#Morris would like this crash course

[scratchandplaster]

Aftermath of Drugging

CW: discussions of non-con drugging, spiking food, medical whump, overdosing, drug abuse, addiction, death, brief BBU-mention

Using drugs as a whump method is pretty common, and rightly so! As one of my favorite tropes, it was interesting to think about how they could affect the Whumpee after the act itself, be it physical or mental.

That's why I made a little compilation (for me and you), if you feel like agonizing your Whumpee even further. There are also some examples in between, for your entertainment!

The research is mostly relating to any downers, meaning any drug that makes you calm or fall asleep, so anesthetics, hypnotics or sedatives. Examples include ketamine, Rohypnol, GBL, propofol and heroin.

Uppers on the other hand have the opposite effect in stimulating the human nervous system. Some of the effects that are noted below are applicable to both kinds of drugs, but keep in mind that stimulants are more of an afterthought in this list. I'm going to recap the effects of both at the end.

I'm not a pharmacist by any means, but as far as reliable research for creative writing goes, this should suffice. No one is going to fact-check your whump fic, bestie 🤍

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By method:

Ingestion (forcing them to take pills, spiking their food)

→ General indigestion, nausea, dry mouth

Injections via syringe or continuous administration through an IV drip (e.g. in medical settings)

-> Swelling/tenderness/infection/bruising of the injection side

-> High fever (even days after the injection)

→ Anaphylaxis: skin rash, chest tightness, dizziness, nausea, facial swelling

Anaphylaxis is an all-body allergic reaction that can cause mild to severe and even deadly symptoms (shock or coma). It can escalate and should be immediately treated with a shot of adrenaline. This kind of reaction could be detrimental to Whumper's plans, especially if they intend to keep Whumpee alive for the foreseeable future. So it would be helpful for them to always carry an EpiPen, just in case...

Inhalation (gas or liquid)

→ High risk of choking and (sleep) apnea

-> Irritation of throat, nose and eyes

-> Throat spasms (Laryngospasm)

Includes coughing, difficulty breathing/speaking and the feeling of suffocation. Even though this kind of spasm fades away pretty quickly, they cause severe stress and panic to the aggrieved party, even leading up to lose consciousness again.

Physical side effects:

-> Drowsiness/tiredness, headaches/migraines, tinnitus

-> Dry mouth/throat or excessive drooling

-> Dilated pupils (causing Whumpee to be light-sensitive)

-> Slurred speech

-> Skin rash, itching, hives

-> decreased/increased appetite (give them a little snack...or not)

Motor skills:

-> Muscle relaxation, ataxia (lack of movement control), general weakness

-> Poor coordination

-> Tremors, cramps, spasms

-> Numbness, paralysis of the body or extremities (a local anesthetic would also do that trick)

Vegetative effects:

-> PONV: nausea, vomiting, retching

-> Cold shivers or hot flashes, acute sweating

-> Arrhythmia, low blood pressure and heart rate

-> Labored breathing

-> Vertigo

The physical consequences alone can make the wake-up process a living nightmare for Whumpee. Any after-effects that inhibit them from just getting up and escape are probably the worst in such a situation, making them weak and useless even if no restraints are involved. Imagine Whumpee just breathing heavily and quivering with cold shivers on a basement floor, unable to shake this uncomfortable feeling off. Their whole system is just trying to get the drugs out, but doing more damage than intended. Numb to the world around them, not even feeling if they are hurt or wounded. Or imagine the complete opposite: Them being able to get up and stumble to the exit, only to be overwhelmed by intense dizziness and collapsing back onto their knees. All the while Whumper watches, of course 👀

Did Whumpee eat beforehand?

Prior to any anesthesia, the person has to fast for at least six hours beforehand. Because Whumpees rarely plan their own kidnapping or non-con high, Whumper should wait for the right moment to get it done. Otherwise, they're risking aspiration or choking and therefore dangerous lung damage up to death; surely the most undesired outcome. Who would have thought that drug abuse can be dangerous...

Impure compounds? In my illegal drugs!?!

If your Whumper's stash really was cut with popular diluents e.g. other medication or lactose, the risks are surprisingly low. The threat of overdosing still comes from the main drug agent. However, mixing downers and uppers to cancel each other out can lead to a dangerous cycle, which amplifies the side effects and increases the risk to OD.

Mental side effects:

-> Nightmares, paranoia around food/drinks

-> Depression, anxiety, self-loathing (e.g. for not being careful enough)

-> Psychosis, hallucinations (optic, acoustic, in terms of taste etc.)

-> Dissociation, confusion, disorientation

-> Insomnia

-> Reduced anxiety or inhibitions

Now instead of being afraid, Whumpee could go batshit crazy and make fun of Whumper; spitting, biting and insulting their aggressor. An outburst they will probably regret later, when they're calm again and sober enough to understand the damage they have caused themself.

-> Memory loss/amnesia

Cue intimate Whumper, who just plays the part of a worried friend while keeping their love safe and controlled. Vague recollections of past abuse? No, just take another sip from your tea, it's alright... One could use drugs as a mean of removing memories altogether, I think in the BBU the "drip" is used to erase the whole personality of the Whumpee, making them a blank slate to train however one would like.

Withdrawal:

-> minutes or even days after the initial drugging

-> extreme anxiety up to paranoia

-> nausea, vomiting, indigestion

-> muscle aches

-> flu symptoms like a runny nose, sweating and fever

Depending on the kind of drug and how often it is used, withdrawal can start after just one dosage. "Not even once"-drugs include meth, heroin and crack cocaine. Also, barbiturates have a high risk of dependence. Speaking of it...⬇

Addiction as a long term effect:

-> Organ damage especially of the brain, liver, kidneys and the diseases that follow (including cancer, short weight, heart failure)

-> Loss of interests, behavior/personality change

-> Selling all valuables and ending up in poverty

-> Aggression/violent behavior

-> Shame and guilt

Isolated, financially and mentally unstable, Whumpee's life had been ruined with just a single act. Even Caretaker turned their back on their former friend. But Whumper would love to help Whumpee become sober again, under just a few conditions. On the other side of the spectrum: a Whumpee who finally managed to escape and take revenge on their abuser, they slowly but surely make Whumper ruin themself through their newly developed little habit...

To sum up:

Downers (decrease bodily functions and calm you down)

→ Unconsciousness, weakness, distortion of perception, failure of motor functions, coma

-> Common examples: Xanax, ketamine, propofol

Vs.

Uppers (stimulate bodily functions and mood)

-> reduced inhibitions, more prone to hallucinations, psychosis, seizures, serotonin syndrome (high heart rate, sweating, twitching, mania)

-> Common examples: meth, ecstasy, cocaine

Bonus: How to store your Whumpee!

The immediate consequence of drugging someone is to figure out how to keep them. Get them secluded and ready for whumping:

-> In the backseat, foot space or trunk of a car (use an ambulance, it's inconspicuous)

-> You know these roof boxes people strap on top of their car? Stuff ´em in there!

-> Put them in a box and ship them overseas

-> Basements are classics, but try the attic for a change

-> Just use a coffin, combined with an old hearse nobody is going to notice

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Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

[thethirdromana]

The droughtula is lasting forever so here are some headcanons about Dracula's characters' politics.

Arthur Holmwood (Lord Godalming) Let's get the difficult one out of the way first. Arthur is nobility, a hereditary peer in the House of Lords, in the 1890s. He's literally entitled to a say on legislation solely because of who his ancestors were. So he's unlikely to have views that we'd find sympathetic in 2023, and is probably a Tory.

He's well-travelled and outward-looking, so I think his greatest political concern is empire. He's eager to ensure that Britain is victorious in the Scramble for Africa, concerned about growing tensions with the Boers in South Africa, and admires the leadership of Lord Salisbury.

(sorry about this)

Jonathan Harker I think Jonathan is and always will be aware of how lucky he's been, as an orphan who's then catapulted into vast wealth thanks to the generosity of Mr Hawkins. As a result, I think he would be very keen to support others and generally vote for a government that's focused on the eradication of poverty. At the same time, I don't think he would be particularly radical; I think he would shy away from revolutionary thinking.

I see him finding reasonably a happy home in the 1890s Liberals, and supporting the beginnings of the welfare state in the early 1900s. He might even join the Fabian Society. By the 1920s, his sympathies would shift to the Labour Party.

Mina Harker I've written a bit about Mina's politics already. The obvious question is what she thinks of women's suffrage, and I'm inclined to say that her view is that women should have the vote one day, but not yet. At least, not at a national level; I think she'd support the move in the 1890s to allow women to vote in local elections. She would be more focused on women's access to education, so that when the time came for them to get the vote, they would be educated enough to use it wisely.

Unfortunately one other thing we know about Mina is that she's interested in physiognomy, a pseudoscience that's connected to eugenics. So it's depressingly plausible that a real-life Mina would have an interest in eugenics as well.

Lucy Westenra I think Lucy is probably less politically aware than Mina is, but also quite possibly more radical in her views. After all, we see more of Lucy chafing against her social role than we do Mina (though Lucy's life is also a lot more restricted than Mina's). As an upper-middle or upper-class woman, doing charitable works is a big part of her role. That would bring her into contact with poverty, and I think she would want to do whatever she could to help.

I don't think she would be formally a member of any campaigning organisations, but I suspect she might be sympathetic to the temperance movement. That would be her route to women's suffrage, as the two causes were connected in the 1890s. Where Mina might worry that women lacked the education to use their vote wisely, Lucy would feel that in a good marriage, a husband would help his wife to make the right choices.

Abraham Van Helsing One sec, just need to give myself a crash course in Dutch politics of the 1890s.

OK I'm back. Dutch society at this time was divided based mostly on religion: Protestant, Catholic and a secular socialist grouping. This was called 'Verzuiling' ("pillarisation") and it meant that each of the sections of society were effectively segregated: separate schools, separate institutions, separate newspapers and little intermarriage between the "pillars".

By rights that puts Van Helsing into the Catholic pillar, but I can't see it - this is a man whose close friend is an English Protestant who's half his age. The group most likely to oppose the notion of Verzuiling were the Liberals, sometimes treated as a pillar of their own. And I think that's where Van Helsing would most naturally fit.

People who learned about this bit of Dutch history more than five minutes ago should feel free to chime in.

Quincey Morris I know about as much about US politics in the 1890s as I do Dutch politics, but that's not going to stop me.

I instinctively feel that Quincey Morris has strong views on something relatively niche, like the adoption of the gold standard. So I'm pleased to learn that the adoption of the gold standard was in fact a live political debate in the US in the 1890s. Quincey is in favour. He supports hard money policies and - as a wealthy landowner - particularly worries about the rise of the People's Party back home.

Jack Seward The biggest wildcard of the lot. Other than Van Helsing, I think Jack is the character most likely to have read widely and to be open to unexpected ideas. But ultimately I think his attitude to politics is driven by his interest in and desire for technological progress, which would lead him towards the Liberal Party.

He would be horrified by Tory prime minister Lord Salisbury's repeated opposition to change (e.g. his 1879 statement that "Whatever happens will be for the worse, and therefore it is in our interest that as little should happen as possible"). If he lives long enough, he'll be delighted by Wilson's "white heat of technology" speech in the early 1960s.

[wartsandwarlocks]

Call it fate, call it karma.

Madagascar wasn’t nearly as exciting as Remus has thought. It required a lot of manual labor, which he definitely wasn’t fit for, they barely slept or ate and worst of all, smoking was deeply frowned upon. He had made a few friends here and there and their company made it all more tolerable, but he missed his home.

As the weeks passed, the homesickness started becoming all too much for him. His real friends- his family- were in London having an amazing time together and he was moving shit (literal animal shit) from one place to the other. Or so he thought, another rule was no phones, there was no signal anyways. He wanted to get used to it, he really tried, smiling forcibly every morning into the weird glass they used as a mirror, smiling at anyone who would say hi to him and even laughing to himself when he had to scoop shit up. But in all fairness, he had signed up for the humanitarian aid, and was unfairly placed in the animal rescue one instead.

Three weeks had been three weeks too many. He marched decidedly to the Big Tent, hoping Ms. Sprout would be able to take some sort of action. He “knocked” on the “door” once. No answer. Twice. Nothing. By the time he decided he wanted to open the “door” he began to hear a faint voice.

“Yes, it’s ok.” It said. “I’m fine either way.”

“There is no place for you to stay in the humanitarian crisis zone, I apologize deeply for it.”

“I can work either way, just want to be helpful is all.”

“Alright then, congratulations and you’re welcome Mr. Black.”

“Sirius is fine. Thank you Ms. Sprout.”

Huh? Black?! Sirius?!

“Your tent is the third one on the left path. Hope you don’t mind sharing.”

Remus counted. One, Morris’s tent. Two, Farrow’s tent. Three, Lupin’s tent. He needed to run, play stupid, play dead, play something! But of course, having Lupin’s Luck, before he could move the “door” flew open and the handsomest boy, with his long curly hair and enchanting tattoos crashed into him.

“Oh shit I’m so sorry-!” He apologized.

“Hi Pads.” Remus smiled dumbly at him.

“Moony?!”

“Same old.”

Sirius’s frown turned into a big smile as he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around him. “I thought I wouldn’t ever ser you again!”

“Makes two of us.” Remus smiled as he smelt his hair. God he’d missed him.

“Weren’t you supposed to be in Cambodia?” Sirius smiled puzzled.

“No more vacancy there, looks like everyone wants to save the world these days.”

“So I’ve heard.” He said grabbing his bag from the floor. “I’m exhausted, let’s catch up tomorrow. I have to meet my new roommate, or tentmate.”

“Oh I heard, looks like we’ll be ‘rooming again Padfoot.” Remus slightly shoved him as he pointed to their tent with his head. “Karma.”

“Shit! Really?! This is amazing!” Sirius beamed. Remus had suddenly realized that was exactly what he’d been missing, his stupid, optimistic, fun, sort-of-boyfriend-guy from college. “Fuck karma, call it fate!”

“Call it fate, call it karma, you’re still stuck with me.” Remus smiled.

Sirius simply smiled and rolled his eyes. Maybe a couple more weeks shoving dung from one place to the other couldn’t hurt him.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

What sort of jobs do you think the mercs would have if they weren't, y'know, mercs?

What Would The TF2 Mercs Jobs Be If They Weren't Mercenaries?

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Ough, I love this. It's a very cool suggestion, Anon. Thank you for asking! I've thought about this a couple of times, and I'm glad to get a chance to rant >:)

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Demo would get into pyrotechnics for a while, (shocker I know, but bare with me) he'd find himself setting up fireworks shows, making fireworks, teaching safety courses and all that fun stuff, but I don't think he'd be fulfilled in the same way being a merc would. He'd find himself being bored with the monotony of it all, only doing it for the money. After a while of this he'd finally just say fuck it, and try and look for other work opportunities, found an animal shelter in desperate need of new hires, submitted his application, and with in two weeks had become absolutely enthralled with his new job. He finds out he loves working with animals! He makes friends with every animal in the shelter right away, and gets a good chunk of them adopted each year or so.

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Engie would have most likely gone on to become a very successful engineer. Shocker, I know. He would have probably specialized in biomedical engineering. I think he'd go in with no particular job in mind, but then would be introduced into the idea of building prosthetics and become a prosthetist. He likes being able to help people with his creations. (MINI HEACANON / STORY) The first time he ever made a prosthetic was for a little kid who lost his leg due to a car crash. He was super traumatized from the accident and refused to let anyone near him, Engie spent about a year working with the kid to, one be able to measure and fit him for his prosthetic, and two, to just make the kid smile and make him less scared. When the job was done the kid was so happy, grinning ear to ear, he hugged Engie and was literally crying out of joy, that's when Engie knew he loved his job 😭

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Heavy has a doctorate in Russian literature, so I'd assume he'd go into the teaching field with that as his specialty. He'd find a university in need of a professor and work with students to help them better themselves. He just likes being able to share his experiences and perspective with those who want to learn. Very much a "Tuesday's With Morrie" type of teacher. Will literally do anything for his students by the way. He love each year he spends teaching, also loves hearing from his students after they graduate. Really just wants to make an impact on peoples lives anyway he can. He'd probably end up being a writer if he couldn't go into teaching for some reason. He'd write fiction mainly, maybe some life experiences too, for the same reasons above.

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Medic would have found a way to get his medical license back, legally or illegally (most likely the latter). And went on to continue practicing medicine, most likely in a country with more lax laws on human experimentation. If that failed, the local morgue is always hiring graveyard shifts, and when no one really cares too much about what happens to the corpses, Medic would find ways to keep himself very entertained. I also think he could be content working as a librarian! I don't know, like the gap between librarian and doctor is huge but I can just imagine him and Archimedes running a little library together, (Kind of like uh Blue and Linda from Rio, I'm really pulling out random media this prompt, 😭) I just feel like even though he's batshit insane nine times out of ten he can still enjoy a quiet, peaceful life if he wanted too. Probably still does a bit medical stuff on the side though, you just can't stop him.

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Scout is another case of me being unsurprising. He'd be a baseball star. It's really a toss-up on whether he gets super famous or just enjoys quiet success. If he's super famous you bet he's signing contracts for advertisements and other things you'd expect multimillionaires to be doing (He'd also be so thrilled to be a multimillionaire he'd be giving his mom her dream life) and just generally enjoying the fame. If he didn't make it into the big leagues, he'd still be successful in minor leagues. I'll even go as far as to say that even if he didn't make it big or even semi big, he'd become a coach little league/ high school /college and love it. Honestly, he would cry if one of the kids he coached went pro one day. (Maybe a Twitch streamer would also fit, but that's silly, right?)

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Sniper has always been into wildlife photography. He absolutely loves animals. He's naturally good at photography. I think him having good aim and a steady hand are a mix of a natural talent and years of training. His years of training would have just gone into photography instead of, you know. He gets very good very quickly, takes pictures you'd see hung up as decoration pieces, and definitely had a fair share of curious animals wandering up to him to check out his work. For a guy who loves animals, he's living the dream. Haz had a few less than steller run-ins during his time, but generally appreciates being able to enjoy nature and animals as part of his job.

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Spy being an actor would come naturally for him. He's great at switching his style, mood, character, etc. So he'd naturally be interested in a job where that skill would be valuable, then he finds out about how much money he can make off of acting and just goes straight in. I think he would end up being a really popular actor, people liking him in almost any role he plays, and would generally have little to no hater or bad press. He loves going over every new script and building up his character in his mind, then giving them a place off the page. He also loves going to fancy parties, so... Also, the first time he got a bad/negative review or comment on his acting, he cried lmao.

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Soldier would so be a historian. Like, hands down, only job I think he could have outside of being a merc. He can rant for hours about American history and knows so much about other countries too due to their involvement with America and a general curiosity, that he'd be a perfect to teach about history in museums, classrooms, or even just uploading videos online. Just put someone who needs to learn about history of any kind in front of him, and they'll learn more in the time with him than they ever have. Also! I'm not sure what these people are called, and I'm way too tired to look it up, but I think that Soldier would help new immigrants with leaning English and with getting their citizenship. Solider would also help refugees. Also also, he'd hold support groups for veterans.

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Pyro is normally headcanoned as a fire fighter or ex-fire fighter I'm pretty sure, but I think it's easy to forget that while Pyro likes fire, they like making firsvl, you know what else they like? Making art! So naturally, being a glassblower would be a great fit for Pyro. They love the job! The molten glass is mesmerizing to them. The artistic freedom is liberating. It's all just so great to them. They make a lot of flame themed pieces that and animal themed pieces. They mainly do pieces and sell them at markets instead of taking commissions for them. They're super happy with this life and have multiple pieces of their work displayed in their home. They sometimes get this feeling of missing something, like a vague memory, but they just continue to make new art to fix that, but oddly enough, they end up reminding them more of those distant memories. I wonder what that's about.

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I swore I'd get this out today, and I held myself to that, even though I almost passed out. (Not me posting this 5 minutes to midnight lmao) I only had three paragraphs left, and I was not giving up on them. I swear I'm trying to get better at consistency 😭

Anyways enough of that, I hope you enjoyed this! I had fun writing it. Trying to come up with different jobs for them is both really fun and oddly difficult. Anyways! The schedule for new posts will hopefully go as follows:

Mercs favorite books

Medic and Creepypasta

How the Mercs would react to a close teammates death

(Then any asks that come in would follow!)

So yeah! Busy weekend, but I'm not complaining:D

[arachnixe]

Homecoming

(Part 10 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Execution)

(CW for violent, bloody, dubiously consensual sex) If the hand on my shoulder belonged to a lookout I missed, someone come for revenge on the hunter who slew their kin, right now I’d let them have it. I find myself unable to muster relief that the hand belongs to Carmen instead.

“Well fought, darling. I have not borne witness to such a feat since Morris himself.”

I say nothing. A desolate wind scours the desert of my heart, my guilt a merciless sun burning pride into ash. For once I am not grateful for her touch. My self-loathing begs for someone to come and punish me for my sins.

“But you must be exhausted, of course. How callous of me not to notice. Here, let me help you up.”

With her assistance, I find myself upright again. It feels like watching myself at a distance, disconnected from my own movements, drifting off to the side as we pass through city streets to the car waiting for us.

“You will have to forgive me this pain, dear Hanna, but it will be better if I pluck the glass from your skin before you sit down. Tumbling about in that wretched lot has resulted in a constellation of nasty little shards embedded in you.”

My body feels the pain, but I don’t. A pity. I crave some kind of penance, but my loathing runs deep—there is no amount of suffering that can undo a lifetime of harm, and so the suffering I deserve must necessarily be infinite. That there is no one kind enough to offer me such punishment is another reason to resent the world.

The drive back home is not silent, but only because of Carmen’s generosity on filling the air with her words as I stare numbly out at the city passing by us.

“Was that the most difficult battle you have faced? I must assume so; it is clear how heavily this adventure weighs on you. Moreover, if you were regularly engaging in feats half as marvelous as that which you performed tonight, your legend would surely be known to all, eclipsing even your greatest ancestors, I suspect.”

What an awful legend it would be. I wish she would stop comparing me to the likes of those who sired this misbegotten bloodline of mine.

I must have made some displeased vocalization without noticing because I feel her hand squeeze my thigh, as if to offer reassurance.

“Perhaps I offer excessive praise for your prowess in battle when that is not what you need at the moment. I am sorry. Old as I am, I have experienced such war, death, and bloodshed as few living can even imagine, and it is all too easy to forget the impact these have on others. Let me assure you that it is perfectly normal to feel as you do. There is a thrill to fighting for one’s life, but what follows can be a dreadful crash. Rest assured that it grows easier.”

How can she be so cavalier about the deaths of other vampires? Why is there such excitement building in her voice, despite the gentleness of her words? I snuffed out whole lives in a few short minutes of work, lives that could have grown as long as hers one day, had I not intervened.

“It’s not that,” I manage to say from behind the hand I cover my face with. Disgust motivates me to push the words out. “Not just fighting. It’s about…” whose side am I on? “They’re…” vampires, “not just…” humans, “and I’m…” still a vampire hunter, despite everything.

I fail to articulate it. Everything I want to say sounds too obvious and misses the fundamental truth at the heart of my despair. All I can do is mumble and trail off and gesture in futility at the entirety of my life.

“Ah. I see.” Carmen replies as if the words I managed are enough. “That too gets easier each time. Killing those with whom you identify, I mean.”

Each time. No, I don’t want there to be a next time. If I become numb to killing vampires, then I’ll be just like…

I try to shake the thought from my head, but all I can see in my mind’s eye is my father, wearing my face, staking a teenage girl through the heart. I dig my nails into my skin and imagine peeling my face off, fingers questing through my eye sockets to rip my father’s lessons from my brain like so many weeds, prying my chest open to find the heart that pumps this fucking Boltman blood and throwing it violently into the road to be crushed by uncaring traffic.

“Far easier to kill those people we denigrate, is it not? The whole of history tells the story of how we frame our enemies as something less than ourselves in order to ease the burden on our conscience when we decide to end them.”

As she speaks, her strange accent colors her speech more strongly than usual. Her voice carries a strange, energetic cadence, and each sentence comes faster and faster, picking up momentum.

“Far harder to look someone in the eye, to recognize their fundamental personhood, to know in your heart that their subjective experience is just as rich and meaningful as your own, and to decide all of it still must end because you will it so.“

She laughs, and not with her usual playful humor. It’s a cruel bark, filled with that rare venom of hers which she usually hides from me. The engine roars, and the car hurtles through the city streets at reckless speed. Something barbed in her words catches in my throat and pulls me from my self-pitying spiral.

“But how important a thing it is to kill a person. A whole person! Not to content ourselves with killing the pale ghost we cast into their image when we dehumanize our enemies! How much better it is to look with unclouded eyes and bear witness to the essential atrocity of the act—for each and every life we choose to end!”

I turn to look at her, feeling a small pinprick of fear toward Carmen for the first time. Her eyes are wild, manic, with a gleam in them as if reflecting the red traffic lights that never dare to show themselves in front of her. She’s practically shouting now, bearing her fangs with a rapturous expression and cackling like a woman possessed.

The outside is a kaleidoscopic blur of motion. The wind whips through my hair and roars in my ears, but somehow Carmen’s voice rises effortlessly above the din.

“Better still to know your victim personally, to grow close, terribly close, to learn to see them better than they see themselves, to witness what makes them special and unique above all others, and to conclude that they must die for you, to hold that life in your hands and make that choice. Such a perfect end it makes! There can be none better!”

Fear inspires a return of the adrenaline in my blood, shocking me back into my body, and I realize that this is what everything has been building toward. Carmen means to kill me. Not ignorant of my durability as Vicky was when she might have tried on our first night together or as Ylio was when they tried to assassinate me, but fully aware and understanding the true limits of what I can—and cannot—survive.

I have never once seen her feed properly, but older vampires typically feed less often than younger ones, as I understand. They also tend to develop idiosyncratic feeding rituals, as I remind myself now. All this time together, like fattening up an animal for slaughter, like marinating your meat for maximum flavor, she drew me closer to her in order to better savor the experience of drinking my blood and ending my life.

At our destination already, the car screeches to a halt, and the wheels have barely stopped turning when she pulls the passenger side door open and hauls me from the seat. That frenzied look in her eyes has not dimmed an ounce, and her arm snakes around my waist to pull me close to her and usher me forward with soft yet irresistible force, a steel bar sheathed in silk.

The body armor that helps protect me in a fight does little to deter Carmen in the elevator. I am exposed everywhere I need freedom of movement, and her mouth seeks out the nearest unprotected bit of flesh at my shoulder. My breath quickens as I feel fangs drag like a razor across my skin, the sting of her tongue digging into my exposed nerves where my skin has been sliced open underneath her clamped lips. I whimper, in spite of myself.

With a cruel, melodious chime, the elevator doors open, and I realize that if I wanted to escape, the opportunity is definitely behind me. Not only is escape a laughable prospect, but—

Carmen turns my face toward hers and grips me with her gaze in that way she has, peering into me like she sees every dark and dismal corner of my soul, and I can no longer conceive of resistance. I am weightless, frictionless, without mass or substance at all, and the two of us glide on air into the heart of her lair.

As I fall to the bed on which we must consummate our relationship, my fear coils around my heart, no longer inspiring thoughts of flight, but merely settling with the weight of inevitable doom in my chest.

No inspiration to resist comes to me; instead my mind soothes me with all the reasons I have to accept my fate. Wasn’t I hoping for penance? Wouldn’t this, after all, be the best way for things to end? What a welcome way to die, at the hands of a woman I love, a vampire who can accept my sacrifice so that I may pay this wretched debt I was born into.

It’s a better fate than I deserve.

When Carmen pounces on me, it’s with a crazed, feral fury unlike I’ve ever seen from her. Gone is any pretense of self-control, leaving only animal hunger and the impulse to sate her urge to rip into me. Her fingers become claws sharp enough to shred my clothes and slice me open and leave crimson lacerations across my breasts and belly and thighs.

Her hands aggravate every ragged wound and leave bruises that bloom into aching life across my red-smeared body. She clutches my face in those claws of hers, drawing bloody lines in broken skin even as she presses her mouth to mine hard enough to bruise there too, shoving her tongue down my throat until I gag.

Without warning, she pulls from the kiss only to descend abruptly to my neck, piercing into my artery for the first time. The pain is exquisite, as it always is, in the way I always long for it to be, and it moves me to tears that Carmen should at last be drinking from me.

“Yes…” Weakening as rapidly as I am, the word comes out as a whisper, but if I should get just one last thing to say in this world, I want it to be this. I want her to know how I welcome this sweet agony—the bliss of punishment for one truly damned and guilty.

Hurt me, Carmen. Violate me, Carmen. Ruin me, Carmen. Kill me, Carmen. Let me die, as long I get to die for you, Carmen, greatest and most beautiful of all vampires!

Yet to my surprise, she stops herself. “No. Not completely. Not yet.” Her voice is ragged and breathy. “I wish to prolong this a while longer, at least. I must savor all you have to offer.”

If I have more to give, let her take it all. For myself, I savor the way the air stings all my new wounds. I savor the taste of my own blood as it runs down my face and slips into my panting mouth—the blood of a hunter, fit only to spill, to decorate the floor, to feed on.

“You will drink from me as I drink from you, darling Hanna.” It is not a request. She offers no option of refusal. Carmen uses a claw to slice into her own breast, drawing out a dribble of precious, dark ichor for which I salivate even before she forces my mouth onto it.

It tastes like blood, of course, beautiful and delicious, like salt and iron, rich with an indescribable flavor all its own. It’s also vampire blood, a nectar I’ve never before sampled, dancing across my palate with a tingling sensation that almost seems effervescent. Best of all, it’s Carmen’s.

I suckle at her breast like a starving newborn, desperate for every last drop of such precious fluid, hungry as any vampire to drink her in completely, to drain her dry. She offers such grace even to the vile and unworthy. However long she grants me this pleasure, it will never be enough to satisfy me. I could fill my belly to bursting with her blood, and still I’d beg for more.

Did she once describe her blood as an opiate? She was wrong. It’s far better, far more addictive, far more pleasurable a fog to get lost inside.

When at last she pushes my face away and shoves me back to the bed, I make such a pathetic whine it surprises even myself. But how could anyone judge? I have tasted heaven and been ripped away from it. Still, to my delight, heaven’s touch lingers as a gentle caress swaddling my mind in a warm, soothing blanket.

“Let that sustain you while you continue putting that eager mouth of yours to good use, darling.”

Without further warning, Carmen straddles my head and shoves her vulva into my face. Of course I kiss her. What could be more natural?

“You love this, Hanna. I know you do. Always seeking an excuse to put your mouth on me, are you not? Tell me.” She grips my hair in a fist. “Tell me how well it pleases you that I force myself upon you so.”

I have no reason to deny the truth, though when I try to speak, she grinds herself on my outstretched tongue with such force I feel it press into my teeth to break the skin. There is no pain at all, just the welcome return of the taste of blood. I am high as can be after drinking from her, my mind out among the stars, and I happily babble incomprehensible joy around a mouthful of pussy.

“Just so. Keep talking. Let your ancestors witness how their scion has proven herself to measure among the very greatest of their number, and let them see how she puts her talents to use.”

Yes! Let them look down upon me in shame. Here, at last, I prove my worth and meet my end. I greet it with open arms and clouded mind. Let them see how I give myself to their ancient enemies and never tell them “no.” In the end, let none deny that I was yours, Carmen!

When she clamps her thighs around my head, I know the end has come. The pressure is too great. I can’t breathe. I fear that I will pass out from lack of oxygen and miss the climactic final moment when she sucks me bone-dry.

But in the end, Carmen is merciful. She releases me, runs her hand across my blood-soaked body, and her words could not sound more loving as she bids me goodnight.

“I am not yet through with you, beloved.”

Her fangs pierce my neck again, and everything fades to black.

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

In celebration of me just picking up a Toyota Altezza Gita/Lexus IS300 Sportcross what are some of your favourite wagons or shooting brakes

yOOOOOO!!!!

Okay now I have to ask, is it actually an imported Toyota or did you add that just for potential clarification?

I should give context for folx out there (apparently folx is a 'more friendly' spelling to some? oh the wild wonders of language): y'all know how Lexus is a brand Toyota founded to move upmarket? Yeah, they didn't need to do that at home because Japan is much better protected from too-good-for-Toyotas-itis: I mean, if the emperor can drive (well, be driven in) Toyotas I am pretty sure you can afford to be seen in one. As a result, until 2005 Japan got Lexus models but not the Lexus brand, receiving them with Toyota branding instead (and different model names too, since the two letter acronyms were a Lexus thing).

To get to your question, though:

SEDANS I LIKE THE WAGON VERSION OF TOO

Toyota Altezza Gita/Lexus IS300 Sportcross (:D)

Indeed, I love your car! The JZ (for the folx: a six cylinder inline engine series widely regarded to be Toyota's best, capable of truly monstrous power with the right hands fiddling under the hood), the sporty, timeless styling, Toyota reliability and Lexus build quality, how no matter the market they refused to use a normal word for wagon, the chrome taillights so iconic they spawned an entire trend in 2000s car styling (especially aftermarket - hell, they still call them Altezza taillights!)... and that gauge cluster oh my GAWD

Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution VIII Wagon

I don't think the street equivalent of one of the most legendary rally cars (and certainly, with the Subaru Impreza WRX STI, part of the most legendary rally war) needs any introduction. I just wanted to make sure you knew that between '05 and '07 the closest thing to a rally car a dealer would sell you also came in wagon form. In Japan only, of course. Because if Japan can't keep a cool thing to themselves, they'll make a cooler version to keep to themselves. Always.

Morris Mini Traveller/Austin Mini Countryman/Mini Clubman Estate

How do Mini fans do it, man

Who doesn't love the Mini? Who doesn't love the wagon's funky rear doors?

And who doesn't hate the time they tried to modernize its front end for the 70s? Me.

Like come on guys. You need to find within yourselves the intellectual honesty to admit that this fucks.

I rest my case. Let's move on.

Citroën DS Break/Familiale/Safari/Estate/Station Wagon

How do Citroën fans do it, man

Yes, the steering wheel had a single spoke - and by the way, that's it straight. It was angled like that so that, in a crash, it would guide your your body to the right - because there weren't seatbelts yet in 1955. Yeah. This is a 1955 design. The French are always been and likely always will be hellbent on being weird - and the Citroën DS is a distillation of the good that can come from that. It had pillarless windows! variable height suspension so effective you could only tell you had a flat by sound - and could change that flat by just having the suspension lift it for you! It had rear fenders held on by one bolt! Hell, in 1967, it got directional lights that turned with the wheels!!!!

IN 1967!!!! Few cars have them right now today!!!

Oh, and also, most interesting to us right now, it has the greatest vibe gap between sedan and wagon I have ever seen. Allow me to illustrate (and slightly exacerbate by cherry picking examples).

You get out of this with suit and tie and a watch you change the time of with felt tweezers.

You get out of this with a lab coat, plane goggles, a propeller tophat and a concoction that violates a semester's worth of laws of physics. And, potentially, seven of the biggest freaks the planet could muster, because yes, this could seat up to eight, thanks to a front bench, a middle bench, and trunk seats. "You mean a third row?" HAHA. NO.

Honorable mentions:

Mazda 6, Subaru Impreza, Toyota Corolla KE70, Audi RS4, BMW E30, Fiat 500 Giardinetta, most '60s yankee landyachts that got a wagon, and all the ones that escape me at this moment

WAGONS I LIKE MORE THAN THE SEDAN VERSION

Audi RS6 (second generation)

Here's what happened (presumably): Audi had bought Lamborghini. Great! Now Lamborghinis could use Audi interior bits, a very welcome change because Lamborghini were not exactly the interior controls GOATs. (To stick to a representative example and not be here all day, when set to Fahrenheit the Diablo's digital climate controls changed the temperature by two degree increments except between 63F and 64F and 72F and 73F. And at the extremes it said LOF and HIF because the F did not go away. So yeah.) But this also gave Audi access to Lamborghini parts - and, a couple years in, one of the engineers told the others "Jo [German for "Yo"], there's gotta be something cool we can do with Lamborghini parts!" And the other was like "Maybe we can make the new RS6 [Audian for Real Sporty version of the A6 executive sedan] with a Lambo V10! That'd be a fast fucking sedan." And the first one replied "And a fast fucking wagon too!" And their eyes locked, lighting up with villainous thrill.

I mean, I could wax lyrical about the all wheel drive and super expensy carbon ceramic brakes and the flared fenders et al but if this garbage 5 second clip does not convince you that this busts ass how could I.

Toyota Corolla E110

Well that's quite the jump. How could I possibly be interested in a car like this? If cars were meals this would be a plate of warm water. There is only one way to possibly get excited about a car this boring: personal significance. And sure enough, my Yaris-pursuing father was instead upsold a Corolla exactly like this, discounted to empty the lot in preparation for its facelift - and one day he used it to drive my momma to a hospital, they got out of it in two, and some tribulations later they got back in it in three - third being a hot-off-the-press me. This, then, was the car that was in the driveway through my stumbling infancy - and never hinted at letting us down. We then traded it for an Opel that gave us loads of trouble, the recipient traded it for an Audi that gave him loads of trouble, and on the Corolla kept getting passed on right to wherever it rests today, never letting anyone down - loyalty likely rewarded by a crusher turning it to mush. And I want another shot at doing this car right.

Okay, actually, there's another way to get excited about such a car: find out about the inevitable sick-ass Japan-only version. In this case Toyota figured they'd fit the Sprinter Carib (because Corolla wasn't near a silly enough name for the Japanese market) with a 20V 4A-GE Blacktop and a 6 speed manual, or in less technical terms "one of the greatest non-turbo powertrains of its size to ever graze a production car". Presumably just for the sake of keeping it Japan-only for the sake of annoying me personally.

Well, joke's on them, because my idea goes even harder: replicating the powertrain the hatchback version competed in World Rally Championship with - 4WD and all.

This but wagon, essentially. And then bin it in a tree in 15 seconds like I always do on the rally sim.

Honorable mentions:

1970 Dodge Coronet SW, Nissan Stagea, Volvo 940/960 wagon (which I talked about in another post!), and again all the others that I forgot.

The shooting brakes are gonna need their separate post because otherwise it hits the image limit :/

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

[convenient-plot-device]

So do y'all remember this?

Well, not only did it turn out that the arresting cop threw a handcuffed man (who was arrested for saying "fuck the police") to the ground in 2019, causing multiple bone breaks (link), but now the city of St. Louis has sent a letter to the owners of the bar saying that if they do not repair the damage the cop car did to their bar, the city will condemn the building. They would have to pay for this repair themselves, of course.

I would like to point out that the budget for the St. Louis police department in 2024 is $130 million, and yet they apparently can't shell out for damage they themselves caused, but can afford $510k for ammunition and "Metro Air Support" (meaning drones). (Source). I for one am pissed.

Here is a link to help the owners with repairs:

[tinyinvadr]

Next chapter’s up! Really happy with this one!

Psychoborrower 2

Chapter 11

“I still can’t believe it… THE Helmut Fullbear! Here! You HAVE to be a guest on K.L.O.B. My ratings are gonna skyrocket!”

“Take it easy, Morris. He only just got all his memories back.”

Helmut chuckled. “I’d love to appear on your show. Just not yet. I have some things I need to take care of first. Until then, I’d appreciate it if you could keep my presence here on the down-low. Can’t have everyone swarming to me just yet. I need to find Bob first.”

“Of course! Do whatever you need to do! C’mon, Gisu, let’s go brainstorm some interview questions.”

Before she could respond, Morris grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the mailroom. Probably for the best that they left. We had our own secret mission.

Before Helmut left, we asked him to pretend to be Nick so we could get into the office. From there, Ford let us into his mind.

We were sent into his mental world in a giant envelope. A little claustrophobic, but infinitely better than the gross germy bowling world.

Raz ripped it open, and we headed down a tunnel that led us into a gigantic mailroom being run by an equally huge robotic Ford. The sight of a world this impossibly massive made my head spin, so I shifted.

“Nope. That was way too small. I can work with this, though.”

All the while, Raz was awestruck by everything around us. He’d only shifted the one time in Dr. Loboto’s mind, so being tiny was still a relatively new experience for him.

“This is so cool, Flint.”

“Huh? Oh, I guess it would be for you. This is all kind of standard for me.”

“Well then, you wanna take the lead on this mission?”

“Heh, you know it. Now, let’s see… if this is anything like Strike City, we’re gonna need to get into that robot Ford’s head.”

A third voice cut in from seemingly nowhere.

“Oh! That’s where I came from!”

I looked to my left to find an envelope, stamped with an image of Ford on it.

“Cool, how do we get up there?”

“Well, I could give you a lift while I’m sent out. Although, I’m not addressed well, so I’ll probably end up marked ‘Return to Sender’. Just grab on and-”

Ford-Bot grabbed the letter, cutting him off.

“Hmm… no return address. It’s the Dead Letter Office for this one!”

He slid the envelope into a slot on the other side of the room, taking our only chance of reaching his head.

We were able to navigate across the room by riding on the flying envelopes that endlessly swirled around Ford-Bot. Just after we made it to the Dead Letter Office, the discarded letter was snatched up again and relocated to the International Dead Letter Office, due to the envelope’s vague address of “Grulovia”.

It was clear that Ford was trying to reach Lucrecia, but he was getting in his own way. Once we recovered the letter again, we offered to address it for him, and he loaded the envelope into the typewriter.

Raz was very lucky to have me taking the lead this time around. Even with his acrobatic skills, flipping and jumping over massive book stacks and swinging along cork boards is its own challenge. One that required my level of expertise.

When we reached the typewriter, I noticed that a few keys were missing. The letters spelling out “LUCY” had been torn out. Ford really was trying to stop himself from talking to her.

We fixed the typewriter and punched in her name, and Ford-Bot took the letter and mailed it out.

He got a reply only seconds afterward. It was a postcard. On the front was an image of Maligula commanding a flood through the Grulovian countryside. On the back was a chilling response.

“Lucy is dead. She is never coming back.”

At that, Ford-Bot’s head popped off his body and crashed on the desk next to us.

“See? It just doesn’t matter.”

Just like we did before, we climbed into the back of his head, and pulled the shard out of his brain. We were once again met with Ford’s reflection.

“What did you write in the letter?”

“Not much. Just that I loved her, and that I never should’ve let her go.”

His mail clerk personality appeared beside him, passing off his typewriter to him.

“It’s not your fault. They pushed her too far. None of us could’ve predicted this would happen.”

“But I thought I knew her. I never thought she would break the way she did.”

“We all have darker aspects of ourselves that we keep hidden away. She was in a vulnerable position and they took advantage of that to bring out the worst in her. But… that doesn’t make the Lucy we knew any less real.”

We were once again back in Ford’s main mental world, and Raz placed the newly recovered shard in the mirror and put the typewriter on the shelf beside the bowling ball.

Back in the physical world, Ford had left the mailroom. There was only one fragment left to retrieve: the one from his barber shop personality.

We left the mailroom and started to head over to the Motherlobe’s salon, but Raz suddenly stopped in his tracks. Harold was clinging to his ankle, standing on his hind legs and squeaking endlessly.

“Huh? Harold? What’s wrong?”

He picked him up, and Harold turned to me, waving his front legs as if trying to reach me.

“Flint, I think he’s trying to tell you something.”

Zoolingualism has never been my strong suit, mainly because I’m terrified of most animals and try to avoid getting close to them.

“Uh… what’s he saying?”

Frustrated, he started squeaking at Raz instead, leaving him to translate.

“He says your mom is looking for you, and she’s getting ready to leave.”

No. This couldn’t happen. Not when we were this close.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“Wait, Flint, what if she makes you leave?”

“She won’t. You go finish taking care of Ford, I’m gonna do what I should’ve done in the first place.”

Raz put Harold down on the floor, then picked me up off his shoulder.

“Are you sure? I can go with you to help.”

“There’s no time. If Maligula’s coming back, we need Ford as soon as possible. But I also need to talk some sense into my Mom.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the campsite as soon as I’m finished. Good luck.”

“Same to you.”

Raz put me down and walked off, and I climbed onto Harold and rode him all the way out to the campgrounds. I ended up running into Dad first.

“Oh, Flint, there you are. Your mother’s been aggressively packing supplies, but she won’t tell me what’s going on. Are we in danger?”

I sighed. “We wouldn’t be if she just let Raz and I handle it.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry. I know you love this place. I like it too. But she’s been through a lot. I don’t know all the details, but she had a hard life before she met me. I just know something terrible happened to her and your grandparents, but she won’t open up about what exactly it was, not even to me.”

I always kind of knew myself that Mom had some sort of deep rooted trauma. She wouldn’t talk about it, and she even started blocking off her thoughts when my psychic powers started to develop. The most I knew was that Grandma died when she was young, and I wasn’t allowed to ask her or Nana about it.

But things were different. I was properly trained in my psychic abilities, and I’d been helping people one by one over the past few days. If I could just get her to let me in, maybe I’d be able to help her move past whatever she was struggling with.

“I know what to do. Where’s Mom?”

Dad took me to the tent he and Mom were staying in, and just as he said, she was packing a small bag with various materials.

“Flint! Oh thank goodness. You’re not hurt, are you? Physically? Mentally?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Kind of a lie, but my problems could wait.

“Good, they haven’t gotten to you yet. We have to go, come on.”

“Haven’t gotten to me yet? What are you talking about?”

“Flint, please, we don’t have time for this. I’ll explain as soon as we get away from this place.”

Then, for the first time, I put my foot down.

“No. Explain it now.”

She was taken aback by my bluntness, but she was too preoccupied with her own anxiety to really get angry at me.

“I just told you, it’s not safe here. I promise I’ll tell you, but we have to go.”

She turned to grab her bag, but I took her hand and turned her back around.

“Mom, I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m a Psychonaut. Let me help you.”

“Stop calling yourself that. You have no idea what this organization really does to people. What they did to… Forget it.”

I sighed. There was only one way to get through to her.

“Okay, fine… I’m a bad kid. I was selfish, and thoughtless. I hurt you and Dad. I put myself at risk to chase after a fantasy, and ended up putting you both at risk as a result. I’m sorry for that. But I’m gonna keep being a bad kid unless you actually make the effort to prove to me that I shouldn’t be here. Because if you don’t, I’m not leaving with you.”

After a minute, she sat me down on the ground, taking both my hands.

“I’ll show you everything. But you won’t like what you see.”

“I know. But I’m ready to face it with you.”

She flashed a slight smile for a second. “You really have grown up, haven’t you?”

We pressed our foreheads together, and I felt a psychic connection forming between us.

“Wait, Mom, are you…?”

“PSI powers are genetic, son. I’m a little rusty, though. I’ve been repressing these for a long time.”

“That’s okay. I’ve projected without a portal before. Raz’s dad helped me.”

I noticed a change in both her voice and the energy passing through our minds. It was as if a huge weight had just been placed over us.

“I’m sure he did. He’s very kind.”

That was the last thing I heard before I projected into her mind. It was mostly just an empty void, but in front of me was a scrapbook. It was closed, and sealed with a lock. On the cover, I saw Mom’s name written in ink.

“Sibilia Lantern”

No offense to Dad, but she should’ve stuck with Lantern. I mean… Loveseat?

I managed to get the lock open with a few PSI-Blasts, then I used my TK to pull the cover open.

The very first photo in the book was of a family of three. Two mothers, and a little girl. Mom with my grandparents.

I climbed onto the page to get a closer look, but when I reached the picture, I fell right into it.

I landed on a counter, next to my family as they posed beside a lantern. There was a sudden flash that temporarily blinded me.

“Thank you again for doing this, Lazarus. I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished.”

I regained my vision to see a human man with a top hat standing in front of us, lowering a camera.

“Of course! I’m happy to help.”

I had to do a double take to make sure I was seeing this right. My grandparents were completely calm around this man, and they were letting him photograph them. They had to trust him a lot, but I assumed that my family was always wary of humans. I never would have expected to see them interact so casually with one.

“Can we take a break now? Standing around is sooo boring!”

“Sibilia, that’s not very nice. Lazarus is taking time out of his circus performances to help us make this scrapbook of our families.”

Mom looked up at the man guiltily. “Sorry, Mr. Aquato.”

Aquato… Wait…

“It’s alright, I know what a little ball of energy you are. You’ve been doing a very good job with the pictures so far. I think Marona will be home with Gus in…”

The door behind him suddenly opened, and in came running a boy who looked a lot like Raz. It had to be little Augustus.

“Right now!”

He stood beside his father, holding his hand out for Mom. She immediately climbed on, and he put her on his shoulder. This felt all too familiar. It was like watching Raz and myself, but not.

“Dad, can we go play now?”

“Of course, son. Just don’t run off too far, and don’t let anyone see Sibi.”

Gus chuckled. “You tell us that every day.”

“Just making sure you kids stay safe!”

They ran out the door, their laughter filling the air with a sense of joy and wonder. I’d never seen Mom so happy before. It was such a sweet memory.

But I knew this wasn’t going to last. I knew that Grandma died when Mom was still a child, and Raz lost his grandfather to Maligula’s flood. I felt the impending dread build up as I was returned to the scrapbook. Turning the page would bring me closer to the truth, but it would also bring about a dark turn to this story.

Still, I had to keep looking. For Mom’s sake.

[sparkedblaze]

[pulls up to the drive though window so fast my brakes screech] hello can i please get uhhhhh number 8 for the delanceys

CAN YOU SLOW TF DOWN?! BRUH THIS IS A WENDYS. WE DON'T HAVE INSURANCE. IF YOU DRIVE THROUGH OUR DRIVE THRU WE'LL BE SOL.

Yeah, of course ^^ do you want that with extra angst?

8: "Please don't cry"

T/W: abuse, violence, cursing, Delanceys

*

Oscar tromped down the hill. The house sitting atop it was nothing special. Weather worn, two bedrooms, barely big enough for anything more than that. It was made to have the most room possible for the farm.

He made it to the barn, searching every nook and cranny, going through Morris's routine as he searched. He huffed, not finding him. Where would he be now?

He glanced up at the sun. Not quite breakfast time. Pa wouldn't be up yet, much less angry or upset. He had to find Morris before that changed.

He ran to the pond, knowing that the younger boy liked to play with the ducks, and tended to get distracted there.

He let out a sigh of relief, seeing Morris picking flowers near the sign bearing the family name.

Williams' Family Farm

Oscar frowned, marching over to Morris. "Morris, you's gonna make pa mad! Ya gotta get back to work 'fore him get up!"

Morris jumped, looking up at the sky, and scrambled for the bag of cow feed he'd set down. He silently started dragging it toward the barn.

Oscar rolled his eyes and huffed, picking up the other end of it. At Morris's surprised look, he just nodded toward the barn. " 'Fore pa sees."

Morris nodded, and together they lugged the bag of cow feed across the rest of the yard.

"You know I ain't gonna be able to help ya every day. You gotta get bigger and stronger so's ya can do it all by ya'self."

Morris nodded again, and Oscar sulked over toward the chickens to collect eggs for breakfast. "You ever gonna talk to me?"

He could feel Morris's eyes boring into him, could feel the weight of his stare and the movement of his shrug. He doesn't know. He never knows.

Oscar gets the feed bucket for the chickens, coaxing them out of their nests as he moves outside to spread the wheat middlings over the ground. He quickly moved back inside, going to the nests to collect the eggs.

"I gotta start cookin'. Don't take too long."

He made his way back up the hill, back into the little house atop it, and got two bowls and a cast iron pan out. He set the pan on the stove, and the bowls aside it.

He began cracking eggs, one at a time, into one bowl. He would then transfer the egg into the other, and repeat the process. Once he'd gotten through the eggs, he whisked them together and set them aside.

He got a third bowl out, carefully measuring out the ingredients to make biscuits. He didn't have much time, and he was working as quickly as possible to get this finished for when pa woke up.

He formed the biscuits in the pan, glancing in the oven to make sure the fire he'd started earlier was going strong. He let out a sigh of relief as he slid the pan in, moving back to his eggs, getting another pan out, lighting the stovetop.

He went through his checklist.

Jam, which had been made the night prior, was in the cabinets. Biscuits were in the oven. Eggs were in the works.

He'd forgotten to start the coffee. Shit. If it wasn't ready-and hot- when pa got up, he was in for it.

He scrambled for the pot, heart pounding in his chest as he heard the creaking of the bed, and the heavy footsteps of his father.

No. No no no no.

Pa rounded the corner as Oscar grabbed for the coffee beans and the grinder. He tipped the jar of beans too far, and it came crashing down around him. He scrambled back, pressing himself against the wall.

He didn't need to see his pa to feel the absolute rage radiating from him. He braced himself as the older man stalked closer.

"Look what you done!" he snarled, looming over Oscar.

Oscar could feel the air move as his pa raised his hand, and he braced himself.

He cried out as his hand connected, could feel his chest seizing and his breaths coming out in short, harsh wheezes.

"Please," pa scoffed out. "Don't cry. You ain't a lil girl are ya?"

Oscar said nothing.

"Answer me, son!"

Oscar shook his head, willing the tears to go away, begging and pleading to God that they would just disappear. "No, sir."

Pa nodded. "Good. Clean that up. Finish up the food. I'm goin' to make sure your brother ain't distracted again."

Oscar's throat closed around the thought. Please be doing what you're supposed to be, Mo. Please.

*

I hope that isn't what you expected Nox <3

[priya-san]

Inktober 2023 - Day 1 JojaMart

I'm going the multi prompt list and multi fandom this year! Basically this is my way of showing I have to many ideas and I can't commit to one, so I'm going to try them all! Will I succeed or crash any burn? Let's find out together!

Prompt taken from the Grapefruit Sky Inktober prompts!

Fandom: Stardew Valley Characters: Reshmi Lavari (my farmer), Morris Pairing: N/A Rating: M (CW: Swears, anxiety, corporate burnout, corporate guilt, mentions of a shitty ex)

The warm spring rain surrounded Reshmi, as she stood outside the stark white building on the furthermost corner of town. She gripped her umbrella tightly. Not even the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting her umbrella could sooth her in this state. She’d manage to avoid shopping at the local JojaMart for two months now, but after her Grandfather’s old toaster died this morning, Reshmi knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

You can do this, Resh. Just run in, grab the damn thing, and run out.

A cold blast of air greeted her as the automatic doors opened. Reshmi shielded her eyes from the harsh white light that lit up the store. Each JojaMart store was engineered in the exact same way, to get customers to spend as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. After fifty years of operating, JojaCorp had it down to an exact science. A science that Reshmi herself had helped push all across the country thorough her work with the legal team. The generic pop music that was playing in the background was interrupted by DJ Joja to let customers know that there was a limited time sale going on in aisle three. Reshmi watched as customers curiously wandered over, in an almost zombie like state, driven by the desire for a bargain. A shiver ran down her back. She swallowed the guilt she felt bubbling in her chest, and made her way to the appliance aisle.

The toaster was easy enough to find. While she hated to admit it, JojaMart really did have shockingly low prices. Driving to Grampleton and buying this same model at the local homewares store would have cost almost double if she counted the money needed for petrol. As soon as the farm did well enough, she was buying her new stove from a local retailer. She had to. With her new found resolve and guilt abated just a little, Reshmi made her way to the checkout queue. While waiting for the lone cashier to scan through the people in front of her, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“I can help you with that if you like.” A short man with glasses, and neatly swept back black hair grinned at her. He wore a full three piece suit and an obnoxious red tie. Reshmi mentally rolled her eyes, this had to be the manager. She nodded and the man led her to the customer service desk and scanned through the toaster. Reshmi pulled out her card to pay, but the man just grinned wider. “You’re the new Farmer aren’t you?”

Great, he’s chatty. Reshmi nodded, keeping her face as neutral as possible.

“I knew it, you’ve been the talk of the town for a few weeks now.” He held his hand out. “Name’s Morris, I’m the manager of the first ever JojaMart in the Valley.” She grabbed his sweaty palm and he shook her hand vigorously. “It’s always great to get more people moving here, helps with the economy as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Reshmi made a noncommittal hum in return. “Morris, I appreciate you helping me out, but I would like to be on my way.”

“Of course, I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you. Let’s see here,” Morris rattled off the price and Reshmi tapped her card to pay. While he grabbed a bag for the toaster, she noticed the cork-board behind him. It was filled with news clippings and photos of JojaCorp achievements. One was about the latest mining project they had undertaken, another of the company revenue figures. All boastful corporate language, which was all too familiar. But it was the headline about the Joja Expansion project that really caught Reshmi’s attention. She felt a heavy lurch in the pit of her stomach. Shit. That was her project. Sure enough, underneath was a photo of the whole team, she and Owen right in front. He had her hand around her waist, pulling her towards him, with the both of them grinning for the camera. A wave of nausea threaten to overwhelm her. It was all so fake. So freaking fake. She had to get out of here.

“Done, and I’ve dropped a couple of coupons in there too. As a welcome gift.” Morris winked, he actually winked at her. She had to go.

The coupons were thrown in the trash as soon as she left, with the toaster almost along with it. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead she rushed home in the rain, this time without bothering with the umbrella. Relishing the feeling of the raindrops on her skin, forcing her to feel something other than numb. Her resolve grew stronger with every step, and she knew she wouldn’t be stepping into JojaMart ever again. Instead she grabbed her last packet of parsnip seeds, and head out to till the soil. She had more work to do.

Want more Reshmi? You can read my Harvey x Farmer fic here!

[fiftytwotwentytwo]

Closing the Book on 52 Books

I saw a YouTube video not too long ago where a person talked about how they also read 52 books in one year and how it changed their life.

So, is my life changed?

No.

But I will say a weight has been lifted.

I initially started this challenge because I could not remember the last time I read a book (It had been at minimum 2 years since I read a book) and I wanted to fall in love with reading - I wanted to make it a lifelong habit.

Well - it certainly could have been my book choices but most of the time I felt like I was doing homework. I also thought by reading almost everyday that my reading speed and comprehension would increase - to be honest I never measured it AND don't know how to measure it, but I feel like I am about the same as I was.

What will happen after this?:

With my personality - I have recognized that I can drop things pretty easily without remorse. I could (and most likely) easily slide back into not reading books again.

A reverse addiction....

A Reverse Addiction is coy way of me saying that laziness is my real addiction.

Man-Oh-Man, I absolutely love doing nothing. I could do nothing for weeks if I could afford to or didn't have obligations (my internet persona is going from self appointed "Person Amongst Saints" (big JK right there) to a real Piece of Shit - no JKs there) AND I recognize that about myself.

And since laziness is an obvious realization for myself I started creating grand, yet arbitrary, goals for myself each year.

Back in college an acquaintance stated the "challenges" I set for myself were just punishements to keep me living in misery and I would have to disagree - yes - sometimes the goal I can set for myself can be tedious, exhausting, and eat away at my social engagements - but at the same time I like having something to look forward to - something to break me of my laziness - and it wouldn't be too far fetched to say that I don't at least least learn something new (either in knowledge or internalized retrospection).

Anywhosel, back to the books - Will I continue reading?

Well, I not going to worry about - I not going to set goals - so I do forsee I will probably not read much. In a perfect world What would be nice is if read about 1 to 1.5 books per month... 12-18 books per year... but no promises to myself.

.

.

If I do seek out some books - Here are some author's on my "booklist":

V.E. Schwab: I love their writing style - read two books already by Schwab. I have a third book of theirs already collecting dust that I am somewhat excited to read.

.

Taylor Jenkins Reid: Read two of her books - Thought they were good. Enjoyed a small discovery that her stories/characters live in the same universe - I wouldn't mind reading more of her stuff.

.

Stephen King: Only read one of his books, but I was thoroughly impressed and of course he has a reputation to stand up too.

.

Agatha Christie: I was a bit skeptical - but her mystery books are legit and I could use more mystery in my life.

.

Lee Child: This one I think I was most shocked by - Killing Floor (first installment to the Jack Reacher series) was sooo good. I think I wouldn't mind following Ol' Jack Reacher around.

.

Kurt Vonnegut: This dude has some effing style when it comes to his work - dark humor and a bit absurdist - kind of elevated punk.

.

.

And Now - Here is the list of books from my self described Worst Reads to my Favorites:

The Love Hypothesis (Wasted Potential - BS premise)

Ready Player Two (An absolute fall from grace - Made me Hate fictional versions of John Hughes and Prince which in turn made me non-fictional despise the author)

The Hating Game (IMO - Hot Garbage)

Interview with a Vampire (Depressing)

American Psycho (No Charm - Boring)

One Hundred Years of Solitude (Artful, Poetic, Repetitive, Dull)

Midnight Sun (An unreadable cash grab)

Brave New World

Last of the Breed

The Fuck-Up

Eat, Pray, Love

All About Me

The Midnight Library

Tuesdays with Morrie

Feed

Murder at the Vicarage

The Paris Apartment

Snow Crash

Carry On

Cinder

Leviathan Wakes

Grey

Crushing It

The Unhoneymooners

No Memes of Escape

Where The Crawdads Sing

Silver Screen Fiend

Yearbook

Mexican Gothic

Survivor

Invisible Monsters

Malibu Rising

Vengeful

Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone

The Maidens

Breakfast of Champions

Coma

The Storyteller

The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

Death on the Nile

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Verity

The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

Circe

Song of Achilles

Jurassic Park

Pulp

11/22/63

Killing Floor

The Confederacy of Dunces

Slaughterhouse-Five

Vicious (Read Vicious in late January and I still think about to this day -Could not put it down - Fun, Exciting, Dark, Read like a Movie)

RED = Cannot Stand / Unbearable

BLUE = Highly Recommend / Keepers / Will Re-Read

GREEN = A New Favorite - Top 5 for Life

[tamaradoubraomonibeke]

RSA (Typeface Psychology)

I knew I couldn’t get designing because my theoretical knowledge of design is lacking. Thus, I needed a refresher but reading is daunting, this is why I’ve been listening to Tedtalks (the language used in academic books even though English is basically my first language, is very dull. I have no issues adding to new words to my vocabulary but the way the books are written are emotionless, thus, making me loose interest in the subject matter every time).

I’m tired so enjoy the transcript of the Ted talk. (This is also UX practice for my idea)

Transcriber: Iryna Abramidze Reviewer: Eunice Tan

0:16

We encounter messaging constantly:

0:20

on billboards,

0:22

our phones,

0:24

the labels of products we use every day.

0:27

J. Walker Smith,

0:29

president of marketing firm Yankelovich,

0:32

stated that we are exposed to as many as 5,000 advertisements a day.

0:39

Our minds are constantly being saturated by messaging.

0:43

But to what level is our perception of these brands

0:47

being dictated by the advertising industry?

0:51

Is our preference for one brand over another

0:55

based on its quality,

0:57

our awareness of the brand,

1:00

the way it's presented at the point of purchase?

1:03

When a product's catchy jingle gets stuck in our head,

1:06

we might be more inclined to choose that product over another.

1:10

That's a more obvious advertising tactic.

1:14

But is there a subtler persuasion at play?

1:18

Can designers use typography to manipulate us on a subconscious level?

1:24

Think back.

1:25

How many times have you bought a bottle of wine

1:28

based on its fancy-looking label,

1:31

later to only be basically pouring purple vinegar?

1:35

Me too.

1:38

So first, let's do a quick crash course on typography,

1:40

so we can all become experts.

1:44

Typography is the general term for the style and appearance of text.

1:50

A typeface is a stylized collection of letters and numbers.

1:57

The whole collection is called a family.

2:00

Much like your own family,

2:01

they're similar, but they have their own style.

2:05

See, you have the fun uncle,

2:08

you have the cousin going through his heavy-metal phase,

2:11

you have the aunt that insists you have a second plate.

2:16

Typeface and font are often used interchangeably.

2:20

However, nowadays, a font only refers to the digital file.

2:27

The two most common ways to group typefaces

2:30

are serif and sans serif.

2:33

Serif means the typeface has little feet at the bottom

2:37

whereas sans serif does not.

2:40

But, of course, there are many other subcategories.

2:44

Different type designs convey different emotions.

2:48

For instance,

2:50

something in bold might feel heavy and impactful,

2:56

something in script might feel elegant,

3:02

and something in a geometric sans serif might feel more modern.

3:07

The emotion a typeface evokes

3:11

can be considered a subjective gray area.

3:14

However, I can assure you

3:16

the majority of people would not say Comic Sans gives off a "scholarly" vibe.

3:23

About seven years ago,

3:25

scientists at the European Organization for Nuclear Research

3:29

announced they'd discovered something called the "God Particle."

3:33

Some refer to this

3:35

as one of the most important scientific breakthroughs in decades.

3:40

But they presented their information

3:42

in arguably the most hated typeface on earth.

3:47

That week, trending on Twitter higher than the God Particle

3:51

was Comic Sans.

3:54

One simple design choice

3:56

completely shifted the conversation

3:58

from this incredible scientific breakthrough

4:02

to how ridiculous a typeface designed for Windows 95 children's software is.

4:10

So we've seen that typefaces can distract us from the message.

4:15

But can simply the style of letters sway us to believe what we're reading?

4:22

Errol Morris, who's known for his investigative documentaries,

4:27

was inspired by this

4:28

and conducted an experiment in 2012 just to test this.

4:35

He found inspiration from reading designer Phil Renaud's blog.

4:39

Renaud wrote about how in university

4:41

his grades had drastically improved

4:45

despite not adding any additional effort.

4:48

After a bit of detective work,

4:50

he had realized only one thing had changed:

4:53

his choice of typeface.

4:56

After reviewing 52 essays,

4:58

he realized that essays written in sans serif Trebuchet MS

5:04

had averaged a B-minus,

5:07

whereas those written in serif fonts Georgia and Times New Roman

5:12

averaged A and A-minus.

5:17

Now, Morris was definitely inspired by this,

5:21

but he wanted a more empirical test.

5:26

He wrote a New York Times article featuring excerpts.

5:31

At the end of the article,

5:32

readers were asked two questions:

5:35

"Is the information in the excerpt true?"

5:38

and "How confident are you in your conclusion?"

5:42

The twist was readers were being presented the information

5:46

in a different typeface each time.

5:50

Not surprisingly,

5:52

the excerpts written in Comic Sans were not very well received.

5:57

However,

5:59

two seemingly similar serif typefaces

6:03

had drastically different results.

6:08

Baskerville had the lowest rate of disagreement,

6:12

whereas Georgia had the highest.

6:17

IBM designers Alessio Laiso and Rick Sobiesiak

6:22

wanted to see

6:23

if the superiority of Baskerville held true outside of news articles.

6:29

Participants in their test were given four sites -

6:33

a banking,

6:35

fitness,

6:36

shopping,

6:38

a news site -

6:39

all in four different typefaces.

6:42

They were then asked to rate them

6:45

on a scale of trustworthiness,

6:48

how appealing they were,

6:50

and how easy they were to use.

6:52

Overall, Baskerville held its title as the most trustworthy.

6:58

But if we look closer,

7:00

we see that the fitness site opposed the news site,

7:05

naming Baskerville as the least trustworthy

7:08

and Fira as the most.

7:12

So perhaps typefaces can influence our sense of credibility.

7:17

But can they go further and affect our senses?

7:22

Researchers Vincent P. Magnini and Seontaik Kim

7:27

published research in the International Journal of Hospitality Management

7:33

indicating that italicized menus

7:37

caused potential diners to see a restaurant as more upscale,

7:41

with the capability of delivering top-rate service.

7:45

Is it possible that this design choice

7:49

sets up customers to enjoy this meal

7:53

more than one ordered off of another menu?

7:58

That this design choice will set up a preconceived notion of quality

8:03

before they even taste the food?

8:08

So before I began my talk,

8:10

I gave you a slip of paper.

8:13

This slip of paper had a spray of perfume

8:16

as well as the logo of that perfume printed on it.

8:19

I then asked you to estimate

8:21

what a 50-milliliter bottle of this perfume might cost

8:26

and rate its quality on a scale of 1 to 100

8:29

via a live online poll.

8:32

So these are the results.

8:35

The more cheesy-looking sans serif logo

8:39

had an even spread of votes among the lower brackets of price scales,

8:46

whereas if we look over here,

8:48

the large majority for the script logo

8:53

rested in the 150 to 300 RMB, or 22 dollar to 45 dollar, price points.

9:01

Additionally, we can see a difference in the rate of quality.

9:04

Those that were given the cheesy-looking logo

9:07

had a quality estimate median of 48.9%,

9:14

but those that were given the script

9:16

sat at 57.1% -

9:19

nearly a 10% difference in quality estimation.

9:24

These two fictitious brands have the same name.

9:29

In fact, all strips of paper

9:32

were sprayed with the same 2 dollar, 15 RMB, bottle of perfume.

9:39

The only difference is the typeface of the logo.

9:46

How can we be more cognizant of this persuasive messaging?

9:50

Is there a way that we can see past the implications these typefaces give us

9:56

to judge in a more objective way?

10:01

Before you make your next purchase,

10:03

ask yourself:

10:05

are you buying the product or the packaging?

10:08

Thank you

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Last week I did a crash course in all the Julia Davis things, which I meant to post about at the time and then didn’t because I was too busy working. But it was fun. Here’s my updated folder:

I went through all that in a few days last week, except for Human Remains, which I saw last year. It was very good, and it made me want to see more of Julia Davis, but I think that was when I got distracted by No More Jockeys and promptly forgot that anything in the world besides No More Jockeys existed until I’d seen every single episode, wondering how on Earth it had taken me so long to get to that show that was clearly tailor-made to appeal to me.

Anyway. On another recommendation this year, I finally got into Julia Davis properly. Downloaded all the stuff in the screenshotted folder and worked through it probably too quickly. Starting with Nighty Night, the show I mainly knew from having seen people on that old comedy message board talk about it like it was the worst thing in the absolute world. That’s what I learned, last year when I got into reading old (early-to-mid-00s) on a British message board dedicated to comedy but mainly populated by people who fucking hated all comedians and comedy shows except Chris Morris and maybe Stewart Lee, though even he was on thin ice. The things I learned were: John Oliver and Andy Zaltzman were not kidding when they said people hated them back in the day. Josie Long is not exaggerating when she says she avoids the internet these days because of some horrific stuff that was up there about her early in her career. The genius Garth Marenghi was widely panned when it first came out (and I guess recent Ayoade revelations might suggest a right side of history there, but it’s fine, the recent audiobooks are things Matthew Holenss is doing alone). They also hated The Office when it first came out, which is definitely the right side of history. And Little Britain, while I’m giving them credit for being on the right side of history. People who had dedicated an entire website to loving Chris Morris passionately hated Nathan Barley, which I maintain is the incorrect opinion, and I will continue to maintain that until the day Julian Barratt gets canceled (yeah Noel’s done fucked up stuff and Richard Ayoade’s a transphobe, but surely someone from that Boosh show is all right – Julian was the quiet one, right?).

Is it coming across that I was more – to unironically use a word that has been used ironically so often that I barely feel like it can still be used in its real sense anymore, but I can’t think of a better one – triggered than I’d have expected to be by the Russell Brand shit this weekend, and am kind of seeing the world through a prism of everything and everyone is shit? There was no good reason to go off on a tangent about toxic shit from the 00s Britcom world right now. Genuinely, sorry about that. I’m trying to write about some TV shows that I liked. Julia Davis is not responsible for any reprehensible actions of her husband’s friends.

So. The other thing I learned from reading all those old comedy threads was the people fucking hated Nighty Night. That Nighty Night represented everything that’s wrong with comedy these days (those days being 2004), how the comedians from previous generations, back when comedy was great, would barely be able to look at the horrifying stage of the industry as it is now that these talentless young comics (ie. Ricky Gervais) have ruined it. The whole concept of “dark” comedy has fallen so far that they’re even letting women write it now, and look at the horrible result that is Nighty Night!

That’s what I knew about it, and I knew they were probably wrong, but I thought I’d check to make sure, and yep, it turns out they were wrong. Okay, I have to admit, season 2 was pretty bad. It had some good moments, but it was rough overall. Season 1, however, I thought was excellent. I enjoyed it so much.

Season 1 features Julia Davis, Kevin Eldon, Rebecca Front, and the guy who sat next to Mr. Bean while he at a sandwich and hosted about eight episodes of WILTY before getting fired because it turned out he’d had sex. Yes I know Angus Deayton has done a lot of thing besides that, because that’s how I know him. The first three I think are absolutely perfect in their roles. Angus Deayton is fine. Honestly, I don’t think he was bad or anything. I was just really, really stuck by how good the other three were, and not so much with him.

Rebecca Front plays a woman with MS who uses a wheelchair, and there’s a fair question there about whether this counts a representation or whether it’s using a disability for cheap jokes, but I tentatively come down on believe it’s the former. Obviously ideally the role would have been played by an actor who’s an actual wheelchair user, but there is so little representation for that, and this was treated as part of her character, not as constant jokes about it. She was possibly the only sympathetic character in the entire show, and the showed the challenges she faced from not being able to walk as legitimate parts of her path in life, not as excuses to laugh at her.

It is, as people said, the darkest of the dark comedies. Its opening scene is absolutely perfect, as Kevin Eldon finds out he has cancer and Julia Davis immediately makes it about herself. Sets the scene for the whole thing. My only criticism of season 1 might be that I wish Kevin Eldon had had a bigger role. I thought he was excellent, both the actor and the character.

I loved the way they used the tension. I’m not always a fan of cringe comedy, and this was a lot of that, but I thought it was done really intelligently. It wasn’t an easy watch. At one point I put on an episode of 30 Rock, the way I sometimes do after I see a horror movie, to recalibrate my brain from the darkness to which it’s been subjected. But it was really good.

I loved the ending, where they (spoiler alert, for this show from 2004) escalated things in a way that was extreme but still managed to make sense with the character. This moment when you realize “Oh shit, she’s not just a manipulative fucked up person, she’s a God damn serial killer”, and it recontextualizes the whole thing, knowing you’ve been watching the adventures of a woman capable of murder. I love a good recontextualization, in pretty much anything.

Unfortunately, an ending like that rather precludes a strong second season. Season 1 worked because we were seeing violent horrifying impulses set upon the mundane backdrop of suburbia. Watching her have to sublimate her deeply awful nature into polite society. In season 2, she’s left polite society behind, literally and figuratively, so it’s not as interesting anymore. Also, I didn’t really understand the plot anymore. I could buy that she grew obsessed with Angus Deayton as a distraction from the husband she hated, but not that she’d give up her life for him even once that was behind her. For most of season 2, I kept saying… come on, why would you do this? It’s only Angus Deayton.

Anyway, that was her opening gambit. After that, I watched the shows she made in years after that. One that got picked up for multiple episodes – Hunderby, Camping, Sally4Ever; and ones that only made one episode – Lizze and Sarah, and Morning Has Broken. They were certainly interesting to all watch in a row. There are a lot of similarities among them. What I learned from all those shows at once is Kevin Eldon is a terrible husband who should probably be murdered, no one wants to have sex with Alex Macqueen, and Julia Davis keeps trying to outdo herself as worst person in the world.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I got really into feminist blogs. I remember that around that time (2008-2012-ish), it was really popular for people to write articles about the concept of the “unlikeable female character”. The way female characters don’t get to be truly unlikeable, they have to be femme fatales that are mysterious and charming and sexy. And female characters who do genuinely unlikeable things get hated by the same audience that love a male “anti-hero”, even if he is objectively worse than that female character. There were all these feminist blog posts saying we need more genuinely unlikeable female characters in the media, we won’t have media equality until women can be just as shitty as men on screen.

Most of those blogs were American, which is a pity, because they’d have loved Julia Davis. She plays a very similar character every time, and it’s horrifying, but like a car crash, where you can’t look away. Her characters’ defining traits tend to be that she’s the really sex woman who gets away with her bullshit because everyone wants to have sex with her, and, okay, someone could make a fair point that it’s a bit weird for Julia Davis to always cast herself in that role. However, there was one exception to this: in Hunderby, she played a character where the running joke was that no one wanted to have sex with her. In that show, every time they made that joke, I thought… oh, come on. Have you seen Julia Davis? How do you expect us to buy that she’s unattractive? So, I guess it’s fair enough for her to normally cast herself in a role that’s more in line with reality.

I can’t decide which one was my favourite. I really liked the language in Hunderby; she did that one so well. It’s a parody of period pieces, and I’m not all that into period pieces, but I know just enough about them to get a lot of the jokes in Hunderby that point out their cliches (there are probably some that went over my head, though). But the fun thing is that doing a period piece gave her an excuse to write a whole language just for that show, a sort of parody of old time-y English, and that brought in so many opportunities for more jokes. So often, a mundane line could be funny just because of the word choice.

Obviously, as a member of Team Gay People, I have to consider Sally4Ever as a potential favourite. Aside from it featuring a gay romance between Julia Davis and April from Peep Show (yes I know Catherine Shepherd has done other things, I saw Peep Show as a teenager so everyone in it is still what they were then in my mind, that guy on WILY is just Mark Corrigan behind a desk), which is great, I thought it might have been the strongest iteration of what she’d been trying to do for years. The character played by Julia Davis could have been the same person as her character from Nighty Night, if that character had moved to a new town and changed her name after the events of Nighty Night. And started dating women, but only for opportunistic reasons.

It was basically the same character, but updated to match the way Julia Davis had improved as writer. She was written just slightly more subtly (still not really subtle – subtle doesn’t seem to be Davis’ thing – but more subtle than Nighty Night), in a way that was so funny. Also, I liked how the perspective changed. Sally4Ever was like if Nighty Night were written from Rebecca Front’s perspective, in that it started out being from the perspective of the woman she victimized, and then we slowly watched the effect she had on that woman, rather than seeing it all from Julia’s perspective. But we could infer all of Julia’s motivations from the perspective we got.

Sally4Ever also featured Julian Barratt, and I like anything that features Julian Barratt. I liked the part where someone told Julian Barratt’s character that he just “has one of those faces that looks like a widower”, which is weirdly accurate, I thought. I was impressed with the writers for coming up with that amusing observation, and then I remembered that the writer is Julia Davis, which of course makes it much funnier.

Julia Davis’ real-life marriage makes a lot of that show funnier, given the central battle between her and Julian’s characters. Some comedy couples go the Stewart Lee/Bridget Christie route, in which they aren’t even willing to say each other’s name on stage, barely acknowledge each other’s existence, except in the vaguest references. Some go the David Mitchell/Victoria Coren Mitchell route, in which they will sometimes appear together on TV and play on their relationship, but very much have their own separate careers with clear boundaries between them. Some go the Jon Richardson/Lucy Beaumont route, in which they build their whole career around each other. And some, apparently, go the Julia Davis route, in which she writes in a whole long plotline where she and her real-life husband Julian Barratt are locked in a deeply horrifying – genuinely horrifying, in the “this belongs in the horror genre” sense of the word – psychosexual battle against each other for the affections of another woman. In which they both, on separate occasions, threaten murder against the other.

So I thought Sally4Ever was excellent, but I still think my favourite of the lot might be Camping. It was just so strong overall, not a single weak episode. I thought every character added something to it, though Vicki Pepperdine, I think, really stole the show. Every time her character said anything, I was impressed with how well she was written and acted.

I thought the plot of that one was well done, all the little details coming out just a thread or two at a time, keeping me engaged all the way through. It wasn’t as harrowing as Nighty Night, but it still had the significant escalation at the end that felt both over-the-top and completely earned. The characters were so well drawn and provide so many different and complex funny interactions. I thought it was brilliant. The two pilots were fun too. Of the two of them, Morning Has Broken is the one that I wish had more episodes. That one seemed to have potential, I’m disappointed that it never went farther. They introduced all these interesting characters in this well drawn situation, with some intrigue and reasons to want to know more. Lizzie and Sarah, the one she wrote with Jessica Hynes, was fun on its own. But I did sort of feel like I’d gotten the point by the end of it.

So that's Julia Davis. It's definitely the sort of thing I should have watched before now. Those feminist blogs were right, we do need more unlikable female characters in the world. And Julia Davis is a hell of a start.

[husheduphistory]

Ghost Blimp: The Mystery and Missing on the L-8

On Sunday, August 16th 1942 Richard L. Johnston was going about his business. He had just finished waxing his car in Dale City, California when he looked up and saw something huge creeping out of the sky and towards his house. Suddenly it hit a utility pole, electrical wires broke sending sparks cascading down to the street, and Johnson ran into the house to protect his mother. When he came back outside there was a large group of people in the street including Fire Deputy Marshal Sean Wood and Johnston’s next door neighbor, volunteer fireman William Morris. Johnston’s car was completely hidden under a massive fold of what looked like canvas. When Johnston woke up that morning he probably didn’t expect that a blimp would land on his car that day. And yet, moments later the scene became even more bizarre.

In August 1942 the United States Navy was on high alert. Within nine months after entering World War II Japanese submarines sunk at least six Allied ships off the American west coast and shelled one of California’s largest oil drilling facilities. The fear of another attack on American soil was high and in order to keep an eye on the sea along the west coast the Navy took to the air, deploying blimps to cruise over the ocean and watch for any suspicious activity.

World War II Navy blimp. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

The blimp that landed on Johnson’s car was the L-8 airship, acquired by the Navy from the Goodyear company and commissioned on March 5, 1942. It was an excellent machine, completing over 1,000 trips and never requiring any work beyond routine maintenance. The two-man crew tasked with piloting the airship had records as impeccable as the craft itself. Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody was a 1938 graduate of Annapolis and although he was only twenty-seven years old he was highly regarded with his commanding officer describing him as “one of the most capable pilots and one of the most able officers” under his command. Cody was relatively new to flying LTA (lighter-than-air) airships, but in April 1942 he proved his ability when he flew the L-8 to deliver cargo to the USS Hornet before the ship departed for Doolittle’s Raid over Tokyo. It was that trip that earned him his promotion to Lieutenant in June 1942. Ensign Charles Ellis Adams was eleven years older than Cody and had twenty years of experience flying LTA airships, but only earned his commission the day before their flight together making his trip with Cody his first flight as an officer.

Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and  Ensign Charles Ellis Adams.

The L-8 delivering cargo to the USS Hornet. Image via National Archives.

Their task together was a routine anti-submarine mission, fly out from Treasure Island, patrol a fifty-mile radius of San Francisco, then head to the Farallon Islands before heading back to Treasure Island. When they left Treasure Island at 6:03am there was approximately five miles of visibility with the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance. At 7:38am Cody radioed Moffett Field and reported their location as being four miles east of the Farallon Islands. Four minutes later Moffett Field received a second message from Cody, “Am investigating suspicious oil slick—stand by.” Since an oil slick could indicate an enemy submarine below the waves it was not unusual for the airship to investigate the scene. As the L-8 descended closer to the sea its movements were seen by a fishing boat, the Daisy Gray, and a Liberty cargo ship, Albert Gallatin. Apprehensive about seeing the Navy airship creep closer to the surface of the water and then set off two flares, the ship crews pulled in their nets, manned their guns, and nervously waited to see what happened next. But, as they watched the L-8 nothing out of the ordinary happened. The blimp circled for about an hour and crews from both ships could see two men in the gondola. At approximately 9am the blimp again rose into the air and restarted its route back toward San Francisco. Everything appeared normal to the ships and spectators below, but personnel at Moffett Field were getting nervous, they had not heard a word from the L-8 since 7:42am and were not able to reestablish any communication. Two Vought OS2U Kingfisher floatplanes were sent to look for the blimp and other aircraft were asked to keep their eyes open.

The intended flight path of the L-8 aircraft. Image via unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com.

At approximately 10:49am a series of blimp sightings began to roll in. A Pan American Clipper pilot reported seeing the blimp over the Golden Gate Bridge, then at 11am one of the Kingfishers spotted the L-8 three miles west of Salada Beach at approximately 2,000 feet. Although a height of 2,000 feet would typically be avoided by an airship for safety reasons, there was no indication of the ship being out of control or in danger and it began to descend. The next plane to spot the blimp, an Army P-38 pilot, also saw no indication that the airship or its crew was in any distress when it was seen near Mile Rock, seemingly on its way back to Treasure Island. Within minutes an off-duty seaman named Richard Quam saw the L-8 as he was driving along the highway between San Mateo and San Francisco and he decided to take a picture of the sight. He may have been the first person to capture that something was amiss, the blimp was now noticeably bending in the middle.

The L-8 airship visible sagging as it flew over Daly City. Image via National Archives.

Things began to happen quickly. At approximately 11:15am the L-8 was seen approaching the shore of Ocean Beach in San Francisco but its motors were now silent and there was noticeable sagging. It touched down on the beach for a moment but kept moving until it hit the side of a hill, knocking off one of its 325lb depth chargers. Now carrying 300lbs less, the airship again rose, clearing the hill, and moving further inland. Thousands of people now watched as the L-8 staggered overhead obviously in peril. But, according to witnesses, the ship was not unmanned, in a later interview seventeen-year-old C.E. Taylor told reporters that as the blimp descended he was watching the cabin through his binoculars and that two men were clearly visible inside the entire time.

Finally, at 11:30am the blimp came to a clumsy rest on top of Richard Johnston’s freshly waxed car. Sirens blared and firemen surrounded the blimp, slashing it open in an attempt to save Cody and Adams inside. But, when the rescuers got to the gondola they found a scene that made no sense. The door was open, the microphone for communication was hanging from the doorway, a hat was resting on the controls, the life raft and all parachutes were still in place, but Cody and Adams were nowhere to be found.

Once the initial shock of the crash wore off a feeling of worry began to quickly take over. The L-8 was traveling an extremely visible route and was tracked and seen by hundreds of people and ships, with many reporting the same as young C. E. Taylor, that the men were visible inside the cabin. The Navy immediately launched a search for Cody and Adams and the craft was inspected for any clues to solve the disappearance. The engines were in perfect running order, the ignition switches were on, and there was four hours of fuel left. The only thing that was unusual on board was that the blimp's batteries were drained and part of the fuel supply had been dumped out with no obvious explanation why.

The scene after the crash of the L-8. Image via National Archives.

For three days the shore where the blimp initially crashed and the Pacific coastline was heavily searched but there was no trace of the two missing men. A board of investigation was convened by Navy Commander Francis Connell and over the course of seven days thirty-five witnesses gave their testimony of watching the L-8 hover overhead with nothing seeming suspect. Multiple people both on land and at sea at the time reported seeing the men inside and there being no indication that they ever fell or jumped out of the gondola. In the end it was determined that "no fire, no submersion, no misconduct, and no missiles struck the L-8.” While that may have answered some questions the big one still remained, what happened on the L-8 between 7:42am and 11:15am that made two Navy officers stop communication and vanish before crashing their blimp in a residential neighborhood?

Unfortunately, there were many theories but no concrete answers to that question. Some believed it was a simple tragic accident, that a malfunction with the door led to one man falling out at a low altitude and the other following him out in an attempt to save him before they were both lost to the sea. Others proposed much more elaborate theories, that the men were secret spies, that they were lured close to the surface of the water and grabbed by enemy forces, and some even said that the men ended up killing each other by falling out of the blimp during an argument over a woman. Some guesses tried to remain optimistic, that the men fell out but they were able to swim to shore and would be found hiking back to civilization any day now. Maybe they were picked up by a passenger ship after falling from the aircraft, they just had to wait until they were returned home. But, time ticked forward and the men never reappeared. Shortly after the crash the wives of both men were told that their husbands were officially missing. It was becoming painfully obvious this was not going to change and one year after their disappearance the men were declared dead. The Navy officially classified the incident as “100% Unknown/ Undetermined.”

The L-8 was repaired and continued to be used as a training vessel until the end of World War II when it was returned to Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company. It was refurbished, renamed America, and was used to broadcast sports events until it was finally retired in 1982.

Nearly eighty years after the disappearance of Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and Ensign Charles Ellis Adams there is still no official explanation as to what happened on that clear August morning over the Pacific coast

After its retirement the gondola of the L-8 was fully restored and is currently exhibited at the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Florida.

The refurbished gondola of the L-8 on display at the  National Museum of Naval Aviation. Image via www.history.navy.mil. 

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

Sources:

Mystery of the Ghost Blimp by John J. Geoghegan https://www.historynet.com/mystery-of-the-ghost-blimp.htm.

The Crew of the L- 8, https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/The_Crew_of_the_L-8

The Bizarre Tale Of The World War II Ghost Blimp And Its Missing Crew by Gina Dimuro, https://allthatsinteresting.com/ghost-blimp  

In 1942, a war blimp fell out of the sky onto Daly City. Its crew was never found by Katie Dowd and Andrew Chamings, https://www.sfgate.com/sfhistory/article/SF-Ghost-blimp-Daly-City-15739903.php

Ghost Blimp Mystery of WW2 – Crashed in San Francisco & Crew Was Never Found by Ruslan Budnik, https://www.warhistoryonline.com/instant-articles/mystical-disappearance-pilots.html. 

[loving-barnes]

SO YOU WANNA PLAY GOD? - LOKI

(A/N): This can be a “part 2″ of the Slow, Love, Slow one-shot. Of course, it can be read separately. Based on a song called “Kingdom of one - Maren Morris.

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Summary: Was she playing another mind game or was it him, that tricked his own head?

Warning: angst, mind games, fluff

Words: 1200+

FULL MASTERLIST // LOKI MASTERLIST

She made him crave her. She was the only thing he could see during the day and feel at night. Even though she let him back into her arms, she kept her distance - or that what he thought. 

During the day, she would be with him, by his side, fighting crime, reading books. At night, while lying together in the bed, no matter the fact she was close to him, it felt like miles away. As if her soul kept its distance from his. 

This night was no different. She kissed him gently on his lips and turned her back to him. She didn’t want to be intimate with him; not since she took him back. Was this some kind of torture? Was she disgusted by him? He didn’t know. 

But she did let him wrap his cold hands around her. With running thoughts in his head, he fell asleep. 

He was engulfed in darkness, yet it felt like a silk brushing against his naked skin. What he could smell was fresh air mixed with ocean water. He didn’t know how long he was covered in darkness but he appeared on a coast. 

The wet grass was touching his feet. He looked down; he stood there naked. And he wasn’t cold. When his head lifted, he noticed her standing at the edge of the coast, looking into the distance. Her hair was brushed by the breeze and she had a thin beige dress on. 

“Y/N,” he said her name gently. He moved forwards. With each step, his body was slowly being covered with his Asgardian armour. Black and green leather with golden accessories - as he had back in New York when he was under Thanos’ influence… when he killed for power. “Y/N, stop with the mind games,” he said, voice tired. 

She didn’t say a word. Her attire changed to one she too had back in New York, when he was there, sending an alien army on people. She had cuts and bruises on her hands. Her clothes were torn and covered in dirt. Her hair was suddenly tousled with leaves stuck in it.

She turned around, finally facing him. Those beautiful eyes were gone, filled with darkness. She spread her arms wide. “So you wanna play God?” she asked and slowly fell off the cliff. 

His instinct was to run after her. Without thinking, he threw his body off the cliff, reaching hands for her. He knew they would fall into the cold water. But when she was about to plunge, red silk swallowed her in front of his eyes, as well as him. 

“Tick, tick, tick,” her voice echoed around him when he appeared standing on a wooden floor without any walls. This time, he was wearing an all-black suit. 

She emerged from nowhere, wearing the legendary red dress that made him crave her; the damned dress that sparked feelings towards that gentle creature. 

He barely caught his breath when her hands were holding his shoulders, moving around him seductively. 

“Is that all you got?” she asked him a question when he grabbed her by the waist and slightly bent her back. 

“Stop with the games, Y/N,” he huffed, frustrated by her. “I have done everything in my power to prove you I’ve changed.” 

She let him go and took a step back. With a wicked smile, she turned her back to him and slowly walked away. “Come on,” she laughed. 

Loki was losing it. He ran towards her, ready to end the torture, but was thrown into a pit. His black suit was gone and this time, he wore the outfit he had in Sakaar. The pit changed to an arena. 

His face turned pale and he dryly gulped. He knew where he was. But why would she put him into an arena with the beast? No matter how much he tried to think of the reason or find a memory of them stuck in Sakaar, he found none. Thor was the one facing the beast, not him. 

When the metal door opened, it was her that entered the arena. This time, she was dressed as him but more feminine and like a warrior. A Goddess, he thought. 

“So you wanna play God?” she asked him with a wicked smile once she approached him. “Come on,” she challenged him. Before he could respond, she swung her massive sword and threw him on the other side of the arena.  

Somehow, he could feel the pain when his back crashed into the wall. It all felt real even though he knew it was a dream or an illusion created by her. 

She was back, ready to hit him again. This time, he blocked her and fought back. To his surprise, it did nothing. She just stood there, smiling and unharmed. “Is that all you got?” 

If this was a dream or an illusion she made, he too was able to change the scenario as much he wanted. 

He stood up, letting down the weapons he carried. “I am not going to fight you,” he said calmly. With a simple gesture, the arena disappeared. The screaming people were gone and just the two of them remained in a dark, empty room. 

Both of them stood there, wearing simple clothes - Midgardian if you will. Y/N’s hair was loose; her face was empty - as if she didn’t know what was happening; or was she mad because he ruined her illusion? 

“Y/N” he sighed, reaching his hand towards her. “Why do you keep punishing me? Why do you still have the need to twist my mind and torture me like this?” he asked. 

“But I am not the one doing this to you,” her face lit up and a smile appeared on her lips. Both of her hands gently touched his face. “This time, it is you doing this,” she said. “It is you that doesn’t believe me. You are the one that doubts this,” and her finger pointed between them. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you too,” she replied. “But you have doubts. You are the one creating this, thinking I am the one still punishing you for something that was long forgiven and forgotten.” She took his hand and started to walk towards a mirror. “Tell me what you see.”

When they stopped in front of it, he saw himself as her. Y/N was standing next to him in his armour. “How can I be the one punishing you?” 

“It is not about the punishment,” she explained. “You are not punishing me. You are punishing you, for everything you have ever done.”

He sighed and turned to her, taking both of her hands into his. Then he brought them to his lips and kissed them. “I am afraid that I am going to lose you again.” 

Her finger found the tear that escaped his right eye. “You will not lose me,” she smiled lovingly. 

And then, giant wings wrapped around his tiny body, to keep him warm and protected. 

That’s when he woke up and saw Y/N looking down at him, caressing his messy hair. “Hey, are you alright?” her voice was soft, soothing. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he said quickly and grabbed her into his arms. As if he never would let her go. “I am sorry for everything.” 

“Loki,” she said his name lovingly. “I love you too. Are you sure you are alright? You are shaking.” 

“Yes,” he took a deep breath and smiled. “I am finally fine.” 

[lovelyirony]

made up fic title: icarus, icarus (you flew too high)

"There is a kind of tragic joke. You can’t really keep a man down -good but often otherwise- because history’s mechanics are built to keep him from climbing toward the top. Somehow, Icarus gets to be reborn as Iron Man.” -Wesley Morris

When Tony was young, he didn’t think that limitations really ever mattered to someone like him, and...he was right. They didn’t matter. 

The Starks were a family you never crossed because one overly-polite tone of disapproval from Maria Stark could send your social pedigree reeling. Just one scoff from Howard Stark sends your whole world plummeting. 

And Tony? 

Well...he learned both sides of the coin. There’s no telling what kind of damage he would do if he cared about others enough to. 

At least, that’s the picture he paints for all to see. The mediums he use are just fascinating. 

When Tony was little, he was the darling of American media. Whip-smart but in the “aw gee mister” Dennis the Menace nature that earned a ruffle of the hair, a disapproving-but-gentle-smile from his mother. 

Outside of the cameras, Tony was left alone. His mother would much rather dedicate her time to her socialite friends, trying to rejuvenate the feeling of youth that had fled so long ago, rushing in expectations of adulthood that she was loath to accept. 

His father wanted to focus on a man that was left on faded posters, advertising war bonds and a solution to a war that involved far more than anyone wanted to admit. Howard Stark much preferred to look through the world with amber-tinted glasses, and he didn’t much care if his son had a different tint. 

The thing about Tony as a child was this: he really was naive. Looking back on it, he should’ve seen his parents’ faults. 

But when you’re a kid, and when you watch TV shows and you read books for kids your age, all of the pictures and words depict parents as loving. 

So you think yours are too. 

Or, you think that maybe they’ll love you if you do the right thing. You don’t really know what the right thing is, so then you look towards one thing you should never look to: perfection. 

Maybe if you can get straight A’s, your mom will look at your report card and she’ll be proud. 

Maybe if you can perfect the robotics of one of the machines that your dad has been having trouble with, he’ll take an interest in what you have to say about the possibility of mirror technology for planes for the military. 

Neither of these work. 

So maybe if you look perfect. Maybe if you never have a hair out of place, maybe if you attain the everyone-wants-to-be-me status your parents will notice. 

And they won’t. 

They never do, and Tony? Well. 

Sometimes, people realize that it is not their fault that their parents are terrible people. Others don’t, and they internalize that. They think it’s their fault. 

Tony works hard. He studies everything, and he just wants someone to love him for himself. 

And then he goes to college. 

Thrown into a situation where there is no parent to impress but they’re still hoping that the heir of Stark Industries makes good decisions. 

And he does. 

He’s nice to everyone and any time any of the staff wants him to go for any publicity stunt, he does. He wears slacks and button-downs and drags himself out of bed and brings extra pens for giddy autographs and answers every single question comparing him to Howard with a glittering smile. 

Tony’s so fucking tired. He’s just...it’s all too much. 

He doesn’t do anything drastic, of course. No, too many eyes on him for that. Doesn’t want to become the next celebrity shut-in for a “delicate constitution” and “stress from work” or whatever bullshit his mom will sell to the papers to make sure that his legacy stays untainted from any malicious words. 

But he does sit outside at two in the morning. Doesn’t matter if it’s pouring rain or snowing or so bitterly cold that after about twenty minutes he doesn’t feel his fingers. 

There’s a person at the front desk who sees him every single time he goes outside. 

James Rhodes, who did not originally want the night-owl shift, but got guilt-tripped into it because Hope needed to help her mom at her house. 

So now, here he is. 

Staring at Tony Stark, who still wears the button-down shirts and slacks outside and doesn’t carry a fucking umbrella. 

Jesus, it’s fucking depressing. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be sad at the front desk for someone else’s sake. 

The next time, it’s a torrential downpour. Thundering and lightning comes crashing, and the windows shake with the noise. 

And there he goes. 

Except before he steps out, comes back soaked, James does the only thing he can think to do: 

"Tony Stark, you get your ass back in here,” he says. 

He knows he shouldn’t have said that. 

You say one thing to a rich white kid and you’re down the drain. 

Tony Stark just looks at him. 

“What?” 

“Get inside. You don’t need to go outside for anything.” 

“I didn’t know you noticed.” 

“You’re really the only person who comes here at two in the morning.” 

“I am?” 

“Well, besides people at parties on Friday nights.” 

“Oh.” 

“Why do you go outside?” 

Tony freezes. It’s not a question he wants to answer. 

“Why do you work so late?” 

“No one else wanted to.” 

“Oh. Why did you decide to work on-campus?” 

“Flexible hours and I don’t have to drive anywhere.” 

“That sounds nice. Are you really going to stop me from going outside?” 

There’s another clap of thunder, white flashing all across the room from the windows, the windows themselves shaking. The rain pounds harder. 

“I think if you go outside you’ll come back looking like a drowned rat, and you really don’t wanna look like that.” 

“And what do I want to look like?” Tony asks. 

“I don’t know,” Rhodey says. “But drowned-rat-look was so two years ago.” 

Tony cracks a grin at that. 

“Can’t argue with that flawless logic. I’ll see you later.” 

And he walks off, as casual as can be. 

Thunder still shakes the building. 

But James is a little bit more at peace. 

- 

And then. 

Of course there’s an “And then” portion. 

Howard and Maria Stark die. 

It was a car crash, an accident. James avoids seeing the papers that don’t seem to care how graphic the pictures are, they’ll show it. 

He doesn’t know how to approach Tony Stark about this predicament, but everyone else, it seems, is just dying to, so-

Oh god. Yeah. Bad timing. 

Tony Stark does not come down the stairs at two a.m. for a week. For more than half of that week he is back home. But on the last day, he is there. 

He looks tired. Which of course he looks tired. He’s had people shove cameras in his face and he probably had to go over wills and estate hearings or whatever it is he needed to do. 

“I’m not coming back,” he tells Jim. 

“For the year, or for a long time?” he asks, because that kind of thing is something he’d like to know. 

“Ever. They don’t want me to start running the company.” 

“Why not?” 

“They say I’m too young. But that’s not the real reason.” 

“Okay.” 

And James leaves it at that. Because he is very much so not looking for any drama, it’s already drama enough that Tony’s parents died and there are already conspiracy gossip magazines just running with it. 

Tony is CEO, or at least co-CEO. He graces the covers of Forbes and Vogue and any other magazine that has any sort of interest in him. 

Another “and then” moment: 

He goes missing. 

He said he was ready for more responsibility, according to an article from Forbes. 

(What? James can keep up with news.) 

Tony Stark was ready for more responsibility, to prove that he could do what everyone said he couldn’t, to prove that he could further a legacy he didn’t want in the first place. 

So there was the Jericho missile. The demonstration went fine, all things considered by the US military report. 

The problem was that the cars got hijacked and Tony Stark was presumed dead. 

Ah. 

Another American society family gone to history books, and James Rhodes knew one of them at least on a somewhat personal level. 

He wasn’t going to tell anyone. 

At least not until he needed to pay off a loan or something. He’s not even sure what people would do with the fact that Tony Stark was a night owl who liked spending time outdoors. 

Maybe it’s because James Rhodes is gearing up for the military (at least, he thinks?) or maybe it’s because when he can’t go to bed he spends his time watching conspiracy videos and he shouldn’t do that, especially with all of the misinformation out there. 

People don’t think that Tony disappearing was a coincidence. It makes sense. 

Months after his parents death, and he assumes the role of CEO a year earlier than anticipated? 

Obadiah Stane has been working at that company for Tony’s entire lifetime and then some. It had to sting knowing someone without the “proper” years of education and familiarity would take over and maybe ruin whatever it was you had planned. 

So James Rhodes is kind of Concerned. 

- 

“You’re doing what?” His mama says over the phone. 

“I’m not gonna join Air Force,” Jim says to his mother. 

She’s been trying to convince him not to for about a solid year now. The reason she gives him is that he’s a damned fool who would probably get sent home with a broken foot or something anyways. He rolls his eyes at this. 

(The real reason is that she doesn’t want to see an American flag draped across a coffin she shouldn’t have had to consider.) 

“So what made you change your mind?” Dad asks. 

“Career opportunity. I’m going to work at Stark Industries.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Research and Development, plus a little bit of testing. I’ve been talking with a couple of friends.” 

“Which friends?” 

“You don’t know them, Ma.” 

“Why not?” 

James lets out a frustrated breath. 

“Because they’re from college.” 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know them.” Mama scoffs, and he can hear her moving around the kitchen.

“You-I’m not gonna argue. You don’t know them, I do, and I’m going to see if I can get hired at Stark Industries or not. I’ll call you as soon as I get news.” 

- 

Stark Industries is hiring him as soon as he walks in for the department. With Tony gone, they need all the help they can get, even from someone with almost no experience. 

He learns. 

He learns a hell of a lot. 

He learns that Howard Stark was a fucking asshole who had no idea how anything worked, and everyone loves Tony because he’s fun and hardworking and he knows what the company needs. 

James hasn’t forgotten the message. 

They say I’m too young to be CEO. But that’s not the real reason. 

He doesn’t know what Tony means by that. 

Until Obadiah Stane starts talking. He’s always had a loose tongue, it’s part of why many SI employees can jump ahead of the curve on decisions and pick up loose ends. 

“The boy was always a jokester,” Obadiah says to his old colleagues, the ones who reek of cigar smoke and outrageously expensive alcohol. “Never wanted to play it seriously, and that’s how it was with the Jericho, you know? Just like his old man, Anthony was.” 

He gets a bad taste in his mouth. 

Tony was never someone to joke, at least not all the time. He had quips for the cameras, but he never once spoke out of turn. He was almost impossible to get a negative reaction out of, had never really had any press scandals that James knew of. No one spoke about anything if it had happened.

James decides to do something that is most definitely illegal, and will most likely make him homeless: 

He accesses files that he’s not supposed to. Files on Stane’s computer, files that no one else has access to besides a remote access somewhere in Afghanistan. 

Tony Stark. 

Sitting in a ripped up tank top, blood all over him. He’s looking to the camera with a sort of determination. 

Obadiah should be turning this into the FBI or CIA or whatever underground organization there is. 

But he isn’t. 

Which means that he probably paid for this to happen, and now there’s something to be done. 

-

“What are you doing in this office?” 

James’ head snaps up to see the PA of Tony, Pepper Potts. Said to have the fury of all the dragons in the world, impeccable fashion sense, and a competency that would scare off God. 

James is terrified. 

“Um. I kind of got evidence against Stane.” 

“You found the files too?” 

“Yeah? Wait, you know? Please tell me you’re not on his side.” 

“He wouldn’t ever be my choice of an ally,” Pepper says, wrinkling her nose. She whips out a flash drive, tapping some things into the computer before shutting it down. “No, you’ll be helping me get my old boss back. I refuse to quit, I hate job hunting.” 

James is pretty sure that this is not the only reason, but job-hunting does suck. 

There are voices coming down the hallway. Pepper freezes. 

“What should we do? I’m not getting fired, oh my god-” 

Obadiah walks into the hallway with the higher-up offices, and there’s Rhodes and Miss Potts discussing some sort of thing that the R&D department probably needs marketing help on. 

He doesn’t notice Pepper slip a USB into her purse, thinking it’s lipstick. 

Obadiah always jumps to conclusions far too quickly, Howard used to tell him that that was what was going to do him in. 

- 

The US military takes care of it. Or someone like it. 

Pepper knows someone named Phillip Coulson, which sounds honestly like a name that shouldn’t be the name of an American man. 

“We’ll get him back as soon as possible,” says Mr. Coulson, who has a bland smile that betrays nothing and makes James feel uneasy. 

- 

Tony comes back in one piece. He comes back with bonus material. 

Rhodes shouldn’t have thought that. But now he has, and that is that. 

Pepper Potts made him come onto the tarmac with her. 

Tony stills. 

“What the absolute hell are you doing here?” 

There’s no heat to the statement, can’t be when he’s as exhausted as he is. 

“Moral support,” Pepper says. “He also works for you, I thought that’s how you knew each other.” 

Tony gives Rhodes a hard look. 

“Sure.” 

They’ll have a discussion later. 

- 

He shuts down weapons-manufacturing. Rhodes can see Stane’s eyes glint with anger from where he’s standing. 

“We’re all just tired,” he says, chortling as if Tony coming back after being captured for three months is all one gigantic joke that’s just waiting for the punchline. 

“No,” Tony says. 

For the first time in his life, he says no for himself. 

“I’m not tired,” he states plainly. “Well, I’m tired of sand in my hair.” 

Cue uneasy laughs. 

Tony continues on. “I have been complacent for too long. And I want my legacy to not be a continuation of my father’s, but a better legacy. Which is why, effective immediately, weapons manufacturing is being shut down.” 

Flash go the cameras, and Rhodes doesn’t know how he’s swung it, but he’s helping stuff Tony into a car, and that can’t be- 

It’s a burger. 

“You want fries or something?” Tony asks. “You can have fries. I don’t really like the fries they serve, not my deal.” 

Rhodey eats a cold fry that honestly sucks, but it’s better than no food at all. 

“You’re back and you’re already causing a Mount-Everest-level of work,” Pepper says. “I’ve missed that.” 

“What, they’ve been boring you to death?” 

“Nearly,” she says. “Let’s get you home.” 

James is not sure what to do in this situation. Because he probably shouldn’t be going to his technically-boss’s-place-of-residence, but he’s kind of gotten caught up in the drama of this whole situation, and he’s not sure if he remembered to get his apartment key from his office. 

Tony Stark keeps looking at him. 

“Why did you...? I thought you were going to fight for the Air Force or whatever. I didn’t think you wanted a job with us.” 

“I didn’t,” he says simply. “But you said that they didn’t want you to be CEO, and it wasn’t just because you were on the young side. I figured that you needed someone to at least find out.” 

“Did you think I was dead?” 

“I was about seventy-five percent sure you weren’t,” James says. 

“And why is that? Because I’m an inventor?” 

“No. It’s because you would go out in freezing temperatures for an hour in nothing but slacks and a white button-down in college, which was weird. What were you doing, anyways?” 

“Not important,” Tony says. “Pepper, can you order more food? I’ve dearly missed American cuisine and all the sodium.” 

“You need to go to a hospital.” 

“Yeah, not happening.” 

“And why is that?” 

“I’ll...” Tony sends a look to James. 

“I’ll tell you when we get home,” he says quietly. 

“Do you have a phone I can use for a taxi ride?” James asks. 

“You can take one of my cars.” 

James has seen the various articles on Tony Stark’s ever-growing car collection. All of them are worth more than his entire life, and he is petrified of them. 

“I can call a taxi.” 

“What, scared you’ll screw up the paint job?” 

“Scared I’ll crash.” 

Tony laughs, and then winces. It seems that something’s weighing on him. 

“That’s the least of my worries. I’ll set you up with a Ferrari, then.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“It should! It’s my least favorite.” 

“And you still have one anyways?” 

"They tend to be for appearances only, although occasionally they can get the job done. I wouldn’t take one for a road trip.” 

- 

So James is driving a Ferrari and trying not to die, even though his boss told him he wouldn’t. 

He makes it home and leans against the wall of his apartment. 

His neighbor had stared at him. 

“You get a pay bonus or something?” 

“Or something, Clint. Or something.” 

“Okay, okay, I get it. No questions asked.” 

- 

Returning to work is...an ordeal. 

“You bought a Ferrari?” Wesley asks, looking over the car. “How? I thought you hated them!” 

“I do, and that doesn’t change anything,” James says. “Now hands off the car unless you want Tony Stark himself to smite you down.” 

“He wouldn’t smite me down,” they scoff. “At the most, he’ll give me a strong talking-to that in no way rivals my mother’s reactions to anything I do.” 

James grins, laughing. 

“I’d hate to meet your mother.” 

“Believe me, so did I.” 

The conversation is cut short by Pepper entering the offices. 

“Rhodes, with me please?” 

“Of course,” he responds. 

For a few moments, there’s nothing but the click of Pepper’s heels and the steady thump of Rhodes’ work boots. 

“So. What’s going on, Ms. Potts?” 

“I need you to sign some NDAs.” 

“For?” 

“...you’ll find out.” 

- 

James is led to Tony’s personal work workshop, which is something incredibly fun to say twice as fast as you normally would. 

There is also something protruding from his chest, and Rhodes just stares. 

“So, is this like. A new thing?” 

“Relatively,” Tony says dryly. “I didn’t have it in college, safe to assume.” 

“I would’ve felt a bit like an idiot if you had had it and I failed to notice.” 

“Well, now you know. Pep, the paperwork?” 

Rhodes is slipped quite the stack of sheets, and is handed a pen that probably costs more than his pair of shoes. 

“So, what’s the reason for this?” 

"Well, you’re getting an NDA for this thing, and for a couple of other things,” Tony starts out. “I’m going to be letting you in on a secret that no one can find out about. And if they do find out, you are not going to like what I do to you.” 

“Noted.” 

“Meet me for dinner at seven,” Tony says. “Bring the car back, won’t you?” 

“Gladly, so long as you don’t call me Jamie.” 

“Not a nickname kinda guy?” 

“Not that nickname kinda guy,” he says with a wince. 

Tony smiles. 

“And Rhodey?” 

“I suppose I can’t petition for Jim?” 

“I know far too many ‘Jims’ in my lifetime, darling.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel about this, any of this. He doesn’t think his life is in danger, or else Pepper might have a sharper smile on her face like when she’s about to tear apart someone she doesn’t like. 

His boots make a steady rhythm on the floor as he exits, and he wonders if he should fill up the gas tank all the way as a courtesy. (When a man is richer than God, maybe, you ask a lot of questions.) 

-

James Rhodes, for once in his life, does not know what to wear. 

Usually, the nicest outfit he ever wore was a suit to his grandparents’ funerals, and then for church or any other event it was a polo shirt or a button-down and black pants with reasonably nice loafers. 

Tony Stark probably has on a suit that is more than a very nice, reasonably priced used car. Which is quite a lot, in Rhodey’s opinion. 

Oh god. He’s started thinking about himself with the nickname. 

He settles on a dark green button-down with no tie, and he drives the Ferrari about five miles under the speed limit and causes quite a bit of trouble for traffic. People honk. Someone in a lifted truck calls him a name that was really quite creative and unexpected. 

He arrives in one piece, which is a great deal. 

Tony is lounging in jeans and an old t-shirt, and Rhodey feels a bit guilty about his own outfit choice. 

“Sorry for the...shirt. Here are your keys.” 

“What’s wrong with your shirt? Looks great from where I’m laying,” Tony says, a hint of a grin on his face. 

“You want some pizza?” 

He relaxes slightly. 

Tony Stark is a very guarded man. His shoulders are tense even though he’s reclining as if he’s relaxing, and he’s looking at Rhodey with a look of curiosity. 

“So, why am I here?” Rhodey asks. “Besides pizza and returning car keys.” 

“We can get to that soon. For now, pizza. And talk with Pepper.” 

Pepper comes in, holding a wine bottle and balancing three wine glasses expertly in the other hand. 

She has to be a magician or a goddess or something. There’s no way someone can be that grateful. She also looks like a model in simple red shorts and an over-sized t-shirt advertising some old running event. 

“I see you forgot to tell him the dress code,” Pepper says. “You want a different shirt, Rhodes? It’ll be easier for later.” 

“If I could,” he says, slowly. “What’s it for?”

“Green not your color?” Tony asks, eyebrows raised.

“No, but button-downs aren’t my favorite.” 

He eats a piece of pizza and makes small-talk about pizza toppings. Tony loves pepperoni and absolutely hates Canadian bacon. 

“It is ham, call it what it is, and then never put it on pizza again,” he whines. 

Rhodey smiles. 

“I still stand by green bell peppers being the worst.” 

“Have you ever had good pizza?” Tony asks. “I don’t think you have, otherwise you wouldn’t be saying those things.” 

Pepper chucks a t-shirt at Rhodey. 

“It might fit a bit tight, but it should be fine.” 

“What exactly is this for?” 

Tony turns away as Rhodey changes into the shirt. He looks again when it’s all on, and Rhodey’s shifting a bit. It is a bit tight, but not bad. 

Tony is staring. 

Rhodey does not notice this, because sometimes Rhodey is very bad at observations. 

“Come with me,” Tony says. “I’m about to show you what will be, I think, the world-changing thing.” 

“A thing?” 

“A thing,” Tony says with a smile. “My legacy.” 

Inside is a treasure trove of toys and machines and Rhodey can see Dum-E, the robot that had been submitted to a robotics contest at MIT. He didn’t know he was still around. 

And then, the opus magnum of it all: 

(At least, Rhodey thinks.) 

“This is a flyable suit of armor,” Tony says. “And I need to make an offer to you.” 

Rhodey turns, looks at him. 

Tony breathes in, breathes out. 

“My father’s legacy was building weapons for the war, helping out wherever he could. He’s been hailed as a hero for years, and I was expected to fill his shoes. And I tried, I really did.” His face hardens as he looks down at the blue light emanating from his chest. 

“My attempt at becoming my father was perhaps the worst thing I’ve ever done, because it resulted in innocent lives being lost and my own ignorance to become someone I should never have been in the first place. This? This is the answer to it all.” 

“And what are you hoping to get out of me?” Rhodey asks. 

“Flying lessons.” 

“Flying lessons,” Rhodey deadpans. “You just built a knight-in-armor with jets or whatever, and you want me to give you flying lessons.” 

“Well, it’d be helpful,” Tony says. “You nearly went into the Air Force. You have to know more than most.” 

“Only sometimes.” 

“Better than never,” Tony says. 

“Why me?” Rhodey asks. “You could’ve asked anyone with military clearance or someone that knows you better.” 

“You never once questioned me in college,” Tony says simply. 

Rhodey stares. 

“That’s your reasoning?” 

“The reason why I’m his PA is because I didn’t bullshit on wrong answers, and Happy--his driver--got hired because he liked him more than other people,” Pepper says. “He has good intuition.” 

Rhodey takes another look at Tony. 

He looks determined. 

And he looks like he knows what he wants to do, and he’s going to make his own path. 

Rhodey can’t lie. He can’t say he doesn’t want to be there for that. He can’t lie and say he isn’t itching to get a look at the suit design, see where improvements can be made. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“So,” he starts, grinning, “When do I get my own suit? Can’t let you have all the fun.” 

Tony cracks a grin. 

“Let’s just try this one out first, pilot.” 

Rhodey grins, looking at the progress. Tony grins back, just as wide. 

“Well,” Rhodey says, nearly giddy. “Let’s start the future.”