#and I promise the things they go through are not manufactured drama

[emilykaldwen]

I accidentally skipped a few chapters and read something about Cassandra - is something going to happen between her and Aegon, emotionally or physically? I don't want Abby's heart to be broken, but if that is the case, I have to be ready for the heartbreak 😩

Anon I feel you so hard I too felt this way working on a few chapters! Abby and Aegon have to go through some things to grow as people. Sometimes there’s hurt and sore hearts, but I always promise: these two are in it, and they will make it through their trials.

Besides, there’s nothing more satisfying than a little friction to make the good times sweeter!

[hypervoxel]

Referencing one of the fics I talked about here, the "this was supposed to be about Redemption. it isn't." Vox-centric rape aftermath one, which will now be going behind a readmore with that description as your warning

I need to talk about this forever but I am not close to publishing anything yet. But I do have a lot of it plotted out (with no ending in sight though, unfortunately).

Vox, at his core, wants to be liked. Where other Overlords lean into the fear their power inspires, Vox softens himself and puts on a friendly smile. He needs public approval. He yearns for their affection, their eyes, their obsession. He made an AI assistant modeled and named after himself on all of their phones/watches/devices.

But Vox still is an Overlord, and you don't get power in Hell without making people hate you.

The Vees have a hold not just on media, but on drugs, real estate, construction, data centers, manufacturing, the entire electrical grid and fiber optic lines, the list goes on and on. Vox's empire touches every corner of their city; no one is free from his influence unless they shun modernity entirely.

It's the drugs that cause an issue this time.

Valentino has been beefing with The Alchemist since that mutt first made a name for himself. His aesthetic was ancient to match the name, but the Alchemist is a new sinner, some lowlife who thought that because he knew how to make lean in life, he could make a name for himself here and branch out into all sorts of new, hellish drugs. Thing is, addicts are the easiest soul contract you'll ever make. Promise to supply their addiction, and as long as you can, you'll collect souls as quickly as you can make Deals. The Alchemist getting to new Sinners before the Vees get a chance to becomes a problem.

Valentino has plenty of enforcers to take care of uppity wannabe Overlords encroaching on their turf though. The problem should be short-lived.

It isn't.

Vox hasn't been paying much attention to it. These things come and go, as gangsters die and Valentino forces them into submission. Val may focus more on his Porn Studio now, but he got his Overlord status through taking out the old families and cartels, the mobs and mafias running Pentagram City, taking over their drug trafficking and brothels. So Vox didn't worry about it. Val might need direction when dealing with his public persona, didn't know when to tone himself down for polite company, but when the situation called for Val's brand of violence? Vox let him handle it.

He realized, after the drinks at his investor meeting led to him collapsing dizzily to the floor, reaching out blindly for the now non-existent electrical grid and realizing that the building's power had been cut off, that he should have paid more attention to who might have it out for The Vees right now, and which investors weren't in Valentino's pocket.

... He escapes eventually. They may have been smart enough to keep him away from electrical wires, but one finally made the mistake of not putting his phone on airplane mode while recording their captive Overlord, and Vox used it as a jump point.

The damage had already been done.

Val is still ranting about his typical inane drama, and Vox wants nothing more than to look at his phone. He can't do that. Not until his algorithm cleans up any mention of. Himself. In compromising situations. It's being posted faster than the bots can take it down, but at least Vox has turned off any direct messages, blocked the usual pings alerting him every time he's mentioned, and filtered emails to only show what is absolutely and immediately necessary for the continued running of VoxTek. Even that decision has also been posted about online, people making fun of him for not being able to handle the backlash. He used to have a language model AI answering comments and DMs, a personal touch for his fans. It had responded to far too many messages about how good he looked in his latest broadcast with the standard thanks and appreciation for their support, before he disabled it. Vox was sure screenshots of those responses were also still going around.

The Vee's retribution on the other Overlord is to torture him and his inner circle on live video. The Alchemist posted several recordings of Vox's rape online to further humiliate him, so the Vees will pay back like with like, making use of Val's stash of angelic bullets to slowly kill off everyone who touched Vox. Until the Alchemist begs for mercy, tells them he'll give them anything, everything, offering up everything to them, his soul, his territory, all of his Contracts...

Velvette takes the deal. "I'll give you anything," was the phrase they agreed on, "my Contracts, yours. Money, apothecaries, everything, please." They shook on those terms, the Alchemist too out of it at this point to realize that he didn't ask for anything in return for all that he just handed over. Vox shoots him.

His death, his defeat, it doesn't fix anything.

It was supposed to. It was supposed to make everyone stop talking about Vox like he's the new most popular porn star - or at least focus on him when he's in control of the situation. Wasn't that hotter? Filmed professionally by Valentino's best director instead of on a handheld shaking cell phone and. It was supposed to show everyone that you can't mess with The Vees. Wins against them are only temporary. They'll come out on top in the end. But everyone was still talking about old news.

Anyway. Many more thoughts but this is long enough lmao. A huge focus of this multi series wip is how other characters react to it, not just Vox. Like: Valentino has so many issues of his own and he is projecting them onto Vox. Valentino escaped victimhood long ago, and he is no longer the kind of person who can be targeted by abusers or bigots. Vox was his equal. Vox was his.

"Hey! Vox!" There's hands on him and he reels back, but there's nowhere to go. His shoulders are wrenched out of place, arms bound by his own bowtie, nowhere to run. This isn't happening. There's something in his mouth— no there's not?— Bite me and I'll knock out your teeth,* a gruff voice is saying. Vox, they mock, Vox, they ask if he likes hearing his name chanted during. No, Vox! He puts his name on everything, should they brand him with his own logo? Would he like that? He screams when they grab his antenna and wrench his head to the side. "Vox! "You're not listening to me!" Val's expression clears as Vox blinks to awareness. His glare melts into a on of concern. "Are you seriously still thinking about that gangbanger?" Val scoffs. Frowns. Thinks of something with a smile growing across his face. One hand is on Vox's chest, another two on his hips, he guides Vox back, gently. Vox stumbles when he hits the arm of the couch, falling, flailing, landing on his back with an oomf Val crawls over top of him. "Stop thinking about them, Voxxy. You know I can show you a much better time." Vox flinches when Val's hand trails lower onto his thigh, trying to wiggle away for the first time, and Val's brows furrow. "I didn't think you were hurt there," he mutters. "Skin graft," Vox squeaks, breathless. He hated feeling breathless. He didn't even need to breathe.

Velvette, well. She was the person Vox teleported to. He manifested out of her phone and knocked them both to the ground, passing out on top of her. She got the first look at him before any of his technicians were called in to fix things. He came to her. And she can't help but feel responsible for him.

In the video, they fucked him like he was a toy. No, not even that. They treated him with less regard than anyone fucked even a FizzBot. It wasn't a good video. These weren't porn directors. They weren't sex workers who had trained to make this art. It was brutal and it was vulgar and it didn't even look good. Bad angles and shaky camera, but shared tens of thousands of times and the number was still growing. The original had been removed. She made sure of that. But that hadn't stopped its spread, couldn't do anything when people downloaded the video as quickly as they could to reupload it, far too many reposts to track down, especially with Vox still. Offline. She couldn't exactly plug herself into his supercomputer. Velvette was the Social Media Queen. She was the Online Overlord. She was meant to be in charge of The Vees' images online, currating how they presented themselves to that hungry audience. This wasn't supposed to get out of her control. —— But she had posted about Vox in the afteraffects of Val's venom, doped to his gills on the thing she had recreated into Love Potion. She had tagged it for a free promo of her own products. Vox was funny when his tongue was loose and his affection and attention freely given. And Vox thought humanizing himself was important, some twisted idea leftover from life about being "robotic" that dictated his body in the afterlife and left him desperate to be understood as a living, albeit no longer breathing human being. He softened himself to be less of a monster to anyone looking, dressed himself like he wasn't a threat, smiled and laughed and and. It was her idea to capitalize on Val and Vox's relationship. Well, Val was the one who first callously posted about breaking Vox's screen, but it was her idea to turn it into a running joke. It was funny when Val punched Vox and threw things at him and broke his fucking face. It was funny, because unlike bruises and bloody noses, Vox's screen was easily replaceable glass. It broke so easily, anyone who managed to get a lucky hit on him while fighting could no longer feel satisfied by that when Vox's boyfriend did more damage than a rival Overlord could ever manage to. Glass was easy to break. Vox didn't like fighting back, but it was funny, was barely even violence. It meant nothing more than rolled eyes and a swiftly scheduled appointment with a technician to switch out screens. No one was supposed to look at the image she created and come to the conclusion that Vox was easy to subdue. It wasn't supposed to make Vox look weak. It was supposed to make him impossible to hurt, because any damage done was so easy to fix that it was no big deal at all. But. His face was so easy to break. He was so loose limbed and pliant on Love Potion. He might have claws, but he preferred not to use them, hiding behind cameras and screens all day. What the fuck were people supposed to take from that?

Other characters have thoughts too. Alastor isn't online, doesn't know the backstory, but Vox makes his picture shows impossible to miss with displays all over the city. Vox has become unrecognizable. Alastor is disgusted that they used to be acquaintances.

Cherri gleefully sends Angel every vindictive meme about Vox she sees. She wishes it had happened to Valentino instead, but Vox is also profiting off of her bestie's abuse, so he absolutely deserves everything that happened to him and more.

Angel laughed about it at first, but... It doesn't feel right to celebrate anyone's rape. And some of Cherri's comments... Angel has been used to sell this lifestyle to the new talent Valentino wants to make Deals with. He's responsible for ruining so many lives, hanging off Val's arm and telling people how great it is to work for him. And long before that, Angel was involved in the Mafia and, well, like Val himself, they didn't just make money on drugs, did they? Angel wonders if his best friend would be so supportive of him if she knew all this. He wonders of she'd think he deserves his fate too.

Carmilla, like Alastor, is not very online. She hears from her daughters that there's a reason The Vees are doing this, but the girls aren't sharing any details, and don't stay to watch the broadcast Vox has forced onto their TV. She watches The Vees make a Deal with a Sinner and immediately turn around and kill him with one of her weapons. Overlords are meant to protect the Souls that have been entrusted to them. Souls are valuable, the most valuable thing you have to offer anyone. What message is Vox spreading, making mockery of Deals this way, acting like Souls are worthless and can be thrown away. The Vees are just making Sinners less likely to sell themselves to anyone.

Carmilla had scheduled a meeting for fellow Overlords to talk about saving as many Sinners as possible in the upcoming Exterminations. The Vees were meant to attend, but obviously, they are uninterested in keeping the Sinners entrusted to their care alive. She uninvites them. (Vox is still filtering out his emails. He doesn't get this one. The Vees show up anyway.)

Charlie thinks about violence a lot. It's inescapable. She doesn't use her phone much, but she learns what happened to Vox and nearly cries. She makes a post about how violence shouldn't be celebrated and wishes Vox well in his recovery. Days later, she watches Vox take over the television and the three Vees torture the people who tortured him, and she thinks about what will happen when she has the opportunity to reach out to two Sinners who hurt each other. She wants to think they can all be redeemed, that her hotel should be open to anyone. She watches the screen through her fingers, unable to look away as Vox kills the Sinner on his knees before him, cackling. She watches The Vees kiss each other over the dead body, tender and loving, the broadcast ending as Vox rests his screen against Velvette's hair and Valentino wraps all of his arms around the two. And she thinks about forgiveness, and she wonders what she would do if someone hurt Vaggie.

[draftmare]

3.01.23

Okay, sooooo saddle drama.

Remember that saddle that I made the post on about saying, hey, look at the flocking of this saddle? This is why we don’t store our saddles on saddle racks? Well, it got way worse than just the flocking being f-ed. The tree was also broken. Well, the head plate was. Thankfully in a super obvious way that I was able to catch just by flipping the saddle over and looking at it. I was already feeling a little sus-y of the saddle because it was being a little too flexible when I pulled it out of the box and did my usual check over. So, here is a friendly reminder that when you get your saddle out of the box, flex the tree. Listen for any weird creaks, squeaks, or if the tree is moving more than you think it should. If you aren’t sure how to flex a tree for soundness, there are tons of resources online on how to check. That said, sometimes the only way to find cracks, loose stitching, or broken screws is to have your saddle fitter take the panels off, but this is generally a good place to start.

Broken head plate:

That saddle went back into the box and back from whence it came. Except the place I got it from opened a PayPal dispute against me. I usually rant and rave against PayPal because they are a bunch of rotten bastards out to steal your money, but this one time they did the right thing and everything settled in my favor, it was just a hassle, and it took way longer than it should have for me to get my money back.

A couple of weeks ago I had her measured/traced for a WOW saddle, and she very clearly was meant for their hoop tree plate. I also got to try one of their saddles, but felt very meh about it. Their saddles are modular in that you can swap out different panels, different headplates, different seats, and different flaps, so it could have been just me needing a different combination of seat and flap, but they are also NOT cheap. I have seen a couple come up at tack shops in my price range, but the tack shops generally don’t seem to know what combination of parts they have on the saddle they are selling, so I would need to go directly through a rep, which would be a lot more expensive. Anyway, after that experience I pivoted to looking for just hoop tree saddles for her, which has been a bit of a struggle. You see, not all saddles that look like hoops are truly a hoop tree, which means a lot of asking people for serial numbers, contacting the manufacturer, and then waiting to hear back on if that model/tree is a hoop or not. 

I ended up going for a saddle...that ended up not being what it said it was...which was a bit of an awkward adventure...and unfortunately it is not going to work for us either.  They had the brand wrong, the tree size wrong, and I don’t honestly know if it is a true hoop tree or not, but the company has gone out of business, so no way of checking for sure. The pictures made it look very hoop like, so I broke my rule above of emailing companies serial numbers, because of course I did (rule was broken because this saddle was waaaay under budget).

It looked really promising to start, but once feeling around under it, there was a lot of pressure under the back of the panel, especially on the left side. I hemmed and hawed on if maybe this was something that could be fixed with flocking since the right side felt better, so I decided to completely tack her up with pad and half pad and that made things MUCH worse. Kind of totally took the wind out of my sails. I ended up not riding in this saddle, or even riding at all on this particular night, I was so bummed. For some reason in the 3 days leading up to this saddle arriving I had convinced myself that just getting a hoop tree saddle would magically fit her and fix all of our problems. 

I am starting to feel like maybe the saddle that seems like it shouldn’t fit her, and doesn’t fit me 100% (the County Fusion) is just what we should stick with. She seems fine in it (she’s been gone over with a fine tooth comb lately with her lameness) and it fits me okay-ish. Maybe I should stop trying to fix what isn’t exactly broken? Ugh. 

[champagnepodiums]

Was just wondering, do you really think that dts will have such a huge impact that it will affect a team's image so much that they have to do damage control? In my experience, judging from myself and my f1 friends, I don't think many of us still really bother with dts. The last 2 seasons or so, I just wait for clips to be posted on sm of key moments or pretty gifs of my fav driver. I don't bother with the whole thing anymore. And with what we do see, I think established f1 fans know that's its dramatized and in the case of mclaren (and actually, most of the talking points) I feel like we all lived it in real time, so there can't really be much more bts drama that could change my feelings with the situation. And with newer fans, I don't think it can have that big of an impact, because they don't have that connection with the team at all, so i just feel like any protrayal in dts of the Daniel thing won't be that big a deal to them. I really feel, from what I see, that dts' relevance has waned and these days there are other routes that are attracting more fans to f1 than dts is doing (compared to a few years ago where it was the main entry point for new fans)

This is obviously my opinion and view and based on my limited knowledge from people I know, would like to know what other people think.

So I think you’re vastly underestimating the power of DTS even still. At least based off of the people I know and the opinions I’ve encountered through this blog, even though the hardcore F1 fans know that DTS is manufactured, people are still looking forward to it because it’s fun to relive it and we do get behind the scenes things.

But also, the media is going to report on and dissect every storyline DTS. So whatever storyline Daniel has this season (and I feel very strongly that there will be a central storyline feat. Daniel), it is going to everywhere so people aren’t even going to have to watch the episodes to know about it.

I think this — McLaren was able to use DTS to change the narrative on their team and garner good PR so I don’t think it’s too big of a leap to think it could garner bad PR. It’s not that DTS will make anybody feel new things but fans will likely feel all of the bad McLaren feelings all at once.

I think you’re VASTLY underestimating how many people still watch DTS and you’re vastly underestimating the power of the show. But I guess that’s just me, maybe I am looking too deep into it (but F1 is a PR driven sport so idk)

ETA: this is such a terrible explanation on my part, i apologize. my grandfather is coming home tomorrow and i’m just impossibly flustered (not that I’m like particularly eloquent any other day). So if I sound impatient or like annoyed, I promise, it’s not you, it’s me 😭😭😭

[tandv]

Like a lot of people I really enjoyed season 1, it was just the right amount of ridiculous and psycho. Season 2, good, yeah, but I stopped watching by the time the girls were cheering outside Archie's prison and didn't go back. When do you think the series went irredeemably off the rails & you stopped watching?

for me season 4 really went downhill. I loved the ships and the dynamics and blah blah but what I actually loved the show for was the mysteries. The season 4 plot was BS and pissed me off. They went for the dumbest reveals and everything they did was to make ships break up when they should have just written a better plot overall and then that could have happened organically. The killers always being connected to Betty or Jughead is so boring and repetitive. I could handle a dumbass gargoyle king plot cos the s3 finale was amazing. I can handle silly musicals but repetitive or bad. mystery reveals really ruined it for me. I survived teen dramas of CW's past I can handle ship swapping but the show is obsessed with this weird ass Archie is perfect and everything he goes through just happens to him and his choices don't account for any of it. The girls in this show are now apparently just stepping stones for him to go back and forth between, despite the original promise of the show not doing the misogynistic fighting over a loser boy thing. The cringe moments used to be comical but now it's just a cringe. I think the cast is really talented and they have to be to bring this nonsense to life. The jail singing scene was...a lot but it gave us the eternalised meme of 'you haven't experienced the epic highs and lows of football' I just feel like from someone who views tv for a narrative and good story telling..when it stopped being about that and started being oh look how silly we can be! we can change the narrative whenever we want cos it's #riverdale and continuity doesn't mean shit! lets reboot ships but also just make them do everything the same anyway etc etc. I haven't watched a full episode since 4x19 but my friends kept on past that so I've been in the know of s5-s6 and idk much about 7 other than the fact that they're doing the same they always have only they're in a time period where they're embarrassingly unequipped to tackle any of the sensitive topics they've failed to tackle in the past! I don't have anything against people who still watch. I just have a headache from learning that the show never learnt anything and is trying too hard to out weird twin peaks and it feels manufactured in the way they want to create a cult following for people 20 years from now instead of just making a good show for the people who were watching in real time. to go back to your question tho...s3 was the last good season some may even say it was before then but I can't discount s3 because I actually enjoyed parts of the stupid cult and the even stupider suicide dnd lmao

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”  

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”  

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.  

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.  

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them." 

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me." 

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever." 

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.  

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.  

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige." 

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.  

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.  

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.  

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.  

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

[sarasa-cat]

About that package drama on Monday:

Right, so I finally have time, headspace, and tasty hot food in front of me to document the worst shipping experience I have ever had with a US-based package shipping company.

First off, personally and (much more so) professionally, I have spec’ed out, purchased, and had shipped to me (or my workplace’s shipping & receiving dept) a significant amount of expensive electronic equipment, some of it quite delicate over the years. I am old enough to have been at this for a while. The vast majority of those experiences were completely uneventful. So uneventful that not one of them stands out as anything other than a simple transaction.

But all that changed this autumn, culminating with this nonsense:

The FedEx nonsense from Friday-Monday... hooboy.

You see, my biggest concern was this machine, with the specs I had paid for, WAS POTENTIALLY VAPORWARE before it shipped and that it would ABSOLUTELY BECOME VAPORWARE if something went wrong after shipping it because it is no longer purchasable as a new config.

Backstory: it does have very good specs for cutting edge PC gaming (yes, CP2077 looks amazeballs on it) ---but--- on the 9-5 front (now self-employed 5evah, touch wood) I needed a workhorse machine with obscene amounts of RAM, stupid amounts of local primary storage, and the ability to spew pixels through a firehose without hiccuping.

I picked the worst year to spec out any sort of hardware that is good for high-end graphics but after putting this off for more than a year I couldn’t put it off any longer and I knew wait times were long so...

When I found something last summer that (1) ticked all of my boxes, and (2) promised to age-well over the next handful of years, and (3) was offered by a trustworthy Very Big Name in Computer Hardware with whom I happen to qualify for an employee’s family’s partner-company discount via my partner’s place of work (which is not this company but they often work directly with this manufacturer), and this is also a company i have personally had very good business-to-business relations with regarding service and customer care needs etc etc ... well... let me be honest, I actually couldn’t find anything close to this costly purchase from other manufacturers so I took a deep breath, made an epic pissy face at the cost of a pro service contract, and then pushed the big ugly purchase button after typing in my CC number.

While this isn’t the most expensive computer to sit on my desk at/for work (that award goes to an SGI system back when SGI still existed 20ish years ago), let’s just call it the second most expensive system because it almost certainly probably is.  And this came out of my (personally-owned) business account rather than off of an institution’s technology budget so the number made me hyperventilate a bit even though I have that cost covered.

The hyperventilation is mostly the HELL of knowing that I am responsible for dealing with all of the biz-to-biz hassle if something goes wrong. Because things do go wrong from time to time but when I have a big institution behind me, it is usually someone else’s problem. As a biz of 1 person, ugh. And the cost. triple Ugh. 

SO LATE LAST AUGUST I WAS INITIALLY TOLD THAT THEY WOULD MAKE THE THING AND SHIP THE THING IN LESS THAN 5 WEEKS.

They did not.

And I was not surprised.  

But after multiple delays in manufacturing, and multiple go-arounds where I had to electronically sign a form (else the order would be canceled) by a certain date saying I acknowledge and accept the situation and do not hold them liable, etc etc, I noticed that they were NO LONGER OFFERING NEW PURCHASES THIS CONFIGURATION WITH THESE SPECS. 

And that made me worry. Was I standing in line for vaporware?

Because. Like, if my order got cancelled for whatever reason, I would have to create a new order with lesser specs, particularly for the graphics card.

I got to the point where I was about to put in a second order of something lesser but then, the next day, they claimed they were manufacturing my hardware and about to ship it. So, okay fine. And they were busy moving it from one storage site to another to another. But they promised I would have it by Nov 17th.

Nov 17th came and went and it was still in one of their facilities, somewhere. Who knows. Possibly not even in the US.

By the time they handed it off to FedEx for 2-day express shipping, the US Thanksgiving federal holiday was a couple days from happening. 

AND THIS IS WHERE THE FUNTIMES REALLY BEGAN. 🙃

I get a notice that it was shipped but no tracking number. 

Half a day later I get a tracking number and I virtually watch this package move from a US warehouse to an airport to the Memphis TN airport-adjacent FedEx hub and then it just sat for a while. A suspiciously long while. 

But, you know, maybe T-giving?

Then it gets loaded into an airplane and starts heading my way. 

Right on schedule, based on flight times, it gets scanned in at my metro-area’s airport-adjacent FedEx facility.  

I’m willing to grant that this isn’t going to be a 2-day express delivery thanks to TGiving but, sure, whatever, I can wait. They claim they’ll get it to me before Monday afternoon so I just write off all those extra days as TGiving holiday as a 4 day weekend. And all of this is grossly stretching the definition of 2-day express air shipping but ... fine. Federal Holiday. 

And so I wait

and I wait

and I wait.

And that box just keeps getting scanned once per day, day after day, on a daily basis at that airport-adjacent FedEx processing center about 20-30 minutes from my house.

Monday morning? Still at the processing center. No additional scan saying that it is on a local delivery truck BUT THEY SAY it will be delivered by mid-afternoon Monday. Okay.

and so I wait.

wait wait wait wait.

FedEx arrives ... but not for me? Suspiciously large box delivered to my neighbor. Hm.

Checks tracking page and it says my box is still at the airport-adjacent FedEx processing center.

That it is NOT on a truck.

So I wait ... refresh the page, and get a big red delayed notice with no explanation. Okay.

Do not trust this. THEY HAVE HAD THE PACKAGE FOR DAyS. DAYS. WHAT THE FUCK?

So I call the 1-800 FedEx number and this is where the shit begins.

Their system recognizes my phone number and immediately ties it to my package’s tracking number (!!) and when their phone tree system finally hands me off to a human in customer service, I ask why the package is delayed and the guy says 

“Your package has no delivery address.”

What?

Now, I already have the keyboard and mouse that was part of this exact same order because that was shipped to my doorstep the first week of sept, so it isn’t like the manufacture does not have my shipping address. And the shipping address is visible to me on the online ordering system.

So, okay fine sure whatever. HOW DID THE FUCKING BOX SHOW UP IN MY ASS-END-OF-THE-WORLD’S FEDEX AIRPORT-ADJACENT RECEIVING CENTER IF THE 👏BOX 👏DOES 👏NOT 👏 HAVE 👏AN 👏ADDRESS👏?  

I try to find the politest way to phrase this because I gotta admit it is hard to remain cool about something that makes no sense while there is also a steaming smoking crater spewing lava all over my credit card account, which I will not pay off with my money until I have a WORKING PIECE OF NON-VAPORWARE in my hands. 

So, it turns out that the customer service person I have on the phone is looking at the WRONG RECORD for -- get this -- THE CORRECT TRACKING NUMBER.

You see, this shipment -- this tracking number -- was issued in SEPTEMBER and then cancelled (because it was vaporware at that time) and then REISSUED AGAIN A WEEK AND A HALF AGO in NOVEMBER when it there was finally a package-of-hardware that was miraculously NOT VAPORWARE, but was now RAREWARE because you cannot purchase it any longer. 

Again: this is a package of hardware that is NO LONGER BEING SOLD because it is back in vaporware status for anyone not lucky enough to have put in an order during an exceedingly short window of time. And my credit card is melting because the charge hit the moment they shipped it, which was far far far more than 2-days prior to monday despite the promise of 2-day express shipping.

So...

I explain to the customer service person that the tracking number was reused, blah blah blah, don’t look at the Sep record, look at the november record. And that I can see on the customer-facing FedEx tracking page the following information: I read off a list of useful info about dates and places the package was scanned and weight of box and size of box.

And after a disturbingly long wait, the person on the phone finally says, “oh yes, yes, you are correct.”

But then they say:  “The package has no delivery address.”

Me: I. Do. Not. Comprehend.

Them: “But if you bring your gov-issued ID and your tracking number, you can pick it up at the FedEx center at [reads off address I can drive to.]”

Me: Hustling to print out ALL THE PAGES of FedEx tracking nonsense while putting boots and scarf and jacket on “Thank youuuuuuuuuu!”

...

So, a half hour later I get to the FedEx center and ...

This is where the situation just gets WEIRD.

I mean weird. 

Weird in ways that I cannot really convey.  But I will try.

Two women are working at the front desk. One is very busy. The other is not so I hand her my tracking info (the print out with all the info) and say that I am there to pick up the package.

She spends way too long looking at her computer screen after tapping the number in and says .... NOTHING.

Me: ????????

Her:  ......

Me:  “I was told the package was here?”

Her: ................

Me: :|

Her: ..............

Her: ..............

Her: ..............

Me: “I spoke to customer service and they told me that you have the package.”

Her: looking very annoyed “.....When did you ship this?”

Me:  “I am not the shipper. I am the receiver. I’m the person it was being shipped to and I am here to pick it up.”

Her: .......”This shipment was canceled.”

Me: “In september. But then tracking number was reissued on November XXth. Go back and click on the other link. It will match what is on this print out of all the info right here” (I tap the pages I put on the counter)

Her:  (does not look at my print out....)  .......

My brain:  (ticking away the moments that make up a dull day, fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way...)

Her: ..............

..............

..............

..............

Busy person also working there:  walks by, looks at the screen, “Oh, THAT package.”

Me: ?! “Yes, I was told I needed to pick it up HERE.”

The “.....” person: “Oh. I know where it is.”

And she just walks away.

More time passes.

She comes out hefting a box that ... shocks me. I’ll get to why it shocks me in a moment. She puts it on the counter so she can scan it and I can sign for it. I notice that my ADDRESS IS CLEARLY PRINTED ON A FED EX LABEL AFFIXED TO THE BOX NEXT TO A BUNCH OF SHIPPING BAR CODES.

I sign for it and heft it into the hatchback of my car.

So. THE BOX.

Remember when I said that I have a lot of experience -- decades -- professionally and personally with the purchase of (often) delicate and often expensive electronic equipment?  

Every single time I have received such things from countless computer companies, electronics/lab equipment companies, camera/video equipment companies/merchants, etc. , it was always packaged in an anonymous brown cardboard box that contained another box inside of the anonymous brown box -- the branded box inside an anonymous brown box.

This was NOT an anonymous brown box.

This was a corporate branded box WITH THE ENTIRE SHIPPING MANIFEST PLAINLY VISIBLE inside a plastic pouch glued across on front of the box. 

And that shipping manifest was full of very visible info that clearly stated -- very clearly stated -- just what was INSIDE.  Like, you could google this shit mighty quick and figure out the not just credit-card-combusts-into-lava price tag but also that this is essentially rareware/vaporware that no one can purchase right now, you know, like, say, in time for xmas, perhaps.

🙃

And this box literally looked like it had gone through hell.

And it was sealed with a single piece of flimsy ass tape

So you fucking know what I did.

Hatchback wide open facing the big floor-to-ceiling glass wall of windows at FedEx, I popped that box open while videoing the whole damn thing and inspected everything inside. 

It looked fine. Not a scratch. Inner plastic wrapping still sealed. Rolled my eyes. took a long deep breath. Packed it all up.

Drove home.

Set it up in the dining room temporarily (bc I am still setting up the office/art studio). Everything’s fine.

But.

gesuz fuck.

[themurphyzone]

PatB AU: Pinky the Snowmouse

This is just one of those late night ideas that I wanted to post. It’s somewhat based off that Frosty the Snowman special from the 60s with a dash of Pinocchio. 

I haven’t actually watched either of these recently. My subconscious is just weird. 

1. After his fallout with Snowball, Brain continues to aspire for world domination, but finds that he’s hit a block when it comes to plans. He doesn’t have inspiration nor anyone to bounce ideas off with, but he tries to push past it and just continue creating. There’s bound to be a gem or two amidst all the duds, he tells himself. And he doesn’t need anyone else, he can rule the world on his own.

2. ACME Labs hosts a Christmas party, and they invite a magician for entertainment. Brain is in his cage, brainstorming ideas for world domination while the scientists gather around for the magician’s performance. Brain knows magic is all just sleight of hand and optical illusions, and rolls his eyes at the magician failing to even manage that. The scientists all mock the magician, and their laughter grows more when the magician fails to pull a rabbit out of his hat. 

3. The magician is laughed out of ACME Labs, and he swears revenge against all the scientists who work there. But he left his top hat on a table by Brain’s cage, and he doesn’t notice until later that night. ACME Labs closes, and Brain escapes his cage, glad that the party is finally over so he can get back to planning properly. 

4. But loneliness creeps up on Brain again, and he tries to dismiss it as the reason he can’t concentrate. So he goes outside, where a thick layer of snow has covered the ground. He starts kicking around snow and eventually builds a snowmouse, wondering if he’s gone mad since he’s partaking in an activity that’s usually reserved for children and not future emperors. 

5. He builds the snowmouse’s body first, using a stick for a tail and fashioning the head. Then he decides it’s missing some prerequisites to be a proper snowman, so he goes inside and gathers a bunch of buttons, a pink scarf, and lastly, the magician’s hat. He goes back to the snowmouse and dresses him up, then tosses on the hat as a finisher. 

6.  And boy, if Brain felt ridiculous before then now it was tripled since he decided to dress up the snowmouse like it was a real entity. He angrily starts berating himself for being distracted and that he needs to focus, because he can’t be like all those other scientists. 

He declares that their collective minds are nothing compared to the intelligence in his pinky, and a voice answers ‘yes?’ 

7. Brain thinks he’s just hearing things, then the voice goes ‘oh, i thought you called my name. Narf!’ 

Then Brain turns around and freaks out, because holy crap the snowmouse he built was alive and talking. Brain dismisses it as a figment of his imagination at first, but as the newly christened Pinky the snowmouse displays a rather glaring lack of intelligence, he can’t help but be curious about how snow can come to life. He circles Pinky and tries to figure it out, taking off the magic hat, and Pinky goes still and silent. Brain quickly puts the hat on Pinky again, and soon the snowmouse is dancing around once more. 

8.  Unbeknownst to either of them, the magician saw the hat bring Pinky to life and decides he can profit off the hat, then follows the two mice. 

9. Pinky gets distracted and wanders into town with Brain trailing after him and making sure Pinky’s stupidity and lack of awareness about the world doesn’t kill them both. To Brain’s dismay, he finds that Pinky takes in pop culture much faster than he does at science. It’s pretty ironic that Pinky already knows who Mariah Carrey is despite being alive for less than an hour, but he believes snowflakes are manufactured in an eco-friendly factory in the clouds. 

10. Pinky sees a pair of lovers hugging, then tries to do the same with Brain. Unfortunately, all this does is make Brain shiver with cold, and Pinky feels bad for hurting him like that. Brain shouts at him for hugging, but when Pinky apologizes, Brain realizes it was just an accident and tells him not to do it again. 

11. Pinky notices that images of Santa are plastered all over the place since it’s the holiday season, and wishes he could meet the big guy. This leads into inspiration for Brain to create his own line of toys and plant them in the elf factory for mass production and distribution. Brain praises Pinky for the inspiration. 

12. Brain creates the Noodle Noggin plans and together the mice stow away in a plane bound for the North Pole. However, it’s necessary for Pinky to stay in cold temperatures, so they have to remain in the cargo hold and away from the heated cockpit. Brain is freezing despite being dressed for cold weather, and Pinky feels bad for not being able to keep him warm. Pinky says he wishes he could be a real mouse like Brain, so that he can be his friend forever. 

Brain thinks the headaches Pinky gave him were pretty real, but the companionship and kindness were real too. He keeps quiet about this, unsure of what to say. 

13. The magician has also stowed away on the plane. 

14. The plane lands at the North Pole, and the mice head to the elf factory. They discover Pinky can’t enter the elf factory since it’s heated, so Brain goes in alone to slip the Noodle Noggin plans in with the other blueprints, while Pinky wanders off and explores the North Pole settlement. 

15. Before Brain can successfully slip the blueprints in, the magician ambushes and successfully captures him, and the Noodle Noggin plans are torn beyond saving in the struggle. Angered at the loss of his plans, Brain demands the magician explain himself. The magician declares he gets a two for one profit, with a talking mouse and a magic hat, then realizes the snowmouse is missing and demands to know where he is. 

16. Without the hat, Pinky can’t stay alive. Brain refuses to reveal Pinky’s location for any reason, and the magician tries to force it out of him. Brain is stubborn though and refuses to speak. 

17. Pinky finishes wandering around the village and goes back to check on Brain, thinking he’s taking an awfully long time in the elf factory. He peeks in through a window, discovering that a man is hurting a very distressed Brain, who’s still resisting. 

18. Pinky shouts for Brain, and gets the magician’s attention. Brain yells at him for drawing attention to himself, ordering him to run. But Pinky won’t do it, because Brain is in trouble and needs help. 

19. The magician demands Pinky give up the magic hat. But Pinky will only give up the hat if he releases Brain. The magician agrees, but Brain knows full well that the magician is far too greedy and will go back on his word, and Pinky is giving up the hat and his life for a promise that won’t be kept. 

20. With Brain in hand, the magician walks over to a fireplace and tells Pinky to come inside. The fireplace is bright and warm, and Brain orders Pinky to just leave, because the heat will kill him if he doesn’t. Pinky starts to melt as he comes closer, telling Brain it’s okay, he’s happy they’re friends, even if their time together was brief. 

21. When Pinky is in front of the fireplace, the magician snatches the hat off his head, and renders Pinky lifeless. Reveling in victory, the magician releases Brain who hugs and begs Pinky to wake up and stop being stupid, just wake up and say narf, Pinky. Except Pinky can’t see or hear anymore, and is nothing more than cold, melting water with a few accessories. Brain is left crying and pleading for Pinky to come back, clutching a wet scarf in his hands. The magician mocks Brain for believing that a pile of snow had thoughts and feelings. 

22. But the magician’s joy is cut short at Santa Claus’s sudden appearance. Angry that someone could take such mirth in murdering an innocent creature and cause so much grief in his best friend, Santa orders his elves to tie up the magician and take him away. The elves obey, and the magician is reduced to a pathetic mess. 

23. Brain barely notices the commotion. Santa decides to grant Brain one Christmas wish, just to give him a little comfort. And Brain ponders, knowing that he journeyed all this way for world domination, and while he can easily cut a lot of hassle by using his wish to make himself ruler of the world...he remembers Pinky’s sacrifice.

Pinky’s compassion. Pinky’s kindness. How Pinky provided the inspiration he needed. 

Brain admits to Santa that even if Pinky was made of snow, he still had the warmest heart he’d ever known. 

24. Brain asks if it’s possible for Pinky to be revived with a body to reflect his warm heart. 

25. Santa grants the wish. The puddle that used to be Pinky reshapes and forms into a living, breathing mouse with the softest, warmest fur imaginable. Pinky marvels at his new body and the mice have their first proper hug. Brain is overjoyed at Pinky being alive again, and Pinky is happy to be a real mouse at last. 

26. Santa lets the mice ride home in his sleigh (Pinky falls in love with Donner on the way home and Brain learns what jealousy is for the first time and hopes to god they don’t get invited to any Donner parties). Meanwhile all the elves are sobbing with their hot cocoa, marshmallows, and candy canes while watching all the drama unfold on their security feed because this is the best Christmas drama they’ve seen in years. 

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 25 - Club

“Come fuck me, daddy.”

She steps away from you, and with a look that could have melted steel, she takes your hand and begins to drag you away from the dance floor.

The crowd of people falls apart like the Red Sea - faces and bodies pass in a blur. Your full focus is on the young woman leading you through that crowd with a purpose, ignoring everything in her way as she drags you past people and bar stools and eventually the two large metal doors that lead into the alleyway behind the club.

The first thing that hits you is the humidity - it was Hawaii after all - but it only momentarily distracts you as Tzuyu almost immediately pulls you towards her as she leans her back against the brick of the club building. You press yourself against her, wanting, needing to feel her body against yours. Her tongue quickly finds its way into your mouth again, and you accept it, eager to continue your oral duel.

Tzuyu’s hands are already working at your belt, and before you know it she has undone your belt and jeans, pulling them halfway down your thighs, freeing your quickly hardening cock. Soon she is on her knees, and then her soft, wet tongue is on the underside of your shaft.

You always hated clubs.

 You hated the loud, repetitive, “music” - if you could call the overly produced, booming electronic noise that. You hated the lack of personal space, crammed as you were in a small building that was probably built with half the number of its current occupants in mind. You hated the expensive liquor that you could’ve had for free back at the resort, and most of all, you hated the people - the douchebags that acted like they had something to prove, and the girls with makeup so thick it looked like they were wearing rubber masks.

 But you needed to get away - get away from the potential storm of drama that was slowly brewing back at the resort, what with Jeongyeon’s newly revealed feelings for you on top of the storm that was the entire situation with Momo and Sana. Jeongyeon wanted you to stay a little longer and spend the rest of the day with her, and while the thought of spending the day and night swimming in a sea of cotton sheets with her tight, slim body was appealing, you knew it probably wasn’t the best idea.

 You were attracted to Jeongyeon - she had a certain je ne sais quoi about her, a certain charm that was hard to define. She was so unlike any of the other girls in your life, all sarcasm and geekiness on the outside, but possessive of a soft vulnerability beneath it all. She was at once a guy’s girl and perfect girlfriend material.

 This was all to say nothing of how intensely beautiful she was, especially now that she had grown her hair out a little and had begun to embrace her feminine side a little more; not that you minded the days when she rocked ice blue hair and boys’ clothes in the office. Her physical charms were only amplified in bed, when she had only her natural allure to clothe her.

 And she pursued you, too - she made it known to you straight up that she wanted to be with you. She knew you were technically in a relationship with Momo. She knew Sana wanted you too, and she knew, at least on some level, of the drama between of the three of you. But she wanted you anyway, and she told you as such.

 But you had to get away - clear your head and think about everything. Things were complicated when it was just Momo and Sana who had feelings for you; now that Jeongyeon was in the picture it was downright messy.

 It was a real test of will, but you eventually left her room, and on your way back to your own you passed through the resort foyer where Tzuyu, Seolhyun, and Jihyo were waiting for cabs into town. Tzuyu and Seolhyun had more than simply made up - they appeared to be the best of friends now, their arms linked to one another as they watched some apparently hilarious video on one of their phones, giggling sweetly the way young women do. Jihyo stood a little apart from them, idly browsing through her phone.

 Tzuyu is the first to notice you, and she smiles excitedly as you approach. Seolhyun does the same, and before you know it you are being dragged into the cab that had just pulled up to the resort. Jihyo is likewise dragged in, the two other girls insisting it didn’t make sense for her to get another ride if they were heading downtown as well.

 And so you found yourself in a club in downtown Honolulu less than an hour later. You hated clubs, of course, and you made your thoughts on them known, but Tzuyu and Seolhyun were hell bent on going to one and dragging you along with them. Jihyo had originally just wanted to find a quiet bar somewhere to relax, but the pitiful look you gave her when the other girls invited her to join was super effective - and the young detective soon found herself similarly trapped in this dark, crowded, overly loud dungeon.

 Tzuyu and Seolhyun soon lost themselves in the crowd, although from your seat at the bar next to Jihyo you still kept an eye on the two of them as they swayed smoothly to the beat of the music, finding some sort of rhythm amidst what sounded to you like just a series of loud booms. You couldn’t deny the smoothness of their dancing, the way their tall, slim bodies swayed to the beat, and you lost yourself for a moment, enraptured by the sight in front of you as the two girls danced the night away.

 “Yeah, they’re fucking hot,” Jihyo half-shouts into your ear, barely heard against the loud booming. As you turn to face her she takes a swig of her beer, but her eyes remain glued to the two girls.

 “You’re not so bad yourself, detective,” you say, and it wasn’t a word of a lie - the young woman looked gorgeous in a simple blue button up and jeans. Not exactly typical clubbing attire, considering the tiny strips of cloth that apparently passed as club outfits around here - but unsurprising considering she initially wanted to go to a bar and not a club.

 “Shut up,” Jihyo says, not even bothering to acknowledge your comment by looking at you, “I look like a three day old bag of garbage compared to those two.”

 You had to admit - Tzuyu and Seolhyun would’ve been gorgeous wearing garbage bags. But here, all prettied up and dressed to the nines in short, slinky dresses, they were on another level altogether. But that certainly didn’t mean Jihyo was anything to sneeze at.

 “I want Tzuyu’s legs. Fuck, those thighs! And Seolhyun’s abs. And her boobs. I saw her in the pool this afternoon and almost wanted to punch her in the face. Speaking of which, I want her face. But also Tzuyu’s. Like, I want a combination of-”

 “You sound like a serial killer, Jihyo. If those two go missing I’ll be sure to send a SWAT team into your basement.”

 “Well now that you know of my plans, I’ll have to eliminate you.”

 “You could try-”

 Your answer is cut short by a hand grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you away from the bar. Once you recover you realize the hand belongs to Tzuyu.

 “Come dance with me!” she says, barely audible, over the booms. She drags you to a corner of the dance floor, mercifully out of eyesight to Jihyo.

 “I’m not really much of a dancer,” you half-shout into her ear. That was a lie and you knew you could at least sway to a rhythm, but regardless dancing wasn’t exactly on the top of your favorite recreational activities list.

 “You don’t have to move,” Tzuyu says, suddenly bringing her body close to yours and her mouth to your ear, “just stand there, daddy.”

 Her use of your pet name and the sudden proximity of her young, slim, body pressed up against yours ensures she has your full attention. The tight, short red and pink dress she is wearing did little to hide her curves, nor the hint of cleavage between her breasts.

 Tzuyu wastes no time keeping her promise, and she begins to sway around you, her young body moving smoothly to the music. She circles you twice, each time pressing her tall torso against yours, pressing against you once with her chest and once with her butt, enjoying every moment of the little show she was giving you.

 She stops during her third time around and presses her chest against your back. With slim hands she reaches around you and cups your crotch with her right hand.

 There were probably a few hundred people in the club, but at that moment none of them mattered. The entire population of the city could’ve been watching, and that couldn’t have taken your attention away from the young woman’s hand cupping your cock through your jeans.

 You reach back with your left hand to touch some part of her, and Tzuyu lets you, pressing herself tighter against you. She lets you have a good squeeze of her butt before she slips around you until you are facing her. She wraps her arms around your neck.

 Your foreheads touch, and suddenly you are both swaying to the music, neither paying attention to whatever manufactured, electronic beat is booming through the speakers. You’re both dancing now to a beat only the two of you can hear. You let Tzuyu lead, and you follow, the sway of her body giving you all the music you need.

 After a few moments Tzuyu breaks the contact of your head against hers and she looks up at you with those large, round eyes of hers. There is a little alcohol, a little youth, a little naivete in those eyes, and they combine into an intoxicating look of utter sexiness as she stares deeply into yours.

 Before you know it her soft, full lips are pressing up against yours, and soon you are making out on the dance floor as her lips crush themselves against yours. Your tongues soon follow suit, and all pretense of dancing goes right out the window in favor of exploring Tzuyu’s mouth with your tongue as she does the same, your wet appendages swirling around each other.

 The club may as well have been empty at that point - no one else existed aside from the young woman in your arms.

 Tzuyu is the first to break the kiss, and you watch, intoxicated, as she licks her lips, her eyes half-lidded with the first vestiges of physical pleasure beginning to course through her young body.

 She brings her mouth to your ear, dragging her lips against your jawline as she does so.

 “Come fuck me, daddy.”

 She steps away from you, and with a look that could have melted steel, she takes your hand and begins to drag you away from the dance floor.

 The crowd of people falls apart like the Red Sea - faces and bodies pass in a blur. Your full focus is on the young woman leading you through that crowd with a purpose, ignoring everything in her way as she drags you past people and bar stools and eventually the two large metal doors that lead into the alleyway behind the club.

 The first thing that hits you is the humidity - it was Hawaii after all - but it only momentarily distracts you as Tzuyu almost immediately pulls you towards her as she leans her back against the brick of the club building. You press yourself against her, wanting, needing to feel her body against yours. Her tongue quickly finds its way into your mouth again, and you accept it, eager to continue your oral duel.

 Tzuyu’s hands are already working at your belt, and before you know it she has undone your belt and jeans, pulling them halfway down your thighs, freeing your quickly hardening cock. Soon she is on her knees, and then her soft, wet tongue is on the underside of your shaft.

 Only a few minutes have passed since she pulled you by the wrist away from the bar; and now here she was on her knees in the alleyway, taking your now fully hard cock in and out of her mouth. You were hardly opposed to the audacity of it all, of getting head and likely fucking a girl in what was probably a public alley - but you didn’t give a damn. It was probably hardly the first time some drunken club goers had participated in lewd acts in this alleyway, and you had no qualms whatsoever about joining that illustrious group.

 You didn’t even think, not even for a split second, about stopping her or even telling her to slow down. The prospect of a simple, quick fuck without any additional drama or baggage appealed to you, especially given the events of the past few days. Momo, Sana and Jeongyeon could wait until later. For now, all you wanted was a break away from it all - and currently that break was on her knees, taking your rock hard cock in and out of her wet, hot mouth.

 Involuntarily, you grasp Tzuyu’s head with both your hands, slowly rocking your cock in and out of her mouth in time with the bobbing of her head. Tzuyu gets the hint and her hands, which were pumping the base of your shaft, leave it to brace herself against your hips. She looks up at you, her mouth still full of cock - as though giving you permission.

 And so in an alleyway in downtown Honolulu, you start fucking Chou Tzuyu’s mouth.

 No words could possibly describe the feeling of her hot mouth, those full lips wrapped tightly around your cock as her wet tongue presses against the underside of your shaft with each entry and exit. She knows you are taking liberties with her, knows you are being a little rougher, and not only does she allow it - she welcomes it, gets off on it.

 She grunts - not a grunt of pain or discomfort - one of pleasure. The kind of grunt that one lets out when they get a taste of something they want, something they need.

 For a long minute you stand there in the alleyway, bracing yourself against the club’s brick wall with one hand as your other braces the back of Tzuyu’s skull. You pump away at her pretty face, and she loves it, loves every second of it, loves every time your cock fills her needy little mouth with hard flesh.

 Eventually she eases herself off your cock, and grasping it with her right hand, she lifts it and gives it a long, slow lick from top to bottom. Then she rises to her feet.

 “Enough. Fuck me now, daddy.”

 You turn her around, grabbing her by the waist and facing her to the brick wall. Instinctively she braces herself against it with her palms as you press yourself against her, your wet shaft pressed against the small of her back.

 You reach down and pull the hem of her short dress up, quickly revealing her round, firm butt and the flimsy piece of cloth that passed for a g-string beneath it. You reach around her body and quickly slip a finger between her warm thighs, and you almost immediately feel warm juices on the tip of your finger.

 “I’ve been a bad girl, daddy. All that dancing, all that sucking your cock… it made me so wet.”

 “You have been a bad girl, Tzuyu. And you know what happens to bad girls.”

 “They get punished.. By their getting brains fucked out,” Tzuyu answers, her words half-plea and half desire, spilling from her lips, “Please… please punish me with your cock, daddy! I need it! I don’t want it slow. I want it hard. I want it now!”

 You enjoyed going down on women, tasting their juices on your tongue as their bodies writhed in pleasure on the bed beneath you; you enjoyed slipping your fingers in them, penetrating them with your long digits and feeling their warm walls wrap themselves tightly around you as their slick juices flow into your palm and their moans filled your ears. But there was something to be said about those times when you didn’t need to do either of those things - when she was so wet and ready that she didn’t need your tongue or your fingers or anything else other than your cock.

 As Tzuyu rubs her round, full butt against your rock hard shaft, finding and capturing it between her cheeks and rubbing it up and down, you knew this was one of those times. Your cock is already leaking pre-cum, and it smears between her round cheeks - the sight of it glistening on her perfect skin brings a small smile to your lips.

 You reach down and grasp your cock, taking a moment to line it up with her needy, wet pussy. Pushing her wet thong aside, you slide your shaft inside her.

 “Oh, god, daddy!” Tzuyu gasps, with enough volume that you would’ve been worried you’d be caught if it weren’t for the booming of the club music, which was loud even here, outside in the alleyway.

 You take her up on her earlier demand to get it hard and fast, and you don’t give her much time to get used to the feeling of being filled before you are pulling your cock out of her. When it is halfway out you thrust right back into her young, needy body, pressing her tight against the cold brick wall.

 “Oh, fuck! Yes!” Tzuyu exclaims, “Yes! Fuck me, daddy!”

 There was something so freeing, so liberating about sex with Tzuyu - sex with her never brought with it emotion, or feeling, or drama; there was only pleasure. No worrying about what would happen before or after, no worrying about how this particular session would affect your future relationship or your relationship with some other girl. With Tzuyu, there was only ever the moment, and nothing more, nothing less.

 You give her a few more slow but deep thrusts, delighting in the sight of her fingers curling, trying to find purchase against the cold brick; the sight of her cheek pressed against the same wall, pleasure written all over her perfectly sculpted features; and, when your gaze drifts down, the sight of her round cheeks, bouncing and rippling with each thrust inbetween the mounds of soft flesh as you thrust in and out of her young, needy body.

 Soon you are fucking her, truly fucking her, your shaft pumping in and out of her with little regard for anything aside from your own pleasure. You didn’t even give a damn how it felt for her - all the frustration, all the drama and worries in your head about Momo and Sana and Jeongyeon and Irene - it all built up inside you, and you were taking it out on Chou Tzuyu’s willing, wanton body.

 The fact that she got off on the liberties you were taking on her body was a nice little side effect.

 “Fuck! Fuck yes, daddy! Pound me! Use me! Fuck my tight little pussy!”

 Tzuyu sounded like he was shouting, but even if she were shouting at the top of her lungs you doubted anyone more than a few feet away could have heard her above the loud booming of the club music.

 Your only response is to fuck her harder, taking out more and more of your frustration with each thrust, delighting in the tightening of her slick, wet pussy around your pistoning shaft. Tzuyu was getting off on it, getting off on being treated roughly, being fucked and used. Not that you gave a damn at the moment about anyone’s pleasure but your own, so lost are you in the pursuit of some sort of outlet for the frustration that had built up over the past few days.

 But you needed more - you needed to see her, needed to watch that perfect little face as it was twisted and warped with the pleasure you were quite literally pounding into her body.

 The three weeks she had spent staying at your place taught you that Tzuyu loved being fucked against a wall. She loved being pinned against a hard surface like she was a painting and your cock was the nail literally drilling into her. She loved knowing your cock was literally the only thing keeping her upright. She loved spreading her legs wider and wider as you pounded her, and loved wrapping them around your waist in some vain effort to drive you deeper inside her.

 And you were happy to give her exactly what she wanted.

 And so you withdraw your slick shaft from her hot body, and grasping her hips, turn her around quickly so that she is facing you. Then, not giving the girl any time to recover, you reach down to her lower thighs and lift her up - pressing forward with your shaft at the same time, so that it lines up with her entrance - and with the assistance of gravity, you let her impale herself on your shaft.

 “Aaannnghhhh!”

 The loud shriek that escapes Tzuyu’s throat is full indication of the harsh spike of pleasure that courses through her body at being impaled on your shaft - and the short, rapid thrusts that you give her afterward only keep her from truly catching her breath as you fuck her face to face, her legs wrapping themselves involuntarily around your waist.

 From this position your face is right next to her left ear.

 “Fucking take it, Tzuyu,” you hiss, not even realizing the harshness of the words that are leaving your mouth until they had left it, “fucking take my cock!”

 “Yes! Yes, daddy, I want it! Give it to me! Fuck, you’re so deep inside me! I… oh god, daddy, I…  I’m gonna cum!”

 Her words are followed shortly by her body writhing and shivering almost uncontrollably as an orgasm courses throughout her veins. Her world explodes in white, and her eyes roll to the back of her head as her mouth is held frozen in an open “o”.

 Tzuyu’s orgasm pushes you over the edge as well, the tightening of her wet, warm pussy around your shaft making it impossible to hold on. Not that you even wanted to - this little session was all about pleasure, all about cumming, and using each others’ bodies to get there as fast as possible.

 You push yourself as deep as you could inside Chou Tzuyu’s shaking, quivering pussy before you finally let loose, a torrent of hot, thick cum filling the young Taiwanese girl to the brim, your spasming cock nailing her tight young body to the wall as you fill it with semen.

 For long moments there is only pleasure, and it gives you a wonderful reprieve from the drama in your life, and you relish every second of it as you slowly, reluctantly, come down from your high.

 Slowly you let Tzuyu’s weary legs down, and as you do your shaft inadvertently slips from her body - and you both feel a significant stream of warm cum escape from her body, dripping down her flushed, slick thighs. Tzuyu is suddenly small and vulnerable, and you wrap your arms around her as she does the same. It was quick - not more than ten minutes from when she led you out of the club to when you came in her - not that the brevity of your liaison lessened the amount of pleasure that was only now beginning to fade from both of your bodies.

 Eventually she recovers enough to raise her head, and the flushed afterglow of sex made the young woman look so irresistible, so ridiculously hot in that moment that you couldn’t resist kissing those perfect lips of hers, a kiss that starts out lustful but quickly becomes a soft, passionate one.

 When you break the kiss Tzuyu smiles up at you, and the young girl in her returns once more. You feel a small pang of shame at having treated her roughly and with as little regard for her pleasure as you did, but you knew she enjoyed it at least as much as you, if her flushed cheeks and post-sex glow were any indication. You dig into your jeans pockets and retrieve some napkins you had stashed there from the night previous, and Tzuyu sheepishly uses it to wipe away some of the juices flowing down her long, naked thighs.

 When she is done she tosses away the used napkin into a nearby garbage can before pulling down the short hem of her dress. She presses herself once more against you and whispers into your ear. Her short period of vulnerability is over - back is the sultry, utterly lustful creature, and when she speaks every syllable drips with sex.

 “I want to feel some of it inside me when I’m dancing.”

 With one more naughty smile, she turns and re-enters the club, leaving you in the alleyway to catch your breath as you watch her perfect hips sway as she disappears once more into the crowd.

 ---

 “That was quick,” Jihyo says as you emerge from the alleyway to find her sitting on the ledge of a nearby palm tree garden. The smirk on her lips lets you know that she doesn’t disapprove, but she didn’t want you to get away with it without at least some ribbing.

 You have no response, and so all you can do is shrug and give her a sheepish smile.

 Jihyo smiles to herself with a shake of her head.

 “I’ll never understand how you seem to fuck these girls at will,” she begins, “it’s like you have your own little harem of perfect little models that you fuck whenever you want.”

 “I seem to recall you being one of those perfect little models not so long ago, Miss Park. And if I recall correctly, you were the one that initiated things back in the Seoul precinct…”

 Jihyo gives you a sharp jab in the shoulder - and as much as it shamed you to admit, it actually stung a little. Girl knew how to throw a punch, and you suspect it was because she likely had some martial arts training.

 “Anyway, if you’re done having dirty sex with young girls in an alleyway, I was going to head off to meet an old law enforcement contact of mine before Tzuyu and Seolhyun dragged me out here. I think you might be interested in joining.”

 “And why would I want to meet them?”

 “I think…” Jihyo begins, pausing for a little as if to consider her thoughts, “that they could lead us to Irene.”

 ---

 “This place is more like it,” Jihyo says with a sigh of relief as she settles into the chair at the comfortable looking bar she had chosen down the block from the club. You had to admit you were just as relieved as she was to escape the club and its neverending electronic beats and the crowd of overly rowdy, overly intoxicated young men and women that frequented it.

 “I hear you,” you agree as you flag down a waiter and order a pitcher. Jihyo whips out her phone, ostensibly to answer a text.

 “So tell me about this contact of yours,” you begin, “and how exactly they can help us with Irene.”

 Jihyo puts her phone down before looking up at you, her look suddenly eager. Whatever her plan was, she seemed quite excited to share it with you.

 “Irene has always been one step ahead of us, and I think a lot of that is because we’ve been on the defensive, reacting to her moves,” the detective begins, as she accepts the pitcher of beer delivered to your table and begins to pour you both a glass, “I think it’s time we changed that. We need to go on the offensive.”

 “How so?” you ask, intrigued, “Jeongyeon’s gone through the data we recovered, and she tells me there’s nothing there we can use to incriminate Irene. She was pretty thorough in making sure there was nothing that led back to her.”

 “That’s true, and why is that?” Jihyo asks, pausing to let you ponder her question before answering it herself, “It’s because she probably deleted it herself before we could get to it. But all that incriminating evidence must exist somewhere – likely in hard copies, or in secured non-networked drives at SM HQ. If my experience is any indication, people like that never delete anything, in case they can use it later.”

 “So hacking into their system and stealing the data that way isn’t an option. We can’t hack into a filing cabinet.”

 Jihyo giggles before answering, “Nope, we can’t. The only way to get into that hypothetical filing cabinet is the old-fashioned way – by walking into the room, opening it up, and stealing the files.”

 It takes you a moment to piece together exactly what the Korean detective is suggesting, but eventually it clicks. It was audacious, to say the least.

 “Is that what you’re suggesting? That one of us go into SM HQ on some solo sneaking mission and retrieve the data ourselves? This isn’t Metal Gear, Jihyo.”

 Jihyo smiles to herself as she takes her first sip of her pint. “It will probably be just as difficult as Shadow Moses,” she says, referring to one of the Metal Gear games, “SM has top notch security for sure. Metal scanners, closed circuit cameras, regular security checkpoints at all the major chokepoints – all manned by a dedicated, well-funded security force that is probably its own internal division of SM, and not some cheap third-party mall cops.”

 “None of us have the skills or training for that,” you answer, “and even if we did, Irene probably has files on all of us. We’d be made the second we stepped onto their property.”

 “What makes you think one of us will have to do it?”

 Jihyo’s phone beeps, and she picks it up to view the text she has just received. She nods towards the entrance of the bar.

 “Here she is.”

 You turn to follow her gaze, and you are struck, momentarily, with shock at the person striding confidently towards your table.

 “Hello, dear,” the newcomer says as she greets Jihyo with a friendly but not overly close hug. As she sits she gives you an amused look, as though she were fully expecting you to be there. The wickedness of her smile betrays the youthful beauty of her features.

 Jihyo notices the look of shock on your face, and puts two and two together.

 “Do you two know each other?”

 “Quite well,” the new girl says, “we were in love once.”

 You want to answer, want to say something that would set the record straight, but you are still rendered speechless by her presence – she was someone you thought you’d never see again.

 “Well come now, Jihyo, you should formally introduce me to your new friend.”

 Jihyo has a look of concern on her face, as though she were trying to figure out whether this new complication would affect her plans. But eventually she decides to introduce you to her friend by name.

 “…and this is Im Nayeon.”

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Ya know what these self-indulgent Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow posts need? Self-indulgent banner art, that’s what.

Spoilers for issue #4!

Let’s start this off right with CREATOR CREDITS. Issue 4 of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow is titled “Restraint, Endurance, and Passion.” Written by Tom King, Art by Bilquis Evely, Colors by Matheus Lopes, Letters by Clayton Cowles, and Edited by Brittany Holzherr. (w/ Assist. Editor: Bixie Mathieu & Senior Editor Mike Cotton)

THE STORY: 

Right, so this? This issue? Best one yet.

Also the bleakest of the bunch thus far; even though we don’t always see the brutality of the space pirates that Kara and Ruthye are following, there’s...the suggestion of it. The aftermath. And how Kara responds to it.

Okay, getting a little ahead of myself. BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Ruthye and Kara continue their pursuit of Krem, who has taken up with Barbond’s Brigands.

The Brigands basically just. Murder and terrorize people, for profit.

Each planet they visit brings new horrors, as well as people who need Supergirl’s help.

And help she does.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

I yell a lot about the art on this book, and have, in fact, openly admitted that I’m primarily here for Evely and Lopes.

Well, that wily son-of-a-gun King went and wrote some of the best ‘Super’ stuff I’ve ever read and dang it, dang it, now I gotta yell about the words too. XD

Specifically, I wanna yell (in a good way!) about some words that occur towards the very end of the book.

Kara and Ruthye have Seen Some Things; things like genocide and mass grave sites and horrible violence, and upon reaching a planet where peaceful monks were slaughtered, Kara’s had enough, and needs to leave because if she screams, she’ll destroy what little is left of the monks’ monastery.

Here’s the text in full, because my gosh. It’s so good:

“What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home. It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said. It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be as true as the turning of worlds. You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion. She did not choose to fire a beam from her eyes, or have breath of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet. Or any of her other well-documented miracles. No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face. She warmed her breath to converse with you. She slowed herself to walk by your side. Ever moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her. All of the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanded to be released. I believe this effort hurt her. I believe she lived her life in pain. But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat--These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow. If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such as assertion was absurd. She would say she felt fine and well and then she’d as you if you needed any help.”

A long chunk of words, I know (this comic is DENSE!) but like. This is it. This is one of the defining attributes of the Supers--all that raw power at their disposal and they choose to help people, to be kind, to suppress that power for the benefit and safety of others.

HNNNNNNNG.

Hope, Help, and Compassion for All.

Whole lotta folks claimed at the outset of this book that King did not understand Kara, that he was a bad fit. And that may be so, I suppose--there’s a whole other discussion about like. The violence and swearing and ‘does that belong in a Supergirl book?’ But the characterization? Getting that Kara and Clark are just good people? 

King gets it. He got it in Superman: Up in the Sky and he gets it here, in Woman of Tomorrow.

Other things King gets! Kara is stubborn! Kara is passionate! Kara is going to fix things, even if the effort of doing so hurts her, physically, emotionally, and mentally!

(Fuuuuuuun fact for the crowd saying that Woman of Tomorrow is vastly superior to the CW show: TV Kara is ALSO all of those things! King isn’t pulling this stuff out of thin air. It’s almost like...gosh. I don’t know! Both the show and Tom King are pulling from the character’s comic history, or something!!!! HOW NOVEL.) 

Like, seriously. There’s a lot of overlap. Stop pitting Karas against each other!

Anyways!

I promised art, so here is art!

Oh, right, forgot to mention, Kara literally THROWS HERSELF INTO THE SUN to express her grief and anger, so as to not cause that unnecessary destruction. She gives new meaning to the phrase: Set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. 

More art yelling: GOTTDAMN, the way Evely draws Kara just colliding with the surface of the sun and then the way Kara’s hair like...becomes the flames...

I am FEELING FEELINGS. HOW DARE.

Also, props to King and Cowles; King for deciding to have that initial scream, Cowles for the way the letters burst forth from the point of impact on the sun, and then back to King who decided that it would just be...devastating silent screaming from Kara, for the remainder of the scene. 

Back to the characterization, I just wanted to highlight something I mentioned...earlier on, I think? In these posts? But haven’t brought up recently, and that is how this book has not once brought up Zor-El, and I think Superman only got a quick mention in issue 2.

Honestly, I think that’s gotta be some kind of record.

It’s so refreshing. Not because I think there should never be mentions of Clark, or anything--I love that boy--but because so much of modern Supergirl comic drama is mined from the same like, angsting over her place compared to Clark, or her crazy sometimes-a-supervillain dad. 

There is no Clark and Kara drama here, no manufactured friction, because it’s just. A cool Supergirl story! 

Gonna keep going, but let’s do it with some more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Once again, Mat Lopes is all over the dang place with his palettes, it’s marvelous.

Each new planet gives Evely the opportunity to go hog wild on the worldbuilding and design, and similarly! Each new locale is an opportunity for Lopes to set the tone with colors. Like, here, towards the beginning of the book, we’ve got a planet bathed in this warm, pale yellow/orange light. 

(Quick note: “Sure, yeah, I get it. We all have our duties. And it’s mine as a neighbor to do what I can to help you with yours. Please.” A+ Kara content. We love to see it. And then locating the remains of the alien’s daughter, so that they can go visit the grave site and have some emotional closure???? It’s just. So. Touching.)

Anyways, back to colors.

Like!!!! LOOK AT THAT JUMP. From the soft, almost pastoral feel of the delicate oranges and yellows to HARD GREEN, PINK, AND PURPLE. (Difficult colors to pull off in print, I might add.) 

(This is also an interesting scene, character-wise, because I think it helps re-contextualize some earlier stuff with Kara. Like, I’m mostly thinking that incident on the bus, where she was swearing at the passengers as the space dragon was about to destroy them. Here, we see Kara kind of...goad this alien woman into releasing her pent up emotions by yelling at her/getting her to fight, and you can clearly see at the end of it that Kara did not mean the things she said, because check this out:

She goes and gives her a hug once the woman is able to finally cry.

It’s not ‘Kara is being mean, Kara is swearing at her’, it’s, ‘Kara has an unorthodox solution to a problem, and she’s gonna FIX that problem, NO MATTER WHAT.’

Circling back to the bus thing--again, that could be an instance of ‘unorthodox approach to a weird situation that Kara is going to handle because lives are at stake.’)

But also, DIG THAT KIRBY KRACKLE, BAY-BEEEEE!

And a little Strange Adventures easter egg! The Pykkts! 

(I think those guys are unique to the Black Label series, rather than deep Adam Strange lore, but don’t quote me on that.)

Moving on to YET ANOTHER PALETTE, one I’ve dubbed, ‘Treasure Planet Purple/Grey’

Love Ruthye’s snoozing against the door, waiting for Kara.

Also, just as striking as the colors of the environment, are the colors used on Kara. 

If you compare this page with the previous one, Kara’s eyes are a paler shade of blue, and the red-rimmed look on her eyes here is not as intense as the red-rimmed look we saw back in issue one, when she was confronting Krem. 

All of which to say! There’s a pale, haunted quality to both the linework and the colors. Like. We know Kara has Seen Some Things. But she’s shoving all that stuff down to protect Ruthye, to save Krypto, and to stop these monsters, and you get all of that WITH COLORS AND LINES ON A PAGE.

I love it, I love it so much.

OTHER BOOKS WISH THEY HAD THIS LEVEL OF CHARACTER ACTING, I TELL YA! THEY WISH THEY HAD THIS BEAUTIFUL ALCHEMY OF INKER, COLORIST, AND WRITER WORKING IN SUCH TIGHT TANDEM!

Ahem. XD

Alright, last bit of art, lest I just. Post the whole issue in here. (Which I’m honestly always tempted to do but Strong Feelings about Piracy hold me back.)

JUST HECKIN’ LOOK AT THAT BLUE, MAN. JUST LOOK AT IT. S’BEAUTIFUL.

And more stunning character acting from Evely. Like. Bottom middle panel. The expression, the tilt of her head and the shadows on her eyes...

*insert silent flailing here*

Oh, also, KRYPTO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVESSSS (for now). 

I’m never right about these things, so I’m glad the one time I’ve correctly read a thing is when it involves Krypto not, ya know. Being dead. XD

Also absolutely love that Kara’s instinct is to send Ruthye home to protect her--once more leaning into that whole, ‘I’m going to protect you, even at great cost to myself’, though of course we know that she can’t send her home, not here, not now, just halfway through our journey. 

ERRRRRRGH, so mad we’re not getting twelve issues of this! CURSE YOU, POOR SUPERGIRL TRADE SALES! CURSE YOOOOOOU!

That said, King’s pacing? Has been phenomenal. I feel like Strange Adventures and even Mr. Miracle kinda...I’m not gonna say dragged, that’s not quite right. But it is more build up, I guess. Takes a while to get to the payoff.

Here, I think King is pushing things steadily along as he doesn’t have the benefit of an additional four issues, so he has to get to the point, so to speak. Keeps everything moving.

SOME FINAL, MISC. STUFF:

I’ve sort of glossed over the darker stuff from this issue, and I just wanna note that like. This is a book that features a bad guy getting stoned (in the death sentence way, not the drug way) on panel. Like. I can’t recommend this to children.

I can’t even really recommend it to some other Supergirl fans, because I know that the King elements will be too off-putting. 

It never feels like the book is going too far, though. At least in like an...exploitative way? If that makes sense?

The violence is handled with discretion, I guess is what I’m trying to convey. This could very easily tip over into like, gross shock factor territory, if not handled well, but I think the creative team pulls it off.

...Still wouldn’t hand this book to kids, though. XD

As mentioned, we’re halfway through this series! Can’t wait to see where it goes--every time I think I have this book figured out, it surprises me. So, like. Bring on the Dinosaur planet! With no sunlight! I wanna see how Lopes handles THAT. XD

(But Oh, OooooOOooh, we gotta wait until NOVEMBER.)

(Hhhnnnnng!)

(Then again, maybe that’s good; we’ve got the TV show in the meantime, and then once it ends we can pick right up with new Supergirl content just a few weeks later.)

(...Aw. Made myself a little sad, thinking about the TV show coming to an end.)

:C

So as not to end on that sad note, here once again is tiny, smushed Kara:

Give ‘em the ol razzle dazzle.

[matrixaffiliate]

Surreptitious

New Story! FFN and AO3

Lily doesn't think it will be that hard to hide she's been dating James for two years, and friends with him for five, but when she and James end up working together as temps every day, she finds out how intertwined with her boyfriend she really is. 

@thisismegz shared this Tumblr post with me (thank you, darling!) from @women-inthe-sequel and it felt so very Jily =) So obviously, I had to write it for Jilytober! Enjoy!

Surreptitious

Lily chucked her bag down on the table in a rage. The fact that the order had been misdelivered was not her fault, but that didn't change she'd been thrown under the bus and blamed for it, not that this wasn't the first time she'd been framed for something that went wrong. It also didn't change that she'd been fired over it either.

Her phone buzzed and she sighed as she saw James' picture on her phone.

"Feel like cheering me up?"

"Always," James laughed. "What can I do for you today, Evans?"

"Slowly pull out the bowels of Rosier and Yaxley with a white-hot hook?" Lily fell down onto her bed and kicked off her shoes.

"Vicious," James' chuckle was throaty and Lily wished he was with her where she could feel it rumble through his chest.

"Well, they managed to finally get me fired, so it feels justified at the moment."

"They what?!" All laughter and teasing had gone out of his voice.

"They blamed another misdelivery on me, and I found out they'd been filing complaints against me that I didn't know about, and I swear that Riddle was in on it with them because he showed me documents stating that he'd notified me of those complaints and strikes against me, but I know he didn't." Lily took a deep breath to try and calm down, "None of that matters now though, they got me out and that was what they wanted. They won."

"No!" James almost shouted. "I'll talk to Dad, I'm sure his solicitor will take your case! We'll sue them for everything they own!"

Lily smiled, knowing James was on her side always made her feel better.

"No, they aren't worth it. I'll report them, sure, but I'm not going to sue them over it."

"Lils, look," he went to say more, but Lily cut him off.

"No, James. I'm not going to waste my mental energy on them anymore. I'm going to take a day to calm down and then I'm going to get on to trying to find a new job."

James let out a long breath. "Love, I know you don't want to waste the mental energy on them, but wrong is wrong. Would you let me just mention it to Dad?"

Lily rolled to her side and shifted her phone, "I guess that would be fine, but I'm not personally taking them to small claims, alright?"

"Right," James sounded relieved. "I promise you won't be involved at all."

"Thanks, darling," Lily felt her stomach grumble and she groaned. "Needing a new job aside, I need to find something to eat."

"I'll call Mum, I'm sure she'll be happy to cheer you up with food."

Lily's stomach grumbled again, "Are you sure that she wouldn't mind cooking for us?"

James laughed, "Lils, my dear mother always tells me I'm not home often enough, and then immediately asks when I'm going to settle down and give her grandchildren."

Lily grinned, "See she never says anything about you settling down to me."

"Yes, because she wants to keep you around. Trust me, if she didn't like you, she'd be doing everything in her power to push you to marry me tomorrow." James paused, "So am I calling Mum or not?"

Lily pushed up off her bed. "Yeah, call your parents and ask if she'd make me some daal makhani to drown my sorrows in."

"You can count on it," James' smile was evident in his voice as they disconnected the call, and Lily internally admitted that she was looking forward to seeing it after the nightmare of a day she'd endured.

So, when Lily pulled up to the Potters' large home thirty minutes later, she couldn't stop the excitement bubbling in her chest, and even with the awful day, she smiled as she pushed open their front door.

"James?"

"You're here!" James came nearly running around the corner into the entryway, sweeping her into a tight embrace.

Lily took in a deep breath as she held him close. The smell of James mixed with the smells coming from Mia's kitchen were pulling all of the stress out of her and replacing it with warmth and happiness.

"Come eat while it's still hot!" Mia called from the kitchen.

Lily laughed and kicked off her shoes before taking James' hand to walk into the kitchen.

"Laadli," Mia hugged her, "Eat up, and there are jalebis too. A little sugar will make everything better."

"Thank you, Mia," Lily held on to this wonderful woman who had stepped in when her mum had passed on.

The family dinner was exactly what she needed. Lily finally felt calm, and while she still didn't know what she was going to do about a new job, she at least felt like life was going to get better, for no other reason than she was surrounded by these wonderful people.

"James," Monty handed him his plate as James cleared the table. "The new client at the agency finalized their paperwork for their trial run."

"You're taking on another company at the temp agency?" Lily asked.

James nodded, "Yep, which means 90 days of me pretending I'm not a part-owner."

Lily laughed. After they'd finished university, Monty brought James and Sirius on to the temp agency he started decades ago, but part of the deal was they would be guinea pigs to each new client to be sure the real temps would be treated well. Since they'd just signed a company a month ago and Sirius was currently being their guinea pig, James would need to take this new one.

"What does this company do?" Mia picked up her glass and drained it before handing it to Lily as she helped James clear the table.

"They're a paint manufacturer," Monty said, "But they want the temps for their customer service department."

"You told them they'd only get one, right Dad?" James looked over from the kitchen sink.

"I did," Monty nodded, "they asked me to try my best to get them two."

Mia looked at Lily for a moment and then smiled. "You should be the second temp!"

It took Lily a full ten seconds to realize what Mia was implying, but James beat her to a response as he shut off the water.

"No, Mum, Lily's an industrial engineer who deserves to find a job that will actually utilize her and not pin her to arranging low-level deliveries. She doesn't need to be working customer service while I evaluate this client."

"And why not, chotu?" Mia turned on him. "This way she gets a paycheck while she looks for something new and when she does find it, she can leave; no one expects a temp to stay forever."

"Mum," James' hand went straight for his hair.

"Mia, that's really sweet of you," Lily cut in but then Mia turned her mom-eyes on her.

"Laadli," she cupped Lily's face in her hands, "This will be good for you, give you something to think about other than that awful place that didn't appreciate your work. And you'd be with James so you'd have fun. Learn from an old woman, Lily, have more fun in your life."

Looking into Mia's wise umber eyes and feeling her small warm palms on her cheeks, Lily felt almost like she was under a magic spell.

"Well, if Monty thinks it's alright."

Mia held her eyes and kept her face in her hands. "Of course, it's alright, Monty will see to it."

A part of Lily's brain was sure that Mia was exercising some force of will over her, but there was something so comforting about it that she decided to ignore how much this felt like a magic spell.

"Then, I think it'd be fine. It'd give me time to find a position that I really like instead of settling for the first thing that pops up."

"There, see," Mia pulled her hands away from Lily's face with a smile, "We can always find blessings in disguise if we're willing to look for them."

"Lils," James stepped between her and his mum. "If you want to do this, we can make it happen, but don't feel pressured into it. You don't have to."

Mia tsked loudly behind him.

Lily gave him a small smile. "If you're alright with it, then it would really help me out."

James' returning smile lit up his face. "Eh, I guess I can handle it. At least I'll have someone to talk to, yeah?"

"And I suppose I could handle having to talk to you every day." She smirked up at him.

"Well then, that's settled." Monty chuckled, "James, I'll put you in charge of the paperwork and arrangements for all of this."

James shot his dad a grin, "I'll have it all settled by tomorrow evening. You're looking at the two newest temps for Royal Paint."

It wasn't a week later that Lily was pulling up to her new place of work - at least until she could find a new position in her field if expertise.

She saw James step out of his car and she waved him over. There was one thing that she wanted to clarify with him before they started this.

"Morning Evans," James moved to kiss her but she put her hand on his chest and stopped him.

"Does this place know you're one of the owners of the temp agency?"

James shook his head, "No, everything Sirius and I do is on the back end except for this, so no one knows we aren't real temps when we show up."

Lily nodded, "Alright, in that case, I think it would be a good idea for us not to broadcast our relationship while we're here for these three months."

"Really?"

"I don't want to cause any drama, and Sirius isn't available to switch with you if they have a problem with us being together. I think it would make everything easier and safer if we kept our relationship between us."

James sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Please, James," Lily smiled up at him. "I promise when we aren't here, I'll be the best girlfriend in the world."

James laughed down at her and laced his fingers with hers. "You already are but if it'll make you happy, then sure, while we're working with this client, we're just two temps, not a couple."

"Thank you," Lily looked around the parking lot and upon finding it empty, quickly pressed up and kissed him. "I suppose we should get this show on the road then, eh?"

"Yeah," James stole one more kiss, "We don't want to be late on our first day."

Lily and James walked into the grey cement brick building and were welcomed by the receptionist.

"Hi, I'm Amy, you must be our new temps."

"That's us," James nodded and Lily forced her down chuckle as she watched James start scanning the office. He may be wearing the badge of temp for the next three months, but James would never be able to stop being the shrewd businessman that helped his dad's company thrive.

"Just a minute and I'll fetch Scott, he's our manager." She clicked a couple of times on her computer before grabbing her desk phone. "Scott, they're here." She set the phone down and turned back to Lily and James with a happy smile.

"He'll be right out."

Not a moment later a man came walking around the corner.

"Welcome! Welcome to your new home away from home! Welcome to Royal Paint!"

"Thank you," James stepped forward and shook Scott's hand. "I'm James Potter."

"And I'm Lily Evans," Lily stepped forward as she watched James turn to introduce her. That was her first hint that hiding their relationship was going to be harder than she initially thought.

"James and Lily!" Scott shook her hand. "I can't wait to get to know you. I'm Scott and I hope you'll view me as your mentor and friend while you're here."

Lily nearly balked at the difference between Scott and Riddle. At least Scott didn't seem to be out to fire her from the get-go.

"Thank you," she pulled her bag higher up on her shoulder and smiled up at James.

"Look at you two," Scott stepped back and looked at the two of them, "You look like you could be on the cover of one of my wife's romance books. Don't you think so, Amy?" He turned to the receptionist.

Amy laughed, "You're a hopeless romantic, Scott."

"And I'm usually right about this sort of thing."

Lily felt something akin to panic gripping her stomach. "I'm sure that Mr. Potter and I can keep things professional."

James covered his laugh with a forced clearing of his throat and Lily fought the urge to glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Scott laughed. "Royal Paint was started by a husband and wife team. We have no policy against workplace relationships. But let's get the two of you settled in and then you can get to know one another before you make decisions about first dates and whatnot."

He turned and led them down the corridor.

"Mr. Potter?" James whispered as he smirked down at her.

"I panicked!" Lily glared at him.

Before James could comment further, Scott had led them into the next room.

"This will be your launching pad!" Then he gestured to the two women sitting at desks that faced each other. "And these lovelies are the crew that will take you into the stars! Gladys and Arabella, this is James Potter, and here is Lily Evans. James, Lily, this is Gladys Vance and Arabella Figg."

The women smiled at them but before either could say anything, Scott had moved to the single desk to the left of Gladys and Arabella's workstations.

"This is where the two of you will be set up. I'm sorry but we couldn't get a second desk in here soon enough. You'll only need to share for a wee bit, but we'll get you your own desks in a jiffy. The two computers seem to fit alright, though, so shouldn't be a problem. Let's get you logged into those computers and Gladys and Arabella will train you up on what you need to do."

"Scott, slow down, you're spinning like a top." Gladys chuckled. "We'll take care of these two, you go do the manager things you do."

"Off you go," Arabella stood and made a shooing motion with her hands.

"I'll leave you in their capable hands then," Scott bowed awkwardly. "And if you need anything at all just step right into my office. My door is always open."

"Thank you, Scott." James chuckled.

Arabella shooed Scott again and he saluted before stepping out of the room.

"Well, you survived our fearless leader," Arabella chuckled. "We run things a bit more down to earth here in customer service."

"He's very enthusiastic, isn't he?" Lily laughed.

"Don't you two look cute standing like that?" Gladys smiled at them.

Lily looked over and realized she and James had gravitated towards each other, standing so close they were nearly touching.

"Oh, sorry," she stepped away from James, "I didn't mean to crowd you."

James' hand shot to his hair, "No problem, barely noticed."

Gladys and Arabella shared a long look but didn't say anything more. They helped James and Lily get logged into their computers and showed them how to respond to online inquiries from the website and how to find the answers. The job was so simple that by lunch Lily felt not only like she knew what she was doing, but that she'd been doing it for ages.

"Did the two of you bring lunch?" Gladys came to stand at their desk. "Because either way, Arabella and I are taking you out."

Lily laughed, "I brought a can of soup, but I have a hunch it'll keep till tomorrow."

"Are you sure about that?" James laughed, "Storing things in metal, who knows what could happen."

Lily laughed in spite of herself but stopped just before she went to playfully shove him.

"You two are cute," Arabella grinned at them. "Did either of you ever watch the American version of The Office? You two could be Jim and Pam."

"Oh, yes!" Glady exclaimed, "Lily's got red hair like Pam, and James instead of Jim!"

Lily looked at James and laughed, "I don't suppose you want to be called Jim?"

James rolled his eyes, "Do you know I threaten my brother with roasting him over a low fire for it?"

Lily grinned, she did know. "Oh, but it could be fun, couldn't it?"

James adjusted his glasses and leant across the desk, "Depends on your definition of the word fun, Lilian."

"Do you know that isn't my name?" Lily rolled her eyes. He did know.

"And now you know that Jim isn't mine," James countered with a smirk.

"I like them better than Jim and Pam," Arabella's voice brought Lily back to the present and she silently kicked herself for slipping into the banter she and James had built their relationship on.

Trying to avoid the habits that had formed from two years of dating plus another three years of friendship before that might just prove impossible.

And that premonition proved to be exactly right. She couldn't stop herself from the unconscious part of her brain that reached across their desk to touch his hand or his thigh. She could never keep herself from standing directly next to him. And she definitely couldn't stop the way her eyes would seek him out naturally. It was just so much a part of her to be connected to James.

How did she ever think she could hide this?

"Hey," she whispered across the desk three weeks after they'd started with Royal Paint. "I have to take my car in to have it serviced tonight, can you give me a ride tomorrow?"

"Of course, do you need a ride back from the service station too?" James nodded.

"I was going to request an Uber but if you want, we can make a night of it."

"Sure," James grinned at her. "We could make something at yours and watch a film or something."

"Sounds perfect," Lily moved to grab his hand but caught herself, opting to take a sticky note from the stack instead.

"How is the job hunt going?" James smirked at her.

Lily rolled her eyes at his smirk even as she grinned at him.

"I had a firm call for an interview and my references."

"That's amazing!" James' whisper went loud and Lily giggled.

"Riveting conversation over there dears?" Gladys smiled over at them.

"Just wondering when you're going to invite The Pips over and finally admit that your last name is really Knight." James smiled over at Gladys and Arabella.

Lily trained her gaze back on her computer and the mind-numbing work of answering customer questions.

"I'll be at yours at half six to go drop your car," James whispered and knocked her foot with his.

She looked up to see that smile that still made her stomach flutter.

"Thanks."

But James bringing her to work the next morning ended up being more of a to-do than Lily had expected it to be.

"Well, hello there!" Arabella stepped out of her car as Lily and James stepped out of his.

"Hi Arabella," Lily tried not to groan.

"Is your car alright dear?" Arabella looked as pleased as one of her cats might look had it caught a mouse.

"It just needed to be serviced. James was nice enough to bring me to work this morning."

Arabella nodded understandingly but her smile seemed to grow wider. "What a nice thing to do."

"What was a nice thing to do?" Scott walked up behind Arabella and Lily thought she might die.

"Lily's car needed to be serviced and James was kind enough to bring her to work today."

"A proper gentleman," Scott walked up and patted James on the back. "Well done, my boy!"

"Lily ought to take him to lunch to thank him," Arabella looked at Scott, "Don't you agree? They've proven they're hard workers, I think they could do with a long lunch today."

"Capital idea, Arabella! Yes!" He turned to James and Lily, "I agree, take a long lunch the both of you!"

Lily looked at James who was putting a great deal of effort into not laughing.

"Alright, then," Lily looked at Scott and Arabella helplessly.

Clearly, she'd need to rethink her original plan of hiding their relationship, seeing as everyone wanted them to have one.

"This whole thing has gone pear-shaped!" Lily huffed as she got into James' car for their enforced lunch date.

"Hey," James leant over and pulled her in for a slow kiss. "It'll be fine." He smiled as he pulled away. "You're going to go to your interview next week and they're going to wonder how they've ever managed without you. Then they'll hire you, and you'll be working for an amazing firm before you know it."

Lily kissed him again and let the warmth that had always been James ease some of the stress away.

"You know," James put the car in gear. "We could play this to our advantage."

"Play what to our advantage?" Lily fiddled with the radio.

"We could be the new office romance." James knocked her hand away from the radio as she tried to skip over a song he liked that she didn't.

"The new office romance?"

"Sure," James slapped her hand away again. "We could stop trying to hide the way that we're practically an old married couple, to quote my mum, and just be us."

"You're mum calls us an old married couple?" Lily laughed.

"Of course, she does."

"Why, of course?"

"Because she's my mum," James shrugged.

Lily grinned as the idea started to form in her mind. "We could sneak around like we did our last week of university."

James looked over at her with a smirk. "That poor custodian, I'm pretty sure we nearly gave him a heart attack."

Lily giggled, "I think you're right; this could be fun."

"Yes, and then I can stop smacking myself every time I go to touch you as well." James reached over and grabbed her hand.

"I know right? It's like I'm in love with you or something." She teased.

James parked in front of the restaurant and leant over to kiss her again. "That makes one of us, then."

Lily smacked his chest and pulled away but James caught her around the neck and kissed her passionately.

"I love you," he murmured as he slowed their pace.

"You better," Lily laughed and pulled back. "So, we're doing this? We're going to be Royal Paint's new office romance?"

"Yeah, let's have a bit of fun."

And they did. Lily didn't stop herself from making faces at him across their desk when she got bored. She didn't stop herself from asking James about their plans for the weekend. She didn't stop herself from walking out of the office with him after work. She didn't panic when Gladys mentioned how sweet it was that she was hitting it off so well with James. When Scott stepped in to tell them he'd managed to secure another desk for them if they wanted it, she agreed with James' insistence that they didn't need it.

The one thing Lily did still stop herself from bringing up at work when they were around their coworkers was her efforts to find a real job, and how things were going for James in his real job. Just because he was playing temp didn't mean he didn't still have his real job and everything that went with helping his dad run the temp agency.

She was trying to discreetly check her email on her phone to see if the company that had interviewed her and called all three of her references had made a decision on hiring her yet or not when she was spooked by James swearing under his breath.

Lily glanced quickly over at Arabella and Gladys before whispering to James.

"What's wrong?"

"There's a problem at the office. One of our temps went rogue." James' hands went to his hair before they immediately dropped to his phone to type.

"Is it going to be alright?" Lily leant closer.

"If Sirius and I get there in the next hour then probably." He looked up at her. "I've got to go. Do you want me to make something up for you to get Scott to let you out early too?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't want to make him suspicious of why you're leaving and then not let you go. I'll stay and finish the workday."

James grabbed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder before coming around the desk to kiss her. "Thank you, I'll text you once this is resolved."

Lily kissed him once more before he slipped out the door.

"They're already kissing goodbye," Arabella commented with a grin.

"They're meant to be," Gladys laughed, "Where is your prince off to?"

Lily rolled her eyes at them, "His brother needs him, he's going to see if Scott will let him out early."

"Oh, Scott is a pushover for that sort of thing. He probably would have let you go too if you'd asked." Arabella pulled a cat hair off her jumper.

"I wouldn't have been much help," Lily shrugged.

"So, how's having a new boyfriend been?" Gladys pulled her coffee cup to her lips and smirked at Lily.

"I'm rather enjoying it," Lily laughed and turned from her computer. It was becoming apparent that the two wanted to talk more than they wanted to work right now, probably because James wasn't there.

"I can imagine," Arabella winked at her. "Have you spent much time together over the last month and a half?"

"I guess we have," Lily tried to think of what sort of pace a regular couple would take, a couple that didn't have the history she and James had.

They'd been at odds in their first year of university, but when everything had happened with Severus and the Marauders at the end of first year, well, Lily realized that she'd been dead wrong about who her friends were. Thankfully, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were more than happy to put that year behind them and welcome her into their friendship. She and James had been friends for the last three years of their time at university; his parents were who she relied on when her mum passed away, joining her dad on the other side and leaving her with just Petunia and Vernon for living family members; James introduced her to Marlene and Emmeline and Mary and Bridget; the Marauders and everyone attached to them had become her family.

It was the last day of exams their final year at university that James had found her alone and somehow the two of them had finally stopped dancing around their feelings for one another and snogged the daylights out of each other.

They'd been inseparable for the last two years.

But how did one act like they hadn't been in love with the man they were with for years?

"You look unsure? Is everything alright?" Arabella frowned at her and Lily silently cursed herself for not having better control over her emotions playing out over her face.

"Oh, er, yes, I just, I, er, I'm waiting on an email." Lily reasoned she was a temp; she probably didn't need to hide that she was looking for something permanent; it was just James' position that she needed to keep to herself.

"A good email or a bad one?"

"I suppose I'm hoping it's a good one, but it could be a bad one."

Gladys narrowed her gaze. "Lily, what sort of email is this?"

"The sort of email that could get me a position with an engineering firm," Lily watched the two women carefully and sighed in relief when they both cried out exuberantly.

"That's wonderful," Arabella laughed, "but won't you miss working with James?"

"I'll miss it," Lily nodded because truthfully, she would miss it.

Working with James this way had been exactly what she needed after the fiasco at her last position. It had been healing to be with him day in and day out. It had made her realize how much she needed him, how much she relied on him.

"Well, most people don't work with their partners; you'd be joining the ranks of the rest of us." Gladys chuckled. "I love my husband, but I wouldn't work with him for all the money in the world. We weren't meant to be business partners."

"Amen, to that," Arabella rolled her eyes.

It was a couple of hours later that James texted her that he and Sirius had sorted out whatever had happened with the rogue temp. He followed that text up with the sort of response that helped Lily see why Mia called them an old married couple.

James: Meet me at mine, I'm bringing dinner.

Lily smiled down at her phone and then jumped when Gladys' voice spooked her.

"Email or boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Lily chuckled. "He managed to sort out whatever was happening with his brother."

"And…"

"We're having dinner tonight," Lily looked up at the clock and sighed; it was still an hour before she could leave.

Gladys looked over at Arabella and something passed between the two.

"Pack up your things, deary, Arabella and I are going to bully Scott into letting you leave early."

"No, that's alright," Lily shook her head, "I can wait."

Arabella laughed, "No isn't an option I'm afraid. We're rather fond of you and James there, so I think we're going to get our way and get you on your way."

"Really, it's fine," Lily protested again.

"Oh stop with the propriety and have a little fun, Lily." Gladys stood up. "Let's get you off to that boy of yours."

What could she do? It was as if these two were in cahoots with Mia. Lily packed up her things and tried to hide behind her two bullies as they approached Scott's office.

"Scott, dear Scott," Gladys stuck her head in Scott's office.

Scott looked up and laughed, "Oh dear, the both of you, what am I giving in to today?"

"What a dear he is," Gladys grinned at Arabella before turning back to Scott. "You're going to tell this sweet child to get herself off to her new boyfriend right now."

Scott glanced back at Lily and winked at her.

"I suppose you'll let the entire office know how hard it was to wear me down?"

"Of course," Arabella nodded. "We had to make a fuss about what a wonderful employee she's been these six weeks."

"And we had to point out that it has been slow all day and that it definitely won't pick up to where Arabella and I can't handle in the next hour," Gladys added.

"And don't forget how we're all invested in Lily and James," Scott added absently as he looked at an email on his computer.

"Oh yes, that too," Arabella laughed.

Scott looked back up and blinked, "Lily? Why are you still here?"

Lily shook her head and smiled, "I'm on my way out."

"Give my best to James," Scott called out to her as she walked out the door and to her car.

Lily texted James that she had been forced out early and then drove to his flat. For a moment she thought she saw Monty and Mia in their car on her way, but she was past them before she had a chance to do a double-take.

Walking up to James' flat felt like home. The knowledge that he'd be on the other side of the door when she opened it wrapped her in a blanket of comforting domesticity. Lily wondered if maybe she should forgo renewing her lease when it was up in a couple of months.

She pushed open the door but stopped dead in the doorway.

The lights were turned off, but there were battery votives on the floor making a pathway towards the kitchen.

"James…?"

He didn't answer and Lily resisted the urge in her to turn on the lights. She blamed it on Gladys' and Arabella's and Mia's insistence that she have a little fun. Instead, Lily kicked off her shoes and set down her bag to follow the flickering lights guiding her further into the flat.

Every light was off and the curtains pulled tight over the windows, making the floor look like it was glowing with the little votive lights lined against it. Lily stepped into the kitchen and paused. The lights led to a chair, sitting dead center on the kitchen floor.

"I am not doing a seance with you, Potter," Lily looked around. She nearly screamed when her phone vibrated and sounded in her pocket.

James: Please just sit down Evans

It was followed by at least twenty eye-roll emojis.

Lily rolled her eyes and texted back.

Lily: Fine, but I will kill you if this is some sort of prank…

She included five devil emojis before hitting send and cautiously sitting down in the chair.

"Now what?" Lily called out and looked around.

James stepped quietly into the kitchen and grinned at her.

"You always suspect me," he leant against the doorway, his hand running through his hair.

Lily forced her eyes back to his face. "You've given me plenty of reasons to do so."

James laughed, "You know, I've been thinking about how nice it's been to see you every day, but now I'm wondering what I was thinking."

She rolled her eyes but laughed with him.

"I was actually thinking the same thing after you left today."

James' smile went soft and he moved slowly, purposefully towards her.

"Good," his voice was that low rumble that made Lily want to pull him flush against her.

Then James came to kneel in front of her and Lily suddenly couldn't breathe.

"What do you think we make sure we see each other every day, even after we finish our stint with Royal Paint?"

"James," she laughed, but it came out a breathless sound.

"Lils, will you marry me?" He slid a ring out of his pocket and held it out to her.

"Of course!" Lily couldn't stop laughing, even as James pressed up to kiss her, lifting her from the chair and lifting her feet off the floor.

"We should turn on the lights," James laughed with her.

"Why?" Lily finally started to get a hold of her laughter and was trying to move their kissing a little further forward.

"Mum and Dad should be here any minute. Dad's parents took him and mum out to dinner when he asked her to marry him. I told them we could do dinner, but that I wasn't asking you at a restaurant."

"Oh! I saw them on my way over!" Lily laughed. "Well, I guess we can keep this going when we get back."

James hummed as he kissed her again, "And we can talk about what we're going to do with this darn temp job."

Lily's phone buzzed in her back pocket and she jumped when James reached into her pocket and pulled it free to hand to her.

"I don't think we'll have to worry about it," Lily grinned down at her phone as she looked at the screen.

"Yeah?" James looked down at her phone.

"I got the position!" Lily laughed. "I'm engaged and I got my dream job on the same day!"

"Well," James kissed her, "While we're discussing good news, I have one more thing to add."

"What?"

"Dad and Sirius and I have been working on a surprise for you; we've managed to get Riddle and his cronies into a world of trouble that I don't think they'll be getting out of anytime soon." James' grin was wicked.

Lily narrowed her gaze, "There was no rouge temp, was there?"

"Sirius and I were the rogue temps, we bailed at work and went to make sure our plan went exactly as we wanted it. I doubt that your old place of employment will still have a license to practice business for much longer."

"I love you," Lily linked her arms around his neck and kissed him.

James pulled back to look down at her, one of his hands coming up to trace along her cheek before tangling in her hair.

"I love you too," and he kissed her.

[legionofpotatoes]

alright here’s ma thoughts on that flick I mentioned

we hatewatched a*my of the dead because we were CONVINCED “zombies in las vegas” would be an impossible concept to screw up, but in so assuming we obviously invoked a holy wager with the universe and got reminded, once again, that hoping for improvement from someone who’s dependably put out bad art is never a wise choice 😐

but we were honestly kinda roped in by the marketing??? and expected a goofy fast-paced flick with the odd traditional undead metaphor thrown in, framing some sort of relationship drama maybe or hell even nothing at all! we’d have taken pure indulgent storytelling, idk italian job with zombies in las vegas, I don’t know fucking anything but??? whatever this was???? spoilers below for it is time for One Of My Rants

I mean the main reason I really want to write all this and complain. this film here probably has the most unappealing cinematography I have ever experienced in my life and that is saying something. who the fuck signed off on that CONSTANT shallow-ass depth of field that imprisons your eyeline and turns every shot into bokeh paste???? and I mean every shot almost!!!! I promise if you think I am overreacting just throw a dart at the seek bar and watch twenty seconds from wherever it lands. it is horrifying to look at. at least it gave my girlfriend a good visual shorthand for what it’s like when I lose my glasses

why was sean spicer in this movie. did they pay him to be here. was sean spicer paid hollywood money for his scene in this film because fuck everyone who was involved in that decision

the legitimately baffling hints at the extraterrestrial origins of the infection that went absolutely nowhere and had no dramatic or plot-level bearing. we love to see the franchise sprouts fellas

yet another big budget waste of everything hiroyuki sanada has to offer. and bautista too I guess? I like him but man was this an odd career move

what was the crux of his conflict/resolution with his daughter btw. I understand it was rooted in miscommunication over their forms of grief irt mom but uhh… it was all rather clunky and didn’t land for me. I tried I really tried to buy in but something was wrong fundamentally with the groundwork there, it did not click and their catharsis felt unearned. I know there’s massive amounts of tragic baggage being projected there from the author so I’m not slapping any judgment down really;

but again it would be an easy thing to wave off if they just had a vibrant cast of lovable simpletons with good chemistry and the kinetic sense of plotting the trailers promised (and this premise never discounts good drama, either). but instead it was just two and a half (!) hours of meandering into situations the filmmaking instincts had no idea how to flow in and out of

to wit. I know talking about “bad pacing” is associated with armchair bullshit but consider the example of the scene were dieter does an out of nowhere little dance after childishly screaming but then still-killing a zombie, with the film framing this as a micro character triumph, and not a second later the bg soundtrack instantly fades into an orchestral score dramatizing a nearby mcguffin reveal, completely 180 degreeing the tone without a semblance of deft insert shot stitching or even I dont know a fucking jump cut maybe. now imagine this whiplash for 2.5 hrs uninterrupted

I will keep complaining about the length yeah because this was not a story requiring this much real estate to be told. Uhh in my humble and personal opinion, of course

[man sees zombie tiger] “this is crossing the line!” you can in fact write dialogue that is not utter nonsense that falls apart once you drill down its single fickle layer of referential meta winking. what line are you talking about. you have rules in this insane situation you’re in? total nitpick moment I know but it got burned in my brain for some reason. like a microcosm of the mismanaged dramatic instincts paired with weird writing that dots this movie. I am sure the director calls this either satire or genre deconstruction. I am SO sure

tumblr domino meme that goes from “dude getting sucked off while driving” to “entire las vegas literally nuked”

tig notaro is always great to see but once you know she’s been filmed as a separate greenscreen plate months after photography wrapped - cause she had to apparently replace some abusive asshole but that’s a whole other pig not worth fucking - it becomes impossible to unsee her odd detachment from everyone else in the movie lmao. it doesn’t really “ruin” anything on its lonesome but it is hard to unsee

why. was. sean. spicer. in. this. movie

a very simple key ingredient missing from fully turning lip service sympathy for main uruk hai dude into actual empathy that would generate meaningful conflict with hero family would be to spend a bit more time articulating what he internally wanted the most. because he was obviously trying to do something here with pointed agenda. a family, to have kids, build a caste system, save his wife’s head, return to his planet??? all of these could represent the bigger context in his psychology that spurred his vengeance but none of them are dramatically emphasized long enough for you to cheer him on. I’m not asking too much I promise. Articulating interiority of a mute character is pretty doable with deft cinema language, just gotta linger and hold a shot here and there for a few seconds, frame as his POV, donezo. I know this is also one of those like. “who cares” moments but the movie does, very evidently so, in making this guy an actual character. you can kinda piece it together and create a framework of sympathy for him, sure, but then again he ultimately becomes a foil to be killed and not defeated, so. Ehh whatever

quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was n

the rooftop helicopter fakout at the end was such an ass-backwards, manufactured moment of what could be a simple setup/payoff it just pissed me off??? you gain nothing by giving sad dad five seconds of pointless crisis that flips right back to previous status quo ANYWAY, except for a weaksauce waste of runtime, which could be used instead to get inside notaro’s head and actually SHOW the remorse form as she took off, literally maybe even a frown playing on her face as she’s headed for safety right before we cut back to drax and the kid. just a simple-ass, minimal, momentary setup for what is the most basic filmmaking trick of creating macro catharsis moments. Just???? g o d if you can’t even land that shit why are you even doing any of this

that lil run final pam did was very very charming and super choreographed in a way that was the tiiiniest bit overdone

the whole intro with the simul-backstories and posing with family photos was just… oddly motivated. what was the goal? “here’s what we’re fighting for” vignettes? why? it’s not a functional setup in that vein. what was all that

also I am sorry if this is insensitive but the reasons most characters end up articulating to justify going back into the hell that destroyed their lives makes them sound seriously insane

I dont like complaining about CGI (honestly) but so much of it in modern movies can achieve higher fidelity if the animation is simply subdued. Do not overengineer and over-apply 2D cell methodologies and kinematics to each tiny twitch and movement in a hyper 3D model and I promise you. it will look a thousand times more natural. look at thanos in those last two movies. your rendering and detail are absolutely perfect with the tiger you just have to let stuff sit instead of constantly simulating swaying hair strands and firing off all facial muscles at once. great moment at one point where makeup zombie horse and CG zombie tiger are both in one shot together and just by unnecessary amounts of movement alone you can tell who doesn’t belong. again; detail, rendering, compositing, lighting, all picture-perfect; but y’all just gotta let the animation breathe sometimes, and chill it out

plot holes don’t really matter to me but it was kinda funny how lilly decided not to mention the enormous wrinkle in intel pertaining to an actual territorial tribe of intelligent zombies that require human offerings to let you pass, just so that reveal could play out in real time through the joyous punishment of the cartoonishly misogynistic dude

total chad move for mister uruk hai and final pam to rule from a rusted swimming pool complex

the ending with vanderohe oh my god. with the. cash stacks at the airport register. and specifically them working in his favor. that is literally something you do to get arrested under suspicion of theft. it was almost played for laughs and I respect that. coulda been goofier. make these movies goofy ya dorks

anyway, weird, weird movie. bad marketing. message unclear (something something sins of the father???), baffling editing instincts, literal worst-looking cinematography I ever laid eyes upon. Confidently dying on that last hill

[reistoria]

Ranking Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu (First Generation)

Alright, so here’s a ranking of 7 Haikyuu stage plays no one asks for. I love all of them but I can’t help but liking some better than the other.

Disclaimer, I am not including Flight and The Strongest Challenger since I have not seen them. Also, I count the first stage and Itadaki no Keshiki in one number because there are only slight differences in the performance.

Here it goes!

7. The Tokyo Match (東京の陣, Tōkyō no Jin)

I was surprised that they made it a hip hop musical with raps. I know since this is a stage without Karasuno, they have to establish a different style. The stage is different, featuring a screen and a climbable structure in the background. There are times where they utilizes mirrors as props too. Not to mention, the lighting feels more intense. With all these things going on, the stage just feels crowded and visually noisy. The presence of the screen also lessens the use of projection, which has always been the charm of engeki haikyuu for me. So, yeah, I was disappointed. Adding those things to all the rapping, it was a sensory overload experience to watch this stage... and I had to pause several times as I watch it for the first time.

That being said, there are still a lot to like. I like that they gave Fukurodani a little out-of-court flashback scene where Akaashi gave his prized popsicle stick to Bokuto and it’s like I’m seeing something out of a doujinshi, which was nice. Though it feels a little odd that they force this “promise” theme into the story.

Nekoma’s choreography is freaking amazing, though. There’s “connect/tsunage”-themed dance routine at the end of match against nohebi and it’s beautiful. The violin rendition of Nekoma theme is also so amazing. And that opening song? super catchy.

So yeah, though I like many parts of it, I am still put off by the lack of projection use and visually noisy stage.

6. The Start of the Giant (はじまりの巨人, Hajimari no Kyojin)

I love this arc in the manga/anime. The stage delivers the pivotal points of the arc nicely. Johzenji’s fun play style is represented very well by their insane acrobat. Tobio’s nosebleed scene is also hilariously brutal. I am also glad they did not leave out Misaki Hana in this stage because she is one of my favourite. Hana was portrayed by Momo (Saeko’s actor) and I love her, but her take on the character is a bit different from the manga/anime, which does not sit too well with me. Momo’s Hana is too soft… she’s not the stern manager that does not mess around who I adore.

I also question a lot of choices they made in the production. Truly, I am confused why they feature Fukurodani and Nekoma members. The story takes place in Miyagi, wouldn’t it make more sense to feature Seijoh and Datekou members? I know their stage is somewhat present through vtr but it’s just not the same. Seijoh vs Dateko is one of the most interesting matches and I am quite disappointed that they reduce it into short video. Not to mention there’s a lot shift between Tokyo-Miyagi which I do not find necessary because well, the Tokyo boys get their own stage.

Other than that, I quite enjoy the stage. The choreography is amazing, the music—bless Wada-san—is incredible as always and damn, the crows can manufacture drama on stage (though I find Daichi’s injury scene is a tad too dramatic).

5. A View From the Top (頂の景色, Itadaki no Keshiki)

I contemplate to give this a higher ranking because this is the stage that starts it all you know. It deserves a good spot. But… I can’t help it. Haisute just keeps getting better and better and I end up loving the ones coming after this more.

When I watched it for the first time, I was astonished by the way they use lighting and projection to visualize character’s inner struggle and to use it as interactive stage properties. The original music—bless you again Wada-san—was so catchy, too. Though it’s not the same with the music from the anime, it still captures the intensity, the drama and the silliness of the story. It also blends so well with all of the other elements of the stage: the projection, the acting, the lighting. I love it. I love it so much.

4. Winners and Losers (勝者と敗者, Shōsha to Haisha)

Many would say they like this stage best because it is the most emotional. I agree that it is very emotional. And I have to say the music theme is genius! I love how seijoh is represented as an orderly orchestra and Karasuno is a chaotic jazz band that somehow has cymbal and maracas player lol.

While everything is amazing, one of the biggest point worth-praising is, of course, the acting. Since it was Tatsunari’s last stage in engeki haikyuu, we can see how he gave his absolute all. Like a true setter that Tobio is, Tatsunari somehow led the others to perform the most passionate performance. Amazing.

Even so…I do feel like the stage drags a little. The flashback with Kageyama, Oikawa and Iwaizumi was replayed freaking 3 times and it becomes redundant and was exhausting to watch. The flashback with the third year-Karasuno is also out of nowhere and I was confused why they do not save it for match against shiratorizawa.

This stage may have the best music, but probably not best in pacing.

3. The Strongest Team (最強の場所(チーム), Saikyō no Chīmu)

This is my absolute favorite arc in the manga/anime. I was quite worried when seeing that this stage will feature both match against seijoh and against shiratorizawa. I suspect that to cram in everything they need to tell, the stage will be very fast-paced. And I was right.

Don’t get me wrong. Everything is amazing. The stage is the classic slanted with grey wall behind it, but they made it more… intricate, which captures the equally intense arc. Anything that happens in that stage is incredible. Seijoh’s bonds, Shiratorizawa’s intense entrance… just wow.

However, due to limited time, of course they have to sacrifice something. In seijoh’s match, the focus is more on Kyotani than Kageyama vs Oikawa, which disappoints me a little because I really want to see Kage-chan’s Kageyama shine. In Shiratorizawa match, the focus is on the coach’s grief and spite than Shiratorizawa members. While understandable, I can’t help but be a little disappointed.

2. Karasuno, Revival! (烏野、復活, Karasuno, Fukkatsu!)

My impression on this stage is that… it is done right. That’s it. We are introduced to Nekoma and Dateko in this stage. There are a lot to cover, but somehow, the pacing is just right. The humor, the opening sequence, the iconic music, Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s cameos… amazing. Ah, and who can forget the iconic blanket scene. They can even put the match against Ikejiri’s school (Daichi’s middle school friend), which isn’t necessarily my favorite part of the whole stage but nicely done still.

This is where I realize that each school are given their own style of dancing and music. There’s Nekoma’s acrobatic, feline-like movement and Dateko’s stepping and rap battle. I was blown away when I watched this for the very first time.

I love everything about this stage. I want to give it a number 1 spot too, but what can I say... Shinka no Natsu feature one of my favorite arcs and more Kei...

1. Summer of Evolution (進化の夏, Shinka no Natsu)

I love this stage so much! I was worried about the different stage construction at first, but when I see how they use it… boy, do they use it well. They can balance the use of projection, stage and props at the same time.

Also this is an arc that feature no real match and we can see the characters become their silly-high-school-age self. It was so refreshing to see. The opening sequence with the cheerful music? iconic. Nekoma and Fukurodani matches are epic. Karasuno’s dance break is seared into my brain now. Kei and Kuro’s samurai blocking dance is *chef’s kiss*  and that ending sequence, hands down, is the best.

I will be happier if they include more detail from the manga/anime like the “Oya? Oya oya? Oya oya oya?” dialogue or Kuro saying he didn’t expect Kei to feel inferior to Shouyou instead of just saying “Just let him be” after Kei was offended by his provocation…. but that’s just me being very biased to my favorite character.

Overall, I love Engeki Haikyuu so much. The quality of the production has given me a certain standard when watching another 2.5d show and maybe the reason why I often disappointed when watching other stage.

[zigsexual]

What sort of love drama takes place in your HP AU (specifically all of the juicy Maxwell/Riley drama)?

me? writing an entire fic in response to this question? putting all the brewing love drama in one single scene? yes bitch i said it !

• • •

“I don’t see why we have to waste our Hogsmede trip just because —“

“Shh!” Riley waves a hand in his face, frowning. “I’m trying to listen to what they’re saying.”

Drake sighs, taking another sip of his butterbeer. They’ve been in this booth for over an hour now, and Riley still refuses to let him leave. Says it’ll ‘look suspicious’ if she’s here by herself.

“Why will it look suspicious?” he’d asked her, but she’d only shushed him, eyes flashing with an intensity he didn’t dare cross.

He’s convinced now that they might never leave, what with Riley attentively focused on the table only a few feet away, where Penelope from Hufflepuff is gazing fondly at Maxwell. She’s leaning forward, her chin resting demurely on her hand, in direct contrast to the way Maxwell is animately telling her some story several decibels above an acceptable volume.

“Really, though,” Drake tries again, “It looks like he’s doing fine, maybe we can just meet him at Honeydukes after like we planned?”

“I have to make sure she isn’t trying to use him,” Riley says, eyes still intently focused on the other table. “He’s too nice, you know. People take advantage of that.”

“I highly doubt anyone is taking advantage of Maxwell.”

She shoots him a glare.

“What? I mean, honestly, what would anyone be using him for?”

“His connections,” Riley says. “You know how his family is.”

“Yeah, I know that they’ve essentially disowned him and there’s no way he’s getting access to any of those ‘connections.’” Drake frowns, surveying her. “Seriously, Riley, why are we here? Can you at least —“

The door to the pub swings open, letting in a gust of freezing air and a slew of Ravenclaws, led at the front by Hana Lee. It doesn’t take her long to spot the two of them, and she waves excitedly, already crossing the room even as Riley ducks her head and hisses, “Shit, she’s gonna blow our cover.”

Drake rolls his eyes at her. “What cover?” 

Hana stops just in front of their booth, pink-cheeked and smiling. She’s still got her scarf wrapped around her neck, all the way up past her chin, Prefect badge neatly affixed as always. “Hi Riley! Drake!”

She pulls off her hat, shaking out her hair, which falls down neatly around her shoulders without so much as a single flyaway. Normally, Drake would chalk it up to magic, but these sorts of things come naturally to Hana. 

Everything comes naturally to Hana.

“We’re —“ Riley starts, but Drake cuts her off: “We’re spying on Maxwell and his date.”

Riley kicks him under the table, but Hana doesn’t seem to notice. She glances over her shoulder, eyes falling on Penelope. “Oh!” She turns back, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know they were together.”

“They’re not,” Riley says, tone a bit too harsh for her feigned indifference.

“Well, that’s sweet,” Hana smiles. “I’m glad I ran into you guys, actually. Did you know Liam’s staying for holiday this year? He just told me this week, so I promised I’d invite him to all our little traditions. Won’t that be fun?”

“Oh god,” Riley groans dramatically, “Double the Prefects? We won’t be able to get into any shenanigans.”

“There’s plenty we can do without shenanigans —“

“Yeah, plenty of boring things, like reading or studying or reading about studying —”

“You said Liam is staying?” Drake interrupts. Because there’s only one Liam. Hana’s Ravenclaw counterpart, son of the Minister of Magic.

Hana seems grateful from the reprieve from Riley’s teasing. “Yes. He hasn’t mentioned why, but from what I can imagine…”

She’s still talking, but he’s already tuned her out upon hearing the affirmation. He can tell the exact moment Riley does, too, because she suddenly turns towards him with a funny look on her face, the realization beginning to set in.

Her eyes widen, and she whispers, “Oh my god. Hot Prefect.”

“What?” Hana says.

“Nothing. Carry on.” Now it’s Drake’s turn to kick her under the table, because yes — Liam also happens to be the very same boy Maxwell and Riley have spent the better part of two years calling ‘Hot Prefect’ in a continuous effort to embarrass Drake and ultimately drive him to murder them.

(Which, really, there had only been the one time he’d actually said those words, and it was in a moment of weakness after too much stolen firewhiskey, and they truly had no business continuing to bring it up the way they did. It’s not he gives them half as much shit about anything they’ve done.)

“I should have him come say hi,” Hana stands on her tiptoes, surveying the crowded room . “Don’t tell anyone, but I think he’s a bit shy about it all, he could use a chance to get familiar with you.”

“We’d love to get familiar with him,” Riley grins, “Wouldn’t we, Drake?”

He checks to make sure Hana is sufficiently distracted before leaning in close and hissing, “I will crucio your ass, Brooks, don’t think I won’t.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “As if. You’re like, failing Charms.”

Hana finally spots Liam amongst a group of other Ravenclaws and begins waving at him excitedly, gesturing towards the booth with a smile once she catches his attention. “Liam! Over here!”

Drake’s mouth goes completely dry at his approach.

It’s honestly unfair to just call him hot. He’s devastatingly handsome, like the protagonist of one of Savannah’s regency romance movies (which Drake has definitely not watched): cheeks flushed from the cold, hair a little windblown, dressed in a perfectly fitted navy sweater. When he reaches Hana’s side, he nods to each of them, smiling shyly, and he’s so pretty it hurts — like being hit with a bludger. A love bludger. Fuck.

“Nice to meet you,” Liam says, polite as ever. Riley returns the greeting, but Drake can only stare. 

“Hana tells us you’re joining the motley crew, then?”

“So it seems,” Liam answers. “What should I expect?”

“Hmm.” Riley glances at Drake out of the corner of her eye. “Incredibly sexy singles. Loads of hookups. Maybe an orgy or two.”

Hana laughs nervously, turning to look at Liam with wide eyes. “She’s kidding, obviously. Riley, tell Liam you’re kidding.”

Riley merely raises her eyebrows and takes a sip of her butterbeer. Hana looks mortified, but Liam only laughs, although he’s definitely a bit more flushed than he was before.

There are so few of them who stay over break; the misfits with fucked up families or no families at all. They’ve grown accustomed to each other over the years, a silent acknowledgement of their particular lot in life, and it’s rare anyone adds to the group. 

Especially someone like Liam. 

Hana’s been part of the crew since day one. Her parents aren’t dead, but they are terrible, and she always seemed to relish the chance to be away from them a few weeks more. Each year, she comes up with a new elaborate research project that requires her to stay, an excuse her parents will not only accept, but be proud of. 

“Anyway,” Riley says, finishing off her drink, “If it’s not obvious, I’m Riley. And that’s Drake.” She gestures in his direction, mischief all over her face. “He’s the keeper on Gryffindor’s team. Highly sought after, in case you didn’t know.”

God, he’s going to hex her into next Tuesday when they get back to the castle.

“Liam never goes to the Quidditch games,” Hana says. “I keep trying to convince him.”

Drake and Riley must both look horrified at this admission, because Liam rubs at his neck awkwardly upon seeing their faces. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. I’m just… busy.”

“Too busy for Quidditch?” Riley scoffs.

“Too busy for most things, really,” Liam says. “I’m afraid I’m not much fun.”

Riley leans back in her seat. “Well, we can’t have that if you’re going to be spending Christmas with us.”

“You could come to the match next Friday.” Drake blurts out, before his better judgement can stop him. “We’re playing Slytherin, so you can cheer for us.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Liam’s face. “And what if I only root for Ravenclaw?”

“Well, cheer for me — er, me and Riley — then,” Drake says, suddenly bold. Must be all the butterbeer. “We can be a neutral third party.”

Riley is kicking him under the table again, but he ignores her.

“I’ll think about it,” Liam answers, his shy smile back on his face. This time, however, it’s fully directed at Drake, and the unrelenting focus renders him completely useless.

“Cool,” he manages to reply, voice a little higher than it should be. Riley kicks him harder.

Liam runs a hand through his hair, and the gesture makes Drake’s cheeks go hot. “Maybe we could —“

Before he can say anything else, an unwelcome voice breaks into their conversation, light and airy with a hint of an untraceable (and perhaps manufactured) accent: “We’re about to order, so if either of you want food…”

The girl behind said voice pops into view between Hana and Liam, pausing when her eyes fall on the booth, only for her face to instantly break into a smile so wide it threatens to overtake her whole face. “Hi Drake.”

He avoids eye contact, even though he can feel her gaze boring into him. “…Hi Kiara.”

“And hello to you, too,” Riley quips, rolling her eyes. “Such a warm welcome, as always.”

“Are you joining us?” Kiara asks, ignoring Riley completely. “It’s a house outing, technically, but I’m sure we can make an exception.”

“Oh, no,” Hana says, “We just stopped to say hi, I’m fairly certain they were about to —“

Kiara puts her hand firmly on Hana’s shoulder, effectively shutting down her dismissal. “Again, I’m sure we can make an exception.”

It’s a blessed coincidence that, at the same moment, Penelope and Maxwell finish up and stand to leave, putting Kiara directly in Penelope’s field of vision. Upon seeing her best friend, Penelope squeals loud enough to break through the din of the pub and scurries over to fling her arms around Kiara, sending the other girl stumbling backwards.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Penelope says gleefully. “And you brought so many friends!”

Maxwell is close behind her, investigating as well, and his face lights up when he sees Riley and Drake. “Oh, hey! Perfect timing, I was just about to head to Honeydukes.”

He pushes past Hana and slides into the booth alongside Riley, slinging his arm around her shoulder with a grin. “You didn’t say anything about being here too. You should’ve come over and said hi, there was plenty of room.”

Riley rolls her eyes. “You were otherwise occupied.”

Kiara, who has finally put two and two together, looks at Penelope with renewed interest. “You’re here with Maxwell? You didn’t tell me you two were dating.”

“That’s because they’re not,” Riley mutters under her breath.

“We were getting drinks,” Penelope says, smiling vacantly as she often does. It’s a wonder she’s so close with a Ravenclaw; half the time Drake’s convinced there isn’t anything going on in her head. The very idea that she’s somehow capable of ‘taking advantage’ of anyone, let alone Maxwell, should be laughable.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Kiara claps her hands together excitedly. “Maxwell, we should do a double date sometime! Wouldn’t that be fun? You, me, Pen, and Drake.”

“No,” Drake says. 

Kiara just swats at his shoulder, laughing. “You’re so funny! Isn’t he funny?”

“Well,” Hana interjects, looking decidedly uncomfortable at the new influx of people, “I suppose we should get going. The food’s probably ready.”

“It was nice to meet you both,” Liam adds, clearly taking the opportunity to bow out as well. Fucking Kiara.

“Maybe we’ll see you at the match?” Riley shoots him an expectant smile. 

It’s always hard to argue with her enthusiasm, and Liam relents a bit. “Maybe,” he answers, and then Hana is tugging him back towards the bar, Kiara and Penelope — thankfully — following in her wake.

[meaningofmotorsport]

My opinion of the F1 teams and drivers so far this year!

As F1 is currently on its summer break, I thought it would be a good time to give my report on how each team is fairing so far in 2021!

With this year’s car being very similar to the previous year’s one, it was expected that it would be as easy this year for Mercedes as it was last year! However, with some new rules which were clearly aimed at slowing down Mercedes, it has become a much more difficult prospect for them! On the whole, they have handled it pretty well, I don’t think they have the fastest car, at least over the tracks we have seen so far, so to be leading both titles is a good job, even if it has happened through luck and certain circumstances! Mercedes cannot be totally happy though, as they have lost out on a bag of points through strategy errors, and the car just not working at some tracks. Hamilton has not been perfect this year, with some misjudgements creeping into his game, yet he has been pretty close to it, and will need to stay at that level to keep up with Max. His fitness is a real concern, due to long covid symptoms! As for Bottas, with no wins to his name, and some pretty diabolical weekends to add to that, it has been a sub-par year for him to say the least. Plus, now was when he least needed it, with a massive threat from Russell for his seat!

Despite it being their best start to a season for many years, Red Bull have been massively unlucky so far. If luck was on their side, they would have a big title lead in both standings, but that is not how it has worked out, and the team needs to pick themselves up and come back stronger! They have the fastest car, Perez is getting better by the weekend, and with Lewis showing signs of weakness, and Mercedes potentially signing Russell, it could cause drama at their team too! This season could well come down to the mental strength of Red Bull, which they showed none of after Silverstone, and their overreaction undoubtedly distracted them going into Hungary, where Mercedes beat them in qualifying! Much like Lewis, Max has been near perfect, only some slight errors earlier in the year, and perhaps he needs to tone down the aggression a bit! Otherwise, he has what it takes to bring down Mercedes! Perez would have hoped for more when the season began, whilst there have been highs, there have also been many performances, especially on a Saturday, which have been underwhelming! If he can just gain a few tenths, to put himself above McLaren and Ferrari, and start to upset Mercedes in the race, it would be perfect for Red Bull!

There were high expectations for McLaren going into this year, off the back of 2 growing years for the team, and with a new star driver coming in. In some ways they have matched that, if not bettered it, as Norris is currently sat in an incredible 3rd in the driver’s championship, after a superbly consistent year. Yet with Ricciardo, it has been rather lacklustre on the most part! Obviously coming to a new team won’t be easy, however, he has been the slowest to adapt by far, and even by now isn’t quite where he should be. I think he will get there eventually; it is just the little nuances of the car he is struggling to work around! This team may be the best as a unit so far in 2021, as we have rarely seen them miss a trick at all. Despite this, the fight with Ferrari will be a tough one, and will require both drivers to be up at the front!

The gains that Ferrari have been able to make in what has been a pretty static rule set from last year to this, is impressive to say the least! This has mostly been on the engine side, after the circumstances with their 2019 engine, that I am sure we are all aware of! Leclerc has once again been getting the most out of the Ferrari, including 2 pole positions, however, there have also been some big mistakes in there too, namely at Monaco, which could even have cost them a win! Sainz has adapted the best to his new surroundings of all the drivers who moved, as he was right with Charles from the first round of the year! A couple of podiums show that he has been pushing his teammate hard all year, much more than most people probably expected! That could be their biggest strength in the fight with McLaren, if they still aren’t able to get Ricciardo fully up to speed!

For the most part, it has been another year where Alpine (Renault) has not been able to fight where a manufacturer should be, and the positive trajectory from a couple of years ago has faded away really! That being said, another part of sport is making the most of the opportunities that are handed to you, which Alpine certainly did last time out at Hungary! It was clear that they were slower than the Aston Martin there, yet Ocon and the team got the job done, and I hope this will act as a bounce pad, not only for the rest of this year but also going forwards! Over the 11 races so far, Alonso has really been the better driver, especially given he has just returned from some time out of the sport. Ocon is a very talented driver, he just needs to show it more consistently, at least he has the security of a long term contract!

AlphaTauri looked ominous in pre-season testing, and the expectation was that they would at least be in the battle for 3rd in the constructors, if not winning it! The reality has been far from that though, partly due to strategy and driver errors, and also just a lack of race pace! In qualifying they have been probably 3rd or 4th best, with Gasly at least, but it isn’t often they finish there! Pierre has been one of the stars of the year so far, as whilst there have been some slip ups, he has been maximising the car he has mostly! Tsunoda arrived on the scene with so much hype around him, and in Bahrain he matched the hype, however it has been downhill for the majority of the time since then. Overdriving seems to be the main issue for him currently, as he just expects too much from himself at this stage in his career!

2020 was probably the best year ever for the Silverstone based team throughout all its previous guises. I didn’t see anything wrong with them copying the Mercedes, copying has always happened in our sport, so it was nothing new really. The problem with copying the best team on the grid, is that rule changes will be aimed at slowing you down, and as we have seen this year, it has really damaged Aston Martin in terms of car performance. Bearing that in mind, they have made the best of a bad situation, with some very promising results coming to them throughout the year! Vettel has been reinvigorated at the team, as he may not be a top level driver, but he has made a step forward from his final years at Ferrari. Stroll as you would expect has not been able to match him most of the time, but has not embarrassed himself either, as he gains experience during his time in F1.

When Williams said they had make a ‘peaky’ car for this campaign, it had the potential to work really well for them, as being consistently out of the points means nothing, as opposed to 1 point scoring race! The team was tremendously unlucky to not score points before Hungary, although they have now got what they deserved, with a huge 10 point haul for them! That may be enough to stay 8th, however, they may even be able to grow their lead further in the remaining 12 races! Russell for the most part has been outstanding in what is still a poor car. There have been a few blemishes, such as Imola, but everything else he does is the best advertisement possible to Mercedes, as to why he should be there next year! Latifi has mostly been hidden behind the limelight of George. On the odd occasion he will push him very hard, which is good to see, I am just not sure if it is enough to keep his seat!

Alfa Romeo came to join the Sauber team on such a high note back in 2018, as they grew the star of Leclerc, before he went to Ferrari! Since that point, points have been hard to come by for them, as they battled to stay above the bottom of the table. They should be able to do it again this year, however their position won’t be that satisfying! Their performance isn’t helped by 2 drivers who aren’t a match for the rest of the grid. Kimi in his prime was an excellent driver, but this year especially he hasn’t really shown much to write home about! Giovinazzi has had a few years now to grow in the sport, and although he is beating Kimi very often, he isn’t showing any signs of being a star of the future. I think a driver overhaul for next year would do them a world of good!

It has been a woeful year for Haas, as an underdeveloped car with 2 rookie drivers, is a painful combination. As they focus on 2022, the good thing is that their drivers seem to be improving as the year goes on, to prepare for what they hope will be an upturn in results! Schumacher has been a class above Mazepin, as we thought would happen. It was also nice to see him get his elbows out whilst battling with some of the top runners, even if it didn’t last long! Mick just needs to tune out the crashes we have seen from him this season, otherwise he could have a promising career ahead of him! Nikita has at least stopped his habit of crashing, which plagued him to start the season, now he just needs to get on terms with his teammate in both qualifying and the race.

If the second half of this year is as good as the first, we could have a monumental season on our hands! All I hope is that we have a title fight which goes right down to Abu Dhabi, for the first time since 2016, and maybe some drama along the way to keep it like that!

-M

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[antoine-roquentin]

Now, from the point of view of many on the Labour left, the entire Brexit issue was a distraction: a way to change the subject from the bread-and-butter issues of austerity, wages, health, education, and public services that had immediate effects on voters’ lives to scapegoating and symbolism. Some were convinced the entire project was a charade; the Tory leadership had no intention of breaking with the European Union in any meaningful sense at all—as some pointed out at the time, during the entirety of May’s tenure as prime minister, her government had not seen fit to hire or retrain a single new customs official.

What they did not at first understand, but became all too apparent as time went on, was that in Brexit the right had discovered an almost perfect political poison, not only dividing British society into two hostile camps, but bringing out the absolute worst in both of them. Each side ended up hurling bitter invective against each other, much of which was true. Remainers insisted that many Brexit campaigners were overt racists, and that the Leave campaign was—much like Trumpism—normalizing forms of racist expression that would have been considered outrageous only a few years before. They were right. Reports of racist hate crimes, for instance, increased dramatically after the vote. Leavers countered that many of the most vociferous Remainers were overt elitists, and were likewise normalizing expressions of contempt for small-town or working-class England that would have once been considered equally outrageous. They were right, too.

It might seem odd that the ultimate beneficiary of all this was Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, an Eton-educated upper-cruster whose main occupation, before he turned his hand to politics, was as a columnist and occasional television personality notorious for his contempt for immigrants, single mothers, and the poor. But to understand what happened, I think, one must consider the broader situation of what has come to be known as “right-wing populism.” Ever since the economic crash of 2008, the left had tried to make villains of the bankers. Yet despite the fact that the City (London’s financial hub) was indeed largely responsible for the collapse of the economy and resulting austerity, this approach gained little traction. The right instead tried to make villains of the bureaucrats—of migrants, too, as they definitely did appeal to simple bigotry, but the immediate emphasis was on bureaucrats. And at least among middle-aged swing voters, this succeeded spectacularly. Why?

The answer, I think, lies in the emerging structure of class relations in societies like England, which seems to be reproduced, in one form or another, just about everywhere the radical right is on the rise. The decline of factory jobs, and of traditional working-class occupations like mining and shipbuilding, decimated the working class as a political force. What happened is usually framed as a shift from industrial, manufacturing, and farming to “service” work, but this formulation is actually rather deceptive, since service is typically defined so broadly as to obscure what’s really going on. In fact, the percentage of the population engaged in serving biscuits, driving cabs, or trimming hair has changed little since Victorian times.

The real story is the spectacular growth, on the one hand, of clerical, administrative, and supervisory work, and, on the other, of what might broadly be termed “care work”: medical, educational, maintenance, social care, and so forth. While productivity in the manufacturing sector has skyrocketed, productivity in this caring sector has actually decreased across the developed world (largely due to the weight of bureaucratization imposed by the burgeoning numbers of administrators). This decline has put the squeeze on wages: it’s hardly a coincidence that in developed economies across the world, the most dramatic strikes and labor struggles since the 2008 crash have involved teachers, nurses, junior doctors, university workers, nursing home workers, or cleaners.

One might speak of the beginnings of a veritable revolt of the caring classes, global in scale. If so, the obvious question is: Why has the global left, which has always stood for the promise of a more caring society, not been the ones to profit from this development? Why is the radical right instead everywhere on the rise? How is it possible that this could lead to the defeat of Jeremy Corbyn, a man who even his enemies would begrudgingly admit was a caring and empathetic human being, at the hands of a Tory candidate so utterly narcissistic and lacking in human feeling that he famously refused to even look at a picture of a feverish child marooned on an overcrowded hospital’s floor? The answer lies once again in the curse of centrism.

As Thomas Frank has pointed out, as early as the 1970s, formerly leftist parties from the US to Japan made a strategic decision to effectively abandon what remained of their older, working-class base and rebrand themselves primarily as parties representing the interests and sensibilities of the professional-managerial classes. This was the real social base of Clintonism in the US, Blairism in the UK, and now Macronism in France. All became the parties of administrators. (In the UK, of course, this included those endless legions of lawyers and accountants.)

Whereas the core value of the caring classes is, precisely, care, the core value of the professional-managerials might best be described as proceduralism. The rules and regulations, flow charts, quality reviews, audits and PowerPoints that form the main substance of their working life inevitably color their view of politics or even morality . These are people who tend to genuinely believe in the rules They may well be the only significant stratum of the population who do so. If it is possible to generalize about class sensibilities, one might say that members of this class see society less as a web of human relationships, of love, hate, or enthusiasm, than, precisely, as a set of rules and institutional procedures, just as they see democracy, and rule of law, as effectively the same thing. (This, for instance, accounts for Hillary Clinton’s supporters’ otherwise inexplicable inability to understand why other Americans didn’t accept the principle that if one makes bribery legal—by renaming it “campaign contributions” or half-million-dollar fees for private speeches—that makes it okay.)

The peculiar fusion of public and private, market forces and administrative oversight, the world of hallmarks, benchmarks, and stakeholders that characterizes what I’ve been calling centrism is a direct expression of the sensibilities of the professional-managerial classes. To them alone, it makes a certain sort of sense. But they had become the base of the center-left, and centrism is endlessly presented in the media as the only viable political position.

For most care-givers, however, these people are the enemy. If you are a nurse, for example, you are keenly aware that it’s the administrators upstairs who are your real, immediate class antagonist. The professional-managerials are the ones who are not only soaking up all the money for their inflated salaries, but hire useless flunkies who then justify their existence by creating endless reams of administrative paperwork whose primary effect is to make it more difficult to actually provide care.

This central class divide now runs directly through the middle of most parties on the left. Like the Democrats in the US, Labour incorporates both the teachers and the school administrators, both the nurses and their managers. It makes becoming the spokespeople for the revolt of the caring classes extraordinarily difficult.

All this also helps explain the otherwise mysterious popular appeal of the disorganized, impulsive, shambolic (but nonetheless cut-to-the-chase, get-things-done) personas cultivated by men like Trump and Johnson. Yes, they are children of privilege in every possible sense of the term. Yes, they are pathological liars. Yes, they don’t seem to care about anyone but themselves. But they also present themselves as the precise opposite of the infuriating administrator whose endless appeal to rules and demand for additional meetings, paperwork, and motivational seminars makes it impossible for you to do your job. In the UK, the game of Brexit politics has been to maneuver the Labour left into a position where it is forced to identify itself with that same infuriating administrator.

This was true from the start. The original Leave campaign took aim at immigration, but, even more, it took aim at distant and uncaring Brussels bureaucrats. And the fact that both major parties, Tories and Labour, were profoundly split over the issue—and even more, over what to do about it—led to an endless drama of legal and legislative warfare that allowed Leavers to argue that Remainers in Whitehall were using every sort of procedural trick in the book to thwart the popular will. For those in the movement to democratize the Labour Party, this was an insoluble dilemma. Most of the new, young Labour activists had enough experience with genuine directly democratic practice to understand that a 52/48 vote is effectively a tie; if it is a mandate for anything, it is for some sort of creative compromise.

This is precisely what Corbyn first attempted to do. He accepted the result of the referendum, but proposed to negotiate a deal whereby the UK would remain within the Common Market on much the same terms as Norway. The approach worked well enough in 2017 to prevent May from making the election exclusively about Brexit, and to allow Labour to make substantial gains; but as soon as the election was over and a hung parliament resulted, the centrist counter-offensive began. The most important role here was played by Alastair Campbell, Blair’s one-time press czar and crucial strategist of the People’s Vote Campaign to demand a second referendum, who immediately smelled blood. The “moderate” elements in the party pounced. Rallies and marches were organized, Remainer MPs—of both parties—threatened to jump ship if Labour did not join in calls for a second referendum, either to join the staunchly Europhile Liberal Democrats or to form a new centrist party.

At one point, several MPs, from both sides of the aisle, actually did begin setting up a centrist alternative, called (with a remarkable lack of self-awareness) Change UK—sparking the fear that disgruntled Remainers might begin a mass exodus. Since the activist youth base of the party was overwhelmingly pro-Europe, the Labour leadership eventually saw no choice but to change its position and call for a second vote in which Brexit might be reversed.

Corbyn has been widely criticized for maintaining a “wishy-washy” or indecisive position on Brexit, but from the point of view of the larger movement he represented, his position was about the only one he really could take. The Labour Left, after all, was trying to bring about dramatic social reforms, in much the way Attlee had in 1945 when he called for the creation of the NHS. Ultimately, they were revolutionaries: they aimed to set the ball rolling in the direction of the democratization of all aspects of British society. But they also knew this could only happen if they came into power in informal alliance with more radical, “extra-parliamentary” street movements pushing them ever further to the left. Taking a hardcore Remain position would mean even if they did come into power (which was by no means guaranteed), it could only be in alliance with politicians who ardently opposed this larger project, and, if Brexit was indeed reversed, that they would also be faced with radical street movements not of the left but of the right—outraged Brexiteers and outright fascists pushing in exactly the opposite direction.

The last thing Corbyn would ever want was to be forced into a position where he would have to send in riot police to control protests against the suppression of a democratic decision. This was the real reason for the initial dilemma. But eventually he had to come around to support a second vote.

At the same time as the Labour leadership was being threatened and cajoled into making common cause with militant Remainers, the Conservatives were heading in exactly the opposite direction. Boris Johnson—or, to be more precise, his strategic mastermind, Dominic Cummings—immediately filled his cabinet with hard-right Brexiters, purging Remainers first from the Cabinet and then from the party itself. He then began a heavy-handed and seemingly incompetent attempt to bludgeon some kind of Brexit bill through the House of Commons. To the casual observer, his first weeks in office appeared a combination of costume drama and slapstick comedy. Johnson lost every vote he put forward and missed his own loudly trumpeted Brexit deadline; his attempt to suspend Parliament not only failed in court but left him open to accusations of having lied to the Queen; former Tory prime ministers declared their intention to openly campaign against him; his own brother resigned from the cabinet in disgust.

Corbyn, meanwhile, began to win grudging praise from the guardians of established opinion for his willingness to coordinate the resistance. Yet this was, precisely, his undoing. Cummings’s plan had always been to win by losing. The point of the parliamentary drama was to reduce Corbyn—whose entire appeal had been based on the fact that he did not look, act, or calculate like a politician—into someone who did exactly that, and to paint the only movement in generations that had genuinely aimed to change the rules of British society as the linchpin of an alliance of professional-managerials united only by their willingness to deploy every legalistic or procedural means possible in order to reverse the results of a popular referendum and keep things exactly as they were.

If the results of the 2019 election mean anything, they reveal an overwhelming rejection of centrism. Particularly instructive here are the fates of the rebels who broke from Corbyn’s Labour to form Change UK, including Chuka Umunna, who was widely billed as Britain’s future answer to Barack Obama. On realizing that there was virtually no support for another centrist party, they ultimately joined the Lib Dems. Though the Lib Dems did increase their share of the overall vote (slightly), doing so largely served to knock out their ostensible Remainer Labour allies in close races. Not one of the defectors managed to win a seat.

Jo Swinson, the Lib Dem candidate for prime minister, who had somehow convinced herself it would be a winning formula for the Lib Dems to run as a single-issue anti-Brexit party while also making clear that under no conditions would they ever form an alliance with Corbyn’s Labour, failed to win her own district and is no longer an MP. Labour lost fifty-four seats to the Tories—fifty-two of them in Leave-voting districts. But, as James Schneider, Corbyn’s director of strategic communications, confirmed when I showed him a draft of this piece, only three (Dennis Skinner, Laura Pidcock, and Laura Smith) were from the radical left of the party. Dozens of “moderates” had, effectively, blown themselves up.

The same, incidentally, is true for the Tories: not one of the twenty-one purged Remainers who ran for their old seats as independents returned to Parliament.

The center of British politics has become a smoldering pit. The country is now being governed by a hard-right government placed in power by its oldest citizens, in the face of the active hatred of its increasingly socialist-inclined youth. It’s fairly clear that for the Johnson team, Brexit was never anything but an electoral strategy, and that they don’t have the slightest idea how to translate it into economic prosperity. (It is an unacknowledged irony of the current situation that the people most likely to profit from the Brexit process are, precisely, lawyers—and, probably secondarily, accountants. For everyone else, it’s hard to imagine a scenario where they will improve their current situation, and quite easy to imagine Johnson being remembered as one of the most disastrous prime ministers in British history.)