection. No, it was still there in the glass. The afterimage. It nudged something in his memory, like déjà vu.

When he came back from the bathroom, Jack was milling around the waiting area. “I got everything except the beer,” Jack said, holding out the change for Dean.

“Why? Keep it,” Dean added, holding up a hand.

“They asked for my ID,” Jack said.

“But you have an ID,” said Dean.

“But it’s fake,” Jack protested.

“Of course it’s fake. That’s why we gave it to you, Jack,” said Dean impatiently. “Cause you’re a freaking toddler in a Disney Channel meatsuit.”

Jack looked offended by that. Dean took the receipt from his hand and checked the number. 96.

“86,” one of the girls behind the counter called out.

Dean sighed, annoyed.

The flickering light over the middle cash register was making him feel wired. He needed that beer, but he didn’t want to stand in the line.

“So you universe-hopped again, huh,” said Dean, putting his hands in his pockets and closing his eyes against the glare. “What was that like?”

“It was strange,” said Jack. “But, most things are.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. Fair enough.

“It was like flying. One second, we were in the compound in Apocalypse World. Next second, we were in the snow.”

“So teleporting doesn’t feel like anything to you, huh?” said Dean. “Cause to us, to humans, it feels like a juicer to the skull. Like—” He made an illustrative sucking noise with his cheeks.

Jack looked at him oddly. “No.”

Dean shrugged and closed his eyes again.

“88,” said the girl behind the counter.

“That’s us!” said someone behind them.

“How did you like hanging around with Cas piloting my meatsuit?” Dean asked.

“I liked it,” said Jack. “You were nicer.”

Dean cracked an eye open. “Ouch,” he said flatly. “...But I was Cas. I mean—I wasn’t me.”

“Castiel is nicer than you are,” said Jack.

“I guess that’s fair.”

Dean closed his eye again.

“Cas told me you were proud of me,” Jack added after a pause.

Dean frowned.

“96,” said the girl.

“That’s ours,” said Jack.

“I know,” said Dean.

[nellied-reviews]

Super Energy Saver Mode Re-listen

Hellooooo! My Wolf 359 re-listen has hit episode 6, and guess what that means? Yup, you got it!

Super Energy Saver Mode

In which Eiffel struggles to name his top five lanthanides, Hilbert blows things up again, and the Hephaestus might be haunted?!

I'll confess, going into this episode I could not remember very much about it. The title felt familiar, I vaguely remembered that it was one of the episodes where something on the Hephaestus stops working, but other than that? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. So that was exciting.

And you know what? I can kind of see why I didn't retain much from this episode! Plot-wise Super Energy Saver Mode just doesn't do very much. There's not a complex solve or fix for the issues that come up, or a clever work-around. Instead, Minkowski and Eiffel just... figure everything out and fix it competently?

In retrospect, there is, of course, one big, plot-relevant, spoilery thing that happens. But even that is basically left unresolved by the episode’s ending, which aims to create a creepy atmosphere than anything else.

Because that is what this episode does well. Without the additional job of being plotty, Super Energy Saver Mode can just concentrate on being atmospheric. Coming into it pretty much blind, in particular, meant that I appreciated the tension baked into the episode - even once I remembered what was going on, I really enjoyed how spooky this episode felt.

As per usual, though, we don't start with the creepiness. Instead, we start with Eiffel chatting about something mundane - namely, the fact that it's the crew's 500th day in space!

It's something that I think, on any other show, wouldn't actually be all that mundane. There are a whole bunch of spacey series where I could imagine a pretty decent episode being built around the crew trying to host some sort of anniversary celebration. But here, 500 days isn't something to be celebrated. It's not a bad thing, per se. But it's not a good thing. It's just a thing, a reminder of how worn down the crew are at this point, and how many days they have left on the clock. We get the impression that this mission is more of a long, hard slog than anything else - and thus we're reminded again of how little Goddard cares about its employees' wellbeing and morale.

Eiffel and Hera are having an unofficial party, though, with just the two of them, which is sweet. In practice, of course, this just means that they're spending time chatting while Eiffel avoids work. But it's really cute, and I find the banter about top five lists and the various criteria that Hera uses to come up with them soooooo funny. I mean, Hera judges "Stick It to the Man" songs by active political regimes at the time of composition, and complexity of choral progression, which I love for reasons I can't quite pinpoint?

The sequence also shows how differently Hera and Eiffel think. Eiffel very immediately and intuitively forms an emotional connection to things like music, but can't even fathom how Hera just knows things like the 900th digit of pi, or all of the lanthanides. Hera, meanwhile, has so much more information and raw data at her metaphorical fingertips than Eiffel, but doesn't quite connect to it in the same way, and doesn’t entirely get how Eiffel does. It's not (like with the Dear Listeners) that she can't connect to music, or fundamentally doesn't get it. But she's working on a different scale, judging by different standards. And she's not embarrassed to mess with Eiffel because of it, or to talk about it with him. Really, it's a textbook example of how to hang out and be friends with somebody while still thinking and relating to the world differently - which I think is a large part of what I like about Eiffel and Hera's friendship.

Their fun little interaction gets interrupted, sadly, by Hilbert requesting extra power for his lab, which we can already tell will end badly, because come on, it's Hilbert. But what is interesting is how irritated Hera seems afterwards. I mean, she does the whole "I am not programmed to get upset" spiel, but nobody's buying it, and when she confesses that she doesn't like Hilbert's tone, there's definitely a lot of annoyance there. It reminds us, after seeing Hera's machine side, that she's still a person and still has emotions - a balance that Wolf 359 is generally pretty good at. Hera's allowed to be an AI, with the non-human worldview that that entails. But at the end of the day, she's still a character with emotional depth and nuance.

With that in mind, then, Hera admits that she doesn't like Hilbert's tone - which is totally understandable - but also that she's mostly worried that somebody's going to get hurt as a consequence of Hilbert's recklessness - which seems to be validated when the station's power cuts out and Hera goes offline mid-sentence.

Eiffel, given the circumstances, remains remarkably calm, but this does mark the point where the episode shifts genre to become what is, in effect, a haunted house story. It's set on a space ship, sure, but all of the beats from this point onwards are pretty much the beats you might expect if Eiffel were, say, spending the night alone in his late grandfather's crumbling old mansion, long rumoured to be cursed. It's paranormal horror at its finest, complete with weird voices and jump scares and a bunch of "it's probably nothing" moments.

I noticed, as well, that there was barely any music from this point onwards. There is some (shout out to the creepy little theme with the ghost-like, theremin-sounding wail and the soft bass guitar!) but it's subtle, and very much secondary to the sound effects, which suddenly get very loud. For as long as the power is off, we get all sorts of creaking, groaning and echoing - and with it a sense of just how big and empty the Hephaestus really is. Hera's constant presence and the electronic noises around the place do a lot to mask that, normally. But now we're hearing the silence, and it is eerie.

Adorably, Eiffel's first instinct is to ask himself, "What would Commander Minkowski say if she were here right now?" This leads into a huge and surprisingly detailed fake argument, of course, which is hilarious in and of itself, but there's also just something kinda sweet about how immediately Eiffel assumes that Minkowski would have a handle on things. Eiffel still complains about her a lot, at this point in the series, so the respect that this little moment betrays feels fresh and sort of unexpected.

Eiffel's not wrong to trust Minkowski, either. Once she shows up, the episode's main problem - Hera being offline - gets solved quickly and remarkably efficiently, with Eiffel doing the legwork and Minkowski giving instructions, and honestly, it's in moments like this that I remember how technically competent Minkowski is. I think I tend to remember the more military, combative bits best, with her stalking round harpoon in hand or shooting folks, so it's nice to be reminded that the Commander can also handle things like repairs just fine.

Of course, that  means that the episode's main tension is never actually about the power outage. The sudden silence and the threat of life support running out add to the episode's general atmosphere, sure. But the thing we are most anxious about, as the episode plays out, isn't the ship's newly-accessed Super Energy Saver Mode. No, instead of that, we're given a new mystery, and it's a doozy: what's up with that voice Eiffel keeps hearing?

It starts almost inaudible, but in the end Eiffel hears the words loud, clear and terrifying: "You're not the first." Which, like, terrifying much? It's vague and ominous and very chilling, especially with all the distortion that's going on.

In retrospect, of course, we know that this is our first encounter with Captain Isabelle Lovelace - indeed, it's one of the very few encounters that we have with the real, non-alien-duplicate Isabelle Lovelace, for whatever that's worth. We also know that she doesn't mean any harm - she's trying to warn the crew, in fact.

Strangely, though, knowing that doesn't actually this any less effective as a ghost story. After all, what are we hearing, but the voice of a dead woman, warning the crew about an even worse monster lurking in their midst? The Hephaestus, Lovelace's recording reminds us, is indeed haunted, if not literally then at least metaphorically, by the ghosts of its former crew and the traces that they have managed to leave behind.

With or without hindsight, then, the episode is creepy, hinging ultimately on the idea that there might be something not quite airtight in Hera's programming, that there could be something hiding - or deliberately hidden - just underneath her code. In making that the focus of the story, the episode opens up the tantalising possibility that something might fundamentally be wrong with the Hephaestus and its systems. The show's very setting is destabilised and made frightening - and that's a genie that you can't just put back in the bottle once you decide that you're done telling ghost stories. Instead, the feeling that something is not quite right persists even after Hera comes back online, and still haunts the episode as it draws to a close, since we don't actually get an explanation of who Lovelace is. Instead, it remains a mystery. A spooky, weird, always-in-the-back-of-your-mind mystery.

It's a bold move, and it feels a lot like what happened with the plant monster, which is also at large at this point. I'm beginning to suspect that this is a thing we're going to see more of, too - big, obvious plot threads that are ostentatiously waved in front of us, then dropped, apparently without comment. 

It's something I think these early episodes could do more easily, since the expectation that loose ends would be followed up on wasn't quite established yet. Later on in the series, everything gets more serialized, so if something like, say, an alien duplicate of Jacobi turns up and is left dangling, we can reasonably expect that it'll get addressed at a point. Earlier on? We've not got those expectations. This might just be the sort of show where weird, scary voices are brought up and then never mentioned again. It might be the sort of show that lets a plant monster loose and forgets about it for the rest of the series. 

When it turns out, then, that that isn't the case, even in these early, apparently inconsequential episodes, it feels like a bonus, and we get, in hindsight, a little thrill of recognition, as we realise that no, there was a plot there the whole time. It's a satisfying feeling, at least for me, and it's 100% what's fuelling this re-listen.

So yup. Super Energy Saver Mode. An exercise in atmospheric spookiness, an enjoyable haunted house story and just generally a pleasant surprise. Solid work, really.

  Miscellaneous thoughts

Eiffel is talking about an 830 day mission, if I've done my maths right - with the possibility of Command extending it! That is one long-ass time to spend in space with three other people!

I want to know Eiffel's top five Stick It to the Man songs so badly 

"Ooookay. Maybe this isn't one of those wait and see things. Maybe it's one of those... imminent death things."

Wait Hilbert had to amputate multiple of Minkowski's toes???

Bless her, Hera sounds drunk when she's coming back online ^-^

[wine-anon]

can you do spot x reader where the reader goes with jack to tell spot ab the strike, and spot and the reader flirt back and forth, and it ends with spot asking her out for a date?

a/n: I haven’t had a Spot request for a while, nor have I written or him in a while. Thanks for the request! Tbh when writing this, I looked up a picture of Tommy Bracco to get his eye colour and such correct, but got caught staring at his eyes because they’re overly beautiful, wtf? Also, see if you can pick up on my Easter egg to one of my other writings.

Warning: my sucky flirting skills, seriously they’re awful, don’t flirt with me ever.

“Alright, who’ll take Brooklyn?” Jack’s question made everyone look in any direction but him, “c’mon, Brooklyn? Spot Conlon’s turf. Finch, you telling me your scared of turf?”

“I ain’t scared of no turf,” the boy shot up to protest but slowly sat down again, “but that Spot Conlon gets me all jittery.”

“I’ll take Brooklyn,” the newsies heads all snapped to you, where you sat in the back corner of Jacobi’s.

“You’ll take Brooklyn?” Mike asked a concerned look on his face.

“I mean, how bad can this Spot guy be?” 

Protests rung out across the diner before a girl, you soon found out to be named Katherine, ran in and told you all that she could get you all into the paper. It was finally decided that Jack, Davey and yourself would go to Brooklyn to talk to Spot Conlon, obviously Les went with you because Davey was adamant to not have him leave his side.

After lunch the four of you made started your trek across the Brooklyn Bridge. The journey was arduous and only worsened once you got into Brooklyn territory, you were watched from every street corner and alley by Spot’s birds. The feeling of being watched was unsettling as you reached the front doors of the Brooklyn Lodging House. 

Once inside, the four of you were escorted to their common area. You were told to sit and wait on a busted up couch in the centre of the room.

“This is all quite dramatic, ain’t it?” you said once you were alone. Jack mumbled something about Spot always doing this whilst Davey and Les nodded in agreeance. 

You waited in bated silence for five minutes before the door opened again. You raised your eyebrow at the two boys that entered the room. They took point on either side of the armchair across from you and the others. From the doorway another boy entered, he was considerably shorter than the two other boys but he was stocky and well-built. His shirt had no sleeves leaving his branch-like biceps on display. Now that you noticed, none of them had sleeves which was strange.

The boy sat down in the armchair and the door behind him was shut behind him. Now that you could see his face clearly, you were stuck by just how gorgeous he was. His hair was tucked neatly under his cap, as most newsies did, including you. You took in his face, his deep brown eyes drew you in and caught your breath in your throat, thick eyelashes framing them beautifully. His jaw could cut glass and his cheekbones could cut you if you were to touch them. A small smirk presented itself on his pink lips and you found yourself licking your own as you both stared at each other.

Jack coughed loudly which broke you out of your trance, you blushed when Jack raised his eyebrow at you and shook his head with a smile. The boy, who you assumed was Spot Conlon, turned to Jack after throwing you a quick wink.

“Why ya’ here, Jack” he asked, his accent was thick and his voice deep, you almost melted on the spot.

“We’s organising a strike,” Jack spoke with an authority that you’d never heard before, “and we want to know if Brooklyn is in?”

“And what is you striking against?” Spot had an air of power and command around him that you’d be honest, was really enticing.

“We’re striking against the papes,” Davey chimed in, though not as confidently as Jack, “we want fairness. The papes price has risen and that’s not okay, we’re not going to be walked over by Pulitzer.”

“That’s great, kid,” Spot stared down Davey, like a lion would watch it’s prey. Waiting for a break of confidence. 

Nervously, Les gripped your hand from his seat next to you. You held his shaking hand tightly and comforted him as best as you could.

“So what do ya’ want from me?” Spot looked at your hand that was intertwined with Les’ instead of the other boys which made you slightly nervous.

“We want you to support us so that we can get backed by the other newsies around New York,” Jack said, pulling Spot’s attention back to him.

“How do I know that you won’t bounce at the first sign of trouble?” the question caught the two boys off-guard, so you decided to intervene.

“Because we’re fighting for a good cause, and we ain’t backing down,” Spot looked you in the face and smirked once again.

“Is that so,” he spoke with amusement and intrigue, “and what is your name, beautiful?”

“(y/n),” you decided to not waste any time, he was cute and flirting with you, so what could go wrong?

“Gorgeous name for a gorgeous person,” the grin on his face grew.

“Why thank you, handsome,” he seemed pleased with the name and so you knew you’d found your in, “did you lift something heavy before you walked in here? Your arms look so strong.”

“You think so?” you were surprised that your flirting was actually working, usually it was abysmal, at least that’s what Romeo and Race would always say.

“I’ll be honest, beautiful,” he continued, “when I first walked in here, I was pretty wary. But afta’ seeing your face, I thought I walked into a museum.”

“How’s that?” you were genuinely curious as to where this line was going.

“‘Cause you are a masterpiece to look at,” his words caught you off-guard and you blushed deep red.

“I could say the same about you,” that was all you could get out, he was intimidatingly handsome.

“Think I could take you out sometime?” another thing that shocked you. He wanted to take you out, on an actual date. Your heartbeat sped up and you smiled sweetly at him. 

Unbeknownst to you, Spot was nervous beyond belief. The King of Brooklyn rarely got nervous, but you were beautiful, radiant and down-right spectacular to look at. He didn’t want to mess this up, he genuinely wanted to get to know you. The way you talked made his heart race and when you smiled at him, he felt like he was going to faint.

“I’d love to,” your response shocked everyone in the room, the boys by your side looked at you with wide eyes, “maybe after you help us win this strike.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sugar,” Spot wanted to help you and come at your beckon-call but he knew he couldn’t logistically do that, “if you can show me that you won’t crumble at the sight of trouble, then and only then, will I support you. But I need to see that you mean it.”

Jack clenched his fist but agreed to the terms, whilst you and Les sat in silence.  Jack and Davey spoke in hushed tones to the side and Spot simply stared at you, without a care.

“Thank you or seeing us, Spot,” Jack said as he stood from the couch. Davey and Les following his lead in shaking Spot’s hand and heading to the door to be escorted back out to the street.

You sat still for a moment before getting to your feet and looking Spot in the eye. You had no clue what to say. You’d never felt this strongly about someone in a positive way before, you didn’t even know what to do. You nervously stuck your hand to shake his. He gripped your hand and shook it gently, you both stared into each other’s eyes before you coughed and pulled away awkwardly.

“Look, (y/n),” he spoke quietly and with far less confidence than before, “I wish I could help you guys, but you need to understand that it’s not what’s best for my newsies.”

“I know, Spot,” you reassured him with a small smile, “I get it, you gotta look out for these kids and I gotta look out for mine. You better be ready for that date though, because I promise you that we will win this.”

“I hold you to that, sugar,” he winked and you walked past him towards the door.

“See ya’ round, Spot,” with that you walked out of the room to find your friends. 

“See ya’, (y/n),” he spoke to thin air long after you were gone.

“What about Brooklyn?”

“I’d say they were definitely impressed,” Jack replied, “don’t you think Davey?”“Oh, definitely,” Davey spoke whilst both of them eyed you off to the side. You replied with a shrug.

“What can I say? Spot loved what we had to say,” you spoke with a smirk.

[tkmedia]

Week 4 Fantasy Busts: Chuba Hubbard, Nick Westbrook-Ikhine among matchup worries

Not like we should be surprised, but we've seen countless busts already during the 2021 season. Some have struggled all season long, while other seem to wait until you insert them in your lineup before laying an egg. We're here to help with our Week 4 fantasy busts so you don't take a near zero in your starting lineup. Whether the general hype around a player has gotten too high or someone on the start 'em, sit 'em bubble has a tough matchup, there are a number of reasons disappointments can happen. This week Chuba Hubbard and Nick Westbrook-Ikhine were hot names on waivers but have some red flags that owners might be overlooking.  Even the top studs can bust, but we can't realistically sit those players. It's easy to say the Patriots are tough against wide receivers, so expect less than usual from Mike Evans and Chris Godwin -- but who in their right mind is going to bench these guys unless you're in a six-team league? Instead, we have to find guys on the start 'em, sit 'em bubble who could actually be candidates to ride the pine this week. As always, don't bench any of our selections if you clearly have no better options, but be aware of the possibility of a down week and explore your options. WEEK 4 FANTASY: Sleepers | Start 'em, sit 'emFor last week, we get an A-plus for identifying Justin Fields, Sony Michel, Will Fuller, Robert Tonyan, and the Washington defense as busts. Where did we go wrong, though? D'Andre Swift looks almost matchup-proof in PPR, so we missed there. The same might be true for Derek Carr, who we also thought was due for a regression. Tyler Higbee had a decent game, and Tom Brady ended up with a nice fantasy day due to volume and a rushing score. Do we get some credit there for the gutsy call, though? Nah, probably not.  WEEK 4 STANDARD RANKINGS: Quarterback | Running back | Wide receiver | Tight end | D/ST | KickerOverall, our busts have been more on point than our sleeper picks, and we're back again to figure out who might struggle in Week 4.

Week 4 Fantasy Busts: Running backs

Damien Harris, Patriots vs. Buccaneers (Jackson Sparks). Harris hasn't gotten a workhorse load since he fumbled in Week 1, and even with all of Tampa Bay's defensive struggles, they've still been shutting down the run. Harris doesn't present much of a threat in the receiving game, so even with James White out indefinitely, Harris won't get much usage through the air. That said, his floor and ceiling are very low. A goal-line touchdown is all that can save his day here.Myles Gaskin, Dolphins vs. Colts (Vinnie Iyer). Malcolm Brown is getting some starting attention for his different skill set, and expect Salvon Ahmed to get some chances soon, too. The matchup is also meh.Chuba Hubbard, Panthers @ Cowboys (Matt Lutovsky). Hubbard is going to get his touches, which is half the battle, but the Cowboys' defense has been far better than expected, especially against RBs. Austin Ekeler had a good day receiving against them in Week 2, but that's standard for him. The Bucs and Eagles' backs were shut down on the ground and through the air, and Hubbard could find himself in a similar situation. Plus, Royce Freeman could wind up stealing more snaps than most think.WEEK 4 PPR RANKINGS: Quarterback | Running back | Wide receiver | Tight end | D/ST | Kicker

Week 4 Fantasy Football Busts: Quarterbacks

Sam Darnold, Panthers @ Cowboys (Sparks). Darnold has been the sleeper of the season sitting at QB12, but he'll be without Christian McCaffrey (hamstring) for a few weeks. The pressure will be on him to deliver without his safety blanket, and the Cowboys' defense looks legitimately solid after getting torched by the Buccaneers in Week 1.Derek Carr, Raiders at Chargers (Iyer). It’s slowing down at some point, and Monday night on the road against a tougher pass defense under Brandon Staley is the time. Las Vegas will be a better bet for success in the running game.Ryan Tannehill, Titans @ Jets (Lutovsky). This looks like a great matchup at first blush, but Tannehill’s top receiver (A.J. Brown) is likely out, and the Jets surprisingly are allowing the second-fewest fantasy points per game (FPPG) to QBs this year. Turns out when you’re as bad as the Jets, teams simply don’t need to pass against you. Tannehill could have a decent day, but it’s Derrick Henry who figures to be the winner here.WEEK 4 DFS LINEUPS: DraftKings | FanDuel | Yahoo

Week 4 Fantasy Football Busts: Wide receivers

Cole Beasley, Bills vs. Texans (Sparks). Beasley once again looks like a PPR machine, but his fantasy points come from volume. If this game is a blowout, Josh Allen won't attempt a ton of passes, and Beasley could see a quiet day after the first half. It's important to remember bad teams are not always a great matchup due to the possibility of a one-sided game.Nick Westbrook-Ikhine, Titans vs. Jets (Iyer). Because of injuries for A.J. Brown (hamstring) and Julio Jones (knee), he might be the top wideout for Ryan Tannehill against New York, but Tennessee won’t be throwing much and the hosts’ corners are actually playing pretty darn well.Kenny Golladay and Kadarius Toney, Giants @ Saints (Lutovsky). It’s easy to think Golladay and Toney shine with Darius Slayton (hamstring) and Sterling Shepard (hamstring) hurting, but Golladay (hip) is dinged up himself and Toney has done nothing this year. Collin Johnson actually led the Giants in targets last week, Evan Engram is back, and Saquon Barkley is commanding a lot of touches. The Saints are also a much tougher defense than Atlanta. This could be a bad all-around offensive day for New York's wideouts. MORE WEEK 4 DFS: Best stacks | Best values | Lineup Builder

Week 4 Fantasy Football Busts: Tight ends

Mike Gesicki, Dolphins vs. Colts (Sparks). Gesecki had his best game of the season against the Raiders, catching 10-of-12 targets for 86 yards. However, despite the Colts not being as good as expected on defense, they've been among the top half of the league against tight ends. Overall, this offense is just bad with Jacoby Brissett at the helm, so all Dolphins are bust candidates this week. The Colts' defense usually heats up as the season progresses.Robert Tonyan, Packers vs. Steelers (Iyer). His TD-dependent, low volume ways are becoming a concern, as now other receivers are well involved beyond Davante Adams.Dalton Schultz, Cowboys vs. Panthers (Lutovsky). Schultz has a big Week 3, but we’ve already seen him disappear one week and show up the next. While we like his overall outlook for the season, we’re not high on him against a Panthers defense that’s allowed the fifth-fewest FPPG to TEs this year.

Week 4 Fantasy Busts: Defenses

Carolina Panthers @ Cowboys (Sparks). The Panthers have been one of the top defensive units this season, but they've faced Zach Wilson, Jameis Winston, and Davis Mills. Dak Prescott will be the best quarterback they've seen, and it's not even close. It doesn't help that cornerback Jaycee Horn (foot) will out of the game, too.Washington Football Team vs. Falcons (Iyer). It’s unbelievable how poorly they are playing with questionable effort and shaky discipline all over the field. They could get right against the Falcons but seem more likely to fall further into irrelevance.Denver Broncos vs. Ravens (Lutovsky). The Broncos have been great this year, but it’s not overly difficult to put up fantasy points against the Giants, Jaguars, and Jets. The Ravens are a different animal, and Denver is destined to disappoint. Read the full article

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, April 21, 2021

There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling: It’s Called Languishing (NYT) At first, I didn’t recognize the symptoms that we all had in common. It wasn’t burnout—we still had energy. It wasn’t depression—we didn’t feel hopeless. We just felt somewhat joyless and aimless. It turns out there’s a name for that: languishing. Languishing is a sense of stagnation and emptiness. It feels as if you’re muddling through your days, looking at your life through a foggy windshield. And it might be the dominant emotion of 2021. Languishing is the neglected middle child of mental health. It’s the void between depression and flourishing—the absence of well-being. You don’t have symptoms of mental illness, but you’re not the picture of mental health either. You’re not functioning at full capacity. Languishing dulls your motivation, disrupts your ability to focus, and triples the odds that you’ll cut back on work. Part of the danger is that when you’re languishing, you might not notice the dulling of delight or the dwindling of drive. You don’t catch yourself slipping slowly into solitude; you’re indifferent to your indifference. When you can’t see your own suffering, you don’t seek help or even do much to help yourself.

Biden’s virtual climate summit: Diplomacy sans human touch (AP) There will be no hands to shake or backs to slap, no way to look a foreign leader in the eye. The small human moments that define statecraft will be reduced to images on a screen. President Joe Biden, a most hands-on politician, this week will host a major climate summit with dozens of world leaders—all of them stuck on Zoom. Streamed 100% live with no backroom give-and-take, the summit will be more geared to sending a message about America’s return to the climate fight and nudging the world toward a greener planet than about specific deals or action. Climate activists may hope for dramatic moments when countries like Japan, South Korea or even China are suddenly inspired by Biden and announce they will stop funding other nations’ coal power plants. But Henry “Jake” Jacoby, who cofounded the MIT Center for Global Change Science, just laughs at the idea: “On a Zoom call with 40 nations of the world watching? Yeah, not a chance.”

Chauvin guilty of murder and manslaughter in Floyd’s death (AP) Former Minneapolis Officer Derek Chauvin was convicted Tuesday of murder and manslaughter for pinning George Floyd to the pavement with his knee on the Black man’s neck in a case that triggered worldwide protests, violence and a furious reexamination of racism and policing in the U.S. Chauvin, 45, was immediately led away with his hands cuffed behind his back and could be sent to prison for decades. The verdict — guilty on all counts, in a clear-cut victory for Floyd’s supporters — set off jubilation tinged with sorrow around the city. Hundreds of people poured into the streets, some running through traffic with banners. Cars blared their horns.

Teen’s death puts focus on split-second police decisions (AP) It happened in less than a second. Thirteen-year-old Adam Toledo dropped the gun he’d been holding, turned and began raising his hands just as the officer had commanded. Then the cop fired a single shot, killing the boy in the dark Chicago alley. The graphic video that became the latest tragic touchstone in the nation’s reckoning with race and policing puts a microscope on those split-second decisions with far-reaching and grave consequences. It takes the brain about three-fourths of a second to react to a perceived threat, said Chris Burbank, a former police chief in Salt Lake City who is now with the Center for Policing Equity. Most police can then draw a gun and fire two accurate rounds in 1.5 seconds, so the pivotal portion of a confrontation can be over in less than three seconds.

Journalism problems (American Press Institute) The latest World Press Freedom Index from Reporters Without Borders found that journalism was impeded or constrained in 73% of the 180 countries that the index evaluated. The report finds that the pandemic severely curbed journalists’ access to sources and reporting in the field. Meanwhile, the he2021 Edelman Trust barometer, which surveyed people in 28 countries, found that 58% of respondents said journalists deliberately misled the public by reporting information that they knew was false. The United States ranks 44th out 180 countries in press freedom and is rated “fairly good”; the top five countries when it comes to press freedom are Norway, Finland, Sweden, Denmark and Costa Rica.

Covid in Brazil: Hunger worsens in city slums (BBC) The queue snakes around the block and each day it gets longer: hungry residents of Heliopolis, São Paulo’s largest favela, waiting in line for the handout that will keep them going until the next morning. They are given a bowl of pasta with meat and a portion of rice, two packets of biscuits and a carton of milk, shared between a whole household and usually their only meal of the day. Before the pandemic, 300 people would queue up here. Now it is over 1,000, and the charity that runs it has 650 others across São Paulo. “The vast majority of people who live in the favelas work in the informal economy, as cleaners in homes or helping to bake cakes, so when businesses close or houses stop using them, they feel the impact,” says Marcivan Barreto, the local co-ordinator. “You see people queuing up at 03:00 for food. I’m very worried that as the pandemic continues, a hungry father will start looting supermarkets. When you’re starving, despair hits.”

Argentina’s Misery Deepens in the Pandemic (NYT) Before the pandemic, Carla Huanca and her family were making modest but meaningful improvements to their cramped apartment in the slums of Buenos Aires. She was working as a hairstylist. Her partner was tending bar at a nightclub. Together, they were bringing home about 25,000 pesos ($270) a week — enough to add a second story to their home, creating extra space for their three boys. They were about to plaster the walls. “Then, everything closed,” said Ms. Huanca, 33. “We were left with nothing.” The global economic devastation that has accompanied Covid-19 has been especially stark in Argentina, a country that entered the pandemic deep in crisis. Its economy shrank nearly 10 percent in 2020, the third straight year of recession. The pandemic has accelerated an exodus of foreign investment, which has pushed down the value of the Argentine peso. That has increased the costs of imports like food and fertilizer, and kept the inflation rate above 40 percent. More than four in 10 Argentines are mired in poverty. Hanging over national life is an inevitable renegotiation later this year with the International Monetary Fund, an institution that Argentines widely detest for having imposed crippling budget austerity as part of a rescue package two decades ago.

Britcoin (Foreign Policy) The Bank of England is exploring whether to follow the lead of China in developing its own digital currency. The proposal, dubbed “Britcoin” by U.K. Finance Minister Rishi Sunak, is in early stages: A task force between the U.K. Treasury and Bank of England has been formed to investigate the viability of such a move. The European Central Bank said last week that it was also looking at electronic cash, but that implementation was years away.

A Quiet Arms Race Is Rapidly Heating Up Between the Two Koreas (NYT) Pride and jealousy have driven North and South Korea to engage in propaganda shouting matches and compete over who could build a taller flagpole on their border. Now that one-upmanship is intensifying a much more dangerous side of their rivalry: the arms race. Earlier this month, South Korea’s dream of building its own supersonic fighter jet was realized when it unveiled the KF-21, developed at a cost of $7.8 billion. The country also recently revealed plans to acquire dozens of new American combat helicopters. When President Moon Jae-in visited the Defense Ministry’s Agency for Defense Development last year, he said South Korea had “developed a short-range ballistic missile with one of the largest warheads in the world.” Unlike North Korea, the South lacks nuclear weapons. But in recent years the country has revved up its military spending, procuring American stealth jets and building increasingly powerful conventional missiles capable of targeting North Korean missile facilities and war bunkers. The impoverished North has used those moves to justify expanding its own arsenal, and has threatened to tip its short-range missiles with nuclear warheads and make them harder to intercept. Experts warn that the ensuing arms race between the two countries is jeopardizing the delicate balance of peace on the Korean Peninsula.

China Plans a Communist Birthday Bash (NYT) Movie theaters in China are being ordered to screen patriotic films with titles like “The Sacrifice” and “The Red Sun.” Elementary students in some cities are being told to create paintings and calligraphy extolling the “Chinese dream.” Buses and subways are broadcasting nationalistic messages about revolutionary heroes. China’s Communist Party is gearing up for a patriotic extravaganza to celebrate the 100th anniversary of its founding on July 1. Officials are going into overdrive to make sure commemorations go off without a hitch—and hammer home the message that the party alone can restore China to what Beijing considers the country’s rightful place as a global power. While much of the focus will be on the past, the party’s centenary will have significant repercussions for China’s future. The celebrations will give China’s top leader, Xi Jinping, a forum to present himself as a transformative figure on par with Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping. “We need to educate and guide the whole party to vigorously carry forward the red tradition,” Mr. Xi said during a recent conference call with political leaders about the centenary, according to People’s Daily, an official newspaper. Chinese officials, using the slogan “Follow the Party Forever,” are keen to trumpet China’s strength in a pandemic-ravaged world and justify the party’s increasingly tight grip on daily life in China.

Beijing’s control over Hong Kong (Washington Post) For a place that has been stripped of its democratic rights during a pandemic, some days in Hong Kong still feel routine. April 15, however, was not. That occasion, the first “National Security Education Day” since China imposed a tough security law in June, was the most visible display of Hong Kong’s fall from a relatively free, boisterous territory to an Orwellian place that resembles the repressive mainland. Directed at children and designed to rehabilitate the image of the Hong Kong Police Force, last week’s campaign showed how the authorities are enforcing a single narrative of the protests—meddlesome foreign forces stirring up trouble—and how no expense will be spared to fully integrate the financial center into China’s authoritarian system. The day started with flag-raising ceremonies at most schools and the singing of the Chinese national anthem, the “March of the Volunteers.” Many schools also organized national security puzzle games and asked students to write “wish cards” pledging support for the new security law—the resulting works resembling the message-covered “Lennon Walls” synonymous with the democracy movement. Hong Kong’s best legal minds continually tell me the law is a vague catchall, creating broadly worded crimes that could land people in jail for playing a song or uttering a slogan. They call the law “one of the greatest threats to human rights and the rule of law” in Hong Kong since the handover; it has already driven out thousands of people and led some companies, most notably the New York Times, to move employees elsewhere. Now, it was being portrayed to youngsters as something universal and observant of human rights. One elementary school teacher said her 10-year-old pupils can’t comprehend this nuance—and so have become part of a “brainwashing” campaign.

Hugs, tears as Australia-New Zealand travel bubble opens (AFP) Emotions ran high Monday as excited passengers set off on the first flights to take advantage of a quarantine-free travel bubble between Australia and New Zealand, allowing families split when borders closed almost 400 days ago to finally reunite. “(I’ll) yell, scream, cry, hug, kiss, (feel) happy—all of these emotions at once,” Denise O’Donoghue, 63, told AFP at Sydney airport as she prepared to board her flight. The arrangement means that for the first time since the pandemic closed borders worldwide, passengers can fly in either direction across the Tasman Sea without undergoing mandatory Covid-19 quarantine when they arrive. “It’s a very big day and exciting for families and friends,” said New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, who hailed the success of both countries in containing the virus as a key factor in allowing the travel corridor.

Fleeing a Modern War, Syrians Seek Refuge in Ancient Ruins (NYT) AL-KFEIR, Syria—As the sun set, children in dirty clothes and battered shoes herded sheep past the towering stone walls of a Byzantine settlement abandoned more than 1,000 years ago, leading them into an ancient cave nearby where the animals would spend the night. Abu Ramadan, 38, said he cared little for the site’s history as a trading and agricultural center, but appreciated the sturdy walls that blunted the wind and the abundance of cut stones that a family who had lost everything could salvage to piece together a new life. “We built these from the ruins,” he said, pointing to a chicken coop and wood-burning stove. “We, too, have become ruins.” As Syria��s 10-year civil war has displaced millions of people, families like Abu Ramadan’s have sought refuge from a modern war behind the walls of dozens of ancient villages sprinkled across the hills of the country’s northwest, a region still out of the control of President Bashar al-Assad’s government. Since their original owners left them between the eighth and 10th centuries, these ruins have remained in remarkably good condition for more than 1,000 years, their stone structures largely withstanding the passing of empires and battering by the wind and rain. And many Syrians, with noplace else to go, have taken refuge in them.

President of Chad Is Killed as Soldiers Clash With Rebels (NYT) Gunshots rang out in the capital of Chad Monday night into early Tuesday morning as supporters of the president, Idriss Déby, fired in the air celebrating the announcement that after three decades of iron-fisted rule, he had just won a sixth term. Meanwhile, Mr. Déby was dying on a battlefield north of the capital, Ndjamena, of wounds sustained while fighting rebels trying to overthrow his government, his military generals said. His death was announced on Tuesday. The death of Mr. Déby, who brooked no dissent and was feared by his own people, could spark a battle for succession and leave a gaping hole in a country heavily relied upon by the West in its wars against Islamist extremists in West and Central Africa. Chad is a desert nation three times the size of California, surrounded on all sides by countries facing serious instability, like Libya, to the north, and Nigeria to the south. Its military forces have been key to both the war in the Sahel, a vast stretch of territory to the south of the Sahara, and the fight against Boko Haram and its splinter groups in the Lake Chad region.

Home accidents (WSJ) The scars of 2020 are in some cases quite literal: A study published in Injury Epidemiology found that 26 percent of about 2,000 respondents surveyed between March and June 2020 reported a household injury, up from a 2017 version of the same survey where 14 percent reported one in the preceding three months. New hobbies, home improvement projects, at-home exercise routines, all the random things people did to divert their attention in the inaugural months of the pandemic in some cases came back to bite them. I, for one, learned a valuable lesson about the melting point of solder vs. the melting point of thumbs over the summer that I would not care to repeat.

[icytatribe]

Timebound Companions III: 

Karma (League of Legends)’s Biography: 

Emeri and Karma 

A job’s always well done when patients ask for their favorite nurse, especially in this case for Karma. And it’s always a thrill to see her favorite patient at Starhill Hospital. 

As soon as Karma came in for work, she visits Emeri who’s on treatment and medication for a strange illness that makes Emeri unable to breathe. 

Emeri exclaimed as soon as she noticed Karma coming in, dropping her pencil from drawing, “Miss Karma! I think I’m getting better. When do I get to see the stars in the night sky?” 

Karma checked her vitals and treatment outlook. Emeri was stable within hospital walls but the unknown that lies outside is still dangerous for her fragile lungs. “Do you want to try it again?” 

“I’m not afraid! Emeri is strong. Miss Karma makes me strong.” 

Karma smiled at her optimistic enthusiasm, even though she was still worried if they tried it again. She took out the wheelchair and lifted Emeri onto it, “Are you comfortable, dear?” Karma also placed some of her treatment medications within a banana bag and injected an IV within Emeri’s arm, so it will be a safeguard when she’s not on the bed. 

Emeri seemed ecstatic by the swinging of her legs as she sat in the wheelchair as usual. Karma asked, “Are you ready again, Emeri?” 

“To the stars!” Emeri giggled. 

Karma and Emeri traversed up the elevator to the highest balcony on the hospital. It was midnight, so the stars should be out by then. 

Before heading out the door that connects to the outside balcony, Karma insisted gently, “Alright, Emeri, take a deep breath.” 

Emeri took the deepest of breaths and closed her eyes. Once they passed the doorway, it was very chilly up there. Emeri released her breath and opened her eyes, “I feel the wind! Is this what the outside feels like?” 

Karma smiled as she gently put her violet lab coat on Emeri to keep her warm, “It’s usually warm in Starhill Falls. But tonight’s a cool day.” 

Emeri gazed up and gasped, “The stars! There are so many. It feels like I’ve been one before.” 

Karma giggled, “You, a star? Inside your heart, yes. But right now, you’re a normal girl named Emeri.” 

Emeri hugged Karma, “Thank you for being with me, Miss Karma. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here. 

30 minutes have passed since Karma and Emeri stayed on the balcony, admiring the stars. Apparently, Emeri knew so much about the each star’s story she could see, even inquiring that one of them was her friend up there. Karma was skeptical of her stories, but to Emeri being 10 years old, it made her happy to tell them. Emeri even said that one day when she’s older, she explore so many worlds, and it would be wonderful if Karma joined along.

It seemed the medications that Karma placed as her IV worked for Emeri to stay for so long outside. 

Suddenly, a rushing wind froze the air. A mysterious shadow appeared, forming itself into a man. 

“Well, well. Is there where the another Star resides?” The man stood from a distance, looming. 

“Who are you?” Karma commanded, placing herself in front of Emeri. 

“Why don’t you hand me the Star, and I’ll let you go?” The man slowly walked closer. 

“What Star are you talking about?” Karma said, “Back away.” 

“Miss Karma, I’m scared. He feels scary.” Emeri held onto Karma’s hand, “He looks like my nightmare I’ve been having.”  

When the man started to get closer, Emeri felt weaker and trying to grasp a single breath. Karma noticed and decided to lift Emeri and run from balcony downstairs. Emeri was starting to get a fever when she starts to feel unbearable, so Karma had to rush down to her hospital room to stabilize her. 

Before Karma could reach the room, the Starhill Plaza with the largest tree began to glow. Karma stopped and went closer to the scene. Once it stopped glowing, the tree opened its door, and there was a red-haired fellow. 

“Ah, did I land properly, MARLE?” He fluffed his jacket, “Is this where a Star in Distress is around?” 

He suddenly turned around and noticed Karma holding Emeri, breathing weakly. He asked before attempting to walk closer, “Hello, I won’t hurt you guys, but it seems you were running from something.” 

“You’re not the same man up there, right?” Karma stepped back. 

“I’ve never been ‘up there’ if you’re wondering. Luckily, I got the coordinates and this place has a tree. Pretty cool to have such a plaza. Also, my name’s Jacoby Ridington.” 

Karma told her name to him, easing her nerves because she could feel Jacoby was alright. Jacoby noticed Emeri and asked if he can touch her forehead. 

When Karma allowed him, he touched Emeri’s forehead, and the wonders that dazzled in her mind astounded him. Emeri’s mind was full of starlight protected by the thought that she was a human girl. 

“No wonder she’s weak. No star is able to withstand by itself in a human body. But I’m surprised she lasted for so long and for years.” 

Karma grew confused of his words, “What do you mean? Emeri isn’t human?” 

“Technically, she isn’t. The more she knows of her starlight and the dangers that want her, it can stress her human body. I’ve seen this before. I can make a crystal that resonates with her starlight. But we have to head into the Tree there. That’s where my lab is in. MARLE can help.” 

Karma looked at the tree in the plaza, “It seems a bit small for the three of us. Will this crystal cure Emeri?” 

“Don’t worry. You have to wait and see. Just come along. And I do hope so.” 

Karma followed Jacoby into the tree, and inside, a luxurious yet loud laboratory expanded into view. Karma peeked out and in, “Wait...there’s a whole room in here. How?” 

“That’s a story for another time.” Jacoby said, “Let’s see if I can make this crystal. Feel free to make yourself at home. You can place Emeri on the bed there.” 

Jacoby called onto MARLE and asked her for a singular star crystal. He began to fixate all sorts of science into building the Star Crystal for Emeri. MARLE analyzed Emeri and told him who Emeri truly is, besides being a star. Minutes later, Jacoby finished the crystal and walked over to Emeri’s bedside. Karma stood by, worried. He placed the crystal on top of Emeri’s heart, and her starlight began to flow into it, disappearing her human body along with it. 

“Where did she go?” Karma asked. 

“A proper home where she’s truly herself, and she can become whoever she wishes to be. And I’m sure she’ll still have the memories with you. So this crystal will definitely be attuned to you when she wakes up.” 

Jacoby handed Karma Emeri’s crystal, and it feels alive and warm. Karma looked into the crystal and heard Emeri’s voice once more. 

Hello, Miss Karma! I feel so alive and bouncing. I am as bright as a star like those in the night sky! I still feel so sleepy. Once I wake up, we can go travelling together. There’s so much to see along the starlight trail. 

Karma smiled, “Emeri...” 

Jacoby noticed their connection and spoke, “Emeri’s starlight might be unstable since she’s so young. Her starlight is similar to MARLE where they can undergo time-travelling. She’ll have to stay with me for a while until she gets older. MARLE can accompany her.” 

“Time travel?” Karma said with a bit of confusion. 

“The wonders of time travel. I’ve done my fair share. Do you want to experience? Or would you rather just stay in Starhill Falls and just continue working?” 

“My life has always been taking care of Emeri as a nurse. And now that I learned new things about her and you, I realize the one thing that makes life brighter is having a companion to enjoy with.” Karma said, “I was in a bad time until she showed up as a patient.” 

Jacoby heard her words carefully and almost remembered about his past with Sayuri Tsukiko. He realized, even though he has MARLE to accompany him, that having such a companion does make things brighter, especially when there are there to help him make the right decisions. 

“I would like to follow Emeri’s journey. And I’m sure she would want me alongside her, too. You said her starlight was unstable and might cause havoc with her time-travelling everywhere, but whenever she used to sleep in the hospital bed when I’m around, Emeri was always stable.” 

Jacoby smiled, “I always needed another companion.” 

Karma then remembered about the mysterious man that attempted to kidnap Emeri and described the scene to Jacoby. 

He explained, “Must be ‘him’ again. Every time a star’s in distress, he tends to be there to do all sorts of bad things. Fortunately, I found you and Emeri before he could close in. If we travelled together, it may be dangerous. So are you willing to face those dangers?” 

“If it’s to protect Emeri, then there are no dangers worth solving.” 

“Well then, where shall we start first? Past, present, or future?” 

[movedtosalamoonder]

Edge of a Knife ~ An SI-5 Fanfic [ch. 1]

Kepler, would you T U R N O F F T H E C O U N T R Y M U S I C already??

Wordcount: 4k

Genre: Angst, slowburn, prequel/origin story

Warnings: Past self harm, scars

A/N: Just so y’all know, this fic will, in the future, involve Kepcobi. NON-IDEALIZED Kepcobi. It’s very important to me that they not be romanticized, since their in show relationship is so unhealthy. So future warning for unhealthy relationship.

Prologue | Chapter Two | Chapter Three || Masterpost || || Read it on AO3

It starts the moment they pull out of Maxwell’s driveway. The incessant, insistent, clamoring hell that the rest of the world calls country music.

Jacobi groans and slouches so low in his seat that he can barely see the road. He pictures the dashboard rising up his line of sight as a wave of oil, ready to drown him and pull him into the merciful, peaceful, quiet black void of death.

Kepler takes his eyes off the road for a minute to grin down at his weapons expert-though he’s careful to do so while Jacobi is looking away.

“Mr. Jacobi...is it really all that bad?” he says, in a tone that does nothing to betray his expression.

“Yes…” Jacobi whines. “Country is, like, the audible embodiment of being slowly crushed to death by a thousand tractors driven by people wearing infinite layers of plaid flannel and camouflage while it rains cheap beer.”

“An accurate summation of the experience, Jacobi. Kepler, are you trying to kill us? We’re not even on the highway yet. At first I thought it was a practical joke, but practical jokes aren’t supposed to do you any permanent physical harm.”

“What...permanent physical harm is this delightful music causing you, Maxwell?”

“In another two minutes my ears will start hemorrhaging,” Maxwell deadpans. Kepler just chuckles.

“Please, sir. I’ll do anything.”

Kepler raises an eyebrow at him. “Anything, Mr. Jacobi?”

“Oh, no, not this,” says Maxwell, curling into a ball around her phone, which she was presumably programming to make coffee or blow up the white house. “Anything but this. I’ll take the country music over you two flirting.”

Jacobi colors significantly. “We’re not flirting, Lana.”

“Suuuure you aren’t.”

Kepler huffs, offended-though by him or Maxwell, Jacobi can’t tell. He decides not to ask.

“Tell you what, Maxwell. I’ll let you pick the music for the rest of the trip-hell, you can even make a playlist-and in return, I get to tell Mr. Jacobi whatever I want-without complaint from you.”

Jacobi glances back at his best friend for a moment, forgetting the torturous country music. Maxwell looks almost pained. Her nose is scrunched and she’s biting her lip, hard-she looks like a confused rabbit.

“Do we have a deal.” says Kepler. It’s definitely a statement; even in banter he retains his authority. Jacobi shivers.

“I-can I use Spotify Premium?”

The corner of Kepler’s mouth twitches. “Done.”

“Great.” Maxwell immediately pops a pair of earbuds in and continues scrolling through her phone.

“You had those this whole time and didn’t use them?” Jacobi asks, exasperated. Maxwell shrugs. “ ‘S more fun to make fun of Kepler’s terrible taste-”

“Hey!”

“-which will soon be corrected,” she finishes smoothly. “But you’re on your own now, at least until I build the most epic road trip playlist ever heard by humankind.” She winks. “You’re on your own with the Colonel for a while, unfortunately.”

The next chunk of time-Jacobi feels it like hours, but he knows it’s probably minutes-is kind of odd. He’s not used to not having anything to do, and Jacobi is not a patient man (at least not in the sense that most people mean when they say “patient”). Math, and working with his hands, those he’s good at. One step flows into another over and over, all with an end goal, and there’s no biding your time waiting for dough to rise or for-for mice to warm up to each other, as is the case with some of Maxwell’s hobbies. There’s no staring into the distance or trailing your hand in the windstream. There’s none of this...idleness.

In all honesty Jacobi will probably been fine if someone just gives him something to do-like tallying the number of Toyotas from before 2008 that they pass. Stakeouts are never really a problem for him either, as long as he has someone or something to keep an eye on. It’s-Jacobi swears quietly as he realizes-it’s not having anywhere to look.

Not having anywhere to look, that is, besides Colonel Warren James Kepler.

He’s still glowing in the light of his recent promotion, and even though Jacobi can tell he’s definitely not happy with this particular assignment, there’s something about the tension lining his shoulders and the clench of his jaw that makes him all the more attractive. The rigidity of his body is a framework, a skeletal building structure, and Jacobi is stuck through with support beams. He can’t move his gaze or they’ll collapse and fall away.

He wriggles his shoulders, trying to make the beams align just right, so he can look away without them falling.

He can’t.

Jacobi settles for staring at the gearshift, but his eyes are mostly on Kepler’s hand resting lazily beside it, fingers spread, tarnished college ring shoved over his middle finger. The support beams tilt.

“Jacobi. You alright?”

He nearly jumps-nearly betrays himself. “Fine, sir.”

It only takes him a second to realize his inconsistency. “Besides this hell music, I mean.”

Kepler raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Maxwell taps at his shoulder. “Hey. Danny. What do you think, Kansas first or Toto?”

“Kansas or-Maxwell, what are you doing?”

She tips one shoulder in a half shrug and leans her head against it, and her hair sweeps over the back of her jacket, too broad in the shoulders as always. “Making a playlist, duh. I always felt that Kansas and Toto should be next to each other but I can never decide how.”

“Well-” he’s a little thrown that she want his opinion on this- “uh, which one-which one sounds good next to the other?”

Maxwell slides her tongue over teeth in concentration. “It’s not about that really, I just want the words to look nice.”

“But you’re going to be hearing the playlist.”

“Well, yeah. But it needs to be written out, doesn’t it?”

“I...I guess? Sure? Wait, why?”

Maxwell rolls her eyes. “It just does, Jacobi. The numbers have to be right and the artists have to look good together and the number of words in the title of each song have to vary right.”

Jacobi blinks. “What?”

“Can I make it any clearer?”

Kepler chuckles softly. Jacobi ignores him.

“Waaait...is this...is this some weird coder thing?”

Maxwell huffs a sigh in his face. Her breath smells like the tiny hospitality mints that haunt Kepler’s office-Jacobi knows because he and Lana are the only two people who ever take them. For anyone else, he suspects, it must feel like snatching a piece of treasure out from under a jealous dragon. At least, it must while Kepler is looking at you with that disarming smile, his (fake) military jacket just barely tight enough for the muscles in his arms to show, worn like armor, like a comfortable shell. He belongs in that uniform, but he’s important enough to add his own piece of it to fit his tastes, not even necessarily because he wants to but because walking past all the senior officers and watching them actively not mention it is a display of power, of-

“Jacobi. Are you listening at all?”

“Hmm?”

“I said it’s not some weird coder thing, how would you like it if I explained every one of your many idiosyncrasies by asking if it was ‘some weird bomber thing’.”

“Demolitions expert.” Jacobi muttered.

“Whatever! Just help me decide what to put first.”

Alana Maxwell is many things. Annoyingly organized, for one, Jacobi thinks as he swipes her playlist into random order, hoping she’ll like it better than the last one he tried.

She’s his sister, too, though, and sisters are supposed to be annoying. Something would be wrong if she didn’t try to tease the crap out of him every moment they were together. It’s one of the ways he knows she’s in a bad mood.

She….she kind of looks it now, come to think of it. It’s been quite a few miles since she’s come up with anything scathing to say about his song selection, instead answering with a bored “nope” and a sigh. He’s finding it easier to think, now that he has something to do besides look at his entirely too attractive commanding officer.

He catches her, looking up between songs, running her fingernails along the top of her thigh in a smooth, predictable motion, not quite intense enough to be itching, not quite light enough to be casual fidgeting. Her lips tighten when she notices him and she snatches her phone.

“Are you done yet? Also-why, why is Avril Lavigne next to Three Days Grace?”

“I...don’t know who either of those people are. Lana, you okay?”

“Fine.”

“I told you to pack shorts.”

“They were all in the wash,” she says, avoiding his eyes.

“Lana, really? All of them? It must be a hundred degrees out here. And you say I don’t know how to pack. What were you thinki-”

Her glare cuts him off as she mouths “shut up”. He gives her a look, but mouths “alright, fine”.

Jacobi turns back to face the road, uncomfortably aware that Kepler is staring at him and not a little concerned that he’s going to run them off the road. “Colonel, can we stop at a gas station? I have to go to the bathroom.”

“...Sure, Jacobi.”

He can hear a hint of curiosity in the usually flat drawl but doesn’t speak to it. Lana has her secrets. And if Kepler makes her drag them into the light of day Jacobi will punch him right in his perfect face.

They’re passing the airport now. Jacobi glares out his window at each plane, the searing hot sound of each takeoff nestling into his ears and making him restless. Why they couldn’t just fly to California he’d never know, and Kepler didn’t seem about to tell him.

Probably some stupid team building exercise.

They pull into the nearest 7-11 once the worst of the traffic is past them. Kepler immediately starts tapping his fingers against the wheel, which Jacobi takes to mean “if you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll just be very, very impatient.” He gets out of the car fast, grabs his backpack because he has a feeling he might need it, and taps a hand on the back of his seat-a small, but unmistakable, invite to Maxwell.

The inside of the gas station is dark and very faintly blue after the persistent sun outside. Alana’s footsteps are reluctant. Jacobi can hear the jarring scrape as the soles of her sneakers drag against the linoleum. He doesn’t say anything until they’re over by the slushies-the only other person in the building is a half asleep teen with about six eyebrow piercings but Lana needs space. More space than this, but it’s the best he can do.

He’s beginning to fill a cup with blue raspberry when he feels her forehead against his back, thudding into him in concert with a soft “ugh”.

“Hello,” he says casually.

“Jacobiiiii.”

“That’s my name.”

He reaches for a lid, hunts around with his eyes for the little scoop-y straws. Ah. There they are.

For a second he thinks she’s about to say something important, but instead- “You know I hate blue raspberry.”

“I know,” he says calmly. “This is for me. Next one’s cherry.”

Kepler’s Pina Colada is nearly full before she actually says anything with any weight.

“I don’t like this.”

“Don’t like what?”

“Don’t like being in a car, with other people, without-without having-”

“Without being in complete control? You are a bit of a control freak, Lana.”

She punches his shoulder, nearly causing him to spill Kepler’s slushie. “Shut up.”

“Hey! Watch it,” he says, but it’s more of a mumble than a demand. He sighs, slow through his nose so Lana doesn’t hear.

“Okay...so...right this instant, what would help?”

“That slushie, for one.” Alana says, scooping it up the counter and sticking the straw in her mouth, gazing at him with faux-Bambi eyes. “It is so hot.”

Jacobi frowns at her. “I still have to pay for that. And you should be wearing something more suited to Florida instead of your New-England-Winter apartment.”

“Fall,” she says around the straw.

“What?”

“New England fall. It’s not that cold.”

Jacobi rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you have any shorts? You’re gonna get heat stroke.”

“I do have shorts. For home.”

“Meaning?”

She won’t look at him. He suspects any further conversation designed to get information out of her will not go over well. He tosses his backpack on the floor between them and takes the cherry slushie from her, balancing it against his chest. “Go change, there’s shorts in my bag.”

Maxwell bites her lip. “I just don’t want Kepler-”

“Relax. He won’t.”

“Fine.”

She takes the bag, eyes downcast, and Jacobi heads over to the register to pay. By the time he’s done Alana is out of the bathroom. His shorts are a little too big for her but they look comfortable enough with her belt, and more importantly they’re long enough that you can’t see her scars. “Help me carry?” he says, and she takes her slushie and continues to drink like nothing’s happened.

“You have to actually help me with the playlist now, instead of just shuffling it around. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

“Fine, Lana, as long as you help me make Kepler stop for lunch.”

“Alright.”

Her tongue is bright red. He resists the urge to smile. His hands are going numb from the slushies, but he barely feels it. It’s a nice contrast to the clinging heat. They walk outside and he starts to open the shotgun door, and then-

“Comfortable, Doctor Maxwell?”

Screw it, Kepler can wait.

“Perfectly,” says Alana, unruffled, but Jacobi slams the shotgun door, holds the backseat door open, and nudges her into the middle seat with his shoulder anyway. He hates Kepler picking on her. He hates that he doesn’t think about anything beyond his own authority and how to get more of it. You know people, you control them. Jacobi’s familiar with the tactic, but damned if anyone is going to twist Lana’s insecurities into a weapon.

“Jacobi-” she protests, but he’s already strapping in.

“C’mon. We’re gonna finish that playlist, kay?”

She pinches her lips together, flings a loose strand of hair over her back. “I’m not a child, you know,” she half whispers, half mouths.

“I know,” he says out loud. Kepler sighs, loudly. Jacobi pretends he doesn’t hear. There’s a few tense moments of unsteady eye contact, and then Lana hands him her phone.

“Fine,” she says, “but this time I get to watch to make sure you’re not as much of an idiot as usual.”

“Works for me,” he says.

They pass the time for a few miles like this, Lana snuggled into Jacobi’s shoulder despite the heat, and ribbing him unmercifully every time he makes a “stupid” choice. Jacobi returns the jabs, but he’s just a bit too tired of Kepler to put his whole heart into them. Finally Maxwell taps Kepler’s shoulder a little too firmly and hands him her phone when his hand appears over the backseat, triumphant. “Done,” she says, and leans over to mess up Jacobi’s hair.

“Ow.”

Kepler turns around, raises an eyebrow. “This is....Maxwell, this playlist is forty hours long.”

“Roughly the time it takes to get from Florida to California, with an extra five hours thrown in for insurance and traffic.” Maxwell beams.

Kepler makes a disgusted face. “Why have I heard of none of these?”

“Because, as I’ve stated before, you have terrible taste.”

He runs a hand across his forehead, glancing between the road and Maxwell’s face in the rearview mirror. “...if you say so, Doctor. Now, is Mr. Jacobi going to come back up here or are the two of you going to spend the entire drive from here to California sniggering like a couple of two year olds?”

“Why?” asks Jacobi, momentarily emboldened. “Jealous, sir?”

“I-jealousy is not an emotion that I am capable of having, Mr. Jacobi, sir.”

Lana sniggers. Jacobi tries to force the sudden blush from his face.

“And why would that be…?” mutters Jacobi, but he’s fairly certain that his voice is too low for Kepler to hear.

“Sir, can we stop for lunch?” asks Lana brightly. “I’m starved.”

“...of course, Doctor Maxwell. Where...would you like to go.”

“Burger King,” says Maxwell at the same time that Jacobi says “Dairy Queen.”

“Dairy Queen?” Kepler asks, incredulous. “My God, Jacobi, who eats at Dairy Queen? We’re going to Burger King.”

Lana raises an eyebrow mischievously at Jacobi. “Looks like I’m the favorite today.”

“The colonel does not have favorites,” says Jacobi.

“Depends on the day.” says Kepler lightly.

“You do not have favorites!”

Kepler chuckles, but doesn’t add anything more. They pull into the Burger King parking lot and Jacobi practically bolts, relieved to be outside, finally, relieved to feel the heat on his face, even, instead of the artificial tundra of Kepler’s company car (he suspects that Maxwell has somehow reprogrammed the air conditioning).

Maxwell is right behind him, and for a moment the two of them simply bask in the pain-pleasure of stretching out limbs that have been asleep for hours. The joy of getting out of a car after having been in it for at least a half eternity is severely underrated, Jacobi thinks.

It only lasts a moment though. There’s only so much obnoxious yawning Jacobi can do before realizing that Kepler is still in the car.

“Sir?” he calls.

“Coming, Jacobi. Sending a text. You and Maxwell go ahead inside.”

Jacobi quirks an eyebrow at Maxwell, but she just shrugs. Then she grabs his hand and practically drags him inside. “Come on, loser, I’m hungry.”

“Fine, coming...brat…”

He half smiles, while she’s looking at the menu. Maybe this trip won’t be as bad as he thought it would be.

The support beams are still tilting, though. There’s always been something connecting him to Warren Kepler-always-

He’s just not sure if there’s ever been anything connecting Kepler to him.

“ ‘Lana?” he asks, distracted.

“Hmm.”

“Kepler’s still in the car.” He’s looking through the grimy back window at the car. From this angle all he can see is Kepler’s hair, falling over his eyes. That can’t be regulation. Every few seconds he twitches, subconsciously, presumably trying to get his hair out of his eyes. Jacobi wants to smooth it off his forehead, maybe pin it back, give him a haircut, for God’s sake...or, no, honestly he wouldn’t have a problem just holding it out of his eyes. For, like, an hour or two. He could do that.

“Jacobi!” hisses Maxwell. “Could you not be a lovesick idiot for two seconds, maybe?”

“Wh-” Jacobi whips around. She’s dragged him to the front counter-he doesn’t remember that-and a fairly annoyed server asks “And you, sir?” for what is clearly not the first time.

“Uh-I’ll have-” his eyes flit over the menu but don’t take anything in. “Um-”

“Oh for-” Maxwell shoves him aside, none too gently. “He’ll have a number three combo, small Dr. Pepper. Thanks.” She scans her card and grabs the receipt, shoving it, crumpled, into her pocket before Jacobi’s thoughts can rearrange themselves into a sentence.

The server smiles tightly. “Coming right up.” She hands Jacobi a cup and he follows Maxwell, dazed. There’s...something wrong with him.

They sit down in the booth beside the window, close enough to the car that Kepler would’ve easily seen them, had they waved, had he looked up. But neither of those things happen.

Maxwell slides Jacobi’s drink across the table and frowned at him. “So, talk.”

“What?”

She reaches across their table and grabs both of his wrists, tugs him down to the table surface, glares at him. “You. The colonel. Something’s gotta give.”

“I…” Jacob tries, subconsciously, to scrub the blush from his face, but Maxwell still has a tight hold on both his wrists.

“Jacobi. Either make a move or stop-stop with the, the lovesick puppy act.”

Jacobi blinks. “Wait, I thought you hated it when we-”

“I do! I-” She grunts in frustration. “Jacobi,” she growls. “You’re too indecisive.”

He grins at her. “Aww, you do ship us.”

“So you admit it? You like Kepler?” Maxwell says quickly, in a clumsy attempt to regain her lead.

“You can’t one up me here, you just openly admitted that, while thinking on the idea of me and the colonel in a romantic relationship, you get warm and fuzzies?? Hmm?”

Alana rolls her eyes and drawls in a poor imitation of Kepler, “My ace ass ain’t admitting nothing, Mr. Jacobi.”

Jacobi chuckles, caught off guard by how easy it is to laugh when he’s not thinking of Kepler. When it’s not constantly between them. When he’s not thinking of the support beams and how it’s his job to keep them up.

“Mr. Jacobi, would you mind scooting over?”

“Wh-uh, of course, sir.”

Kepler scoots into the booth next to him, slides Maxwell’s and Jacobi’s trays in front of them. Jacobi tries not to looks. It’s weird to see him doing ordinary thing and now he’s caught in the uncomfortableness of not looking too much, not avoiding looking at him, trying to act normal, and shit why is it so hard to act normal around Kepler-

Maxwell catches his eye across the table and winks. He glares at her but can’t come up with a good enough comeback that’s Kepler safe, so he just takes a bite of his burger to have something to do. Maxwell steals a fry off his tray, and he swats her hand away. “You haff ‘ur owf!” he mumble yells at her through a mouthful.

“They taste better stolen,” says Maxwell, deadpan. “Hey, Warren, where’s yours?”

This is a game of theirs, to see how often they can get away with calling Kepler by his first name without having anything thrown at them or being threatened with bodily harm. Maxwell is the undisputed winner.

Kepler shifts, and Jacobi tries not to feel the heat radiating off his body. As if he had any choice. His shoulders roll back, he straightens, looks at Maxwell. “I have fries,” he says, gesturing at a tiny paper bag Jacobi didn’t even notice initially. “You and Jacobi go ahead. I’ll eat for real later.”

Maxwell shrugs. “Okay, sir.”

She swipes another fry from Jacobi’s tray, but this time he’s ready for it. His hand shoots out, catches her wrist, and they engage in a silent arm wrestling game for the fry, trying to smother their giggles in front of the other patrons. Kepler rolls his eyes.

“You two are absolute toddlers,” he says, but there’s the faintest glimmer of fondness in the words.

Maxwell wins, sticks her tongue out at Jacobi. “Sucker,” she purrs.

“Yeah, yeah.” He snatches a fry off of her tray when her back is turned and then nearly chokes trying to stuff it in his mouth, making Kepler snort. He tries to muffle it but Maxwell whips around anyway. “What?” she asks, and Kepler’s snort turns into full on laughter. Jacobi tries to keep a straight face but it’s damn near impossible.

“What?” says Maxwell louder. Jacobi just shakes his head. “Nothing, ‘Lana. Tell you later.”

He notices Kepler’s face twist out of the corner of his eye, but it isn’t from laughter. He glances at him, trying to look like he’s not looking. Kepler bites the corner of his lip and then stuffs a couple of fries in his mouth.

“Colonel, you okay?” asks Jacobi, in what he hopes to be the most nonchalant voice imaginable. There’s a split second of some unidentifiable emotion, directed at him, maybe surprise? And then it’s gone so fast that he’s sure he imagined it.

“Fine, Jacobi. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chapter Two

[a-tale-of-moons]

Chapter I: A Long Way From Home

My fingers dig into the earth and little zaps of electricity run through the tips of my nails to my wrists. With one deep breath that rattles my diaphragm, I can tell the flowers are going to sprout well this summer. The marigolds are going to stretch particularly tall and proud, their sunny color chasing away any lingering traces of winter.

“That should do it.” I pack away my tools and the rest of the seeds into my wicker basket and nestle it by the side of my shed. I remember when Ama built this shed for me when I was about five. After too many nights sneaking away to watch the nymphs and pixies build houses out of the brickerbrack I set out for them, she decided giving me some sort of shelter would be safer and better than me running out of the house to squat in the grass. After about 12 years years of use, it’s lopsided thanks to the elements, and the chipped. Some of the floors are overtaken by moss and intruding vines. Every time I attempt to clean it, it’s an absolute mess within a month or so. And hence, it’s more of a figurehead than a proper shed. I store more things beneath its overhanging eaves than inside of it.

After I waddle my way out of the garden and close the white, wooden gate, Eileen hops over to my bare feet and takes a nip at my toes. I click my tongue and kick my foot out, sure that I’ll miss her (which I do) and she’ll scurry back to give me space (which she does).

“I just fed you, you gremlin,” I say to her. “You’re not even hungry. Just greedy.”

She scrunches her nose at me and her long, oreo-colored ears flop in defiance. I roll my eyes and continue on my way, walking opposite the house and toward the wood. I say a silent prayer Eileen doesn’t get at my grass. Just inside the very edge of the wood after weaving through a small thicket of trees, there is a pond. It’s wide and considerably shallow, but it’s the only body of water for miles unmolested by Elora’s whims. She says it’s too small, is barely a proper medium at all, and simply doesn’t “suit her”. And true, the leaves overhanging from the branches stitch closely enough to create a sort of canopy that shields the sun away and most of the woodland creatures tend to keep away from it. It’s somewhat of an abandoned piece of nature. However, all the more reason why I can’t stay away. It’s quiet, secluded, and allows me space away from the always crowded Willowbrook.

Believe me, I love my family in a way even I find inconceivably fierce. But, after days upon days of dealing with Pond’s incessant rambling, Jacoby’s acute rage spells, and Elora’s overgrown ego, I just need a break. Somewhere I can relax without someone barging in. Somewhere where-

“Naomi!”

Before I can even finish the thought, Elora’s panicked voice has me whipping around. My sister looks so deeply troubled in a way I’ve never seen before. Her dark, brown eyes are rimmed in red and look puffy, like after a fresh cry. Her brown skin usually has such a shine to it. It seems uncharacteristically sallow. Her long, black braids hang loosely past her waist. Elora almost always has her braids in a neat bun or tied back in a ponytail. To her, unstyled hair is “unseemly and juvenile”. And worst of all, she apparently ran, by the look of her hammering chest, all of the way from the house to my little pond, a total of about three miles, barefoot.

“Naomi, please,” Elora’s voice is raspy and uncontrolled. “You must come. Ama...Ama, she is-”

“Explain later,” I tell her and take her hand, guiding her back through the thicket. We make the trek home quicker than I ever thought possible. Usually, I can’t keep myself from stopping to fiddle with the flowers and vegetation along the way. My mind can’t be bothered to think of anything else but the fact that something is the matter with Ama. I want so badly to badger Elora with questions. I think better of it. She seems barely able to hold her own weight.

We reach the house just as Pond comes stumbling out of the back door, ginger curls matted and even angrier than usual. His terrorized frown quivers when he sees us, green eyes full of worry. Even his freckles look to be in disarray. In this bizarre moment, my brain chooses now to remind me how much Pond resembles Eileen. Like a skittish, spooked bunny. Twitching nose and pupils blown wide and round.

“Naomi, a recipe...there has to be a recipe for this, right?” Pond is pointing in all directions, even more frantic and frazzled than Elora; who, by this point, has gone from making an uproar to blank and unresponsive, face frozen in almost tears.

“A recipe for what?” I ask him, moving closer as fast as I can while supporting most of Elora’s weight. “Pond, what’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth to speak and I shake my head. “You know what? I’ll see it for myself. Can you take her, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Pond takes Elora from me and as soon as she’s out of my arms I’m rushing through the back door, past the kitchen, and up the stairs. The door to Ama’s room is wide open and light floods out of it. When I reach the doorframe, my stomach clenches. The stench of vomit makes my throat tight. I have to keep myself from running away. Inside of the room, Jacoby is kneeling beside Ama’s bedside, holding her chubby, hard-knuckled fingers in his, eyes closed and lips moving silently. Praying. To who? I’m not sure. Jacoby doesn’t believe in a higher power. Where would the faithless place his faith?

The light is coming from Jacoby. When he’s focusing his magic, he glows. It’s running through his body. His olive skin is luminescent. His flowing, jet black hair which was obviously once pulled into a ponytail is now mostly loosened, the ribbon barely hanging on near the ends. I almost wheel backward. If it isn’t because of the smell, then it’s because I don’t want to disturb him. But, I need to know what’s happened. I need to know why Ama, who was exuberant and full of life just this morning, is lying on her bed, limp.

“Jake.” I move further into the room, trying my best to step around the papers loitering the floor. Kneeling next to him, I turn, gaze falling to his undone ponytail. It’s stupid the way it commands my attention. But, I pull out the ribbon as Jacoby continues to pray and set to fixing it. I pull his thick, black waves to the nape of his neck, smoothing the sides with one hand, and tie the ribbon in place. The red of the silk is a startling contrast.

Maybe it wasn’t as stupid a task as I thought. Once the ribbon is in securely, Jacoby finally opens his tawny colored-eyes, and looks over at me, hand still intertwined with Ama’s limp one.

“Nao,” He says, breathlessly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She was making breakfast and then she just collapsed. We carried her upstairs. Pond went crazy--ripping through Ama’s drawers, trying to find some recipe to bring her back. But, how are we supposed to heal something we can’t diagnose?”

“She was perfectly fine and just...collapsed? Out of nowhere?” I ask, incredulous.

“Just dropped right there.” He confirms with a nod. My eyes swing from Jacoby’s contorted facial expression to Ama. Her coarse, lavender curls are pulled into a sloppy bun, nothing fashionable, just something to get them away from her perspiring forehead. Her eyelids twitch. Or, at least, I think they do. Maybe I’m going crazy. Except, I know I’m not because they twitch again before fluttering open. Cloudy and barely focused but open.

“Ama!” Jacoby gasps beside me and straightens up, gripping her hand tighter. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve had my scarf caught in the wheels of a carriage and been drug through the town,” she says with a fatigued smile. “Is it just me or does it smell like old lady in here?”

“Ama, this isn’t the time for your jests!” Jacoby huffs in frantic anger.

“My love, it also isn’t the time to be acting like I’m already dead.” Even while surely in pain and extreme discomfort, Ama can’t keep a serious face...to save her life. “It doesn’t leave me much to hope for.”

Jacoby’s shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath he takes. “I’m sorry. I just--what happened?”

“Naomi, dear.” Ama’s violet eyes turn to me. Her arm tremors as she exerts the little force she has left in her to point in the direction of a cabinet to the side of her bedroom door. It seems to be one of the few spared from Pond’s raid. She’s a heavy-set woman with a will to match. It’s difficult to see her lying down, barely manifesting the energy to do something so simple as point. “In that cupboard, there is a red journal. Bring it to me, angel.”

I nod and stand.

Before I realize it my knees are back on the wood and I’m tipping to one side, barely saved from knocking my skull on the floor by Jacoby’s strong arm. The world spins in fuzzy shapes beyond my eyes and I jerk forward, forehead pressed into the soft cloth of Ama’s blanket.

“Close your eyes and breathe, my sweet.” Ama runs her fingers down my back. I obey quietly, letting my eyes fall shut and counting my breaths. I hear her say, “Jacoby, love. Can you grab me my journal?”

“Of course.” His presence disappears from my side. For some reason, the hollow thump of his footsteps on the wood echoes in my brain, encompassing my mind in deafening sound. The cabinet doors creak. And then the rustle of papers. More footsteps. I jolt when a burning hand on my neck replaces the one on my back. I startle even more at the faraway sound of the kitchen’s back door swinging open and then slamming shut. Even more footsteps and frenzied conversation.

Lovely. Nothing better for a headache than the twins being riled up. Elora’s voice starts off loud before a string of coughs quiet her. I look up at Ama, still queasy but better than a moment ago. Her face betrays her. She can longer put on a brave expression for us. Veins in her neck pulse against the frail, translucent skin as she struggles to sit up against the headboard with Jacoby’s help. As Ama settles herself, Elora comes to kneel next to me and Pond follows.

“The Imani have a much longer lifespan than some of our Creature kin,” Ama says in between breaths, thumbing the red journal in her hands. “Longer, but not infinite. There is a spell we use that calls the spirits of mortality. If presented with an offering that pleases them, they may spare us a few extra years when our time of...retirement is nigh.”

“What kind of offering?” Jacoby asks.

“Spirits can sometimes hold a physical form,” says Ama. “But, belonging to the astral realm, physical forms can’t last long. Sometimes spirits take physical forms to deal with the living. And although difficult, if harmed while in physical form spirits “bleed” smoke. The spirit is cut off from the astral realm, cursed to wander among the living, and the smoke is coveted. It’s precious and worth more than any form of currency. The largest repository of spirit smoke is heavily guarded within the walls of the Brae Kingdom. With the numbers of spirit violence rising as of late, I’d say the only sure way to get them to come is to offer them the smoke of their lost brethren. It’s a perilous journey. Damn near a fool’s mission to pick spirit smoke off of the Brae.”

“Is there any other way?” Pond asks.

“Maybe we can trick the spirits,” Elora suggests. Huh. She must be much more out of sorts than I’d originally assumed. For a girl such as Elora who not only follows the rules to a fine degree of accuracy but also wrote them herself, to propose such an idea.

Ama lets out a laugh more bitter than I’d ever heard her make. It turns into a cough. One cough follows another and soon she’s having a fit. My chest twists at the sight. Elora’s fingers pinch into my side and I’m so distracted I don’t shoo her off. She probably needs something solid and tangible to grab onto to make sure she’s not dreaming. Ama, sturdy and more fit than any Creature her age, can barely support her own weight. It looks unnatural, to say the least.

Once Ama has finished and wiped the beads of saliva from the corner of her mouth, she sets herself up straight again, looking on Elora with soft, bemused eyes. “Tricking the spirits? The last time someone tried to trick the spirits and inevitably failed, he got stuck pushing a rock up a hill for eternity. My best bet is giving them the greatest offering I can conjure and beg for mercy. I’ve lived my life. I raised intelligent and self-sufficient children. My time is here, love. You’ll all get on without me.”

“I can’t believe you’d say that!” Elora fingers are still twisted in my side. That’s how I know she’s shaking as she says this, voice gone high and strained. “I don’t care how dangerous you say it is. I’m going. Even if I’m going by myself.”

As ill-timed the thought is, I can’t help but snort internally. Elora, the spoiled, proper princess she is, wouldn’t last a week on a journey like that. And say by some divine miracle she makes it to the gates of the Brae kingdom. How would she get in? How could she possibly convince guards to let her through? Ah, yes, I’m here to steal some of your finest sacred smoke. So, if you could just let me in that’d be delightful. The image is morbidly comedic.

‘Even if I go by myself’ is obviously our cue to chime in.

“You wouldn’t go by yourself.” I peel Elora’s fingers out of my side. “I’m going too, even if just to keep you from getting beheaded.”

“I knew it!” Elora squeals and attaches herself to my side once again, at which I grimace.

“And I suppose I should go as well.” Jacoby sighs and shrugs. “To keep you from beheading her.”

Pond looks between us and Ama, pupils trembling. “Someone should be tasked with staying with Ama, right? To make sure her condition doesn’t worsen.”

“Oh no.” Jacoby marches over to Pond and clamps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re coming with, little brother. One of the village ladies can watch over Ama. If you get killed or kidnapped because we left you alone, it will be going directly onto my conscious. Can’t have that.”

Attention back on the journal Ama is holding, I ask, “What is that book for? Is that where the spell is?”

“This thing?” Ama appraises it with a mysterious smile, before holding it in my direction. I take it. “It’s empty. If my children are going to journey into the Brae kingdom, I’d like a record of it.”

“Homework?” I sneer at the book, holding it out to my siblings. They all shake their heads, keeping their hands close to their bodies. Rolling my eyes, I huff. “Fine. I’ll record.”

“We should pack,” Jacoby says, looking around at all of us. Could we be having the same exact thought? What have we gotten ourselves into? We each give Ama a kiss before returning to our own rooms to ready for the journey. As soon as Elora and I get back to our room, we set to packing. Elora is pilfering through her dressing drawer and mulling over her options aloud. I tune her out, deciding to focus on my own thoughts.

What should criminals pack in their traveling bags? Perhaps some delicately cut fruit? Or fine pottery to spruce up our holding cell should we be caught? I think about such rancid things as I fold clothes atop my bed and tuck them in my burlap sack. I have time to do nothing but think as I’m preparing to leave my childhood home.

When I was a tiny three-year-old, my parents were murdered by men with strange symbols embroidered on their robes. The men must have deemed it unnecessary to kill me as well. A small thing left in the woods with no parents or any obvious resources, I would be handled soon enough. If not drug off by some animal, I’d be taken out by starvation or the elements. I was already as good as dealt with.

That’s when a large woman with a head of unruly lavender coils pulled into a high bun and striking eyes to match came stalking into the forest clearing where I’d been abandoned. She attempted to get words out of me. I refused to speak with her for 3 months.

One day she brought home a boy, not much older than myself. He had long black hair that grew almost as quickly as my nails. He had command over light energy. Jacoby.

Next came Pond with his brown freckles, red afro, and skittish mannerisms. When he wasn’t hiding from his own shadow, he called to the forest creatures.

And last strutted in Elora, with her overflowing presence, regal attitude, and ability to manipulate bodies of water. Her, I detested for months because she was as arrogant as they came. But, I found a way to make peace with her ego after some time.

My brothers, sister, and I have to find some way to sneak into the Brae kingdom, steal from the treasury, and make it back to Ama. Alive.

Easy.

Lastly, I tuck the red journal into my sack and tie it. This is the last time I’ll see my bed in a long while...if ever again. The final time I’ll be able to run my fingers along the thick stitches in my quilt. The one Ama made for me when I was a child. The morning after she brought this quilt to my bed, I spoke to her for the first time.

                                          ━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━

Beginning our journey with an argument is so typical that it hurts to think of what the rest of the way will be like. I sit on the side of the dirt road we’ve been walking down, next to Pond. My brother and I share some almonds as we watch our siblings fight.

“Well, we need to find some other way to get there.” Elora is puffing her chest out and waving her hands. Maybe to make herself bigger in front of Jacoby who towers above her. “I already have blisters on my feet. And my shoes are gonna get holes in them!”

Jacoby has gone red in the face out of anger. “Perhaps if you’d worn something practical, your delicate foot could take the wear on them. You brought those silly shoes on a journey and have the gall to be upset with me? Why can’t you think things through, Lora?! We’re on a quest to save Ama and you chose to dress as if a concession of performers might roll on by and pick you to join their troupe.”

“Oh, and if we actually make it to Brae, you think the guards are gonna just let you in? Dressed like a bear?” Elora rolls her eyes and fans her face with a dainty hand. “Somebody has to be dressed like they have a home to go back to.”

Listless in this sweltering heat, I don’t have the energy to care about her blanket insult. Jacoby and Elora bicker on like this for several minutes. I have half a mind to step in, when I hear something in the distance and stand. Pond gives me a strange look and might be fixing himself to ask what the matter is when I wave and shush him. Knowing very well I hear something, but not being able to make out what exactly, I shush my siblings more aggressively. Elora makes a noise in protest, but I give her a severe look. She pouts but goes silent. Then, we’re all listening. And the look I share with Jacoby tells me he hears it as well.

The clopping of horses hooves is difficult to hear in the dirt. But not impossible to a trained ear. We all huddle off to the side of the road, squeezing next to each behind the cluster of trees that line it. And just as we’re settled in obscurity, a horse-drawn carriage breaches the horizon. It draws closer.

The man holding the reigns urges the horses to a stop. He is smartly dressed in bright colors. He dismounts and walks around to the back of the carriage, unsheathing a knife from the holder at his side and pulling the door open. Out he drags a beautiful woman by her hair, as yellow as the sun and curly as I’ve ever seen. The dress she's wearing is extravagant, something only royalty can afford to wear. It is a deep blue with a soft-looking rouche.

Everything after that happens too fast to process. The smartly dressed man shoves the woman into the trees on the opposite side of the road to us. He drags her deeper and deeper until we can no longer see them. Pond shivers next to me. It isn’t from the cold.

I believe we’ve just witnessed a kidnap.

[maynardtrash]

Of All People~Josh Pieters

A/N: wowza it hasn’t been a month and i’m posting again go me. i’ve seen josh has been highkey unrepped in imagines and i feel like he’d fit this prompt so ye here u go all u filthy josh pieters’ stans. btw this is kinda AU bc i have no idea if grant went to school w caspar and josh pls dont abuse my inbox w aggressive facts k thank u.

     For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been popular with my peers. Maybe because, for the most part, the popular people aren’t the ruthless satanists you see on TV. 99.9% of us are decent people. I’d like to think I’m a good person, at least. That being said, there are a certain few I’d have to associate with that represented our group poorly. They were all football players and they thought they were somewhat of demigods. There was always one specific group they would target as well. Those they considered beneath them. The theater kids.

     There were three specific people they would target: Caspar, Grant, and Josh. I felt so bad for them. They didn’t deserve the abuse in the slightest. They were such sweet, caring, witty guys, especially Josh. Watching Josh get made fun of was especially hard for me to see since I’ve always had a little crush on him. I never really noticed him until our drama class, but when I saw him, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. He was so passionate about acting and the art of theater. I got lost in his debates and rants while trying to defend his critiques and praises of certain pieces. He got so heated, and so did I. I had to admit, when he was in his element, he was pretty damn hot.

     I walked into drama to the usual scene: everyone in their individual groups mingling, then Jacobi and Martin, two of the football players, torturing Josh and Caspar. For some reason, I was not having it today. Maybe I had finally gotten sick of it, but I decided enough was enough. “Jacobi. Martin. Why don’t you just leave them alone?” I asked, exasperated.

     “Because it’s none of your fucking business, (Y/N),” Martin snapped back at me.

     “Yeah, since when are you gonna defend a bunch of losers?” Jacobi chimed in, his tone suggested he was hurt.

     “Since I realized they’ve done nothing to deserve your abuse!” I spat. Before the two idiots could finish their argument, our drama teacher came in and we took a seat. I decided to sit with Josh and Caspar. “Are you guys good?” I asked.

     “Yeah, we’re good,” Caspar responded. Josh did nothing but stare blankly. “Thank you for that.”

     “Of course,” I assured him. “You guys are way better than them anyway.”

     “Oh, trust me,” Caspar said. “We’re aware. They’re just insecure or whatever.” I laughed at his response and nodded. “They don’t even know the half of it,” I thought to myself. “Where’s Grant?” I asked. He would have come in by now, but he was nowhere to be found. “He stayed home for the day,” Caspar said. “He’s taking a personal day for video games and pizza. Lucky bastard.” I giggled at his response. Caspar and I talked for a bit while Josh just sat there. We were eventually hushed by our teacher.

     There was about a half hour left of the class when the teacher hit us with a curve ball. “Okay, class!” she announced while we read through West Side Story. “I have an assignment for you all. I understand the weekend is upon us, so I’ll be giving you a gift!” The class clapped and buzzed with excitement. “You will be doing a summary and synopsis of West Side Story with a partner that I am assigning to drive you out of your comfort zone!” she announced. The class groaned in harmony. There’s nothing worse than having to work with someone you barely talk to over your weekend when you could be doing literally anything else.

     She posted the list on the board right before the bell rang. We all shuffled over to see who we were stuck with. Once I saw who I was paired with, my heart fluttered. “(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)-----Josh Pieters”. I was with Josh. I had to contain my emotions, but I was more than excited. I finally had an excuse to talk to him. He was beginning to pack up when I approached him. “Hey, partner!” I said excitedly. He looked up from shoving his books in his bag and stared blankly again. “Oh,” he deadpanned. “Cool.” I shifted my weight, feeling disappointment set in. “He could be a little more excited,” I thought to myself. “How about we meet at my house later? I wanna get this out of the way so we can at least try to enjoy the weekend, you know?” He only nodded, then began to walk away. “Wait!” I yelled after him. He turned with the same blank expression on his face. “Gimme your phone.”

     “Why?” he asked cautiously.

     “So I can give you my number and address?”

     “Oh, yeah.” I typed my number in his phone then texted my address to myself so I could save his number. “Come by at five, okay?” I told him.

     “Yeah, okay,” he responded without a hint of emotion in his voice.

     Five o’ clock had rolled around, and there was no sign of Josh. I was about to be extremely upset, but, two minutes later, there was a knock at my door. I swung the door open to the tall ginger I’d been waiting for for so long. He gave an awkward smile and wave. “I’m here,” he said, a little more life in his voice.

     “Perfect!” I responded. “Just drop your bag in there.” I led him to the living room and plopped down on the couch. “C’mere,” I said, patting the seat right next to me. “I don’t bite, I promise.” He placed his bag in front of the cushion next to mine and sat down. His posture was rigid and he looked extremely stiff. “You can sit back,” I informed him. “I mean, we’ll be here for a bit.” He only nodded and slid back. “So,” he finally spoke up. “Where are your parents?”

     “On a business trip,” I told him and he nodded in response.

     “So you have the whole place to yourself?” he asked.

     “Yep! It’s pretty nice. I get to do whatever, whenever. I have it to myself for another week if you’d like to come back over.”

     “You know, I don’t need your pity!” he snapped. I was taken aback. I did nothing to deserve the tone he had, and I was fed up. “Now, listen here!” I snapped back. “I don’t pity you! I think you’re a very interesting and dynamic person that I’d like to get to know! I’m not trying to treat you like a charity case, I just think you’re cute, okay!?” I realized what I said once it left my mouth and I went bright red. We sat in silence for a bit when Josh broke it and asked, “You... You really think I-I’m cute? Like, not in a baby way?”

     “No, not in a baby way,” I responded with a giggle. “Like ‘someone I’d be interested in dating’ cute.” That’s when it happened. Josh grabbed my face and kissed me. His lips felt as soft as velvet. Everything happened so quickly. Before I knew it, I was straddling him and both our tops were gone. Our make out session was getting heated by the second, then Josh pulled away. I was upset to say the least. “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. I was awaiting rejection. “It’s just... you have no idea how often I’ve dreamed of this happening,” he said. “I never thought in a million years this would happen.”

     “I feel the same way,” I added breathlessly. His face broke out into a goofy smile and we continued to kiss passionately. I then stopped the fun to lead him to my room. We walked in and he immediately closed the door and pinned me to it. He kissed my jawline and neck sloppily, bounding my wrists together with his one giant hand, the other hand exploring my curves. I whimpered under his touch. “It’s always the quiet ones,” I thought. 

     “Have you done this before?” I asked him. He chuckled darkly. “Jacobi and Martin may think I’m a gay virgin, but they’ve never been more wrong,” he answered. With that, his free hand went to my soaking panties. “Excited, are we?” he asked excitedly.

     “Yes,” I responded breathlessly. He began to rub vigorously and I screamed in response. “That’s right,” he encouraged me. “Scream for me, babe.” I felt like I was about to burst from an orgasm when he stopped. I groaned in frustration and he smiled. “If you’re gonna cum, it’s gonna be on my cock,” he growled. He then threw me on my bed and I giggled in delight. This was the best time I’ve ever had with a guy, and it was with nerdy, quiet Josh. I couldn’t have been happier. 

     He leaned his thighs on the edge of the bed and before my open legs. He dropped his pants and boxer briefs at the same time and held his hard cock in his hand. He slowly stroked his erection to the sight of me, and I couldn’t help but touch myself in response. “Fuck, (Y/N),” Josh groaned. “You’re so fucking hot. Who got you this fucking wet, huh?”

     “You did,” I whimpered in response.

     “Louder!” he yelled as he stroked himself vigorously.

     “YOU DID, JOSH!” I shrieked. He then stopped jerking himself off and climbed on the bed. He grabbed a condom from his pants on the floor and rolled it on. He sat down and pat his leg. “Sit on my lap, baby,” he commanded. I wasted no time and climbed on top of him. He lined himself up to my dripping pussy and rammed himself into me. We were in sync within seconds, pounding up and down at the same time. We groaned, moaned, and screamed as we pleasured each other. I came within what felt like seconds, and Josh followed shortly behind. 

     After we calmed down, I began to lay down as I thought it was over. Josh had other plans. “Lay on your stomach,” he told me. I followed his directions and lay on my stomach. “Now get on your knees so your ass is up in the air.” Once again, I did as I was told. I couldn’t see much as my face was somewhat in a pillow, but that’s when I felt him enter me again. I responded with a drawn out moan as he pounded me from behind. I felt all new sensations and did nothing but moan nonstop. We both came quickly from the position and because of how sensitive we were from our first round.

     He then collapsed next to me and brought me into his chest. “So,” he said, his o slightly drawn out. “Does this mean... like... are we a thing now?”

     “Do you want to be?” I asked in return.

     “I think you know my answer.”

     “Then yes.”

     “But what are people gonna say?” He had a point. I could hear it now. “Josh Pieters? Really? Of all people?” But I didn’t care. As long as I had him, nothing mattered.

[harpers-mirror]

So I'm like 22 minutes into Out of the Loop and just had a crazy theory: there are clearly problems not being resolved in the current iteration of events, right? Minkowski is hiding something from Lovelace and doesn't want to resume command, Hera wants her to tell her, Eiffel is being weird a out something regarding the captain that only Jacobi knows, plus he and Minkowski have lingering weirdness from the last episode... Heaps of unresolved issues, right?

And what happened the last time we saw a Lovelace-helmed crew refusing to deal with their issues?

They got sent to Box 953.

The same Box 953 that was absorbed by a star with a penchant for both replication and human experimentation.

Is the star pulling a Groundhog's Day time loop on them to get them to deal with their crap and talk to each other? Usually these kind of looks only end once everything wrong is put right again.

...they might be here a minute.

[harveen-denzel]

Wolf 359 is a red dwarf star in the leo constellation and it's weird. In the year negative a billion Wolf 359 might not have been there. In the year negative forty thousand, and you could fly to it, and some people flew to it, then they got stuck, some stuff blew up and now there's a lot of death because it's awful. So now there's people on the station and they're basically sort of hanging out around the failing life support and drinking seaweed coffee and using the latest technology, like the comms panel and Hera. Ding dong it's Lovelace and she's got some cray shit from the past. like PTSD and crazy conspiracies. Now you can scream at how fucked you are. that means if you're fucked you don't have to do your job, and you can be lazy, which makes you happy. Panic and disaster spread across the land for years. The most important missions were the Hermes, Lovelace, and some others, but the most important is this one.

Knock knock, get the door, the star's blue. The aliens in the star wanted to try this hot new thing (communicating) that's a lot more deadly than they think. "please talk to us" they said. "no" said everybody. "try iiiiit" they said. "no" everyone said, quieter this time. And so the star was blue and everyone nearly died. Then the Hephaestus was taken over by another clique (the SI-5) and they made some changes, like making everyone follow protocol, making them act more like the military, which follows protocol. "hey Kepler" they said. "hey dipshit" said Kepler. "can you call us something else other than dipshit?" they asked. "like what?" said Kepler "how about esteemed coworkers?" they said and Lovelace decided to kill them and steal their ship to get home. Then they stopped changing the rotation orders every five seconds, and they finally killed the plant monster, get that squared away. Some weird people named Pryce and Carter were bored and they got Funzo, so the crew plays Funzo and it was great for a long time. The Hephaestus turned into such a fun place they didn't really give a shit about doing work.

So if you don't like the SI-5 how are you supposed to get them off your ship? Make some napalm. Everyone started making napalm. Lovelace made napalm. Eiffel who did not want to make napalm did not make napalm. The napalm stocked up in the weird death chair room, and they stopped listening to Kepler, they still let Kepler be the Commander but everyone actually listened to Minkowski.

Breaking news, Minkowski's attacking the SI-5. "We have napalm" they said "please respect us or we may kill you violently." "okay" said Kepler. So Lovelace came over, ready for war, and she died. But Minkowksi kept trying and had a nice time ~~fighting~~ killing Maxwell, but then Hilbert died too. Kepler beats Minkowski, then Minkowski beats him back and throws him in the brig and makes the Hephaestus its own crew again. And the Colonel can still calmm himself colonel if he wants, that's fine.

It's time for a funeral. Usually it's for people you like, but that would only be Lovelace, so Eiffel tries to get hera to play nice and have a psuedo funeral thing. She says okay. But Jacobi didn't wanna, so what're they gonna do? Vote now on your phones. And everyone voted so hard the station's power went out and music started playing. Kepler didn't actually care, he was off somewhere being an asshole. And the whole structure fell apart, everyone was fighting with each other, it was anyone's game.

Knock knock, it's aliens. They're not taking over, they just wanna bring Lovelace back to life. And wouldn't it be nice to pretend to be a human, which right now is dead, with no one controlling them? And the aliens stole the idea of being human, and brought Lovelace back to life. Twice. And it goes very well.

[aristocraticundyne]

Things That Break - Wolf 359

Daniel Jacobi was, by definition, a pretty horrific person. By the age of 20 he was already responsible for thousands of deaths, isolated from whatever family he had left, and presumed dead himself by his 26th birthday. He was stoic and blunt, to a level of which usually much concern would be raised. But Jacobi was also talented at all the wrong things, chemistry, technology, clockwork. Bombs, explosives, tuning out the dying screams of thousands. Daniel Jacobi was trigger happy. Warren Kepler was also a pretty horrific person, for different reasons. He was successful, charming and mysterious. He was high up in the rankings of Goddard Futuristics business which meant he had authority and exercised it regularly. Kepler was a smart man, a professional man, but he lacked an army, he lacked tools, pawns to lead. Space travel was never a real consideration for him, he was paperwork and fountain pens and black ties. But there were some loose ends Cutter needed cleared up, and Kepler was more than happy to do the dirty work if it payed off for him in the long term. The Hephaestus station had been compromised, which wasn't really part of the plan, and Kepler had to go up there and take back control. Renée Minkowski, the only person up there that Kepler believed had any brain cells, had let her team slip. Goddard Futuristics favourite insane doctor Hillbert had completely ran off course, Escaped Convict Doug Eiffel was missing in action floating somewhere in the abyss of Wolf 359, Unit 214 kept breaking and Captain Isabella Lovelace had returned from the deep depths of literal death. This was one hell of a loose end. Warren Kepler compiled a team, his pawns. Super Scientist Alana Maxwell who was one hacked password away from the wrong side of the law and our dearest genocidal bomb expert, Daniel Jacobi. Skip to 4 months later, and it was the day before the Contact Event day. Where all Goddard Futuristics work built up to this moment, finalised proof of alien contact. Wolf 359 was unpredictable, no one knew what it would disperse out or what the effects would be on their ship or crew, but one thing was for sure; Kepler's ratings would go through the roof. He sat back in his leather chair, eyes closed and scotch in hand, dreaming of a life back on Earth. Dreaming of a reality where he could march into Cutter's office and show him he was worth it, worth the faked deaths and conspiracies and coverups, that it was worth breaking Doug Eiffel of all men out of prison, that it was worth letting Hillbert loose on the crew. He would be so proud of him. A small smile spread across his face at the thought. "Sir?" There was a crackled voice on the coms system, patched directly into Kepler's room, a private call. He recognised the voice. "Jacobi, it's late. What do you want?" Kepler's voice was smooth and calm like the midday sea. He always tried to deal with Jacobi kindly, he was a troubled boy but he meant well, and he was always loyal. "I think there's something we need to discuss, Sir, it's about the Contact Event" Kepler's smile faded a little and his mind switched to work-mode. There were so many things that could go wrong with the Contact Event that it barely warranted thinking about. "You can come in, Jacobi" Kepler said. After a few moments Jacobi was leaning on the side of Kepler's desk, thick boots to compensate for the weird gravity up here, Goddard Futuristics company blue overalls rolled down and tied at the waist, white tank top and grey slouchy hoodie. Jacobi didn't own and item of clothing that wasn't decorated with burn marks or oil stains or chemical stains, he was a scruffy kid, with barely any manners. "Sir..." Jacobi pointed upwards and stared at Kepler's disapproving expression. Unit 214 was always watching, listening, it was her job but it was also an inconvenience. Privacy was not an option on this ship. Kepler sighed and cleared his throat. "Hera...block out all sensory details you acquire from this room and regulate the oxygen and temperature levels. Jacobi and I need to have a private chat." Kepler always spoke like he was making a request, however everyone knew it was a blatant command. Hera, Unit 214, glitched slightly, she always did. Maxwell said they were working on it but everyone was aware that 'Working on it' simply isn't enough. "Yes Sir, removing all sensory system updates from your room" She said calmly and then the coms system went quiet. Jacobi visibly relaxed. "They are planning something" He said, staring at the wall. "We know they are, and we are on top of it. Right Jacobi?" Kepler raised an eyebrow. Jacobi nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. "Everything's covered Sir. If Lovelace or Hilbert try their secret room trick, all I have to do it click a button and-" He illustrated an explosion with his spread out palms and fingers. "And the others?" Kepler asked. "Maxwell has Hera sorted, Eiffel is harmless and Minkowski is nothing without her crew. Sorted" Jacobi turned to face Kepler, still not smiling. "Now now, I wouldn't say that Doug Eiffel is harmless, he is a convicted criminal" Kepler smiled wide as he reminded Jacobi of that, yet it was still a kind smile. Jacobi shrugged "Yeah well there's no children here for him to endanger so I think we will be okay" he looked back to the floor with a smirk. Kepler's smile lingered as he looked over Jacobi's features. "Jacobi, tomorrow is very important" The younger man tsked, a movement that bobbed his whole body a little "You told my family I was dead, perhaps I'll finally get to live up to their expectations after tomorrow." "Now now..." Kepler interrupted him "I don't want that negative attitude..." His hand landed on Jacobi's thigh. They had touched before, it was surprisingly rare to make any bodily contact up here because everyone was so busy and there simply wasn't any need for it. But a million miles away from Earth, the warmth of another human's skin was somewhat comfortable. Kepler often found himself with his arm around Jacobi's shoulders or waist, or with their hands touching, Jacobi's dirt clad, overworked hands tightly gripping Kepler's neatly cared for and large ones in times of stress. Not because Kepler needed the support, but because he felt Jacobi did. So it was no surprise when Jacobi didn't even flinch at the feeling of Kepler's heavy reassuring hand on his thigh. He was too caught up in his thoughts to notice it. "Jacobi-" "Do we get funerals out here, Sir? Or will you just throw my body into the atmosphere and let the star take it considering my family buried me 4 years ago" Jacobi stared at the wall as he spoke. Kepler smirked "Jacobi, you are over thinking things, tomorrow will be fine. Whatever happens, happens!" He smiled warmly and took a sip of his drink. Jacobi nodded slowly, and rested his hand ontop of Kepler's. "Tonight could be our last night alive, Sir" Kepler put his drink down "Technically it's always night time here, it's space..." Jacobi rolled his eyes and looked at Kepler "You know what I mean" He mumbled. The younger man stood up and walked around to sit on Kepler's desk right infront of him. Kepler leaned back with a chuckle as Jacobi looked him up and down. A full suit and tie, as always. "Sir, What do you miss about Earth?" Kepler noted how Jacobi's voice lilted like a school girl's as he spoke, asking a question to the only teacher and role model he had left. "Available booze, the order of it all, proper toilets, appropriately placed kitchen knives for me to stab you with when you get annoying" Kepler's lips curled into a smile and Jacobi chuckled, although they both knew that Kepler wouldn't hesitate to actually do so. "Did you have a wife? Kids?" Jacobi asked. Kepler shook his head and looked down to his own lap "Always too busy, I also despised the idea entirely. And you?" Jacobi laughed and smiled warmly "Can you imagine me meeting someone? 'So Daniel, what do you do for fun?' 'Oh I make explosives and I'm technically a terrorist, how's your meal?' Yeah no" Kepler chuckled deeply and looked to Jacobi "Isn't that how we met?" He reached both hands to explore Jacobi's thighs, he was a skinny boy, but Kepler still gained a sense of comfort and relaxation from slowly stroking knee to hip with open palms. Jacobi glanced at his hands "Yeah but you were recruiting me. It's different" he said shortly. Kepler sighed and dragged his hands away "Can I enjoy my scotch in peace now or is there something else you've thought of to say that's worth my time?" Jacobi thought for a moment "I guess I just wanna say that I'm thankful to be able to be part of this team. It's been an honour to serve under you Sir" He stood up and started to leave. Kepler had a ghost of a smile on his face "Sure...Jacobi, I'm not going to let you die alone tomorrow" His hand caught Jacobi's. Kepler needed something. A distraction, comfort, reassurance, he wasn't sure. Tomorrow was going to be hell. He would have to deal with the star freaking out, alien activity and half his crew turning against him. If he thought about it any longer he felt as though his composed and calm mind would split. Jacobi was scared. He was sure tomorrow's events would kill him, either the star or his fellow crew mates. And if he survived this, his friends might not, Kepler might not, and what would they do without a leader? He thought of his family and his mother, how they have already grieved for him. They wouldn't even notice his death now. Then he felt Kepler's firm hand in his, a contrast from the cold metal he was used to holding. He took a breath and slowly sat down again on his desk. Kepler stood up slowly, ending up between Jacobi's legs. He ran his hands up his thighs and to his hips and pressed their bodies together. Jacobi made a soft noise and melted against Kepler's strong frame, he closed his eyes and it was like being back in bed, his own bed at home in his quiet apartment surrounded by thick blankets and gentle heat. Kepler indulged himself in the feeling of another person's body in his arms, Jacobi was shorter and skinnier but the way his spine arched in to pressed against him, the way his hair smelt like chemicals and sweat and hard trustworthy work, and the way his breathing was soft and fragile in his ear but his heart pounded and fluttered in his chest, he was perfect. "Jacobi, I'm not going to let you die tomorrow" "You can't control that. We never know what the star is gonna do!" Jacobi's voice was low yet angry. "We know that something big is going to happen, we have everything ready and prepared. I trust that you have done what needs to be done. That being said...in the event that something does happen to you.." Kepler sighed with his whole body. For the first time, he fully considered losing Jacobi. It would be a loss to the team, he knew was to do in every situation, he was loyal and not always trouble. But Jacobi was also a pain in the ass, he was quick witted and opinionated. Kepler found his hands wandering up Jacobi's back, into his rough blonde hair, the younger male felt so right in his arms. "...If anything does happen to you, I'll hold you just like this..." Kepler finished. Jacobi's arms linked over Kepler's shoulders. He hid his head in the crook of Kepler's neck "Sir...is this uh, is this cuddle thing permanent?" Kepler pulled away a little, in order to see Jacobi properly. It was a long time since Jacobi had been held like this, since someone's body was this close to his own. The heat of Kepler's chest, the smell of his musky cologne, the way his arms wrapped around him so perfectly, it felt right to be this close. Jacobi felt Kepler pull away, his eyes fleeted over the elder's face and he felt a small pang in his heart at the loss of contact. Before he knew it, Jacobi was resting his lips against Kepler's. Kepler smiled and kissed back slowly, it had been years since contact like this for either of them. Space was lonely. Jacobi was impatient and sloppy, while Kepler, as always, was formal and calm. The two held eachother with wandering hands for what felt like a lifetime, yet it still wasn't enough time. Kepler pulled away with a gentle huff and Jacobi's casual smirk developed into a laugh. "Now now, Jacobi that was exceedingly unprofessional" Kepler smiled and stroked Jacobi's messy hair. "Hm, well in all fairness, Sir, we might die tomorrow and I'm not wanting to regret anything" Jacobi grinned. Kepler calmly slid Jacobi's hoodie off of his shoulders and gave him another soft kiss "So, crazy loose cannon Jacobi is afraid of dying, how...unexpected" "I'm not afraid!" Jacobi protested. "I just have so much left to work on. The Contact Point is kinda a big deal, and I might not get to work with the results after" "Whatever happens, happens. Don't let Eiffel, or the others, get in your way again. You're a smart kid" "You sound like Cutter" Jacobi snorted. "I'll take that as a compliment" Kepler smiled in a way that suggested he was up to something, he seemed to always smile like that. "Jacobi, would you do me the honours of spending your possibly last peaceful night, in here, with me?" Kepler sipped his scotch and smiled as he relaxed back into his chair, feet apart and legs spread. He was a devil of a man. And Jacobi was no angel. "Of course, Sir" Jacobi stood up off the desk with a smirk and lowered himself to straddle Kepler's wide lap. It was risky, and uncalled for and dangerous. In fact Jacobi was pretty certain that the folks back at Goddard Futuristics probably had this ship bugged, they were probably watching the whole thing. Kepler didn't care, he ran his hands down the sides of the kid who was known for breaking things and thought of a life beyond tomorrow, beyond the Contact Event. Everything would change.