#Nancy calls them her teaspoons when they do

[morganbritton132]

Eddie posts a Tiktok of Robin spooning Steve while they watch some trash reality show. He pans the camera all the way to the other end of the couch where Nancy is sitting.

He shoved his phone into her face like, “What gives, Big Wheels?”

She sounds like she’s humoring him when she says, “You tell me.”

Eddie pans the camera back over to Steve and Robin and then back to Nancy, zooming in a little closer. He laments dramatically, “Are we not friends, Nancy? Why don’t you hold me like that?”

“Do you - do you want me to?”

Hard cut to Nancy awkwardly spooning Eddie. There’s a beat of silence before she says ‘This is weird’ at the same time Eddie says ‘I don’t like this’ and they both get up.”

[maybe-theres-hope]

Tarlos ficlet - “You Like My Costume?”

For all y'all firefighter!Carlos babes :) 

@howtosingit @pragmaticoptimist34 and anyone else who likes this kind of thing <3

1.6k | ao3

TK is actually kind of bummed to be working on Halloween.

Sure, it’s not like he has to work Thanksgiving this year--he somehow finagled the day off and he has yet to tell Carlos that he will be making a surprise visit to the ranch for dinner and he absolutely can’t wait to see his fiancé’s face when he walks in--but he was kind of looking forward to doing the cutesy couple’s costume thing. He’s a sucker for that kind of thing, and he’s bummed, okay?

They’re out on a call that’s frankly more of a time waster than anything else since the fourteen year old in question wasn’t actually suffering from alcohol poisoning but rather he’d yarfed because his friends had dared him to drink a teaspoon of dish soap--honestly, kids these days--so things are looking pretty mellow so far for the evening. He half expected full-moon level type calls tonight but in all honesty he’s been kind of bored. Which really makes it doubly crappy to be working. There’s not even any excitement. 

“At least we’re off at 11, you’ll get to see the last of the trick-or-treaters,” Nancy says with a smirk. 

“Who trick-or-treats at 11 p.m.?” he asks. “By then it’ll just be the dumb teenagers TP-ing old people’s houses and that’s if anyone actually does that anymore.”

“What, you’re too old and married for those kinds of shenanigans?”

“Screw you, I’m not old, and I’m not married yet,” he quips back at her.

“Mmmhmm. Coulda fooled me.” She’s smiling her mischievous smile, the one she gets when she’s contemplating how to jump-scare him in the bunk room in the middle of the night because one time he yelped in such a high-pitch that she nearly peed herself laughing, and she’s been trying to recreate it ever since. 

“Hey, the thrill is not gone, I can promise you that.” Now it’s his turn to smirk back at her.

“Ugh ugh, okay, don’t wanna hear about it.” She waves her hands in front of her face like she’s shooing away fog. “And TK? I mean that. Whatever it is you’re going to be doing tonight, I never wanna hear about it, okay? Just...please. Keep it in the bedroom. Everyone’s going to be making enough assumptions as it is.”

He turns to look at her from the driver’s seat, puzzled. “What do you mean, tonight? What’s so special about tonight and why are people making assumptions? Carlos had to work until half an hour ago anyway, so we’re probably both going to just pass out when I get home. Also, what do you mean ‘assumptions’?”

She just smiles at him again. “Just drive, Strand.”

When he pulls the rig into the bay at ten minutes past eleven, TK just wants to shower and collapse. Boredom held out for only so long before giving into three separate calls where the patient coded on the backboard. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he feels like he will never be clean of all the sweat. His fingers are aching and his shoulders are sore. He’s never been more ready to just slip into their sheets at home and pass into blissful oblivion. He can’t even make himself look up from the floor as he walks toward the locker room. 

“Hey TK! Why don’t you say hi to the new probie?” Mateo’s voice is nearly a giggle, and it actually causes TK to lift his head. With great effort. 

“Huh? We have a new probie? Whose first shift is on Halloween? Who did he piss off to manage that?” TK asks, following Mateo through the kitchen.

It’s Paul who answers from where he’s leaning against the archway leading back into the bay where the ladder truck is parked. “No one. You might be a little peeved that he took your old turnout gear, but I really, really doubt that.”

“What?” Now TK is just thoroughly confused. 

“Yeah,” Marjan says when he rounds the corner, “and it doesn’t fit him all that well, but I also highly doubt you’ll be upset about that either.” She’s practically glowing with mirth. 

“Okaaaay...what’s with everyone? Is this some kind of Halloween prank? Is someone going to jump out and scare me?”

“Trust me, it won’t scare you. Just...don’t scar the rest of us once you see it. Behave yourself until you get home,” is Nancy’s last line before she turns and practically runs up the stairs. 

TK darts his gaze around to the rest of them, brow furrowing. 

“Just go, man. We’ve been keeping this from you for like a week and we want to see the fruits of our labor,” Mateo says, shoving at TK’s shoulder so that he walks toward the ladder truck.

Still confused and slightly nervous, TK rounds the back of the truck and looks around to see what it is they’ve conjured up to prank him with. He scans the floor, wondering if someone in a scary mask will slide out from under the truck. He moves around to the other side while still in the team’s line of sight, looking back at them for some kind of indication that he’s on the right track. Marjan points subtly up and he follows with his gaze. 

His mouth goes instantly dry and his breath stops. He might gasp, but he can’t be sure.

“Hi babe. Happy Halloween,” Carlos croons in a low voice, though he’s blushing slightly which removes some of the effect. 

TK can only stare. His old turnout gear, indeed.

His fiancé his perched on top of the truck, casually leaned against the ladder and looking down on him. His hips, clad in baggy pants only held up by bright suspenders are slipped forward just so, inviting TK’s eyes to travel up the long line of his glorious body. The AFD t-shirt is straining at the seams, defining every muscle in his abs and pecs, the suspenders caressing against the hard planes of his chest, peeking out from the turnout coat hanging open. 

When Carlos notices where TK’s eyes have gone, he lifts himself out of his ridiculously sexy lean to stand and shrug out of the coat. How on earth anyone can make the removing of standard-issue PPE look so goddamned alluring, TK will never know. The movement causes Carlos’ shoulders to flex, and the cotton of the t-shirt nearly gives out. TK catches a peek of his own name in bright orange lettering across the back of the coat before it’s casually flipped over one massive shoulder, clinging to one finger. 

“I...holy shit,” is all he can say. He has been robbed of his entire vocabulary. He can hear his team snickering at him from the kitchen, but he pays them no mind. The view from here is much better. 

Carlos blushes a bit more, and tosses the coat down to TK, who catches it dazedly. Then, he watches as his absolutely gorgeous fiancé nimbly climbs down the footholds on the side of the truck like he’s done it a thousand times before, and between drooling and sucking in subtle breaths of air TK’s eyes are drawn directly to his ass. It’s a marvelous sight. 

Dropping down lightly onto the floor with a tiny bounce in his step, Carlos turns to face TK in all his glory. TK’s gaze once again runs the gambit from his shoulders down his torso, right down to his own spare pair of boots. 

Carlos saunters closer, knowing full well what he’s doing and loving every minute of it, the bastard. “So, babe,” he says in that same low voice, closer this time. “You like my costume?”

TK still can’t really form words. He might stutter a bit, but he’ll deny it later.

Carlos leans in close--presumably to deter their audience from hearing his next words, which are whispered directly into TK’s ear. 

“I chose to dress up as your secret fantasy,” he says, his lips caressing the shell of TK’s ear. He shivers, though from the words or the touch or the outfit or all of the above, TK can’t say. The next words he hears don’t help matters much.

“What do you say I rescue you from work? Take you home and give you some mouth-to-mouth?” 

TK can hear the desire behind the words, but he can also hear the tiniest giggle at the blatant dirty talk that Carlos actually doesn’t do that much of, and it makes his heart melt. This man is everything.

When he regains some coherency, TK decides to give back as much as he’s gotten. He runs his hands down Carlos’ torso, nearly dropping one suspender completely off his shoulder with his vigor in grabbing a handful of pectoral muscle. 

He leans back in and says into Carlos’ ear, “Well, have you still got your uniform in your car? It might be a bit big on me, but I think I’d look good in nothing but your utility belt. Should I handcuff you to the bed, firefighter Reyes?”

He leans back just enough to catch Carlos scrunching his eyes shut and biting his lip--desire written into every line of his face--and suddenly remembers their audience. This is not a free show, no matter how much help they provided Carlos in surprising TK with this. “Take me home, now.”

“You got it, babe.” With that, Carlos bends down, grabs TK by the waist, and lifts him like he weighs nothing. TK is thrown over his shoulder in a full fireman’s carry to the tune of his team, his friends, whistling and catcalling as he’s carried off to Carlos’ car. 

Yeah, this is a good Halloween. Maybe the best one yet. 

[blog1917]

Family Treasure

La Cafetera

            My family treasure is our coffee maker. In Spanish it’s called “una cafetera”. I could confidently say that the coffee maker is something that my family system would agree to as a treasure for us. In all my sibling’s houses, my aunts and uncle’s houses, my cousins' houses and of course my parents' house, anyone who goes would find this one common object. The coffee maker is an object that is used in our culture. Making coffee in the morning for breakfast and sitting at the dining table together to talk about our plans for the day and share reminders. After every meal a small cup of coffee is shared amongst the family as a form of tradition and unity. The most important cup of coffee is the one we each share after dinner. This last cup of the day is where everyone comes together to share stories about their day. The reason why this one last cup of coffee is important is because it’s a symbol of love and laughter before everyone disperse to their rooms or get sucked into social media or calls. The beauty behind these magical, heartfelt moments are made up by the famous coffee maker; also known as the “cafetera”. Many coffee makers can be made, claiming that is the best way to make the most delicious coffee but nothing would ever compare to the cafetera. The sound that it makes while it’s simmering at the top of the cafetera is like music to my families’ ears. The strong aroma of coffee that fills the kitchen and slowly dances in the air of the hallway till it reaches one's nose as a light touch of heaven. To the delightful smooth liquid texture running down our tongue into our souls. This is something no other coffee maker can do. But the one and only cafetera will make it happen. As I describe my family treasure and how it’s been passed down from generation to generation, I am reminded of what I read in the article “What is a System and system perspective?” by Davd Aloyzy Zera. In the article it states, “For example, a child is a system comprising that individual, as are individual teachers and administrators who are constantly changing and evolving” (pp 18). This caught my attention because I thought about the many ways that we could make coffee in this generation and how we have evolved from what our parents and grandparents used to use to make coffee but yet for my family it is very difficult to change our traditional way of making coffee. Which brings me to the idea and concepts of how children have their own family treasures that they carry with them. Although, there might be another “new” evolved object that may seem more effective, it won’t be the same for that child to change out of what they’ve been taught at home. As teachers we must be open minded with the objects that each child is comfortable with and ask questions on why each object that the child carries with them is important to them and their family system. As a three-year-old child I remember gathering in the living room with the family after a delicious dinner. My mother would clean the table as the coffee maker was singing its beautiful tone screaming that it’s ready to be serviced. I could still remember the excitement of my family as they scooped a teaspoon of white sugar and stirred quickly causing a harmonic song above the laughter that filled the air. Although I was too young to drink the coffee, I still felt like I was a part of the family unity. The important part wasn’t the delightful taste of the coffee. It was always about the conversations and family time together. Creating wonderful memories that would last a lifetime. That is why the coffee maker is a part of my family's system. This is a part of who I am as my own system which is a small branch in the whole definition of what makes me Marlene. A great example of this is found in the article “Socio-scientific Issues Instruction” by Molly Ewing and Troy D. Sadler. It states, “For example, in order to understand how a plant grows we might define the systems of the plant itself with component parts (e.g., stems, leaves) making up the whole, which can carry out a function the individual parts cannot” (pp18).  This was described perfectly because it brought me to mind how I approach each cup of coffee especially when I know it’s made from a cafetera. I remember two weeks ago, going to visit my sister’s house and the first thing she did after we shared a meal was prep the coffee maker and set the table to share a heart-to-heart talk while we indulged on a hot cup of fresh coffee while her son sat with us drinking milk from his sippy cup. This is tradition, this is relationship, this is culture, moreover, this is a part of who we are as a family system. In each story family system theory is shown by how just this one object brought forth several generations together to share this one moment. From the time when I was only three years old and looked up at my family enjoying these moments. To the present time of my sister and I sharing these moments as my nephew would sit joyfully, just as I used to do as a child. My family cannot understand the significance of the cafetera and how it plays a great part of our family system.

 Community Treasure:

The Holy Bible

            My community treasure is The Holy Bible. Reason being is that I grew up in a Christian community in which my family was deeply involved in. My mother is a pastor, my brothers and I are in the music ministry and the majority of my lifetime I’ve always been devoted to my church and faith. I remember taking the bible everywhere I went, including school. The bible would be the book that I would use for reading time. Of course, my parents would give me age-appropriate bible story books, nonetheless in my mind I understood it as it being the Holy Bible. Ever since I could remember I would go to church every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday of the week. Plus, every Saturday for children’s events. Needless to say, all of my friends were and still are a part of my Christian community. Thus, The Holy Bible is undoubtedly a community treasure. The Bible is our common guide that brings us all together to be in the same mindset and have profound conversations. The value of the Holy Bible is unmatched for the members of my belief community. One of the most direct description of the important of community meaning in a child was found in the article “Toward inclusive understandings of marriage in an early childhood classroom: negotiating (un)readiness, community, and vulnerability through a critical reading of King and King” by Frantz Bently and Mariana Souto-Manning. The article states, “The connections with and between the children will carry and shape the conversation” (pp 197).  Which is very interesting to me because I thought about the connection of how a child’s character and mindset is molded due to the surrounding that child is exposed to. I recall a moment when I was in first grade, and it was reading time. All of my classmates were taking out their princess books or/and robot books, yet I was the only one taking out my Holy Bible book. My teacher pointed out that I could borrow one of the classroom books instead of reading the book I brought as if there was something wrong with my Bible book. This moment was very hard for me because my classmates started laughing and making fun of my book. Little did they know that in my mind I view my Holy Bible book just as important and interesting to me as their princes/robot books were to them. That experience led me to understand that teachers must take into consideration the importance of a Child's community. In my community the Holy Bible was and still is a beautiful treasure, which the stories never end and holds new meaning every single time a person reads it. Which leads me to the article, “Ecological Systems Theory: The Person in the Center of the Circles” by Nancy Darling. A great quote from this article stands out, which states, “When predicting the strength of association of parental knowledge with positive aspects of development (social skills, friendships with prosocial peers, good academic performance), one might predict a stronger association in high-resource environments” (pp 215). This quote brought me back to the way I felt in that moment when the teacher suggested choosing a different book to read. At that moment I felt very confident with the choice of book that I wanted to read. Not because I felt obligated to stick to the bible, instead I felt that I had a choice of my own and regardless of what others may think of my choice of book, I will remain strong with my choice. My parents never forced me to do anything unless it was regarding my safely. Which meant that I had the option of choosing what I wanted. However, due to the fact that I felt like my teacher didn’t understand the type of community I was a part of, it led to this moment of misunderstanding and what I felt was a lack of carelessness towards my community system. A great example of a moment when I felt like my community treasure was seen as the gem that it is, was when I would go on playdates with my friends, and we would each bring our Holy Bible with us. Showing each other the colorful pictures and sharing our own thoughts on what the pictures meant was the highlight of the day. As an adult I still have these moments with my friends, and we share such wonderful insights on what we understood of the bible. The value of the Holy Bible is truly incomparable. I wouldn’t treat it for any amount of money this world can offer me, and I feel that the members of my community would agree with me on this. 

Reflection:

            Family and community treasures promote family school community partnerships by bringing forth more clarity of each child and the systems that make them who they are as individuals. Understanding the cultures and values that bother the family treasures and community treasures hold is a powerful thing. Not only for the child but also for the relationship between the parents and the teachers. One Idea that I think would work towards bringing these two systems into another system would be to have the children express what one of their family systems or community systems is during circle time and use that information to pour into another system. A second idea would be to come up with a project where the parent could be a part of and have a presentation in class where both parents/family and child can speak about their family or community systems. Which would transition into a classroom system whereas a classroom, new games can come to be created. Overall, I think that each of the reading were perfectly clear on the importance of what systems theory is and how important it is in a Childs life. Which follows them into their young adult lives.  Most importantly as teachers it is important to be open to the different systems/ cultures a child brings into the classroom. As it was wonderfully explained was how Dana Frantz Bently and Mariana Souto-Manning stated, “To be a critical teacher is to embrace the discomfort of not knowing, to become vulnerable, to embrace the complexity of an identity that encompasses both teaching and learning (Freire 1998)” (pp 197). This is an important factor that all teachers must remember in order to bring for a great learning experience and journey for their students and their parents.

                                                                   Citation

 Davd Aloyzy Zera, Fall 2002, “What is a System and system perspective?”

Molly Ewing and Troy D. Sadler, November/December 2020 “Socio-scientific Issues Instruction”, The scienceTeacher.

Dana Frantz Bently and Mariana Souto-Manning, March 2, 2016, “Toward inclusive understandings of marriage in an early childhood classroom: negotiating (un)readiness, community, and vulnerability through a critical reading of King and King”, Https://doi.org/10.1080/09575146.2025.1104899

Nancy Darling, 2007 “Ecological Systems Theory: The Person in the Center of the Circles”

[blackjack-15]

Doubly Dubiously Designed — Thoughts on: Danger by Design (DAN)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. In this meta, a section in between The Title and The Mystery will be The Historical Background, where we’ll dive into a what a mess HER made of this game and its history.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: DAN, mention of SSH.

The Intro:

Holy eff, what was this game?

With Danger By Design, game #14 and our penultimate Jetsetting Game, Nancy kisses Blue Moon Canyon goodbye and flies off to the land of fashion, francs, and fabulous found fripperies — France.

Yes, it was a struggle to come up with so many f-words that made a mad sort of sense.

DAN is a case where they had two or three ideas for two or three different games, and then someone got high and was like “what if we smushed them all together and don’t make them gel together at all”…only none of the ideas were fully formed, so what you get is a tornado – heh — of different things whirling together, but the second the momentum dies, you can see that nothing is actually part of anything else.

There are just too many ideas in DAN to make a game that has an emotional (not to mention logical) payoff, and too few of them are actually used throughout the game to make a game that’s interesting. Add in the fact that the characters are flat in a way that they haven’t been for 10 games and that Nancy seems to have no concrete motivation for anything that she does, and you’re left with a uniquely frustrating experience — and one that fails to take advantage of its unique location in any meaningful way, unlike the other Jetsetting Games.

The Title:

DAN is based off of Nancy Drew Files: Death by Design, which is objectively a more enticing title, though not accurate to the game’s story at all. As it stands, Danger by Design is a pretty good title; it clues you into a vague danger, it establishes not only that it’s about fashion — design — but also that the plot is being orchestrated by players that aren’t immediately visible — design.

I would actually hazard to say that DAN’s title is the most successful part of it; it doesn’t have any gaping holes, it’s catchy, easy to abbreviate — it’s only small problem is that “danger” is a super common mystery title, and that there have already been several other games with “danger” in the title — Stay Tuned for Danger, Danger on Deception Island — so it could improve from a series-naming standpoint. Otherwise, this title does all that it needs to without extraneous detail.

The Mystery:

Summoned to investigate why a famous French designer has suddenly gone crazy, Nancy’s going undercover for the…at least third time in this series so far. The designer, Minette, has taken to wearing a full-face mask with a discomforting lack of air holes and firing employees like most people eat mini-MnMs.

All at once, out of a tube, before they melt and discolor your hand. Or something.

Minette has been running behind, and Nancy is supposed to figure out what’s causing her temper tantrums and slipping schedule, amid threatening letters and insistent phone calls to the moulin where Minette houses her studio. Amy Grunhild, her boss, is wondering what’s up with her behavior and hires Nancy do to some old fashioned snooping.

Once in France, however, Nancy finds out there’s more than meets the eye, both with Minette and with the moulin. Nancy somehow finds herself in the seat of international espionage, a historical futz-up of epic proportions, several fashion faux pas, a mint shortage, flooded catacombs, and the highly graphic murder of the French Language.

As a mystery, let’s be honest: DAN is a mess. A good ol’ Southern may-yuh-suh. The A-plot (Minette) and the B-plot (Noisette + History) intertwine maybe once on the surface and then basically are separate games, no focus is given to anything so it feels jumbled and messy, there’s not enough to do and too much space to do it in…the list goes on.

The focus is honestly the part that upsets the mystery the most; by the time Nancy’s down in the catacombs for the nth time, Minette is pretty much a distant memory, but when Nancy’s trapped with the stained glass, you’re reminded of Noisette suddenly and rather uncomfortably. There’s no clear mystery — there’s in fact at least two very unclear mysteries — and so there’s no clear story.

Now, let’s get to the players who contribute to the mess.

The Suspects:

Minette — real name Tammy Barnes — is supposedly an up-and-coming fashion designer, but is tackling projects that are more what a seasoned professional would handle (like making a dress for the First Lady). Her fierce rivalry with designer Hugo Butterly feels like a looming spectre overhead, and her timetable has begun slipping more and more since she donned the mask.

Why she, an inexperienced plus-size designer is designing a gown for the First Lady (who in 2005/6 was a small, petite woman), neither I nor anyone else has any ideas.

The real reason Minette’s timetable is a disaster is because remnants of the East German Police – no, stay with me here — are threatening her into making the First Lady’s dress complete with electronic bugs so that they could hear what’s going on at the National Summit.

Minette’s the closest thing we get to a culprit — she’s the one we fight at the end — but she’s also a victim of blackmail and threats herself, and I do find it odd that, unlike in other games, she’s not treated as a victim at all; Nancy never teams up with her, never helps fight her enemies, and is never really sympathetic at all. With Minette’s personality, it’s not a shock that Nancy doesn’t sympathize, but I do find it a little odd that the blackmail thing is just kind of glossed over.

Heather McKay is Minette’s only long-time employee, who vents her frustration with her boss by sending her threatening letters every so often. Absurdly young for her position — Heather is at most 23, given her graduation date from Waverly Academy — Heather also designs her own fashion on the side, hoping that working for Minette will give her the contacts she needs in order to be a successful designer.

Heather’s designs also happen to be hideous — did HER have no one with any fashion sense at all working on this game?

As a culprit, Heather would have been interesting, but unlikely; as the person closest to Minette, she’s already the most suspicious, especially since she could be delaying Minette to make her desperate and then offering to step in and “save the day” with one of her own designs. As it is, Heather ends the game far more successful than she should be, and avoids any taint of having worked with Minette.

Dieter Von Schwesterkrank is the red herring — I mean, the German fashion photographer centered in Paris, and the great-nephew of Noisette Tornade’s Nazi lover, Hans Von Schwesterkrank. Originally dating Minette in order to explore the moulin and find Noisette’s treasure, he found he had somehow developed actual feelings for her by the time she broke the relationship off.

As a culprit, Dieter would have been incredibly dull; he barely has enough personality to fill a teaspoon, he’s the obvious red herring due to him and the conspirators both being German (not to mention the German occupation of France in World War II, where the historical background is set), and he would get nothing out of messing with Minette, as his job does better the more that fashion designers thrive.

Jing-Jing Ling is an Australian (and presumably also part-Chinese, given her name) “plus size” (by this game’s standards; I talk about this later) model who was tricked into a contract with Minette and is Nancy’s roommate during Nancy’s time in France. A chronic liar with an interest in circuitry and engineering, JJ also spends her time baking and eating cookies —yeah, because that’s how a model keeps her size 12 (American size 10) figure, wow — and being easily duped into giving up an autograph via a game of Hangman.

The wet dream of both the catacomb-climber Zu and of Joe Hardy himself, JJ is my preferred culprit if I had to choose just from the cast; outwardly friendly while also outwardly manipulative, with the perfect excuse for going out at all hours of the day and night — Minette is an eccentric, remember — and smarter than she seems. She’s also related to both the “Secrets of Paris” plot (through Zu) and the Minette plot. Her being the culprit would make this an entirely different game, however, and so as the culprit in the current game, she’s an iffy choice at best.

Rounding out our physical suspects is Jean-Michel Traquenard, owner of the easiest to pronounce yet most mangled name of the whole game…and editor of Glam Glam Magazine. He’s also the only Frenchman in our suspects, and one of three probable Frenchmen in the entire cast (Zu and possibly Lynn Manrique, judging by her last name).

As a character, Jean-Michel is unique and memorable; as a culprit, he’s a non-entity. While he could have been more than just a place to see a photo and get a sprig of mint without painting bad replicas of famous paintings for 22 hours, he sits comfortably at Café Kiki, not caring three straws about the havoc happening both in the fashion world and in his city.

There are so many phone characters in this game (most one-off, but still), so I’ll run through them briefly.

Zu is an explorer of the Parisian catacombs, who helps Nancy get down there to explore once she gets him the aforementioned autograph from JJ. He’s fun to talk to, and necessary to the plot, but doesn’t show up quite enough. An interesting twist would have had him be one of the existing cast, but no one quite fits the bill.

Lynn Manrique is a one-off historian who wants to talk to Minette about the moulin and Noisette, but who keeps being blown off. She gives Nancy a bit of info, then promptly disappears again.

Hugo Butterly is another brief phone character, giving about as much information as you’d expect from a hoity-toity fashion designer. His convo with Nancy is mostly to rule him out as a suspect. He would have been a cool option for also being Zu. Ah well.

Prudence Rutherford, in all her glory, shows up as a phone friend here, and is one of the most memorable parts of the game — not shocking, as she was just as enjoyable in Secret of the Scarlet Hand. Here, she’s sent off a request to Minette for a few outfits that of course Nancy has to put together.

Sure, what Prudence wants is an eyesore, but a delightfully Prudence eyesore. Perfect for a woman who’s good friends with P. G. Krolmeister.

Finally, let’s talk a bit about the woman who started part of this game.

Noisette Tornade — literally “hazelnut tornado” in French, which is the oddest name ever – was a member of the French resistance during World War II. Though loyal to France, her boyfriend Hans was loyal to his native Germany, and their relationship resulted in Noisette being seen as a traitor.

Though acquitted, Noisette remained bitter towards those who distrusted her, and hid the treasures of Paris that she had saved for the rest of her life to punish them.

Interestingly enough, when you’re playing this game for the first time, you really do feel like Noisette is supposed to be a sort of tragic hero…but Noisette is not a good person, or a moral person. Even after being exonerated and elected as Director of Public Works for the rest of her life, Noisette is too bitter to restore the art to the country, and refuses to believe she might have acted in the wrong by knowingly and deliberately harboring a Nazi.

Perhaps in early planning stages (and I say planning very, very loosely), Noisette had been executed and was supposed to be a tragic figure who did nothing wrong. But Noisette wasn’t a good person, and any points she might have gotten for saving art disappear when she decided that because she was suspected due to the fact that her boyfriend was a freaking Nazi, the city would pay for it — forever.

The Favorite:

There’s some good stuff in DAN (even if most of it doesn’t come to fruition or feel deserved), and they do deserve to be mentioned.

Jean-Michel is by far the best character that this game has to offer, and he’d still be pretty good in a game that was a bit better. Apart from his painful pronunciation games with Nancy, he’s a lot of fun to talk to and has a great character design. A larger than life character needs a larger than life wardrobe, and Jean-Michel delivers.

My favorite puzzle in the game is the Prudence costume design; while it’s not a hard puzzle and doesn’t really make you feel very accomplished as a puzzler, it is a whole lot of fun and a way to design some of the ugliest outfits known to man.

My favorite moment in the game is anytime Nancy spends time in JJ’s apartment; it’s so well designed and homey without being ugly or kitschy. Baking cookies is prolly the best moment — I wouldn’t call it a puzzle, it’s more like just a task — because it just feels nice and relaxing.

The Un-Favorite:

It’s a small thing, relative to the rest of the things wrong with this game, but I hate that a size 10 (size 12 in France, which converts to an American size 10) is defined as plus-size in this game when in 2006, the year this game was released, a 10 was nowhere near a plus size. It’s a small detail that they very easily could have gotten right, and they didn’t bother to even check.

My least favorite moment in the game is easily the Minette fight that turns into Nancy trapped with Noisette’s artwork. Nothing quite illustrates the fact that they had no idea what story they were telling and no idea how to end the game more than the fact that we go from a slo-mo kung-fu fight to a hall of French artwork and no one’s quite sure which one is supposed to be the climax.

My least favorite puzzle is the catacomb puzzle; while the catacombs are cool to explore, navigating them is a frustrating experience, only made worse by the fear of getting lost – or the rats stealing things that you really, really need.

While most things in DAN bother me to some degree, the game is so uniformly disappointing that not a lot of things stand out over each other, so we’ll move on to where the actual work begins.

The Fix:

This is one of the few games that, in order to have a cohesive plot, storyline, and motivation for all (or even any) of its characters, needs a complete re-write to the setup along with changes to the “plot” progression itself.

The first big problem to fix is the reason Nancy’s there in the first place. It doesn’t make a lot of sense that she’s there to figure out what’s wrong with Minette — she should have a lot of specialized knowledge in order to be an assistant to such a major designer — and the justification is flimsy.

There’s also the problem that our historical characters aren’t heroes, so to try to “exonerate” Noisette when France already cleared her of everything except bitterness is, quite frankly, not a very heroic endeavor. Having this B-plot marginally tied to the A-plot by the fact that the Germans are the bad guys in both really isn’t great either — and certainly isn’t enough justification for the writing to be this bad.

To fix both of these in one fell swoop, shift the story in the past slightly.

Perhaps Noisette and Hans are still involved, but Noisette manages to turn her boyfriend against the Nazis and they spy on behalf of France, including saving France’s art from the hands of the Nazis and hiding it. The French government, however, doesn’t trust either one of them, and executes them for treason against the French state. Noisette and Hans carry the location where they stored the art to their graves, believing it to be unsafe with German sympathizers still around, but leave clues with friends and around the city, wanting it to be found in due time.

Cut to 2006, and Hans’ descendant Dieter Von Schwesterkrank has found evidence that Hans and Noisette were loyal to the French cause and were executed unjustly. The evidence is enough that he believes it (perhaps a work of art or two deemed ‘stolen’ by the pair has turned up in the family, but without any provenance, causing issues of authenticity), having always heard growing up that Hans was working for the French, but he knows that no one else will unless he can dig up more.

He tries to seduce Minette — an actual Frenchwoman in this version — into letting him hang around the windmill where Noisette and Hans once lived. He accidentally falls for her, but she breaks it off due to the external pressure, leaving him both heartbroken and unable to search more.

Having gotten the phone once in the moulin and been subject to one of Prudence Rutherford’s calls, he learns about a hotshot teen detective in America named Nancy Drew who’s worked undercover before and will take any job.

Needing her help, Dieter writes Nancy, telling her that he’s got a job for her and that he’s just trying to figure out how to get her a visa to come to France. Using Heather’s crush on him,  he mentions an intern from the States that he’s heard of that can supposedly handle any boss, no matter how obnoxious — and the wheels start spinning.

Once Nancy gets to France and gets the low-down on Minette, she goes to visit Dieter to get her real assignment — to balance working for Minette while finding proof of Hans and Noisette’s innocence.

With those changes in place, the game can proceed relatively unchanged in the order of events, albeit with more importance given to Dieter and less on pointless minigames with Minette. As Nancy tries to find out more about Noisette and Hans, she also notices Minette acting strangely: refusing to talk to people, communicating through emails and instant messages, falling further and further behind.

Zu changes from a wacky one-off character with an obsession to the expert in the catacombs and their use by the French Resistance during WWII; Lynn Manrique from a simple historian to a French Art historian specializing in identifying forged works of art and in art trafficking during the War.

Instead of Noisette’s plotline getting swirled into Minette’s, Minette’s issues are swirled into the larger plotline of proving Noisette and Hans’ innocence through finding the missing artwork and, along with it, the proof that they were working on behalf of France all along.

In the interest of not changing too much, the bad guys can still be fringe German extremists looking to destroy Noisette and Hans’ hard work (or perhaps who have a personal grudge against Hans in particular) and so threaten Minette, but rather than threatening a world summit through a bugged dress, they’ve been stealing fabric, designs, unpicking stitches — whatever they can think of — to delay her collection in the hope that she’ll think that the moulin is cursed and move to a different location, allowing them to search the building top-to-bottom to find the art that they suspect is hidden inside.

I know that this Fix section seems quite long, but it’s all really worldbuilding and premise changes; once a few motivations are shifted and the villains’ objective changes from something that the player doesn’t care about to something that they will care about, the game improves itself rather quickly.

WWII isn’t my preferred time in history to learn about, but even I can acknowledge that passing off the French occupation as “ah those wacky Germans” and “seriously and actively dating an actual Nazi shouldn’t get you suspected as a collaborateur because That’s Mean and if people suspect you just hide French national treasures because that’ll show them” isn’t a great look, nor does it fulfill the “edu” part of “edutainment”.

[chocolatequeennk]

Under Cover of Darkness, 7/8

AKA the Pirates AU for rudennotgingr Ten x Rose

Pirates roam the waters surrounding the islands of the Kasterborous Constellation, but not all of them are what they seem. When Lady Rose Tyler rejoins her parents in the Gallifreyan colony, she meets two men: James McCrimmon, the first nobleman who doesn’t bore her to tears, and the Doctor, a pirate who promises to keep her safe… from the pirates. What is going on in the Constellation, and how is it connected to the nefarious doings of the Master?

(This chapter not on ff.net yet--hopefully this afternoon.)

@doctorroseprompts

Rating: Teen

AO3 | ff.net | Teaspoon | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

The Tardis glided through the waters of the Constellation, with the sun on her deck and the wind at her back. Jack stood on the quarterdeck with his hand on the wheel and squinted through a mild headache.

The crew had spent the night unloading their loot on Powell Isle, Mickey’s home and one of the poorer islands in the region. And when they were done, they’d all enjoyed several glasses of excellent rum at the tavern where Lady Tyler and Lady Rose had been working when Lord Tyler found them again.

The results of the night were threefold: he was feeling a little worse for the wear today, the unburdened Tardis was flying over the water, and he had a greater understanding and respect for the woman James had chosen to marry.

“Captain!”

Jack’s head swung up so he could see the lookout. “Tell me you’ve got good news for me, Nancy!” he called back to the young woman in the crow’s nest.

Even with the distance in between them, he could tell she was shaking her head—her dark braid swung heavily from side to side before dropping over her right shoulder. “I just spotted the Master, sir.” Jack swore, but she shook her head again. “He’s not changing course to intercept. He’s going north by northwest.”

Jack quickly visualised a map of the Constellation, and he swore again. “He’s going to Arcadia.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep an eye out,” Jack ordered. “Let me know if you spot him again.”

He turned the wheel, pointing the ship towards Arcadia. He could think of only one reason the Master would be sailing for the Governor’s island. He just hoped they could get there in time to save Rose.

oOoOo

Rose hummed a soft tune as she walked home from the Wolf and the Storm. Her afternoon with Wilf and Dona had been merrier than usual, as they celebrated the first real victory over the Daleks in years. The fact that it had been won by pirates, not the Navy, didn’t make it any less important in the ongoing war.

Rose’s secret hopes had already turned to thoughts of James coming home with a letter of marque and a wedding with her dashing pirate captain. After a six-month separation, she had no desire to put the ceremony off any longer than they had to.

As she walked past an alley, a hand shot out and grabbed her. Another hand clamped down over her mouth, stifling her scream. Her attacker wrapped an arm around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides and forcing her to stand uncomfortably close to him.

“Shhh, let me explain,” he whispered in her ear when she struggled and kicked at him, trying to get free.  

Rose twisted her neck so she could look at him, letting him see exactly what she thought of his orders. To her annoyance, the man whistled, then a slow smile spread across his face.

“I can see why the Doc fell in love with you,” he murmured. “Definitely nothing like the other ladies he’s met.”

Rose’s struggles slowed as the man’s words sank in. She could only think of two pirates who might know she was courting the Doctor, and this man didn’t seem to possess the cruelty that characterised the Master. She raised her eyebrows at him, hoping it would convey her question.

The man frowned, but only for a second. “Oh! I’m Captain Jack Harkness. Jamie told you about me, remember? The one he wasn’t sure he wanted to introduce you to?”

Relief swept over Rose, and she nodded furiously. Jack grinned at her, and in his smile, she could see what James meant about the other man being a flirt. She rolled her eyes at him, and he released her with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Lady Rose. I have no designs on my best friend’s love.”

“Good,” Rose retorted, though not without a smile. “Now, where exactly is James? What kind of plan did you come up with? And why are you here?”

Jack reached for her hand and pulled her through the alleyway. “The plan has been shot to hell,” he said bluntly. “And we need to get away from Arcadia before it’s too late.”

For the first time, Rose spotted the lines around his mouth and realised how low he was keeping his voice. This part of Arcadia was not unfriendly to pirates, so why was he being so secretive?

Jack stopped at the other end of the alley and looked around the corner, his gaze sweeping in both directions before he quickly pulled Rose across the street.

“What exactly is going on, Jack?” Rose demanded when they reached the other side.

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. “All right, taking your questions one at a time,” he said as they strode through the abandoned alley. “The Doctor is on Cadon, but I think you knew that already. As to our plan and why all the secrecy… The Master threatened you a few months ago. Well, the Doc has never been willing to take him down, but a threat to your life was enough to push him over the edge.”

Jack looked up at her, and the serious expression in his blue eyes hit Rose hard. “The Doctor loves you, Lady Rose. He would do anything to keep you safe.”

Rose swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. “And I love him. So you can imagine how it felt when I thought he might have been taken by the Daleks. Even though I realised almost immediately that it was some sort of ruse… that first hour hurt. And not knowing where he is or what he’s doing still hurts.”

She looked away from him to regain control of her emotions, and as she did, she took in her surroundings. Jack was slowly leading her towards the abandoned harbour on the opposite end of town from the newer port.

When she looked at Jack again, his blue eyes were soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry for that, especially since the plan was my idea. But if it works, you’ll have him back permanently. The end goal is to capture the Master and turn him in in exchange for a letter of marque. That’s why he liberated Cadon first—to lure the Master over the blockade and into a trap.”

“Yes, I’d worked out most of that. And I think my father is ready to give him that letter, even just with the liberation of Cadon. Capturing the Master will be the icing on the cake.”

They stopped on the edge of the road that ran along the old harbour, and Jack shook his head. “No, capturing the Master is the most important part,” he countered. He scanned their surroundings before looking back at her. “Because it’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Rose tilted her head and thought for a second, then sucked in a breath. “The Master was on his way to Arcadia to abduct me, wasn’t he?” she whispered.

Jack nodded once, then jerked his head toward the pier where Rose could see a small dinghy waiting. They ran across the street and down the aged dock, then jumped into the boat.

Rose got another surprise when she saw the sailor with his hand on the rudder. “Mickey!”

Her childhood friend grinned and waved at her. “Fancy meeting you here,” he quipped.

“You two know each other?” Jack asked, then answered his own question. “Right, you’re both from Powell Isle.”

He pointed at Mickey. “Get us moving.We need to get back to the Tardis now.”

Mickey unfurled the sail and Jack looked back at Rose. “Jamie said you were clever, but I didn’t expect you to figure it all out on your own,” he told her, finally answering her earlier question. “Yes, the watch spotted the Master heading this way about three hours ago. Once I realised his heading, I knew there was only one reason he would sail for Arcadia, and we took a shortcut to get here first.”

Rose moved automatically to help Mickey get the boat moving. She was a lady now, but she’d been an island girl for most of her life, and she knew her way around the water.

“You took a shortcut?” she asked Jack.

Jack nodded. “We went through the Curse of Pythia. The Master is insane, but he’s also big on self-preservation, so I knew he’d go around.”

Rose’s eyes widened. The narrow strait between Raxacoricofallapatorius and Clom was definitely the fastest way to get from the Outer Constellation into the main island group, but it was notoriously dangerous.

“That was brave.” Knowing they’d put themselves at so much risk for her sake settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

The sail caught the wind and moved them away from the dock, and Mickey snorted as he moved back to the rudder. “Took less courage to brave the Curse than it would to tell the Doctor we’d let the Master capture you,” he said bluntly.

Rose’s eyes narrowed, and Jack could easily follow her train of thought. “What Mickey means,” he said hurriedly, “is that the Tardis is loyal to her captain, and when we realised how much you meant to him, that loyalty was passed on to you.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked back and forth between Jack and Mickey, and Jack chafed under the inconvenience of being in the presence of someone so clever.

Thankfully, an excellent distraction presented itself just in time. The dinghy rounded a curve in the coastline and came in sight of the Tardis.

“Ten more minutes and we’ll be safely on the Tardis,” he told Rose. She nodded absently, then shuffled to the bow of the small boat so she could watch their progress.

oOoOo

Rose worked hard to stay out of the way while Mickey and Jack brought the dinghy up to the sleek pirate ship and had them hauled aboard. As soon as Jack’s feet touched the deck, he shouted the order to weigh anchor and get the ship underway.

Then he led her to the captain’s cabin on the quarterdeck. “I’ll come talk to you and give you a tour of the ship as soon as we’re underway,” he promised before backing out of the cabin and closing the door behind him.

Normally Rose would hate being hidden away like a helpless lady, but she didn’t mind being left alone in James’ personal space. She studied the room, taking in the books on the shelves, the heavy desk bolted to the deck, and the slight disorganisation that belied the apparent neatness.

She ran her fingers along the wall, feeling the texture of the wood and letting her imagination wander. The room felt so much like James; it was easy to picture him sitting at the desk or scanning the books on the shelves until he found the right one.

A shout caught her attention, and Rose cocked her head, straining to hear the words that accompanied the sudden buzz of activity on the other side of the door.

“The Master…”

“Keep us out of range!”

Rose sat down heavily on the end of James’ narrow bed. Jack had just barely managed to save her from being taken by the Master. Her stomach clenched in knots at the thought, and her hands twisted together.

“Bring us around…”

She braced herself from a sharp turn and managed to stay upright. However, a wooden box slid off the desk as the ship tilted into the curve, and the lid popped off, scattering its contents over the floor.

As soon as they were going straight again, Rose stooped down to pick up the papers that were strewn all over the floor. She stopped when she recognised her own writing.

My letters.

The paper in her hand shook as all the emotions of the last few months caught up with Rose at once. Seeing the letters she’d written to him, knowing he’d been the last one to hold them… Her loneliness and fear and desperate desire to be with James again swept over her. She sank down onto the floor and gathered all the letters to her.

That was how Jack found her twenty minutes later, huddled on the floor of James’ cabin, clutching the letters she’d written him to her chest. “Oh, Rosie,” he whispered, his heart aching as he took in the situation and understood what must have happened. “Come on, let’s get up off that hard floor.” He pulled Rose to her feet, then led her to the window seat at the back of the room, where warm sunlight streamed in through the large window.

“Am I ever going to see him again, Jack?” she whispered.

Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders, feeling a surge of brotherly protection towards this woman even though they’d just met. James was his brother, though, and Rose was the woman he loved.

“Well, as it happens,” he said, his voice cheerful, “we’re on our way to meet him right now.”

Rose’s head swung around, and her brown eyes were open wide. “We’re going through the blockade?” A moment later, she shook her head. “Of course. That was the plan the whole time, wasn’t it? That’s why he liberated Cadon first—so the Master would be curious enough about what was happening that he would go into Dalek territory. And you were meant to follow him, trapping him between James’ ship and the Tardis.”

Jack nodded. “We’ve reversed order a bit,” he admitted. “The Master is chasing us instead of the other way around. But between the fact that we have you on board, and his preexisting interest in James, I’m confident he’ll follow us through the blockade.”

oOoOo

James smiled and waved at another refugee as he walked through Cadon’s port. The first refugees had arrived within twenty-four hours of their victory, Sarah Jane’s communication network spreading the word quickly.

The cry of seagulls caught his ear, and his gaze drifted out to sea. It was a clear day with a straight wind—the perfect day to be on the water.

He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. But I am stuck here until Jack sends word that they are on their way.

That was perhaps his second least favourite part of Jack’s plan. (The first, of course, being letting Rose think he was captured and cutting off all contact with her.) He had been stuck on land before, but on Arcadia he had the life of Lord McCrimmon to keep him busy.

And lately, I’ve been with Rose.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

James glanced over at Jake, who had come alongside him without him realising. “That was the plan,” he reminded him. “I have to be here when Jack sends word, or we might miss our chance to trap the Master.”

“Yeah, I know what the plan is,” Jake said, his island accent thick with exasperation. “But there’s no reason you can’t patrol the area around Cadon until Jack signals.”

“You’ve been on patrol in the White Point Star,” James protested.

“And now you’ll be on patrol in the Arkytior.”

James opened his mouth, then blinked in surprise when Jake slapped his hand over it.

“Not to mention you’re a bloody nightmare, staring out at the ocean like a bleedin’ sorrowful lover,” he added.

He pulled his hand away and rocked back on his heels, a cheeky grin on his face. “Your crew have been getting the Arkytior ready for the last two days. She’ll be ready to sail in the morning.”

James narrowed his eyes and considered the surreptitious smiles he’d seen on his crew’s faces over the last few days. He’d assumed they were planning for their new lives, post-war, but it seemed their plans were much more of a more imminent nature.

Jake winked, then spun on his heel and swaggered down the street like a proper pirate.

The seagulls cried again, and this time excitement pulsed through James’ veins as followed their call. Tomorrow he would be back at sea.

oOoOo

The sky was still faintly tinted pink when James placed his hands on the Arkytior’s wheel the next morning. He could hear the sound of the mainsail unfurling above him, and he could feel the rhythm of the waves below him.

They were almost to the edge of the harbour when he heard a cry from the watch. “A pigeon! There’s a pigeon coming our way.”

James’ heart was in his throat as he waited for the watch to swing down from the crow’s nest with the message in hand. “For you, Captain,” the young man said, handing over the wooden canister.

James opened it and pulled out the tightly rolled up piece of paper. A grin crept over his face when he recognised the handwriting.

Ready whenever you are, Doc.

-Jack

James tucked the note in his pocket, then raised a shout to his crew. “We make for the blockade! Open all the sails and let her fly.”

Anticipation thrummed through James as he took the wheel again, this time with a course in mind. It was finally time to meet the Master and earn his future with Rose.

[onceuponamirror]

little bells

///// CHAPTER 2

summary: She just wanted to close the book, but all chapters are meant to be read.

Or, how she accidentally willed a boyfriend into existence.

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 9k chapters: 2/4

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

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The way Betty sees it, she has three options.

Option A is to just to flat out come clean. This is, objectively, probably the wisest move. Betty is not a great liar, whereas Cheryl is an excellent reader between lines, and Veronica could be hurt by the deception. And realistically, she probably won’t get very far into this plan as it is.

All Betty has to do is just sit Veronica down, explain that she’d been overwhelmed in the moment, and hope that Veronica’s well-placed but overbearing sense of duty over Betty’s happiness will subside.

As if.

It’s fairly unlikely that this will at all play out in a way that appeases everyone; Betty knows Veronica far too well to be that naïve.

Cheryl will happily summon a rainstorm of I told you so’s and Veronica will just circle back to her original argument: that Betty shouldn’t be going alone, or better yet, not at all.

And then she’s just back at square one, which is the moral equivalent of clapping her hands over her ears and singing her la-la-la’s while Veronica paces in front of her, demanding they eschew tradition. And Cheryl would probably be in the back, flatly suggesting Betty cut through the red tape and just hire an escort to be done with it.

But Option B is the gamble.

Option B is that Betty should just ask Jughead out, make dating him legitimate, and then, at some point next month, casually drop that she really needs a date to this wedding they’d been vaguely talking about before and try to convince him to accompany her.

And in some regards, this feels like the obvious solution. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst, either.

She’s definitely attracted to him, and rarer still, she even thinks he’s funny. But it would also feel like she was using him, somehow, and she cannot do that, even if she was being generous and saying there’s at least a chance it’s mutual.

Even though the only thing she has to go on is that Nancy said he wasn’t a talker, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind talking to her. Still, that feels like a flimsy basis for romance.

Not to mention that extremely awkward hug outside the building last week, the way he’d barely moved but to pat her on the back, like she was some kind of old, sick dog that he felt sorry for.

Frankly, he’d looked more like he’d been kicked in the stomach than actually enjoyed it, so considering that, she’s definitely not sure of anything. She knows, at least thanks to Nancy’s seating chart, he’s probably still single, but that doesn’t mean that he’s interested in girls, let alone her.

Plus, even if he did agree to one date with her, that’s absolutely no guarantee he’d agree to more, let alone such a big one like a wedding.

So if she asks him out, and he turns her down or they break up, that pretty much kills her plan right there in the cradle. She wonders if maybe that would be for the best, if she should just end this here and now, because really, how well can this end? How can she even actually properly execute it?

Betty can be called a lot of things, but scheming is not one of them.

But she knows her best friend well enough to realize Veronica will never let this go otherwise, so Betty considers Option C, which oddly, and completely illogically, feels like the safest bet.

Option C is just to talk to Jughead, explain what she’s done, and beg him to help her out anyway. At least with that option, there’s the tiniest chance that he’ll take pity on her.

After all, they have already talked about how miserable weddings are, which is why she thinks he might have a bit of sympathy for her situation. She definitely doesn’t know him well enough to ask of it as a favor, however; she’ll have to come up with something to offer him in thanks or payment. She can clean his apartment. Cook him dinner for a month straight? Or edit a manuscript he’s not ready to show Nancy? No, that feels redundant. Why would he want that, when he already has an editor?

She doesn’t even know him well enough to know what he’d want in return, and that feels like a bit of a sign, one that weighs heavy in her stomach as she crosses down the corridor, towards Nancy’s office.

With a big, steadying breath, Betty raps lightly against Nancy’s doorframe. She looks up from her desk, a grin already in place. “Hey sugar,” she greets fondly, folding her arms over her desk. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Betty starts, trying to steel herself. But she’s going to have to sacrifice her dignity several times over for this plan to work, and this, unfortunately, is where it must start. She takes another breath. “Well, I’ll just say it: Jughead…is he straight? Or, at least interested in women?”

Nancy blinks, and then her lips purse into a smile. “Of course, I’ve never asked him, but he once brought a girl to a fundraiser we threw. And based on his choice of heroines, it’s arguable that he’s even got a thing for blondes,” she adds, giving Betty an obvious once over.

Her cheeks warm, and her mouth opens and closes once, simultaneously searching for her next words while warring her instinct to bat away compliments. Luckily, Nancy comes to her rescue. “Let me guess. You want his number?”

Betty laces and re-laces her fingers. “Maybe his email?” She asks, and Nancy smirks, clicking the head of her ballpoint pen very decisively. She swivels back to her computer, types furiously for a few moments, and then copies something down onto a post-it note.

She rips it off cleanly, offering it out with the sticky side stuck to one very pointed finger. Betty scrambles forward to take it, her face still flushed red.

“You two make an odd amount of sense, actually,” Nancy adds, settling back onto her elbows. “Just don’t make things messy for me, if you can. I’d like not to be editing the story about the green-eyed girl who broke his heart next year.”

“The Van Morrison song that never was,” Betty chirps, forcing a smile, even as she privately thinks that of all the people involved in this plan, Jughead has the best likelihood of walking out of this unscathed—but, of course, tells Nancy none of that.

Once back at her own office, Betty closes the door and presses herself against the soft wood grain for a long moment, attempting to bottle her anxiety. She doesn’t know why this makes her feel so uniquely adolescent again; it’s not even a real flirtation, after all.

Obviously, she’s made overtures to men before. In fact, the entire reason she’s in this predicament at all is because of the time she got it in her head that she should try to initiate a relationship with a person who saw her as just a friend.

And here she goes again, with practically the same idea. But this time, Jughead probably doesn’t even see her as a friend. Doesn’t see her as an anything. What is wrong with her?

Perhaps she should start writing cookbooks.

She could call it, A Tablespoon of Salt: Select Recipes For the Hungry and Foolhardy.

Dear readers, simply add a teaspoon of irony, a drop of self-loathing, a cup of wastrel poetry, all the pleases in your kitchen cupboard, and voila! The perfect formula for repeating your past mistakes.

Betty closes her eyes and blows out a breath, gathering herself, and then marches forward to her desk and pulls up her email browser. Jughead’s address is simple, even if she doesn’t totally understand it—jfpj3 at a gmail account. Odd, but her first email address was an ode to a backstreet boy, so she’s in no place to judge.

Hey, Jughead!

It’s Cooper, Betty Cooper. Nancy gave me your email. Had something I wanted to talk to you about. Was just wondering if you’d like to maybe get a drink sometime?

No, no, that sounds terrible. What, is this her first time ever flirting? Is this even flirting? Technically, it’s not supposed to be. Anyway, in addition to trying too hard to be casual, asking to get drinks has too strong a connotation.

She aggressively hits the backspace button until the subject body is empty again, cradling her forehead with her free hand. 

Hey, Jughead!

It’s Betty, from Random House and/or the wedding, and/or the time you ran into me under the overhang of the office.

Nancy gave me your email address because there was something I wanted to run by you. Would you be able to meet for coffee sometime?

Best, Betty

She deletes a stupid smiley face from the end of the last sentence and rereads it, her teeth nibbling onto her bottom lip. This could almost pass as a professional inquiry, just vague enough to make him consider it. Betty nods to herself. This could work.

Hitting send before she can think twice, thrice, and then rewrite it four more times, Betty pushes back from her desk, willing herself not to sit there refreshing the page until her fingers bruise.

She decides to go make some tea in the break room, and hides away there, distractedly over-steeping her tea bag, until Nancy and another fiction editor appear in the doorway, in the middle of a conversation.

Nancy flashes her a large, knowing grin when she spots her, and Betty almost knocks over her drink in her haste to flee the room, because she’s apparently still feeling painfully immature about all of this.

But Nancy doesn’t know Betty’s intentions, doesn’t know it’s not real, and that seems to makes it all the worse, because Nancy thought they made sense and it just makes her feel like an asshole.

With nowhere else to go but back to her office, she drags her feet back there, once again closing a door she normally leaves open. She settles into her chair, places the tea mug down with care, and exhales slowly before checking her email.

There’s a response.

Hey Betty,

Yeah, I can do that. Want me to come up to the office tomorrow? There’s a couple of coffee haunts around your building, if memory serves.

-Jughead

It couldn’t have been that easy.

No questioning of her motives, no suspicious doublespeak? Just ‘yeah, I can do that’? And offering to come to her, even?

Blinking, she types back, No need to battle midtown on my behalf! You live in Brooklyn, right? I’m in Greenpoint. We could meet for coffee this weekend? I know a nice little café on Manhattan Ave. Or I could come to you. Just let me know!

A few minutes later, I’m actually in Greenpoint too, or just outside of it, anyway. This weekend is kind of busy for me, in that I’m supposed to be locked away in my room, listening to the new Mac DeMarco album and trying to dissect alt-alt-alt pet sounds. So if it’s all the same to you, I could meet tonight. Lmk.

Betty stares at the email. He wants to meet tonight? She then looks down at herself, at her outfit of a simple blue button up and jeans, of the slight stain blooming on her sleeve from sloshing her tea around, and has a moment of panic.

Fake date or not, she still wants to look a little cuter than this, or at least nominally better than the time he’d seen her outside the building, practically drenched in summer sweat.

But she could always leave a little early to go home and change, and decides that maybe it’s the right move, getting this over with. Waiting till the weekend would’ve just turned her into a wreck.

So she thinks of the nicest bar with the nicest lighting within proximity to her apartment, and writes back, Alright! Broken Land, on Franklin? How’s 7? Thanks!

Yep. See you then.

Once again wondering how in the hell that felt so easy and again cross-checking if Option B could actually work, she returns to the actual work she has to get done today at rush speed; she’s pretty sure her boss wouldn’t mind her taking off early, considering she’s only ever done that so rarely and usually for a long-established appointment, but once a goody-goody, always a goody-goody, as Cheryl might say.

She was too much of a nerd to ever cut class without good reason, and this is all more of the same; if she’s going to leave early, she better be done early too. And at quarter to five, she finishes up her last draft revision and prints it out to reread tonight at home, clicks off her computer, and then darts towards the elevators.

If she hurries her pace walking past Nancy’s office, she definitely won’t admit it.

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Once home, Betty throws her bag down in the hallway and rushes to her bedroom.

Before living here, she would’ve never been such an impolite roommate as to drop all of her things by the door and kick her shoes off to land where they may, but the real benefit of her best friend’s dating life is that Betty has inherited Cheryl’s old place and her rent-control, and can finally, for the first time in her life, afford to live by herself.

It’s a little lonely at times, Betty having gotten used to all those years of hearing bumps in the night and the clattering of pans inopportunely and the grinding of coffee early in the morning, but in moments like these, where she’s scrambling for time and running around the apartment in just her underwear, she very much appreciates the solitude.

The train had been delayed between junctions for twenty minutes, which had effectively thrown off Betty’s attempt at being ahead of schedule, and now it’s past 6:30, and really, she should already be leaving to meet him.

She shakes down her ponytail, but finds her hair far too fluffed out a mess to allow to stay that way, so she gathers it back up, leaving a few framing tendrils around her face, deciding it’ll have to do. Despite a constant ebbing sense of comfort in the way she dresses, five minutes before she has to leave is probably not the time to start analyzing her appearance.

Betty digs through her drawers for something that catches her eye, and with half a grimace and half a spark of excitement, grabs for the little brown corduroy miniskirt she only breaks out for dates or at Veronica’s insistence, or usually both. But sometimes showing a little leg makes her feel more powerful, so it can’t hurt this time.

Pulling on a cap-sleeved pink top but deigning to leave the top couple buttons undone, she slips into a pair of low heels and snatches her purse back up from the floor, checking her reflection in the foyer mirror one last time.

Definitely a little more skin than normal, but not more than he’s already seen, thanks to her strapless little dress from the wedding. She applies a shade of blush lipstick and nods to herself in silent encouragement, and then heads out into the night.

She’s only been to this bar a couple of times; Cheryl claims to miss it once every couple of months and insists the three of them meet there so she can properly reminisce her old stomping grounds, as if they all don’t know she’s much happier in the Upper East Side with Veronica. But Betty never minds, as it’s always the easiest trek for her, a simple fifteen-minute walk from her appointment.

The bar is just as she remembers it; ambient, dimly lit but for the string of oversized twinkle-lights lining the ceiling, though this time sparsely occupied, given it’s a Tuesday.

She does a quick scan for Jughead, but appears to have beaten him, so she presses herself against the bar and orders a hard cider. She’s just finished placing her drink request when she feels a presence next to her; Jughead has arrived, dressed in what she’s learning is a typical window display of black clothing and drumming his knuckles along the counter top.

As they’re both standing between barstools, he’s close enough to reach out and hug, but she won’t be repeating that mistake again. He shifts from one foot to another, as if perhaps expecting her to.

“Hey,” he says finally, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before turning to face her fully. He openly looks her up and down, mouth fidgeting with something else, but the bartender is returning with her drink and looking expectantly at Jughead, so he orders a beer and they wait in awkward silence while the bartender fills a glass from the well in front of them.

He reaches for his wallet, but Betty is already sliding her card across the counter. “It’s on me,” she says, smiling at him. “It’s the least I could do, for you agreeing to meet with me.”

Jughead’s brow very briefly creases, but he nods.

“Want your tab open or closed?” The bartender asks, plucking the card up from the bar.

Betty’s eyes dart to Jughead; if she says to leave it open, it implies she wants to stay here for a while. If she says to close it out, it could say the opposite. But this isn’t quite a social call, and she’s half-sure he’s going to want to run for the hills in about ten minutes, so Betty tells the bartender to close it out. If Jughead has a reaction to that, he doesn’t show it.

“I’ll get us a table,” he says instead, disappearing into the back of the bar with his beer in tow.

After she’s signed and tipped for the drinks, Betty finds Jughead in a lowly lit corner booth. He passes her a thin smile when he sees her, and the room is almost too dark to really tell, but she can almost swear his eyes are lingering on her legs as she approaches.

“So,” she says sharply, setting in across from him.

His eyebrows rise. “So,” he echoes, with an edge of amusement. “You said you wanted to run something by me?”

“Right,” Betty sighs, staking out a stalling sip of cider. Now’s the time to make her decision—Option B or Option C. Please date me, or please, please fake date me.

Golden light glitters in his eye as it falls on her, his expression curious but withheld all the same, and even if she thinks this kind of low, warm atmosphere certainly isn’t making him look less handsome, she can’t quite bring any words to her tongue.

And in a split second, she knows it’s going to be the safe option.

“Um, so I kind of did something stupid,” she says, all in a jumble.

Whatever he’d been waiting for, it certainly wasn’t that. His composure slips, eyes softening as his mouth curls upwards and, if she didn’t know any better, maybe charmed. “How’s that?” He asks, tilting his head at her.

“I did something really stupid,” Betty repeats, taking a big breath, though it does little to calm the ringing in her chest. “I have this friend, right? Veronica. She’s my oldest friend, my best friend, actually, and I love her, but she’s really…she picks a stance and won’t budge on it. No man is an island, but she is a rock. And it’s just hard to argue with her, you know?”

Based on his expression, Jughead clearly does not know, but he at least waits for her to continue.

“The only way to get her off your back is to either bow to what she wants, or to find a solution so perfect that she can’t argue with it,” Betty goes on, wringing her hands in her lap. “So, you might remember from Nancy’s wedding that we talked about this other wedding I have to go to in a couple of months. Um, of this guy I used to…have feelings for, and Veronica was really worried about me going to it alone, let alone pestering me about why I was going at all.”

Jughead nods, still obviously confused, and Betty realizes she’s doing a horrible job of explaining. However, on the bright side, she’s definitely doing a great job at rambling.

“I know it sounds dumb, but I want to go to his wedding because I really need closure from the whole thing. I just…he’s been hanging over my head for most of my life and I’m really trying to find a way to move past it. I think seeing him get married will be the final step,” she says, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to face his reaction. Not that it helps; she can still feel him watching her.

“That doesn’t sound dumb,” Jughead says softly, and Betty’s eyelids flutter up, unable to stave off the hope blooming in her chest.

“Veronica was just…nagging me like crazy about it, and I’d had a long day at work, and I don’t really like talking about Archie in general, and she just kept pushing and pushing for me to find a date or she was going to come herself—which she can’t, she’s his ex—and I just really wanted her to stop, so I…I sort of said…you and I were already dating.”

Unfortunately for Jughead, he had just been sipping his beer, and he immediately chokes on it, sputtering through his attempt at swallowing. Eventually, he manages it, wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “What?”

“I know it was so out of line,” Betty says quickly, her eyes round with worry. “We barely even know each other. I mean, we’ve only met twice before tonight. But you were the first person to pop into my head that my friends didn’t already know, and…I just really wanted her to stop pushing me about it.”

He stares at her, jaw ticking, but his face otherwise completely unreadable. “So you’re telling me because…what, you want to clear your conscious? Look, I’m flattered that you’d pick me of all people, but Jesus, Betty, I think you’ll still get into heaven with one little lie on your chart.”

“No, I’m telling you because…that’s part one,” she says, all in one breath. Jughead’s tongue digs into his cheek thoughtfully, as if realizing where this is going. “I’ve thought this through a lot, probably more than I should’ve, and decided if I back out of the lie, Veronica’s just going to start all over again, or worse, try to find me a date herself.”

“I get it. You want me to come with you to the wedding,” Jughead correctly summarizes, settling back in his seat and surveying her. She can’t place the drive behind his eyes, but something moves there, blinking out like little headlights upon a dark road.

She nods. “Well…knowing my friends, you might have to show your face to them at least once, twice tops. Just to sell it and keep them off my back.”

“So, wedding date, and ersatz boyfriend,” he says with a wry grin. Betty takes it as a good sign; he’s at least not storming out. He doesn’t even look annoyed upon second glance, but rather, in the right light, perhaps pleased.

“Okay, yes. But you’d really be saving my skin,” Betty sighs, looking at him. “Just name your price. Obviously, nothing…funny,” she says lamely, and he blanches, for the first time looking offended. She presses her lips together, relieved. She hadn’t really been worried about that, but, like she herself said, she doesn’t really know him. “But I can cook, or um, I’m actually pretty good at fixing things, or—”

“I want to write about it,” Jughead interrupts, looking almost like he regrets the words immediately. He pauses, swallowing whatever thought is there. “No real names, no identifying features or places. But the story of someone consciously trying to move on from an old love is a new angle for me, and the symbolism around all the wedding stuff would be a good dog-ear for that. So…I’ll fake date you, as long as you promise not to sue me for defamation.”

Betty raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on defaming me?”

“No, no,” Jughead says quickly, leaning forward across the table. “But I’ve been trying to break out from under the reviewing side of things, trying to write articles that actually mean something more. Honestly, this feels like the pitch I’ve been waiting for. So I’ll do it, just let me interview you once, and let me stay…observational. And I’d run everything by you before I submitted it anywhere, so you could pull anything you weren’t comfortable with.”

Of all the things she had been expecting him to say or do, this was definitely not it. She feels almost…disappointed, or maybe a little bit hurt, even as she immediately tries to chide the thought, foolish as it is.

After all, it’s not like she’d been hoping he would just gather her up in his arms, swearing fealty and that he’d do it for nothing but for a chance at her heart, like something cut out of an erstwhile Byronic monologue.

“Okay,” Betty breathes, nodding. “That…sounds fair. Deal,” she adds, offering him her hand to shake on it.

He almost looks surprised that she’s agreed so easily, but then again, she feels the same way. He reaches across the table and takes her hand. It feels warm and alive in her grip, like the fluttering of a moth desperately searching for a flame to call home.

“Okay, then. It’s a deal,” he agrees, and with a growing smile.

They shake, and while Betty distinctly muses that this is the best possible outcome she could’ve hoped for, she can’t quite dismiss that now-familiar tolling in her chest, the little song that urges her to turn back, turn back now.

And yet, unable to help herself, that little moth finds its light, pressed and warmed, and she returns his smile.

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