#any other time i would have laughed it off and Le Epically Own this person but. man. i’m still crying

[tricoufamily]

u don't have to answer this bc i think u just deleted it but who tf is vaguing you... you're a fantastic artist making beautiful beautiful pieces of art and i am constantly in awe of the things you're creating. i barely play the sims anymore let alone participate in the community at all but i have you on notifs forever and ever bc of your storytelling and skill. i am genuinely shocked to see someone talking shit bc i don't even knwo what it wld be about. anyway i keep coming back to look at ur recent edit and it's so tender and evokes such a comforting quiet feeling. anyway. u can ignore me or delete this like i said i just want u to know u've got ppl out in the crowd rooting for u byeee

imagine me crying…..

thank you so much, genuinely. i don’t even know how to accept this properly to show my level of appreciation. this means so much to me.

just gotta remind myself i am a real artist and writer and no one can take it from me. i have talent!!! suck it!!!

[musicallisto]

Congrats on 800 followers!! You write beautifully and deserve every one of them and a thousand more 💕🎉

For the celebration, could I get a vanilla milkshake (ship)? Of Percy Jackson or Narnia?

I'm a straight girl, INFP, enneagram 5, hufflepuff student, and daughter of Athena. I really love any kind of art, from painting, to music, to literature, to sculpture, and anything. That doesn't mean I'm good. Even tho I wish I was. I really like to write, it helps me put my thoughts and feelings in order, and words come easier when I write them down than when I try to talk. The most important thing to me are my friends, my loyalty is one of the little things I actually like about myself.

I'm really bored with my life and always wished of something more, so any kind of media that has a good story it's something I'm a fan of. I'm literally waiting just to be old enough so I can go on my own adventure and live a little.

I'm not a very affectionate person, not in a conventional way anyway, I'm not good enough with words to repeat how much people mean to me (even if they really do), and I don't like to be hugged that often, and only if they're really close to me. But I'm always there for anyone that needs me and I'll try to do the best I can to help.

I don't like small talk, I want to have long talks about everything that comes to mind, whether it is the last book you read or a random thought about the stars, or mythological creatures, or aliens, or your deepest secret or some dumb thing that happened some years ago. Whatever, but a real conversation.

Did I forget to say I'm Mexican? Lol, I speak Spanish and we're known for joking around (And it's probably that I punch someone jokingly before I hug them. Yep, not very good at expressing emotions at first. I can be WAY more open once I gained trust).

I like to take things with calm and humor, but if it's something serious I know how to take the situation seriously and give the best advice and "wise" words I can think of. My friends come looking for my advice often lol whether or not they follow it afterwards. I don't like to talk about my problems, because I don't want to worry any of my friends, and even though I could need help, I just hold it in until it passes (I should follow my own advice and talk to someone but OH WELL...)

I really don't know what else to say. I love to read, and I love musicals, and I'm trying to learn how to play guitar, and I'd like someone with good sense of humor but that I know I can trust.

Anyway, congrats again!! You're really talented and I don't know you that well but you seem like an awesome person. If you don't have time to do this, don't worry 'bout it u.u

here’s your vanilla milkshake! I only did it for percy jackson for lack of time, but I hope you enjoy your story with leo valdez all the same - it’s my reckoning you two would get along pretty well...

Leo is definitely always down for an adventure. He’s the kind of person who effortlessly makes the most boring errand into an epic, and sees the excitement in everything around him, but understands exactly what you mean when you say you want to go out there and see what life has in store for you, for real.

You’re both sitting on your bed in your bedroom - it’s not often you get a break from Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter respectively and are able to go back to your human lives, but whenever you get the chance, you seize it and enjoy the peace -, and talking about your biggest wishes and desires ...

(The conversation came naturally and flows just as organically; because Leo is a childish and excitable fool most of the time, but he understands there’s a time for everything, and he can be particularly serious and insightful when he understands it’s time for him to be)

... And you tell him all you really want in life is to go on an adventure, a real one, unpredictable like a rush of blood to the head.

“Well do I have news for you about a place called Camp Jupiter--”

“I don’t mean running from monsters or fulfilling prophecies... I want to see the world with my friends by my side and live beautiful things. One day, when I’m old enough.”

“Who says you aren’t old enough right now?”

“I’m sorry?”

(He’s straightened up from his slouching position on the mattress, and is looking at you with the utmost seriousness in his eyes.)

“I mean it. Who says we can’t go on an adventure, like, right now?”

“Where could you even go?”

“I don’t know. Got a globe laying around somewhere here?”

You comply, and he spins it, and orders you to jab your finger at it whenever you feel like it (which he doesn’t give a real meaning to, because it doesn’t even have one), to determine where you will go.

“... Moscow?”

“Ah, great place for a son of Hephaetus, love the heat out there.”

But needless to say, when Leo gets a spontaneous idea like that, there’s no use in trying to get it out of his head;

so the following week you are to depart on your trip to Russia, and you can’t hide your excitement. Traveling on a whim with your boyfriend might just be the first step to the adventures you were awaiting...

OK, but Mexican solidarity!!! I love my Latin cousins ugh you guys are so much fun,,

Talking shit about half of your respective Camps in Spanish behind their backs (and from Reyna’s half-smiles she miserably fails to conceal, you feel like you might not be the only ones who find this terribly funny)

“Mira a Jason, siempre tan serio y melancólico. Cuenta la leyenda que la mueca se le quedó grabada en la cara.”

“Pobrecito. Igual alguna profecía le delivra de su maldición de gravedad perpetua.”

“¿Y si le voy a contar un chiste?”

“Creo que solo te abofetará, Leo.”

Expressions of affection are rarely overt between the two of you, because you both tend to deflect your real feelings (especially affection or love) via humor and play them off as something “just for laughs”. You’re also big on tough love, so much so that sometimes the others wonder why you’re always playfully hitting each other’s arms as though you hated each other’s guts.

But the truth is simply that you were always raised to express affection in these ways, and get a bit awkward when you’re expected to be upfront about your feelings. Still, you’re both extremely warm and loving, and your “I love you”s simply have to be deciphered.

And no one deciphers them quite like the other half of the pair. It’s a language that only you two understand; that’s why you’re such a good pair.

800 follower sleepover [CLOSED!]

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

snowball fight

There is cursing in this one. This is pure mayhem but I had a lot of fun writing this!

Team 1 - Kat, Spot, Blink, Albert, Specs, Buttons, Les, Smalls, Tommy Boy

Team 2 - Jack, Race, Mush, Finch, Romeo, Elmer, Davey, JoJo, Henry

It was a yearly tradition that they all looked forward to. When the first big snowfall fell in the city, the group would descend upon Central Park and have a big snowball fight. The group of 18 were divided so that couples (or brothers) weren’t on the same team.

“Men,” a throat cleared to his left. “And women, we gather here for war. Every one of you has prepared for war and though it’s tragic, someone of us will not make it home.”

Jack walked between the two lines giving his speech, stoic and hands behind his back as he marched. Kat merely rolled her eyes as some of their friends heckled him. “It’s a snowball fight, not war, Jack.”

“He’s been practicing this speech since snow was even mentioned in the forecast.” Kat called, as her husband gave her a look.

“Troops!” Jack whistled, getting their attention as the heckling and discussion stopped. “You’re not couples on this battlefield, you’re all enemies and this is war. Spot, explain the rules.”

Spot joined Jack on his pacing. “Men and women, we’re here for an epic snowball fight. We are here to see which team is superior. You will have tenminutes to make as many snowballs as possible before we battle. Every man for themselves then we battle until the last man is standing. Any questions?”

“Timeout zone?” Kat crossed her arms, giving her husband and brother-in-law a look.

The timeout zone was something they instituted a few years back for anyone who got a little overzealous. At one time or another, all of them had spent time in the zone. “Bench over there. Crutchie will be there and he’ll keep track of penalty time. Any other questions?”

“How long do we gotta be out here for?” Smalls asked, looking between her brothers. “Are you trying to freeze us to death?”

Jack looked at Spot. They both chuckled at their little sister’s whining. “Until the last man stands.”

“Alright y’all - let’s blitz them so we can get this done and over with.” Smalls gave her team a look as a few of them agreed.

Spot gave his sister a look. “Any other questions?”

“We doing safe zones?” Blink called, raising his hand.

Spot gave him a look, rolling his eyes. “Not this year. Besides too many people crowded into them to avoid getting hit and that’s the whole point of a snowball fight. Any other questions?”

“What if the timeout zone is overcrowded like it was last year?” Crutchie asked that one as a few groans escaped the group.

The previous year was awful - couples ganged up with one another to fight the battle. At one point Jack, Kat, Spot, and Race were the only ones not in the timeout zone.

“If it gets too crowded, then we’ll call a timeout and cool our jets.” Spot said, looking up and down the line. “Albert and Finch, no repeat of last year.”

Albert gave Spot a look. “Hey we weren’t the only ones that did it.”

“But you’re the ones I’m calling out. Stay away from each other.” Spot gave them both a look. “Any other questions?”

Tommy Boy raised his hand as Spot nodded at him. “We’re getting hot chocolate after this right?”

Jack chuckled, at the many questions that were. Ok’ing in. Spot groaned loudly, his patience running thin. “YES NOW ANYMORE QUESTIONS RELATED TO THE GAME?”

Silence met them as Jack dismissed them. Kat and Spot led their group to the east side of the park while Jack and Race led their group to the west.

Once they were all huddled up, Jack yelled ten minutes and they got to work. Typically the two were team captains as their teams changed every year.

“What’s the plan for Team Spat?” Albert asked, clapping his hands together as he and the rest of the team gathered around Kat and Spot.

Spot leaned his head in, pointing out the strategy as everyone nodded. There were a few questions as Kat and Spot went over the plan they had devised a few weeks ago. The two took the epic snowball fight more seriously than their counterparts.

Meanwhile in Jack and Race’s group, their group looked to their fearless leader who shrugged and grinned. “Every man for themselves. Just pelted people as fast as you can.”

Crutchie blew a whistle when the tenminutes was up. Jack, Race, Spot, and Kat met Crutchie in the middle of the field. Crutchie gave them a look. “Now I want a clean match. No wiley ways out of either team. Shake hands and the match will begin on my whistle.”

The four exchanged handshakes, glaring at their significant other. “May the best men and women win.”

The two teams faced each other, putting on their most intimidating faces, glaring at the competition. Crutchie stood, shaking his head at the antics of his friends before sharply blowing the whistle. Snowballs flew in either direction as shouts of being hit or victory were soon heard.

“Dammit.” Kat cussed, hurling another snowball in the direction of her husband only to miss, as Spot came up to her and whispered something in her ear. She grinned at him, nodding.

Kat dropped the snowball she was holding, stalking across enemy lines up to her husband and threw her arms around him before passionately kissing him. Spot followed behind her, showering snowballs at him. Kat pulled back and walked over to Spot’s side with a satisfied grin.

Crutchie’s sharp whistle blew loudly as all play came to a halt. “Jack, Kat, and Spot all to the timeout zone!”

Spot and Kat high-fived, laughing. “So worth it.”

The three stalked over to the timeout zone, sitting on the bench with their arms crossed as they watched the action in front of them. “What was that?”

“That was us getting you back for hitting us.” Kat gave him a look, stretching out her shoulder where a violent snowball had hit. “Damn, why do you have to have such a wicked throw?”

Jack laughed, shrugging. “Did you forget I played baseball in college?”

The lightbulb clicked over Kat and Spot’s heads. “Oh yea . . . kinda did forget about that.”

“So what's the strategy behind that?” Jack asked, giving the two a look, while watching Race throw a wicked ball towards Albert.

Spot chuckled. “Can’t beat them . . . join them.”

Crutchie watched the three. “Your time is up. Again, no wiley ways you three.”

They all turned to him with a grin, holding up their hands. “Yes, dad.”

Letting the two walk ahead of her, Kat bent down and scooped up some snow, forming it into a perfect snowball before lobbing it at Jack’s back, perfect hit. She giggled, watching him turn around and run towards her, causing her to shriek loudly.

Jack tackled her in the snow as Spot shook his head continuing on his way back to his team. He took a moment to survey the field, looking for a tall blonde. He could hear his laugh as he attacked his best friend. Scooping down, he grabbed his own handful of snow, forming it into a snowball, sneaking back over to enemy lines.

“Pssst . . . he’s behind the tree in the corner.” Spot looked behind him with a grin. Finch stood there with his own snowball. “He’s made Albie his target.”

Spot grinned, looking at his friend. “I’ll take Race, you take Albie?”

Finch grinned as the two snuck up to their significant other. Finch blitzed Albie while Spot merely snuck up behind Race and stuffed snow down his coat, eliciting a girlie scream to escape Race’s mouth.

Spot took off running backwards, watching Race do a jig to get the snow out of his coat. “Remember who you’re going home with Conlon!”

Blink and Mush were violently throwing off handed insults at one another while pelting the other with snowballs. Spot laughed watching Blink tackle Mush into the snow before shoving a handful of snow into his face.

Meanwhile, Romeo and Elmer had ganged up on Specs and Buttons, each person throwing as many snowballs as possible, only to have one of the many hit a target, though many of the targeted snowballs actually hit their own teammate.

Davey watched the battlefield with a cocked eyebrow at the pure mayhem that was in front of him. His eyes zeroed in on Les, along with Tommy Boy and Smalls, who were sneaking up on unsuspecting victims and bombarded snowballs at Jojo and Henry, who’s yelps and screams made Davey laugh.

Soon he felt a snowball pelt his back before a few more were added in quick succession. Whipping around, he got another snowball in the face, eyes wide. “Thought we were friends, Kelly.”

She laughed, throwing her head back as she threw another snowball in his direction. “Not on the battlefield, we aren’t. Besides, my husband said it best, every man for themselves.”

“Then why is Jack standing beside you?” Davey asked, giving her a look.

She bent down, grabbed more snow before shaping it into the perfect snowball. “He may have said that you were in la la land. But the throwing of the snowball was alllllllll me.”

“Better watch your back, Plums.” He called, leaning down and grabbing his own snowball.

Throwing her snowball at him, she cocked an eyebrow at him, holding up a gloved hand. “It’s been Kelly for the last 18 months, David. Mind your manners.”

“Hey our team captain is in trouble.” Someone called as she heard rushing of feet come up behind her, a flurry of snowballs in the air in Davey’s direction. “Get him, guys!”

A snowball was hurled towards his chest, throwing him off balance as he lost his footing and fell to the ground in a dramatic fashion. Katherine put her hand up, looking at her friends on either side. “I say it’s a victory for Team SPAT. Are we all in agreement?”

An excited cheer went up, as they all looked at Spot and Jack for the official call. “I’m okay with conceding.”

Spot offered a hand to Jack, as he eagerly shook on it. “Well played, my friend.”

“Hot chocolate?” Spot asked, as Jack nodded. The losing team had to buy the winning team hot chocolate as a prize.

Jack watched everyone start to walk off their battlefield with a grin. Kat laced her arms around his waist, leaning into him, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek. “Well played, captain.”

“Well played, major.” He pulled her into his arms, before dipping her to place a kiss on her lips. All of their friends, by that point, had noticed the two weren’t following behind, and had stopped and catcalled Jack as he dipped her.

Pulling her up, Jack grinned at her before pressing another kiss to her lips. “Well play, Jack, well played.”

He grinned, holding out his hand for her to grab. “All in a day's work.”

The two walked to where their friends were waiting. Spot and Race walking to their side. “Do you really gotta make a scene in the park?”

Kat bent down, grabbing a handful of snow, giving Race a look. “Do you really not know how to keep your mouth shut?”

She lunged for him, knowing him off his feet. A oomph came from both of their mouths before she shoved snow down his shirt. “Maybe that’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut?”

“The only way that’ll happen . . .” Race trailed off, looking over at Spot with a suggestive look on his face.

Kat groaned, grabbing another handful of snow, pushing it in his face, before getting to her feet. “Spot, come get your fiancé. . . he’s running his mouth again.”

Spot held a hand down for Race, giving him a look. “Why do you have to always rile her up?”

“Because it’s fun.” Race grinned, bouncing on his toes. “Let’s go! Hot chocolate waits for no one.”

Kat gave Spot a look. “Are you sure it’s okay for him to have anymore sugar?”

“He’ll crash and burn tonight. It’s the one night of the year that he doesn’t talk in his sleep.” Spot grinned, lacing his fingers with Race’s as they started to make their way out of the park.

The group of friends grinned at each other, reflecting on what a great day it had been. Yearly traditions were truly the best as they got to act like five year olds for a bit while running around in the freshly laid snow. Jack grinned to himself as he squeezed Kat’s hand. Yes, his team had lost but in the end, he won by having a great partner by his side.

I’ve had this in my back pocket for a while now. What do you think? Feedback is always welcomed!!

[ao3bronte]

Mamma Mia AU [Part 6]

READ PART 5 HERE!

Take A Chance On Me

Six months later...

Never in her wildest dreams did Marinette expect to be sitting where she is now, dressed to the nines in one of her own highly sought after designs. Having just released her very first collection, M by MarinetteDesigns, at the beginning of December, all of her custom made prêt-à-porter fashions were flying off the racks. She’d even had to hire another seamstress just to get through the backlog of formal wear commissions that she’d received ever since Alya’s BuzzFeed friends set up her social media accounts and started repping her brand all over their articles and personal posts.

But more on that later.

At the moment, Marinette is sitting at a huge, zigzag communal table under the glassed-in rooftop patio on top of a boutique hotel in Le Marais, clapping her hands and cheering as the two people she never thought she’d see together emerge from behind closed doors hand in hand. Jagged Stone performs an epic guitar solo from the platform as Luka picks up his new bride and spins her around, grinning like a maniac.

The wedding itself is a completely bombastic affair with celebrities and the like sneaking here and there to avoid the paparazzi. Marinette feels like a kid in a candy store as Luka’s guests file in left and right, most of them artists and bands she loves to listen to. And his bride, of course, doesn’t have much of her family along for the wedding. The media backlash from her mother’s empire had been outlandish, especially in Japan, but she’d ended up fitting right in with most of Luka’s ragtag group of friends in Los Angeles. With the help of her new husband and their support circle, she’d risen above the controversy and won the Olympic gold medal in fencing, bringing honour to herself for the first time in her life.

Sporting a gorgeous red rose tattoo on her upper arm, Kagami Tsuguri Couffaine turns around and gives everyone that trademark smirk of hers, welcoming them to their reception. Luka can’t keep his hands off of her, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull when she plunks her leg up onto the chair she’s supposed to be sitting on and demands he take her garter off with his teeth. The partygoers roar as Luka does just that, emerging victorious with a red and navy strap of fabric hanging from his canines.

Satisfied with his performance, Kagami calls all of the single and unmarried ladies attending her wedding to the platform and waves her rose and orchid bouquet over her head for the traditional toss. Hoping to avoid the pitying glances, Marinette pretends to be completely consumed by her emails and ducks her head in the hopes that no one will notice her. She would have been successful too, had it not been for the exchange of raised eyebrows and playful glances between the bride, the groom and a few other savant attendees.

“One, two, three!” Kagami cries, launching her bouquet into the air. Like a missile locked on a target, it somersaults right over everyone’s heads and thwacks an unassuming Marinette straight in the face, knocking her right off her chair.

“Oh my god, Marinette!” Alya squeals, laughing as her best friend spits petals from her lips. Everyone is cheering as Marinette slowly stands up and waves the bouquet above her head, blushing with embarrassment.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend,” she shakes her head, still smiling despite not having a plus one by her side. She’s long accepted the fact that she’s going to be on her own for good and surprisingly, she feels better for it. Acceptance is the first step, after all, and Marinette has been going to so many weddings lately as an honoured guest for designing the wedding and bridesmaids dresses that the blank space at her side hardly bothers her any longer. She’s even started working on tuxedos!

Way, way down the table, Marinette tries to ignore the ghost from her past crowding the open bar with Nino and the rest of the boys. She’d said hello politely but otherwise avoided him, if only to keep a tamper on her feelings; even though her love has long withered down to smothered embers, Marinette wants to be careful to avoid the winds of change that would flare those feelings in her soul.

The food at Luka and Kagami’s wedding is fantastic and the music is even more so. After the first course, Luka invites everyone up to form a mosh pit as Jagged plays a brand new track off his upcoming album and Marinette is absolutely thrilled to bop around, screaming at the top of her lungs with her hands in the air. She’s as free as a bird and the gorgeous, rock star inspired dress she has on leaves little to the imagination as she sways and shakes to the music. Alya catches it all on TikTok, much to Marinette’s chagrin, and captions it: ‘What a catch! 🎣 How is my girl still single?!’

After, everyone takes a breather and sits back down at the table, its decorated surface filled to the brim with food served family style on colourful, mismatched platters. Marinette loves the boho aesthetic of the different multi-hued plates and napkins, the discordant textures and silverware already inspiring another collection for her fashion line. She digs into the huge heaping of pasta that Alya had plopped onto her plate and laughs along with her girlfriends as they eat the night away under the Parisian lights.

As the main course is being cleared from their tables, the wedding band begins to play and couples slowly but surely leave their tables for a tour of the dance floor. Alya jokingly offers a ‘samba-à-trois’ with her and Nino but Marinette laughingly declines, prefering to watch and take photos of her friends while they’re enjoying themselves. She’s got a knack for capturing the perfect shot and Marinette is just about to turn back towards her table to edit them when someone calls her name.

“Marinette!”

No matter how many months and years pass between them, he’ll always stop her in her tracks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Adrien compliments her breathlessly, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He’s been dancing with the boys, hauling them up in the air on his shoulders as the party throbs around them, “I mean—you look beautiful always! It’s just—uh, tonight you look...especially beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Marinette responds, desperately trying to keep her voice even. She can’t help but transpose the black mask over his features as he runs his fingers through his messy hair, his cheeks flushed from exertion, “You look...handsome yourself.”

“Th-thank you!” he stutters, looking strangely unkempt for someone who always seems to have it together, “I just—um. Do you want to dance with me?”

He offers her his hand and she stares at it, the technicolour lights casting shadows on his upturned palm, “I...thank you for...um, offering but—”

“Please,” he beseeches her, his eyes blown wide, “I’ve missed you.”

Marinette gulps, her throat tightening against the emotions rekindling in her chest, “I’m…”

“Just one,” he says, taking a small, tentative step towards her, “And if you...if you don’t want to see me again after, I can do that.”

Her heart clenches. Tikki punches her thigh through her skirt.

“Just one,” she says eventually, placing her hand gently overtop of his. He grasps her like their lives depend on it and Marinette is suddenly thrust back to the days where their entwined fingers meant the difference between defeat and victory. He slumps with relief and pulls her towards his chest, resting his other hand on the small of her back.

And they dance.

Her heartbeat skips with every step as they sway to the music, lost in their own private orbit of things left unsaid. Adrien can’t keep his eyes away and she can hardly catch his gaze without burning up, finding it far easier to stare at the knot of his loosened tie. Somehow, they drift closer and closer until his lips are a hair’s breadth away from the crown of her head and Marinette can feel the warmth of his body coming off of him in waves, setting her skin on fire.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispers, his words barely there, “When I left after the wedding...I knew it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made and I’d do anything to take it back.”

Marinette trips a little, stumbling into his chest, “Adrien—”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you everything but Alya told me you blocked me and I...I wanted to respect that. So I’ve been waiting six months to tell you what I should have told you all those years ago,” Adrien’s voice wavers,  “I’ve loved you since the day we first fought together. The problem was, at eighteen, I thought I loved the idea of freedom more.”

“I was wrong, though. I was so, so wrong and I’ve spent the last four years of my life regretting every second. I’ve transferred to TU Delft to finish off my graduate degree so I can be closer to home. I want to come back on the weekends to fight by your side again and repair our relationship, but only if you want to. I just...I know I’ve been an awful partner and an even more awful friend so I totally understand if you never want to see me again but...I thought I would just try.”

Marinette swallows, fighting the tears that prickle at the corners of her eyes, “I’m sorry, Adrien. But I...thank you for the apology.”

He makes no move to let go and neither does she, “It’s...it’s okay. You’ve been doing so well on your own. I just want to be closer though, in case something happens. The Netherlands is only a few hours away by bus.”

The music slowly wanes and Marinette steps back, averting her gaze, “I guess it’s time for dessert.”

Adrien swallows, loosening his tie further, “Right. I...um, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sure,” she says, finally glancing back up at him. He looks wrecked, for lack of a better word, “Maybe you can tell me how your studies are going?”

“Oh!” Adrien’s expression immediately brightens, his smile near blinding, “Yes! I’ll tell you anything! Everything! After dessert! We can talk!”

Marinette can’t help but smile a little, his fumbling antics so unlike the Adrien she knows. He’s unmasked in front of her, the Chat Noir she has always known and loved, “Nino’s waving at you.”

She points over his shoulder and Adrien turns, catching a glimpse of Nino, Luka and about ten other guys all hooting and giving him questioning thumbs up. He smiles and gives them an enthusiastic nod in return before turning back to Marinette, “I’ll find you after dessert, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees, watching him scamper off towards his friends. Alya is on her not a second later, her arm draped around her shoulders as they walk back to their seats.

“Well? How did it go?”

Marinette shrugs, “We danced and I asked him about his studies.”

Alya skids to a stop in her tracks, “That’s it?”

“Well, he said he was sorry too,” she says, walking out from under Alya’s arm as she continues walking, “And then the song ended and we’re going to talk about his classes after.”

“I swear to god, that idiot!” Alya stomps her foot and storms away towards her husband and the rest of the boys.

~

The cake is cut, the lights are low and the party is about to truly kick into high gear. The wedding band is replaced by one of Los Angeles' best DJs and Marinette stays out of the fray for the time being, taking a break from the action. She’s responding to commision requests when the song that had just been playing slowly dwindles and the crowd starts to scream.

“Speech!” a familiar voice cries and Marinette’s head yanks towards its source so quickly it cracks, “I'm gonna make a speech, everybody!”

Standing on the wedding platform with his tie nowhere to be found, Adrien raises his glass of champagne in one hand and holds the microphone to his lips in the other, “First of all, I just want to make a big shout out to the bride and groom for hosting an amazing party! Santé!”

The crowd cheers and drinks with him, buzzing seemingly with anticipation. An electric current tingles down the length of her neck as something tells her that everyone clearly knows something she doesn’t.

“And secondly, I want to thank my friends for helping me try and win back the love of my life. Hey, Marinette! I’m still free! Take a chance on me!”

Hoisted from the platform to the dinner tables, Adrien begins to strut as if on a catwalk, "To the most beautiful, talented woman in the world! I'm gonna do my very best to get you back, if you let me try. I wanna be the first in line to your heart."

The entire party cheers him on. Jagged Stone plays the opening chords to the wedding march on his electric guitar.

"I know I kind of screwed up,” he averts his eyes for a moment, his cheeks burning as her jaw clunks to the floor, “But if you change your mind and need me, just let me know. I’m going to be around more often and...well, put me to the test. I won’t disappoint you ever again. I’m all yours.”

He pauses in front of her, microphone still in hand, “We could go dancing or go for a walk or anything, really. Just as long as we do it together. You’ve got to know how much I want to win you back and...and when I close my eyes at night and dream, I’m always dreaming about you! You have to know that I...I can’t let go of you. Of us. Of what I left behind.”

“Please Marinette,” he reaches out to her just like he had earlier, his palm raised and at the ready. Marinette feels like dying and flying all at once.

Her heart pounding, Marinette takes a shaky breath and raises her hand only to hesitate, her fingers curling with indecision. Her mind is racing and fuzzy and between the wolf whistles and the intensity of Adrien’s gaze, Marinette finds herself feeling something in her chest she hasn’t felt in four long years.

“What do you say, M’Lady?” Adrien smiles with a hopeful shrug, “Will you take a chance on me?”

“I…” she trails off and somehow, her arm is moving on its own accord. Should she listen to her mind and turn him down? Or should she listen to her heart and find love once more in the arms of the man she’s loved for years and years and years.

Well, there’s only one choice here, isn’t there?

“Yes,” she whispers, a sweet benediction, “Yes!”

Clasping his hand, Adrien hauls her up with supernatural strength onto the table and tosses the microphone into the crowd. There’s a horrible feedback noise as Nino catches it against his tuxedo but nothing matters anymore except the smile on his face and the joy in her eyes as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses her flush to his body, “Why did I ever let you go?”

“Because you were an idiot,” Marinette responds and Adrien throws his head back and laughs. Here I go again, she thinks as she soaks in his contagious joy as the crowd screams around them. How could she resist him, especially after a confession like that?

“Can I kiss you?”

Marinette inhales sharply, “How could I resist?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it is, you silly cat.”

Adrien bends down and presses his lips against hers just as the fireworks ignite in the background, bathing the glassed-in rooftop deck in hues of vibrant reds and golds. Marinette gasps as he runs his tongue along her bottom lip and she pulls him ever nearer, basking in his warmth as she grabs handfuls of his hair. She devours him longingly as he explores her body with his roaming fingertips and Marinette feels the dam of her desire breaking, overflowing with desperate, relentless love.

“I’m never going to let you go ever again," Adrien murmurs against her lips before diving back in and kissing her again, grabbing her by the hip. She feels delirious and suddenly they’re both smiling, giggling like school children because finally, finally ! They could be together! No matter what, four years or twenty, no span of time can truly keep apart true love.

READ PART 7 HERE!

[theorynexus]

Number Thirty-Five: Hey, look, I found the Beef!

It Is Begun.

Indeed. Far too true, all around. I had actually forgotten the fact that John was involved in the army raising. >.<

Hmm. That is an interesting question: What ARE the 8 Balls representative of? The idea that his immortality knows that his time is almost up?   The universe destroying power of a certain blue-blooded Sn(8)wman?   The proximity to a black hole, considering how he conquered his session?

Why do you take such pleasure in taunting me, Hussie?   T^T

I wonder if that’s fully true, or if it’s just traveled to some other point in the timeline.

Indeed, that does sound pretty cool.

Hmm. The way that was described made it seem almost like there’s a possibility that she had escaped somehow in a puff of light-- but I very much doubt that. This... is going to be rough. They have got to be extremely careful and make everything count, here.

Part of the problem here is pitting a time player against the Lord of Time.  While he has an advantage insofar as he has the legendary cutter of Cal, he’s also at a disadvantage insofar as time will constantly be working against him.

The Green Sun was destroyed for the sake of depowering Lord English (and possibly trapping him, later). It is to be expected that the Green Sun Powers she possesses would not work. Jade is put at a tremendous disadvantage insofar as she has not really had much experience with her God Tier powers outside of the connection they have with said sum; however, it was, to some extent, a necessary sacrifice.     The question is... why hadn’t she realized this would happen during her captivity in the Juju? Well... I guess there was not really an opportunity to. It’s not like they had received knowledge that it would be gone, unfortunately.   ***casts a suspicious gaze at endgame/victory condition!Rose***   >^>

***feels a lump suddenly forming in my throat***    Ahem... .  Well, how, erm, unlucky and also ironic. It is a hole torn in space. Eheheh... . On a not-so-unrelated note: I wonder if this is essentially their comeuppance for coming from a timeline with no promise.  It doesn’t seem like the normal DOOM mechanics should be in effect, considering how John’s retcon powers worked, but at the same time, I guess there’s a massive symbol of void hanging in the background, casting shadows of bad luck over everything. It’s interesting that it didn’t state Jade was dead after that... though if it entered from the trajectory that I am thinking it did, and especially given her body went limp, she should at least be paralyzed, which is... unfortunate. ewe

Wow, John’s really gotten strong over the years. I am surprised, honestly, that his powers have developed to that extent.

Yay, Newtonian physics!  (Also, I love the ominous way English’s maw was described, there.)

O_O   OH MY FRICKING GOSH!!!

Oh, and also:�� Being able to see is pretty important.  It's a shame that their beacon of Light isn't there to help make things clearer.You know.  The Seer being gone.  Sight being lost.There are a whole bunch of these sorts of symbols coming up, lately. Oh, and also, Vriska is gone. It would be real nice if someone could be able to English’s luck.

Yeah... deadness does that to you, sometimes. Especially when inundated with Unimportance from the presence of a celestial ball of Void~

This is a strange way to describe an attack, but I sortof love it. Especially since it makes it sound like LE is skating away from the group, probably flailing his arms wildly not to fall over.  Either that, or he shot it off like a rocket fist.

Page of Breath, NOOOO!!!~    Your squiredom was nearly complete! D:

Well... at least he’s avoiding being killed, and is doing SOME damage, now. That’s something.

Why do I get the impression it was the hammer crunching, despite the backstepping on the giant monster’s part?

...     I really wish that I knew what his eating hammers was supposed to represent.  The dog shaking a rabbit metaphor is quite amusing, though, especially as one imagines John’s legs just flailing about through the air as it’s happening. Poor thing, getting its handle bitten off.  I am reminded of Tyr and Fenrir. However, John didn’t lose his hand, and sadly doesn’t really have magical, unbreakable chains to bind this monstrous beast with.

Ow. This... is painful.  So seemingly unceremonious.   A bloody shame his indestructibility protected him. ewe

OH FRACK, HER MAKING DAVE BACK OFF WAS NOT A GOOD THING!!!

YES, YES, YES, COME ON RANDOM DICE ROLL!!!   I have been waiting for this moment!!!

***FREAKS THE HECK OUT LIKE THE KING OF WEASELS***

Everyone has been waiting for this epic moment.  But man, if it isn’t awkwardly timed.  That is really all there is to say on the matter.

That is an interesting fact, regarding English’s size+bulk+physical capacities. That said:  YEAH, GIVE THEM HEART, WOOO!!!~

This is incredibly sad (John tuning it out), and also a very good expression of how a Rogue of Heart’s power must work. (Buffs and Debuffs, huzzah!) Hmm~ That is a really beautiful description of everything falling apart, by the way.

I wish there was some awesome music to associate with this moment. I think I’ll just play Red Sucker through Eternity Served Cold.  That ought to fit, probably.

Good thing he’d just dropped all those hammers there, eh?   While the last allusion doesn’t make sense, see the first four words in this snip!

I bet Dave looks just like Caliborn did just after he severed his own leg. MAYBE IF YOU FEED HIM ENOUGH, HE’LL EXPLODE!!! O: ***laughs at my own ridiculousness***

Hey, mid-battle foreshadowing/buildup! Niiice.   And now, John, since he swallowed you whole instead of chewing: UNLEASH A WHIRLWIND OF HAMMERS AND BREATH IN HIS BLOODY STOMACH!!!   >:’D

...  Wow.  That could have gone better. Or worse!   John, you really should have remembered you could have turned into wind and used that to escape.  At the same time, though, English moves way faster than Bec Noir does, probably, so I guess I can’t blame you.  Good job on surviving that, at least (for now).

Aww. What a nice present.  I’m sure that will make a cool fricking hammer, if you save it, John. Please don’t lose that any time soon, okay? More importantly, though... are we going to miss the last parts of the battle because John is too loopy?  XD

***gulp***     Seems not.    ***unleashes a torrent of mad laughter in time with The Lordling, which played just as Dave’s head was bitten off***  ***reaches up toward the sky with a grim smile plastered upon my face, and then cracks my neck***    WELL, THEN.  IT WOULD SEEM THAT THINGS HAVE GOTTEN TRULY INTERESTING.

MAGNIFICENT. FINALLY, THE IMMATURE CHERUB GROWS ITS WINGS.

***sagenods***   A fitting end. Not an opponent that any one person could have hoped to defeat-- but with great sacrifice and determination, the group together managed to achieve the impossible.  Weakened by poison, distracted by maddening, Rage-fueled giddiness in triumph, the final tolling of the bell comes. As they are flown off into the sun like a piece of fricking garbage. Honk. HONK.

Post Script, as Eternity Served Cold winds down:  The final reunion with a Cherub in the wake of a black hole... beautiful touch to sew in, there.   Magnificent. BUT WHAT THE HECK ARE THE OTHER EPILOGUE PARTS GOING TO BE ABOUT?!?!?!   OH MY FRICKING GOSH!!!!!!!!

[newsiepedia]

Character Profile: Pulitzer

Real Name: Joseph Pulitzer

Nickname and Meaning: Joe, Rattlesnake, Old man Pulitzer (derogatory nicknames given to him by the newsies)

Age: Pulitzer was historically 52 during the newsboy strike.

Gender: Pulitzer is always played by a man.

Family: The only part of Pulitzer’s family we see is his daughter, Katherine, but he doubtless has other family members.

Pulitzer…:

Is selfish. In his introduction, he says “whoever said “War is hell” wasn’t trying to sell newspapers”- (Newsies Live script, page 13) something that becomes even more shameful when you realize that he witnessed the horrors of war firsthand. (Newsies Film script, page 99) He even says to Jack “Anyone who does not act in his own self-interest is a fool”. (Newsies Live script, page 74)

Is a hypocrite. Though Pulitzer hates the idea of cutting his pay even a little, (Newsies Film script, page 37) he’s sure the newsies won’t mind a cost increase that could mean the difference between dinner and starving. He also objects to the newsies striking (just like the trolley workers he thought were so “epic”) because “the trolley workers are striking for a fair contract. The newsies are striking against me!” (Newsies Live script, page 58) 

Treasures his daughter (in a really messed up way). Pulitzer thinks his daughter is a talented and beautiful young woman. (Newsies Live script, page 59) He certainly wants what he thinks is best for Katherine- he offers her riches beyond compare and doubtless helped her journalism career get off the ground. (Newsies Live script, page 59) But when she rebels against him for joining the newsies, Pulitzer has her “blacklisted from every news desk in town” (Newsies Live script, page 54) and humiliates her in front of her crush, shattering any trust Jack had for her. (Newsies Live script, page 59) 

Solves his problems by throwing money at them. When the newsies go on strike, Pulitzer tries to stop them by bribing Jack with enough money to start a life in Santa Fe. (Newsies Live script, page 60) Earlier, when he’s having trouble selling, he tells his advisors to buy of Hearst’s headline writer. (Newsies Film script, page 20)

Is manipulative. When Jack refuses to call of the strike, Pulitzer hits him where it hurts- threatening to have “Davey and his baby brother ripped from their loving family and tossed to the rats. Tch, tch, tch, tch, tch. Will they ever be able to thank you enough?” (Newsies Live script, page 60) Pulitzer’s choice to say “baby brother” instead of Les’s name targets Jack’s need to protect children, and the final remark of “Will they ever be able to thank you enough?” preys both on Jack’s fear of abandonment and the feeling that he was to blame for Crutchie going to the Refuge. He also bribes the Mayor into publicly arresting Jack by offering him good publicity in his and his colleagues’ papers. (Newsies Film script, page 77)

Is cruel. When Pulitzer raises the price of papers, he takes obvious delight in the fact that “the real pros (will) suffer” and “they’ll lose and I’ll win”, breaking out into a huge smile (the real pros and being, of course, the newsies). Later, when Hannah says “its going to be awfully rough on those children” he responds “but oh, so good for me!” with a laugh. (NEWSIES Cut Songs) When Jack comes in to discuss the terms of the strike, Pulitzer doesn’t even let him speak. He makes sure Snyder is there, immediately putting Jack on edge. He then proceeds to gleefully rub in the fact that Crutchie was hurt by Snyder, elevating the threat he poses to Jack. He even says  “I know that you are Mr. Tough Guy, but it’s not right to condemn that little crippled boy to conditions like that”, implying that it’s Jack’s fault Crutchie was hurt. (Newsies Live script, page 60) During The Bottom Line Reprise, he gloats about all the things he has that Jack doesn’t, and even indirectly threatens his life with the line “Be glad you're alive, boy, I'd say that's the bottom line”. (Newsies Live script, pages 60, 61) 

Is prideful. In the film, the reason the World is going under isn’t poor circulation- it’s because Pulitzer is spending most of his money trying to out compete his rival, Hearst. (Newsies Film script, page 20) When he makes his decision to raise the price of papers, he says “Boys, I’ve got it/ It’s cruel, but it’s fair/ And the best part? The public won’t care”, showing that while he wants to keep up the image of a fair, reputable journalist, he isn’t quite willing to actually be those things. He also clearly doesn’t care what his “advisors” think, as he shushes them after asking “Can anyone remember/ the last time I was wrong?” (NEWSIES Cut Songs) During the end of the strike, Davey tricks Pulitzer into keeping the police away from the newsies in exchange for telling him which newspaper company printed the Newsies’ Banner. (Newsies Film script, page 130) Even when he realizes he’s lost, Pulitzer hesitates to agree to the newsies’ terms because it would look bad. (Newsies Live script, page 75) 

Is willfully ignorant. He makes several obviously false statements about the newsies, such as “I couldn’t give them a better education if they were my own”, “Proud of themselves and so grateful to me/ They’ll be begging to pay even more,” (Newsies Live script, pages 14, 15) and “The newsies aim for less/ they get the life they choose”. (NEWSIES Cut Songs) There’s no way he doesn’t know that this is incorrect, but he chooses to believe it anyway- because if he’s wrong, that means he’s a bad person.

Admits when he’s wrong. Pulizter may have done some very bad things, but once the newsies have cornered him he graciously accepts Jack’s demands, saying “That’s not a bad head you’ve got on your shoulders”, spit shaking with him, and even offering him a job drawing for The World. (Newsies Live script, pages 75, 76, 77) 

(Headcanon Fuel section removed as Pulitzer was a historical figure)

Actors and Physical Appearance:

John Dossett

Steve Blanchard

Robert Duvall

Pulitzer has grey hair and a full beard, and dresses in well made but rather boring suits. He has an intimidating aura about him.

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

I totally didn’t have time to publish this last night or this morning so I just decided to post both this chapter and the next one tonight. Also I start school tomorrow so these might be the last of the regular updates.

Oh, and when I was writing this story, the POV kinda sorta just changed from third person to first person and??? I think it works better??? So yeah sorry about that I was not about to rewrite the whole first part in first person.

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, and chapter four if you hadn’t read them

Chapter Five

Words: 2,086

Warnings: the author is a lazy little shit, no others really (just wait till the next chapter)

Editing: the usual grammarly and read-through combo

***#***

The day went on. No (possibly) magical time assassins trying to murder a kid. Nothing that special happened.

Except for the fact that I was really hungry. By the time all of the papers were sold, I was nearly swaying on my feet like I was tipsy.

I was standing with Davey, Les, and Jack, and the latter was trying to make plans for the brothers.

Honestly, I was completely spaced out, trying to figure out how to cover all the boys tomorrow during the strike. I overheard Jack’s voice, sounding slightly uncomfortable, surprised, and off-put. “Oh, youse got folks, huh?” I could tell he thought they were orphans.

Les, innocent Les, spoke next. “Doesn’t everyone?”

I saw Jack shift nervously, and Davey said something quietly to his little brother.

Davey looked at me and Jack, with something between pity and uncertainty. Of course, he thought I was an orphan because no one told him I wasn’t. Heck, I hadn’t told anyone anything, so I could say I never lied. I just omitted stuff that was semi-important.

“Our dad tangled with the delivery truck on the job. Messed up his leg bad, so they laid him off. That’s how come we had to find work.” Davey explained, with his specialty mixture of pity and uncertainty clear.

Jack looked uncomfortable, like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, ye-yeah, that makes sense. To-too bad about your dad, though.”

Davey had that look in his eyes that I was sure Jack saw a lot: the oh-you’re-poor-lemme-help-you look. “Look, why don’t you come home with us for dinner? Both of you. Our folks’ll be happy to have you.”

“Mom’s a great cook!” Les blurted.

I wouldn’t have minded it at all, especially if it involved food, but Jack looked like a deer in headlights.

“Ah, thanks for the invite. But I-I just remembered, I got plans with a fella! He’s probably waitin’ on me right now.” He looked at me, and it was as if his entire body screamed HELP!

I, stupidly, wasn’t looking for anyone suspicious. The only few minutes out of the day I wasn’t looking…

“Is that the guy you’re meeting?” Les yelled.

I looked to where the kid was pointing, and my (empty) stomach plummeted. There was a suspicious-looking guy, slightly resembling a mean pitbull with a mustache who was out looking for blood.

“Kelly!” Pitbull growled. Well, that rules out some anonymous time assassin, at least, I thought. It’s just your friendly neighborhood…pitbull…thug.

Jack’s face turned to one of terror. “Run for it!” He said to me and the two brothers.

We ran, me trailing behind to protect the boys who were so important to history. Sure, they might’ve gotten away originally, but with two time travelers on the table, all bets were off.

We kept on it, ducking and dodging through streets and alleyways, the early evening punctured with the Pitbull’s distant calls of “This way, officer!”, “Get him!”, or the insanely common “Jack Kelly!”

Finally, after ducking through a back door, Wally found himself in what appeared to be the backstage of a theatre.

“Slow down, I think we lost them.” Jack heaved. Davey and Les looked totally out of breath as well. I wasn’t that out of breath, because of my speedster reasons, but I pretended not to be that out of breath as to not raise any red flags.

“Does someone want to tell me why I’m running?” Davey protested, glaring at me. “I got no one chasing me. Who was that guy, anyway?” I shrugged. I mean, I honestly didn’t know.

“That there was Snyder the Spider. A real sweetie,” Jack said, with a level of disgust he didn’t think was possible.

“I thought he was more of a pitbull,” I said. Les smiled, but Jack wasn’t having it.

“He runs a jail for underage kids called The Refuge. The more kids he brings in, the more the city pays him. The problem is, all of that money goes straight into his own pocket. Just do yourself a favor. Stay clear of him and The Refuge.” Jack looked almost haunted as well as disgusted, and I wondered if he had spent time there.

A lady walked by below us. “Hey, you up there! Shoo! No kids allowed in the theatre!” I thought we were busted before Jack spoke up, all hints of Snyder and his unpleasantness gone from his face.

“Not even me, Ms. Medda?” He called charmingly.

She put her hands on her hips. “Jack Kelly?”

“Yeah!”

“Man of mystery! Come down here and give me a hug!” She called, clearly happy to see Jack.

He ran down and gave the lady, Ms. Medda, a hug. I made a mental note that, when he wanted, Jack could be really charming, inspiring, or threatening, depending on the person. You did not want to be on any side but his good side. Jack kept talking to Ms. Medda, charming her.

“Boys!” Jack said. “May I present to you Ms. Medda Larkin, the greatest star on the Bowery today. She also owns the joint.”

“The only thing I own is the mortgage,” she joked.

When I turned around, I saw Les, bent over double, gaping at two of the dancers.

Davey tapped Les on the back. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you blind?” Les retorted. “She got no clothes on!”

I hid a smile. I mean, I knew that 1899 fashion was a bit--scratch that, a lot--more conservative than 2018 fashion, but little Les was just so dumbstruck at the fact that the ladies were wearing just leggings and some kind of leotard. Oh, God, I thought, if only he walked around in the 21st century for even an hour…

“That’s her costume.”

“But I can see her legs!” Les sounded like he’d never seen a lady’s leg before. Although, in all honesty, he probably hadn’t.

“Well, step out of his way so’s he can get a better look.” Ms. Medda said. The performers struck a pose, revealing more of the tight leggings. Ms. Medda continued to say something about theatre being educational, but I wasn’t really listening, making sure no one was watching us.

Suddenly, a man with a mustache came running in. “Ms. Medda! You’re on!” He shouted.

“I am?” Ms. Medda said. “How am I doing?” She looked at the mustache guy, and then scoffed, and then looked at us, and we started laughing. “Boys, lock the door and stay all night. You’re with Ms. Medda now.”

We followed her to the curtains, Les and Davey watching from behind the curtain, but Jack and I snagged two seats. Ms. Medda continued to sing about being rich, but I wasn’t paying much attention to the words. Again. Oh, us millennials and our attention spans, I thought jokingly. But it was because Ms. Medda had an amazing voice. When the song was over, Jack gave a standing ovation, and I did, too. I mean, she did hide us from the cops. Well, I guess they weren’t cops. Abusive prison wardens?

“And now, gents,” she called, “let’s have a big hand for the Bowery Beauties!”

“Hey, Wally,” Jack said, poking me. “Look who’s here.” He pointed up to what looked like a theatre balcony.

I looked up and saw a lady sitting inside. “Wasn’t that the girl you were hitting on earlier?”

“Oh, yeah.” He had a stupid grin on his face. He ran up to Ms. Medda, who was now off-stage. They conversed quietly, and then Jack ran up to the ladder to the little balcony and climbed in.

I couldn’t hear them, but as they talked, Jack’s face varied from cheeky to downright flirty, and the girl mostly looked either uncomfortable or mocking. I smiled. She’s gonna have fun with Jack, I thought.

I watched the two of them, not exactly sure how it was going to play out. Well, until the girl yelled: “Do you mind?”

Some guy in the audience rapped his cane on the structure. “Pipe down up there!”

“You got in for free!” Ms. Medda called. “At least pay attention!”

Jack whisper-shouted something down, probably something along the lines of I’m sorry.

And then he, of course, started serenading her. Of course, he did. And…was he drawing something, too? I shook my head. Jack Kelly, the romantic. Who’d have thunk?

The song went along…and so did my attention. I have issues, I thought.

When the song(both Jack’s and the ladies’) Jack snuck down the ladder, not before leaving something on a chair.

He practically skipped over to Davey, Les, and I. After the brothers left, on our way back to the Lodge, then he started to boast about his serenading epicness.

“Did’ya see that? I’s got her hooked!” Jack whooped.

“You sure did, pal,” I said. Suddenly, the smell of a bakery wafted into my nose. “Hey, Jack? What’s that smell?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, that’s the Cooks’. Yep, they’s called the Cooks and they cook. If you’re hungry”--I could’ve sworn he heard my stomach growling--“they sometimes gives us a loaf of bread.”

“Well, I think you know the answer to that question, Jack,” I said. I fingered the dollars I took from the Waverider before dragging Jack to the street. There was about $20, which was a lot in this era, especially for the newsies. It was for an emergency, but if this wasn’t, I didn’t know what would constitute an emergency anymore. Jack started moving into the store, but I put a hand out in front of him. “Lemme try. They don’t know me.”

Jack shrugged. “Have at ‘em.”

I walked into the store, slipping my cap into my bag. A newsie with 20 bucks would raise all kinds of alarms. I walked up to the front, where a young girl was sitting, looking quite bored.

“How can I help you today?” She asked, looking like I was the most interesting thing that had happened to her all day.

I looked behind her at the vast shelves of baked goods, breads and pastries galore. “Uh, can I have ten loaves of bread? And one of the pumpkin loaves?”

The girl’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You got money to pay for it?”

“Yeah.” She gave me a once-over, like ‘why can this kid afford ten loaves of bread?’ Then she shrugged. Business was business.

“$2.50.” She said, gathering the load of loaves.

I pulled out some money and gave it to her.

I just really hoped she didn’t pay much attention to the dates on the bills.

She handed me the loaves, and I put each in my bag. “Thanks,” I said, and flashed a smile at the girl. She just nodded.

I walked outside to where Jack was waiting. He looked at me and only saw the emptiness of my hands.

“Ah, youse struck out, huh? Well, sometimes they’s just want the Jack…” He trailed off when I patted my bulging bag. “No way.”

I smirked. “Yes, way. Ten loaves of bread, and one pumpkin loaf.”

“How’d you…?”

“She just was begging for business. I don’t think they sold a thing all day.”

“Good on youse! We’s’ll eat good tonight!” Jack whooped, patting me on the back.

We walked back to the Lodge, Jack’s arm around my shoulder. By the time we got back, the sun was nearly set. As soon as we opened the door, the newsies were on us.

“Where were youse?”

“We’s been waitin’!”

“We’s thought Snyder got youse!”

Jack held up his hands, and they all quieted down. “Now, me and Speedy was busy.” He took my bag of bread from my hands. “Seems ol’ Speedy ‘ere has got a bit of charm!” The shouts rang out again.

“Is that bread?”

“WOAH!”

“Did’ya steal that?”

“FOOD!”

“A’IGHT!” Jack yelled. “All of youse get some! Obviously!”

Jack and I distributed the some of the bread to the newsies, and only after we finished did Jack take any. I assumed that was normal, knowing Jack.

The boys all got a large chunk of bread, and against Jack and I’s protests, the boys insisted we share a whole loaf.

That night, all of the newsboys at the Newsboy Lodging House went to bed with full stomachs.

I hope that doesn’t screw with the timeline.

You know what? Screw the timeline. Just seeing the joy on those kids’ faces when they realized they didn’t have to go to sleep hungry was enough.

[bbclesmis]

‘Valjean is like Spider-Man’

DOMINIC WEST FIGURES he's played his share of awful people. The serial killer Fred West in Appropriate Adult? Jimmy McNulty, the Baltimore cop in The Wire? A lovable rogue, but a rogue nonetheless. Noah Solloway, the lead in The Affair? "He's deeply silly," West contends. "Just a silly man!" In the film Colette (out this Friday), he plays a sadistic husband who locks his gifted wife (Keira Knightley) away and makes her write books for which he claims credit.

"As an actor, you do live with these people and experience what they're feeling," sighs the actor, 49. "If they're a******s, it's exhausting and ultimately degrading. So it was such a relief to play someone who's great." And he smiles that irascible smile, the one that makes you root for West even when he's playing murderers and pretentious, adulterous novelists.

Jean Valjean, West's character in the BBC's adaptation of Les Miserables, is not only "great" in the actor's eyes. He is nothing less than the "greatest hero in all literature": a superhero ex-convict who has spent 19 years in prison being tortured by Inspector Javert (David Oyelowo) for stealing a loaf of bread, but who determines on his release to be the best possible man he can be... with heartbreaking results.

West considers Victor Hugo's French revolutionary epic to be the "greatest novel ever written", too - "much better than War and Peace!" - and certainly much better than the famous musical (he's not a fan).

"Valjean is not just a good guy, he's an amazing guy. Like Spider-Man!" he beams. "He climbs up the sides of buildings to rescue kids. And he has the legitimacy of intense suffering; he's done 19 years of hard labour. That knocks Iron Man into a cocked hat! Then you get into the humanity of Valjean, his demons, his desperate need to redeem himself... He's trying not to be the brute that the prison has turned him into. You become a better person by spending time with someone like that."

He has asked me to his home, a converted brewery in Wiltshire that he shares with his wife, Catherine FitzGerald, and four children - Dora, 11, Senan, ten, Francis, nine, and Christabel, five - "I'm trying to cut down," he jokes. (He has another daughter, Martha, from his first marriage, who is studying English at Oxford and wants to act.) "I think all households should have a five-year-old girl running round," he says. "I just think it's better for children. Stops them from becoming little princesses. It's much harder to be a spoilt brat as one of four."

HE OPENS THE door unshaven and unkempt with a general air of bohemian bonhomie. He puts on a succession of silly voices as he leads me through to his kitchen. "Teas? Light refreshments? Do we want hot milk in our coffees? Yes?" He's such a chameleon as an actor that even his own accent sounds as if it's put on. He was educated at Eton, but his family isn't proper posh. His Irish father owned a plastics factory in Sheffield, his mother was an actor and he's the sixth of seven children.

The Wests have been doing up the house for about three years, but only moved in last summer - there are paintings waiting to be hung, pieces of Lego, mugs, antiques scattered around... The house used to be a "very manageable cottage next to a derelict brewery, but having decided to connect them all together they're only now getting used to the layout. "There are about five different doors to choose from. I didn't realise how spread out it would be. It's enormous!" They moved from west London to give the kids more space to range around when they're teenagers: "I want my kids to be around trees and animals more."

We take refuge in his office, up in the rafters of the old brewery, where he sinks into an armchair and resumes recounting his love affair with Les Miserables.

THE BBC VERSION is written by Andrew Davies and picks up more or less where his adaptation of War and Peace left off. It opens on the field of Waterloo in 1815 in the aftermath of Napoleon's defeat. Back in Paris, the royalists are resurgent - but can't quell the forces unleashed by the Revolution.

In the first episode, we follow Valjean's ill-starred attempts at redemption after his nemesis, Javert, releases him; meanwhile, the grisette Fantine (Lily Collins) falls for a cad (Johnny Flynn) and becomes pregnant with little Cosette - whose path will cross with Valjean's in the future. Six episodes, much heartache and many improbable coincidences will take us all the way up to the 1832 June Rebellion in Paris.

West hadn't read the epic novel, but now that he has, he's a convert. He even loves Hugo's digressions into the design of the Paris sewers. "Actually, I'd have loved it if we could have made six seasons out of it," he says. 'There's more than enough material and it's all important and relevant. As with any great classic, it's big enough to handle any amount of interpretations."

Javert's antipathy to Valjean is one of the engines of the plot - but it's also something of a mystery. Why does Javert hate him so much? "I always like to trace motivations to sex," West says. "I said to David, 'Javert obviously fancies him!' But he thought that was crass."

Did the rivalry extend off-set? "You're never quite sure where the character ends and the actor starts," he laughs. "But the key to David is that he's actually royal. He's a prince in Nigeria. And he doesn't drink. He's very religious. He's been married to his wife since he was 19 and they have four beautiful children. I hadn't realised people like that existed in the acting world! He's a very inspiring guy."

The co-stars decided it was the shared trauma of being institutionalised that set their characters against one another. "Valjean doesn't think he deserves anything other than brutality. Javert is constantly reminding him he's just a common criminal who breaks rocks and murders people."

Oyelowo is one of a number of non-white actors in the cast, marking a departure from traditional costume-drama casting. West jokes that he really wanted to do it all with 'A1lo'Allo accents, but: "Like any classic, it's not a museum piece. It has relevance to modern life. Eponine and the girls all talk like modern London girls. And therefore it looks like modern Britain, too."

THE PRODUCTION LOOKS likely to make Collins, as Fantine, a star. "She's incredible," says West. "It's an exhausting part. So harrowing. Any actress who goes for it deserves all the accolades she gets..." The first scene they shot together was Fantine's death, filmed in a freezing manor house outside Brussels at 5am. "She really went for it. I was like, 'Oh my God! How did you do those spasm things?' She said, 'I just made it up'." I imagine it's reassuring to have West on set: he is very experienced, but doesn't take himself too seriously. Do the younger actors come to him for advice? "Pfah! No. I'm jaded and lazy."

The Wire was the show that brought him fame, as well as a credibility not usually open to Old Etonians. But originally he didn't want to be in it. "And it turns out to have been the one thing that everyone knows me for and it was one of the best shows ever made! I think [creator] David Simon is almost the Victor Hugo of our time... certainly the Charles Dickens."

The Affair offers more escapist pleasure, its marital rows interspersed with good-looking people having sex (even if he doesn't think much of Noah). The Wests are about to decamp to LA for the filming of the final season, but it will be without Ruth Wilson this time. Last February, she disclosed in a Radio Times interview that she was "sure" she earned less than West. "I don't want more money, I just want equal money," she added. Not long after that her character Alison Bailey was killed off. What was all that about? "Oh, not related!" West yelps.

He remains good friends with Wilson. The main point of contention on set was whose behind would be visible in the sex scenes. "We used to fight about it. 'You're on top this time', 'No! I was on top the last three times!'"

He'd never given much thought to who was paid what, he says. "I never asked what the money is on a show. It was more a question of if I wanted to do it. So it woke me up to the issue. I never realised the disparity and the injustice."

It's one of a number of changes he has noticed since the #MeToo movement gained ground. "One thing that's happened is a positive discrimination in favour of female directors. But the main thing is that unacceptable behaviour from male directors or actors is now either not possible, or you can call them out on it. There was one guy in particular whose behaviour was disgusting. Particularly to young females in minor roles. I tried to counter it on several occasions. But now it wouldn't be so hard to get rid of them."

'Treatment of women has taken a big step back in television'

He twists his face in derision at those who feel the feminists have gone "too far". "Treatment of women has taken a big step back in the past 20 years," he says, his voice rising. "Particularly in television, which has become more pornographic and the burden of that falls squarely on young women. Things like Game of Thrones, where you get a pair of bare breasts every five minutes... I mustn't say this, but..." Say it!

"I'm fairly sure that 20 years ago young actresses would not have had pressure put on them to take their clothes off. The parts young actresses get, particularly pretty ones, involve violent rape. When I think about my daughter going into the profession... I'm just really glad that #MeToo has started to counteract what has happened in the past 20 years."

He puts it down to internet porn - "It's made boys feel that women are sex objects who are easily available" - as well as social media. "If you can swipe someone's face because you don't think they're pretty and it costs you that little... I haven't done it myself, but it cheapens it."

HE's CONCERNED AT the turn the world is taking: he mentions Trump, climate change, teenage boys becoming addicted to the online game Fortnite. A wariness of modernity seems to have inspired the move to the countryside; he and his wife are "luddites", he confesses. "I'm not one of those people who say, 'How can you bring children into this world?' But I do want to spend a lot more time hanging out with my kids and running around in forests."

Once he has finished filming the last season of The Affair, he plans to hire an enormous camper van, bundle the entire family into it and spend a few months driving around the States.

"It's the last chance we have," he explains. "They're nearly teenagers, so they're not going to want to spend that much time with their old man for much longer. I've spent a long time away from them. So we're taking six months, four months of it travelling. I've taken them out of school - there are no big exams. We'll home school them. They'll read. No screens. You're not going to get a better education than that. If you travel with as little as possible, you get much more interesting experiences."

Radio Times 5-11 January 2019

[aion-rsa]

Do You Feel Like I Do? Review: Peter Frampton Lets Loose With a Killer Solo Memoir

https://ift.tt/3m41AiN

Just to count it off, Peter Frampton’s Do You Feel Like I Do? A Memoir is as much fun as hearing a talking box guitar solo for the first time. Live and with an audience, of course. Each of Frampton’s best-known albums, either with his bands like Humble Pie or in his solo career, are live records. He may also love the studio albums he made, but just like The Who, whose studio albums he loves, those records are a different breed from a live show. Frampton should know, one of the first gigs he ever got was touring as an opening act for The Who.

And, as much fun as they were to see on stage, even their live shows paled when compared to ducking bottle rockets Keith Moon and John Entwistle aimed into his motel windows between shows. Frampton had fun, and it comes across on the pages of Do You Feel Like I Do?

While still in the school era of the book, Frampton talks about going nuts when he first got to jump on a trampoline. He was the first in his class to do a somersault, and then a backwards somersault. It got him shoved into a crate, but it sounds like a blast. Almost as exciting as meeting a young David Jones at school. No, not the Monkee, the one who had to change his name because of the Monkees: David Bowie, who remembered seeing Frampton in a band on TV before he had a hit. 

Bowie was a few years older than Frampton and his recollection of seeing the young guitarist he jammed with outside his favorite teacher’s office was “what’s he doing on TV? He should be in school.” Frampton’s father, the teacher Bowie loitered with, initially agreed. Frampton left school early to go pro as a musician. Years later, when Frampton brought his parents backstage to a Bowie concert, his father disappeared with the Thin White Duke. The stories make you grin. They are exactly the kind of rock and roll parables we want to hear from musicians.

That’s not to say Frampton doesn’t foist some stories we would never have expected. Like one about his father in the war, the details of which you have to read to believe. It’s not the kind of thing you want to know happens in reality. But you won’t stop reading it, not even if you’re just looking for the rock and roll gossip. There are a few of these stories thrown in, and Frampton is upfront about his drinking and drugging. He even explains why it took him so long to take his first toke. The very smell of some of the shit Steve Marriott smoked made him want to throw up. That didn’t stop him from getting high though. Nonetheless, the book doesn’t dwell in sadness.

It dwells on guitars, and jubilantly. Frampton’s favorite guitar, the Phenix, a modified 1954 Gibson Les Paul Black Beauty with the same three-humbucking-pickup configuration as the guitarist in Smokey Robinson’s Miracles, gets a book in itself. The ode of the Phenix could be a miniseries. Guitarists would watch. But that’s not the only guitar that the mostly monogamous Frampton fingered. He talks about seeing the set list still taped on the back of John Lennon’s red Rickenbacker when he played for Harry Nilsson. He was the first person to touch the guitar since whatever show the set list fit.

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Frampton’s journey through the guitar is as interesting as his trek through life. Oh, and just hearing how everyone in Humble Pie was a Star Trek fan is a giggle, especially as they discuss Spock’s ears. But Frampton’s mission to seek out new sounds led him through from The Shadows to Django Reinhardt, through George Benson, and back to Kenny Burrell, giving him an arsenal of tonalities Eric Clapton didn’t touch. Everyone wanted to be Clapton, except Frampton who makes it clear he wanted his guitar sound to be uniquely his. He also talks about drums and filling in for drummers who don’t show. He talks about the balls of covering Stevie Wonder songs. He makes it all sound like a dream.

Great musicians refer to respected peers as motherfuckers, and the one thing anyone who’s ever pushed a beat or a melody out of their fingers or throat will agree on is Peter Frampton was one lucky motherfucker. He could play, he took in everything he heard so that he could do whatever it was he wasn’t hearing from other guitarists and made it his own. But he had the good fortune to play with the best, and at the earliest of ages. Before he could even get into clubs he was playing them. Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones asked Frampton’s mother permission so he could play. He didn’t ask permission to get Frampton laid though, but when the teenaged guitar wiz came home with crabs, his mother took it in stride. Musicians, it’s an occupational hazard.

Frampton released Frampton Comes Alive! nearly 45 years ago. It’s always been thought that the album made him a pinup. He’s fought this all his career, since he was named the “Face of 1968” as an 18-year old guitarist/singer for the rock-poppy band the Herd. Sure, he got laughed at a few times for one-sleeved shirts with frills on the crotch, long before he put on the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band uniforms for an ill-advised movie where the Bee Gees also carried that weight. Frampton didn’t want to be Vivien Leigh, so beautiful you forget what a phenomenal actress she is.

Peter is a musician, and a lot of artists owe him a big debt, not only because of his fretwork influence. He gleefully recounts Dr. John telling him how he got out of jail on a drug charge with the money he earned when Frampton recorded his song “I Walk on Gilded Splinters.” Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones thanked Frampton for including “Jumping Jack Flash” on the gazillion-seller Frampton Comes Alive! He bought a house with the royalties.

As sad as the circumstances, it is a joy to hear how other rock stars come to collect. Frampton recalls when his career was in a slump and he got a phone call from Pete Townshend. The Who’s guitarist and songwriter was sick of touring and asked Frampton to take his place, before even consulting Roger Daltrey. Frampton says he told Townshend he couldn’t fill his shoes, but think of the fun Frampton had on the trampoline. Townshend was known as “Bouncy” in the “Meaty,” “Beaty” “Big” and “Bouncy” quartet. He jumped higher than Daltrey’s shoulders, often in self-defense to get away from the swinging mic, but still. Frampton could have made the leap.

The era of Humble Pie, which also included ex-Spooky Tooth bassist Greg Ridley and drummer Jerry Shirley, is also where producer Frampton really gets to work with Glyn Johns. They’d had a happy history, and it continues through the Humble Pie albums Rock On and Rockin’ the Fillmore, which made them huge when it came out in the fall of 1971. So big, Frampton had to jump ship onto a solo career before he’d never be able to get out.

Frampton keeps the telling light, but is absolutely candid. He never thought he could be as good a singer as Steve Marriott, who had been in the Small Faces, but at least he’d know enough not to balk at opening Jimi Hendrix on his first American tour. Frampton also explains how he went from one Johns brother to another as he embarked on his solo career.

Oh, and the book’s got mob stories. Not quite as heavy as the ones surrounding Led Zeppelin, who Frampton credits with a sonic boom as great as the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, but suspenseful nonetheless. His manager Dee Anthony has a meeting with Genovese family soldier Joey Pagano in front of Frampton, and when the rock star became a pop idol, he was kept high, happy and distracted. Frampton had no idea he was totally bankrupt until the movie Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band bombed at the box office. The only reason Frampton did Sgt Pepper was because his manager said Paul McCartney would be in it.

Frampton can’t quite say enough about his school chum Bowie. Not only did Frampton credit the older musician with a few needed pushes, gigs, and music store jobs when he was coming up, but Bowie reenergized Frampton when he was running out of steam. In 1987 Frampton played guitar on Bowie’s Glass Spider world tour. Two years later, Frampton comes back with a vengeance, which happens, as he says, on the album title When All the Pieces Fit.

Many will see this book as an example of rock stardom gone wrong. But as a reader, it really is what we want to hear, except for the inflammatory muscle disease, Inclusion-Body Myositis, which threatens to end his career as a live performer.

Frampton’s still working, and the book, co-written with Alan Light, is as happy to say it as fans will be to read it. But more than fans, most musicians should read this, not because of any cautionary tale titillation. Because of his explanation of how he found his sound, the horns Frampton listens to, the piano parts he plays and appreciates in others. Yes, the most fun are stories like having a Beatle (Ringo Starr), an honorary Beatle (Billy Preston), and a long-time Beatle artist and an alternative bassist (Klaus Vorman) backing him at a music pitch; or being told by George Harrison he’d like to hear him on every track. But for musicians, Do You Feel Like I Do? rocks loudest when he speaks about what he’s playing. Imagine it coming out of a talk box. It’s that enjoyable.

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Do You Feel Like I Do? hits bookshelves on Oct. 20, from Hachette Books.

The post Do You Feel Like I Do? Review: Peter Frampton Lets Loose With a Killer Solo Memoir appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[wackygoofball]

Jaime x Brienne: Undercover Officers AU

When Jaime Lannister received the order from his captain that he would go on the next undercover mission to take up yet another drug ring led by two of the most dangerous and influential men in King’s Landing’s underground scene, Petyr Baelish and Roose Bolton, he thought nothing much of it, a job like any other.

You live or you die playing the game. There is no middle ground.

The danger of the job is inevitable, Jaime knows. And over the years, he accustomed himself to the idea that any of those missions will likely mean his demise far sooner than later.

The DEA officer has a self-chosen mission to fulfill, after all, trying to wipe out one of the most dangerous and destructive drugs currently known around Westeros, Wildfire, a drug that annihilated his life in many ways, marking it with loss, regret, and the stigma of the Kingslayer that he inherited ever since that one fateful day that almost went up in endless green.

Jaime is assigned to Petyr Baelish, whose primary focus lies on the distribution of drugs and taking care of the prostitutes “under his care.” It’s no new story to Jaime that those drugs are used to keep the women in Littlefinger’s brothels, but that doesn’t stop the DEA officer from feeling the sincere need to open that guy’s throat the way he has done it to Aerys when he earned himself the nickname of the Kingslayer.

He is supposed to work himself to the top, starting out as a henchman meant to do odd jobs for Baelish to earn the man’s trust – and that is what Jaime is to do, under the alias of James Dayne.

The allowance into the ranks of Petyr Baelish goes smoother than Jaime hoped it would, but it becomes painfully obvious that the man is in dire need of able men, and James proves to be just that asset Littlefinger has been seeking.

“Chaos is a ladder. I need chaos to spread, and you… you have what it takes to create chaos in my name. So? Can you do the job? Can you spread chaos for me?”

“I don’t care about chaos theory or any of that shit, but of that I can assure you, if you tell me to do something, it will be done. What you make of it is up to you.”

“I think we will have a good time together, James. A very good time.”

Soon, Jaime is introduced to “the dear family,” Baelish’s “business partner,” Roose Bolton and his sinister son Ramsay Snow, who is taking over the gambling and secret disposal of enemies threatening their profit. And a first glimpse at the business practices through Roose Bolton is not far away as Jaime comes face-to-face with the ominous man for the first time: “You must know, Mr. Dayne, there is a fine if crucial difference between punching a man’s teeth out after he didn’t pay for the drugs he received – and ensuring that someone disappears from the face of the earth, so he may never speak again. It is an art.”

“One that you paint with a lot of red, I assume.”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“How sharp the knife is with which the task is carried out. The sharper the knife, the more effective the cut, the les blood… the less of a mess.”

Jaime finds his cover almost blown when Mr. Bolton’s bookkeeper, a tall woman with blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a way too sharp tongue for her own good, starts to ask uneasy questions about his background, a history that is nothing more but fiction and some faked IDs. While Jaime manages to talk himself out of the situation at the last second, the undercover officer notes that Gale Morne may prove to be more dangerous to him than the assassin or the drug lord. Because if she blows his cover, Jaime knows, he is done for, and all the hard work to trace down the biggest distributor of Wildfire will slip through his fingers. And he can’t let that happen.

Not again.

In dire need of a Scotch and a cigarette after that introduction to the family, Jaime seeks out the next best bar, but as he makes his way down the dark alleys of King’s Landing, he spots Bolton’s bookkeeper. Wanting to investigate, the DEA officer abandons the Scotch to tail the woman instead.

However, the investigation comes to an abrupt end after rounding some dark corner, only to be knocked to the ground out of nowhere – by the bookkeeper in business suit.

“Why do you little shit keep following me around?” she barks, one knee solidly over his sternum as she keeps pressing him into the pavement to the point that Jaime sees stars.

“The boss said that we will… likely get to work together… more closely… so I thought… I thought we might just as well… get to know one another,” he rasps, though Gale only hits him across the face in return.

“Liar. So now, you will tell me what you want, tailing me ever since the mini mart down main street, or else you will walk around with your mouth sewn shut after I am done with your jaw.”

Jaime wastes no time, using one moment of distraction to turn tables, his mind entirely set on survival now. He manages to flip her over, and the two start a fight. While Jaime does not want to kill that woman, he will do it if she gives him a reason. He can’t afford to have his cover blown now, or else all will be for nothing.

They draw guns at the exact same moment, aiming at each other, ready to fire.

“Listen now. I don't want to kill you,” Jaime curses through gritted teeth. “Don’t give a reason to shoot you dead.”

“For that, you would have to hit first,” she hisses.

“No, you don’t understand. I am not your enemy, woman! It doesn’t have to end like this… Listen, we can end this peacefully and go our ways again.”

“Who sent you? Baelish himself?”

“For what would he send me?”

“Why would you tail me if you didn’t get the order from someone?” she retorts. “And now you listen: I have no interest in you, just like I have no interest in killing you. But I will do it. What I am doing here is far more important than you are.”

“Playing secretary for a murderer, you mean?” Jaime snarls.

He can spot something shift in her face, though the woman seems to know better than to let on. She licks her lips, tightening her grip on the gun. “Rich coming from a guy doing odd jobs for said murderer’s business partner, who has about as much blood on his hands as Bolton does. You don’t even want to know how many prostitutes they threw into the water after they got overdosed on Wildfire, and rarely by their own choice.”

Jaime ponders the options, but finds none other than one that still bears a lot of danger, to say the least.

“Let’s make a truce.”

“You need trust to have a truce.”

“I trust you,” he replies. And Jaime can’t explain it to himself as he does it, but he lowers his gun to show her just that. “See?”

The woman looks at him in shock.

Good.

“I am an officer of the DEA. I am undercover to hopefully take up both these assholes. And judging by the way you look at me, you don’t want them to continue either. So… if you want that to end, you better lower your gun, too.”

To his surprise, Gale actually does, but then… breaks out laughing.

Wait, what?

“You should have said that sooner,” the blonde woman huffs, her attitude completely changing a she steps closer, stuffing the gun away again, wiping blood from her nose off with her sleeve with the other hand. “The departments have shitty communication.”

Jaime blinks, still trying to catch on to the new information.

“You are not the only one trying to drain the swamp, just that I work on it from the other end. Homicide Special Section.” She holds out her hand to help him stand, which Jaime accepts gratefully, because his sides are nearly killing him after getting kicked by her repeatedly – because damn, that woman is strong.

“Jaime Lannister.”

“Brienne of Tarth.”

“Well, as it appears, we will be working that case together from now on, then.”

“What? Seven Hells no. You will resign the first chance you get.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I was here first.”

“For real? That is your argument?”

“We are investigating murder cases. My department has higher stakes in this. I am undercover for far longer than you are. I have established myself as Bolton’s right hand. So, the best you can do is to pull out now so that I can do my job. You pose a danger to my cover.”

“I won’t pull out. Even if you capture Bolton, that doesn’t mean you get Baelish and those who distribute the drugs. If we blow them up, we have to be sure both are right at the epicenter.”

“I can take care of that myself.”

“Just that I won’t leave, sorry about that, wench.”

“Wench?”

He shrugs. “Get used to the idea, you are not the only one who has made sacrifices and put in much effort to get here. So curb your territorial attitude and be reasonable.”

“I should just call you out as a snitch.”

“If you do that, the dynamic duo will only ever be more cautious about potential more snitches. And you think they won’t target you, after exposing me? That is the first address to turn to. You know that. Face it, Brienne, we are stuck in this together.”

“… Fine, but if you act stupid just once, I will have you out.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

And so, the two undercover agents now encounter the reality of having to stage everything for an epic blow-up to take down both Roose Bolton and Petyr Baelish, to destroy their underground empire once and for all, and that against the odds of very differing tactics and the ongoing arguments between the two.

However, danger is only just inches away, under the watchful eyes of the bosses as well as their own henchmen looming behind every corner. Just like the two find themselves dragged deeper and deeper into the darkest corners of the city, caught between drugs, gambling, blackmail, and murder.

As the two are increasingly forced to work together, Jaime is bound to learn more about the other undercover agent, who, like him, is here for much more personal reasons than Brienne lets on, trying her best to keep it strictly professional, though even the strong agent in disguise seems to have reached her breaking point far sooner than later.

“Every day I wake up, knowing that I will have to serve the guy who is responsible for my big brother’s murder. Every day I wake up, knowing I will have to smile at him, advise him, bring him beverages, make sure his business keeps running. Every day I wake up, having to wait for him to make a wrong step so that, at last, I can stop the murders that keep happening on my watch. Every single day. It has to end. It just has to, because if it doesn’t end any time soon… I will shoot him in the head. Him and his bastard of a son. For Galladon. I just can't do this for much longer. It’s eating me alive.”

More and more, Jaime and Brienne have to wrestle not just with their own demons, but also with their desolation drawing them closer to one another than it should, granted that they have a job to do, a mission to fulfill, that they cannot afford to fail, cannot afford to make it personal.

“Because people live and die in the game, and you cannot afford to get too attached. If you do, you will end up making choices based on your heart, not your mind. And in this game, we cannot afford to make just one wrong move, or else we will both end up like my brother, in a body bag drifting by the shore.”

However, that doesn’t make their threatening, growing attraction any less real, any less palpable, any less of the one escape in a mission that brings them to the breaking point, which has them function as the one thing that keeps them from coming apart.

A big drug delivery to the Dornish underground scene led by Ellaria Sand may finally bring the turn in the game that the two have been waiting for, for what feels like an eternity already. If they manage to expose them with their hands right in the “Dornish plum’s jar,” this may bring them victory at last.

Brienne is tasked to use a moment of distraction to be created by Jaime to steal the neatly stored information Bolton keeps on his customers as well as his “achievements” from his computer, to finally confirm Roose Bolton responsible for all those murders, including that of Galladon of Tarth.

Jaime, meanwhile, is supposed to take care of the drugs meant to go to Dorne, so that Baelish also gets his well-deserved punishment.

However, things take a sudden turn when the two have to realize that they were exposed, understanding far too late that they were not the only ones designing a plot to blow the others up.

A battle against the clock ensues, a game of cat-and-mouse, as Jaime and Brienne try to get each other out danger, try to save one another from sure death at the hands of some of the most dangerous men in all of Westeros.

Will they succeed?

Or will they go under forever?

[kiscon]

KiScon 2017 Update #5

Just over 50 days to go! Woohoo!  (Also: Yikes!)  We’ve had a flurry of sign-ups in the last couple of weeks from attendees wanting to get in before the final discount ended on the membership fee. A reminder to any of you who knows someone who’s thinking of signing up, the KiScon registration cut-off is Friday August 11th. We cannot accept new members or upgrades after this date. This is because we need to give the hotel the final catering numbers and to allow us to make final plans.

Over 50 members voted on their preferred panels – thanks for taking time out to do that. Voting is now closed and we've put together a draft schedule.  Once finalized, we’ll give you details on how to access it when we send out update #6.

Star Trek Las Vegas

Are you attending the Star Trek Las Vegas convention on August 2-6? If you will be there and might be interested in a K/S meetup, please let us know by emailing us at kiscon2017@gmail.com!

Convention Schedule

Thank you to everyone who voted on the program items for the convention!  If you volunteered to moderate any panels, you should have heard from us with a draft schedule.  If you have not received an email from us, please get in touch! If you're not able to run the panels we scheduled for you, please let us know by July 31st.

Special Panel Announcement

We’re pleased that Dr. Lucy Neville (aka Pouxin) will join us via Skype from Barcelona on Saturday morning, giving us an update on her project looking at women and m/m erotica (with a focus on explicit m/m slash).

Science in the Movies

By popular demand, Rhaegal will be repeating her "Science in the Movies" talk from Shore Leave during the Dead Le Matya Party on the Sunday of the convention, at 4.30pm. If you want to catch this talk, please make your travel arrangements accordingly.

Goodie bags

Are you planning to donate items to the ‘goodie bags’ that attending members will receive?  If yes, can you get in touch and let us know at kiscon2017@gmail.com.  We’ll be able to give you the final number after the August cut-off.

Raffle

We will be holding a raffle, with tickets available throughout the weekend, with proceeds going to the con charity (to be voted on by members at the Opening Ceremony).  If you’d like to donate items to the con raffle, please get in touch to let us know.  Ideal raffle prizes include Trek-related memorabilia, licensed collectables, posters/photos, handcrafts/jewelry, etc.  Any K/S-related art donations will likely go into the art auction: https://www.kiscon.org/art.php

Dealers, Bring and Buy, Sell-4-U

Dealers will be located in the Rec Room and you can operate according to your own timetable. If you’d like to register as a dealer, please email us and we’ll provide you with a table.

Bring & Buy sessions will be scheduled several times throughout the weekend for those of you who have a number of items to sell at the con, but also want to attend most of the panels.

Sell-4-U is for those of you who have only one or two items to sell.  We’ll have one table for them all at each of the Bring & Buys, and as long as they’re correctly labelled with your name, and priced, one our volunteers will take care of transactions on your behalf.

Hotel rooms

We’ve been advised by the hotel that they have no more double rooms.  If you haven’t already booked your hotel room, please don’t delay.  Remember to book through the KiScon website to get the con rate.  If you have any difficulties booking your room, please let us know.

Art show and auction update from Liz

Can you believe it?  KiScon is around the corner and although we have a nice art show already, I'm greedy and want more art!

Looking at your current Kirk/Spock art and want some new pieces, but don't know what to do with the old ones?

Have you down-sized and your favorite pieces are now in storage?  (I know that feeling!)

Did you move onto another fandom (gasp!) but still have a fondness for K/S so you continue to come to the cons (as you should, remember at heart you are a Trek person), but need wall space for the others?

Then think about giving them a new home with a new fan who would love them as much as you have over the years. Bring it to KiScon! You can sell your old favorites and get some spending money, or donate your proceeds to the con charity.

All art MUST be in good condition; think if it's in the condition YOU would want it to be in if you were purchasing it to hang on your wall.  While they don't need to be framed, matted would be nice and if possible shrink wrapped, basically, it needs to be clean, unwrinkled (no bent corners), and protected.

The control sheet can be found on our website (https://www.kiscon.org/art.php), I ask that you fill it out before submitting your art to the artshow.  Leave the control code empty, I will assign that.

See you September 15th!

Vid show update from Lari

Amok Time Reloaded – the KiScon vid competition is happening!  The con is taking place to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the airing of Amok Time – an episode that blessed us with footage of epic proportions and can be found in so many K/S vids already that it ranks easily among the most recognizable and even over-vidded scenes.

And this is where our competition comes into play:

We want you, dear vidder, to take this over-vidded footage and/or its tropes, and remix and transform them to your heart’s content.

A prize will be offered for the winning Amok Time Reloaded entry, as decided by the attending convention members. And don't forget our regular vidshows are also taking place and awaiting your submissions! For complete rules and technical instructions, see our vid show page at https://www.kiscon.org/vid.php or contact @larissabernstein​.

We are still accepting submissions to our vid shows - premieres, older stuff, everything!!! Send in your fanworks and help make the shows as awesome as possible!!  We are especially hoping for more entries to our Amok Time Reloaded competition! Scare us, surprise us, make us laugh or cry!

Deadline for vid submission (preferably by Dropbox or similar download link): 15 Aug 2017. We cannot accept submissions at the convention.

Social media

Our website: http://kiscon2017.org/index.php Tumblr:  http://kiscon-blog.tumblr.com LiveJournal: http://kiscon.livejournal.com Also: http://kirkspock.livejournal.com Yahoo Groups: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/KiScon2017/info Also: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/KirkSpockCentral/info?adult=true Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1698651643726889/

LL&P

Rhaegal & Amanda KiScon co-chairs

[homeawayfromhogwarts394-blog]

On the twenty-second day of Christmas, fanfiction gave to me... Thewaterfalcon! Find her stories on fanficiton.net, check her out on tumblr @thewaterfalcon, and read her interview below!

Getting to Know You

HAFH: Tell us how you fell in love with Harry Potter    

TWF: I’ve been a fan right from the start, I was introduced to Philosopher’s Stone when I was about 8 (1998), I was always a bit reader, especially as a child, but from that moment not many books have ever come close.

HAFH: Who is your favorite Character? Which is your favorite book? Why?      

TWF: Ron, he gets such a hard time in ff but he’s my favourite. I think he’s the one I always connected to the most, he felt the most real to me, I like that he made the mistakes that he did, and that he didn’t particularly have a lot of love for his classes, but I think mostly, I just relate to how he frequently didn’t feel good enough. And then, of course, he still helped save the world! My favourite book is a toss up between PoA, and OotP, they’re the ones that I’ve gone back and read the most times. PoA because I love how we were introduced to the Marauders, and how you can re-read and see that there is so much more depth to the story than you first thought (Remus seeing Harry, the spitting image of his old best friend on the train, for example). OotP because it made me laugh the most, some of my favourite chapters in the entire series are the ones in Grimmauld Place, I love that even despite the frightening state of affairs (Voldemort having just returned, etc), there was this sort of community/family feel during those parts.

HAFH: What is your favorite book (outside of HP)?    

TWF: The Lord of the Rings series, I’ve read them close to the amount of times I’ve read HP. I absolutely adore the world Tolkien gave us, the scope of the history, characters, and story are just incredible in my eyes.

HAFH: What are your favorite holiday traditions?      

TWF: Crafts, baking, decorating, etc are all staples. We go to Christmas Markets when we can, oh, and our tree topper is a penguin called Chris, who sits on top of a bookcase all year until Christmas!

HAFH: Do you like the holidays?      

TWF: Yes! I’m such a typical mum at Christmas, it’s all about the kids, and I love it all!

HAFH: Share one of your strengths and one of your weaknesses. Doesn’t have to be writing related!      

TWF: My ability to overcome is the strength I pride myself on the most. One weakness is that I can be incredibly oversensitive.

HAFH: What other hobbies do you have?      

TWF: I’m a watercolour painter, and fan artist, and I spend copious amounts of my time perfecting my bullet journal.

HAFH: Do you write anything outside of Harry Potter fanfiction?    

TWF: Yes, one day I would like to release an original work, I write bits and pieces of non-ff, but I haven’t got enough of an idea in mind yet.

HAFH: What are you doing when you're not obsessing about Harry Potter or fanfiction?    

TWF: Adulting, or bullet journalling.

General Fanfiction

HAFH: Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.    

TWF: I’ll take angst over fluff any day, I prefer rarer pairings, and a little bit of some smutty goodness wouldn’t go amiss.

HAFH: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?    

TWF: Oh my gosh, this is a really hard question! Can I alter it a teeny bit? I’d finish avis1756’s Unintentional Magic.

HAFH: If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose? Any actors you would hope play your characters?      

TWF: The History of Magic, because I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Hogwarts come to life for the first time. My fancasts for Rowena and Salazar are Katie McGrath (she plays Morgan le Fay in ‘Merlin’), and Michael Fassbender.

HAFH: If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?      

TWF: If I *had* to choose, I think I’d pick Ronsy.

HAFH: Do you have a muse? What is it?! If not, where do you get your ideas?    

TWF: Primarily music; a lot of my stories are inspired by songs.

HAFH: Do you read fanfiction? Do you read similar or different things than you write?      

TWF: I don’t read it as much as I would like, but I try to write different things, that I haven’t seen before..

HAFH: Share three of your favorite fic writers and what you like about them.    

TWF: Clementine Mack; because I adore how she takes lesser known characters and gives them so much life, particularly her Millicent Bulstrode, she does for Millicent what I try to do for Pansy, she gives her this normality, and likeability, but with an unapologetic realness.      

dulce.de.leche.go ; because I find myself so drawn into the words she writes, there’s such a depth and beauty to her words that I just lap her stories up.        

@shayalonnie, because in my eyes she’s the best at what we do! Her stories aren’t simply stories, they’re epics.

HAFH: Share three of your favorite fanfictions and what you like about them.     

TWF: Savage Heart - Clementine Mack, because somehow, despite werewolf fics being fairly popular, she has managed to weave such an originality in the story and characters that it doesn’t even feel like a fanfiction now.        

The Debt of Time - ShayaLonnie, for the same reasons that everyone adores DoT! It made me feel everything, fall in love with the Marauders and feel even more connected to the canon story.       

His Little Bird - thewanderer’swanderingdaughter, this one is rough, there’s no getting around that, it’s one of the darkest I’ve read, but I was beyond pulled into it, the writing is incredible and, even though I found it hard to read due to its content, I really, really liked how the author dealt with various issues.

HAFH: Does what you read affect what or how you write? If yes, how so?      

TWF: I would say so, yes. I guess in a similar vein to how a musician often finds it difficult to just listen to music without scrutinising it, I do the same when I’m reading now, I’m constantly analysing how sentences flow, or whether the writer has done something grammatically different than I would have. If I really love a particular sentence, or passage, I often save it in my phone.

HAFH: How long have you been reading and writing fanfiction?      

TWF: I’ve read ff on and off for quite a few years, I’ve only been writing since May, so I’m a relative baby compared to lots of other authors!

Published Works

HAFH: Have you ever deleted one of your published fics? Why?      

TWF: I have not.

HAFH: Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

TWF: This is from Darkened Skies, one of the things I really wanted to address in this story is how Neville went from the accident prone target of bullies, to absolute bad ass. In canon we don’t really see this fully, because obviously the trio aren’t at Hogwarts during 7th year, and so it was fun to really dig deep with Neville in this way, also, DS has the slowest burn and this is right before Neville and Pansy finally kiss, so it was just great to get to this moment:

‘She smiled up at him. His face, which she had began to see as rather physically appealing from the minute he entered the carriage on the train, now had a whole new effect on her. She still marvelled at how good looking he had become, of course, but now there was more; he had a perfected rigidity to his jaw, and a deep sorrow in his eyes that she was certain, or perhaps she merely hoped that, nobody else could see. There was real pain and sadness in Neville Longbottom and knowing, and seeing, that, broke Pansy’s heart almost every day. And yet, despite the hurt, she knew there was also hope, and light. She saw it mostly in Herbology, an ambition in his eyes when Professor Sprout engaged him, or when Professor Flitwick commended his impressive spellwork. His Gryffindor fire was sometimes so close to the surface, she half expected his eyes to burn a deep red.

Their peers no longer regarded him in the way they once did, with mockery and pity. His abilities as a wizard had increased tenfold and his blatant defiance in the face of the Carrows’ proved he was no longer one to be trifled with. In fact, Pansy highly doubted whether Neville Longbottom would ever give anyone reason to truly make fun of him again.

Pansy smiled at his words, but said nothing. Instead,she let her head fall to the side, feeling comfortable enough, yet still nervous at first, to rest her head on his shoulder. She felt him altogether stiffen at her advance and then, all of a sudden, his whole body relaxed entirely, and she felt his head flop to the side, to rest against hers. His hand then reached for hers, and he grasped it in his own as their fingers interlaced.’

HAFH: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

TWF: This is from The History of Magic, I tried hard to really capture the Founder’s personalities, and I wanted to inject a bit of humour into the scene, and I hope I did a good job:

“And what if, at eleven years old they do not quite show the bravery of an ox-”

“I prefer lion, the lion is an animal of absolute grandeur.”

Helga narrowed her eyes at Godric. “Fine, the courage of a lion.”

“Much better!” Godric responded, this time earning him a most uncharacteristic, actual glare from Helga.

“Hush, Godric! Or, the intellect of a...a…”

“I’ve always admired the eagle, most intelligent creature,” Rowena interjected.

“...an eagle, then. Or the resourcefulness, and cunning, of...” this time Helga did not attempt to think of the relevant creature herself, instead simply gazing at Salazar, who replied without hesitation.

“A snake.”

“Of course,” Helga snapped, her arms now flailing in annoyance, much to the amusement of the other three. “a snake, so what happens? What if these children are not particularly brave, intelligent, or cunning? When their greatest attributes are kindness, or dedication, or patience, what then?”

“Well, one would assume, they would be in your House,” Godric answered the question Rowena was sure Helga had actually not wished for an answer to.

“Yes, yes they will! I shall take all the rest. And shame on all of you for not having the same attitude!” The small woman ended haughtily into a pregnant silence.

“Well, that is very kind of you, Helga,” Rowena said after a while, unable to bear the awkward quiet that had befallen the four friends. “What creature do you feel you would like to represent the House of Hufflepuff?”

Helga was taking deep breaths, and the reddening of her cheeks told Rowena that Helga was probably feeling a sense of embarrassment over her outburst.

“A badger.”

HAFH: Which fic has been the hardest to write?

TWF: More than Life, it came from this tiny idea, and I started it with virtually nothing, it’s one I should have planned out properly, first. It’s an entirely canon-compliant Hinny, and has none of my usual elements involved. It is however, my most popular!

HAFH: Which fic has been the easiest to write?

TWF: Need You Now; my filthy Ronsy smut-fest . I wrote that bad boy basically in one go, it came to me super easily.

HAFH: What is your favorite story you have every written?

TWF: Darkened Skies, it’s my baby. It started me on the journey of a writer and gave me this incredible outlet. I owe DS a lot.

Writing Process

HAFH: What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

TWF: Write to express, not to impress.

HAFH: What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

TWF: Work on only one thing at a time. Now, please don’t think I mean that this is bad advice overall, as I’m sure for many others it isn’t, but for me, and the way my inspiration comes to me, I tend to work on one fic for a while, and then not touch it for a while, whilst I concentrate on another, this helps me immensely as I know how easily I lose heart in a project, this way keeps all my work fresh.

HAFH: Describe your perfect writing conditions.

TWF: A pristine desk, a view that involved water in some capacity, and tea on demand! (typical Brit here!)

HAFH: Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

TWF: I outline my big fics, yes. Nothing too fancy, but I like to have a timeline, and bullet point what plot points are going to happen roughly in each part of the story.

HAFH: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

TWF: If a later scene comes to me, I will write it, but mostly start to finish.

HAFH: Describe the process a chapter goes through before being posted.*

TWF: I sometimes jot down some bullet points of what I’m including. I’ll try to finish writing a chapter in a few days. I then add it to the file in my drive, and let my beta know it’s there. Once it’s beta’d, I will publish.

HAFH: How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

TWF: I have two plunnies hopping about, one is a Ronsy heavily inspired by Outlander, it’s a Voldemort wins!AU, the other is a prompt I actually entered in the Q&P mistletoe comp, claimed it myself and then decided to delete it because I want to write it later, and longer, and do it justice. It’s a George/Daphne set after the war and deals with George losing Fred, which will be coupled with what has happened to Daphne (but I’m not going to give that away yet!), and how these two unlikely souls find each other, and something to cling to.

HAFH: Would you ever kill off a canon character?

TWF: I try not to, but, I mean, sometimes it calls for it, I killed Harry, Molly, and Arthur in The Whole World without batting an eyelid. On the whole though, I tend not to.

HAFH: Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

TWF: I usually write things that *could be* feasible in canon.

HAFH: Is there a character, book, scene, etc from canon (above all others) that inspires you?*

TWF: It’s actually a film scene, where they’re preparing for the final battle, oh it just gives me all the tingles! It’s one of the things I really feel they got right in the films.

HAFH: Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to? Or one you never would want to write?

TWF: Time turner, I’ve never really had much of a plunny for one though, but I do like them! I’ll probably send Pansy back in time at some point. I don’t think I’d ever write a marriage law.

HAFH: Is writing your passion or a fun hobby?

TWF: I’ve only been writing for seven months, so I’d say fun hobby that is becoming my passion.

Revision

HAFH: If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

TWF: I don’t really have any older fics, but I guess once I’m at that point it will be Darkened Skies, because I want it to be perfect.

HAFH: How do you feel about collaborations?

TWF: I’d never collaborate, I know i’d end up falling out with my partner. I think they’re often great in theory, but I know a few people who have had bad experiences with them.

HAFH: What do you look for in a beta?

TWF: Someone I feel comfortable with, and someone who will be my cheerleader, not all the time, but I need it, every now and again.

HAFH: Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

TWF: I do, currently for two writers, and I’ll look over my friends’ work if they ask.

Works in Progress

HAFH: Talk about your current wips.

TWF: Darkened Skies is a Pansy/Neville story that takes place during 7th year when the trio are away. ‘He was her one and only chance to feel sane, she was his nights spent chasing a hurricane.’ Fire & Ice...and Everything Nice takes place after the war, and involves Pansy and Daphne taking a trip to Romania (no prizes for guessing who one of their love interests is!), it is primarily light hearted and fun, but deals with PTSD, anxiety, depression and panic attacks as a big underlying theme. “The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts has left Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass alone; torn apart from their once-friends and shunned by the whole of Wizarding Britain. As Pansy is plagued by the worst of memories and left broken, Daphne realises that something needs to change and sets herself a mission, which, once in motion, might just alter both girls' lives forever.”

The Edge of Tonight is a Scorpius/Rose story where I make a pretty dramatic U-turn from how the next-gen are usually portrayed, it’s influenced a lot by how reckless I was as a teenager. “Baby, you are my horizon... Being sixteen is hard; between the endless expectations from being the daughter of not one, but two, war heroes, mediocre school grades and struggling to find her sense of self-worth, Rose Weasley must lean on the three people she trusts above everything, now more than ever. A coming of age story about friendship, love, late nights & poor judgement.”

HAFH: Do you accept prompts?

TWF: I’m not sure, nobody has ever given me a prompt!

HAFH: Which is your favorite site to post fic?

TWF: FFN, but I am slowly posting all my work to A03 also.

HAFH: How do you feel about smut?

I love it, to a point, I don’t overly like PWP, it has to feel natural to me, and be believable in my eyes, for me to enjoy it.

HAFH: How do you deal with trigger warnings in your work?*

TWF: I put them in A/N when they’re required, in fact I’m planning something pretty rough for DS, and I’m going to write a fairly hefty A/N which stipulates that if anyone feels they don’t want to read the chapter in question, then they can message me and I can give them the gist without details, so they can still follow the story, but hopefully avoid being triggered.

Feedback

HAFH: What kind of feedback do you prefer?

TWF: Positive, haha! I’m not going to lie, I don’t like criticism, but I do my best to take it on the chin when I do get it.

HAFH: Is there anything that you particularly like or don’t like to see in a review?

TWF: Well, I once got told my main pairing ‘would work better as Draco.Hermione’, that didn’t go down very well. I really like it when someone quotes one of my lines, or states that they think I’ve wrote something well.

HAFH: Talk about a review that made your day.

TWF: I honestly love getting pretty much any reviews! There were a couple that touched upon how I was handling Pansy’s PTSD in Fire & Ice, and it was really nice to read that they felt I was doing such a difficult and personal issue justice.

HAFH: Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

TWF: I’ve had a few, most I ignore and/or vent to friends about, I have given a couple of snarky replies though!

Thanks again to Thewaterfalcon for taking the time to answer all of our questions! We’ve so enjoyed getting to know you a little better! Be sure to check out her fics and find her on tumblr! 

[backseatballads]

Murrindindi Camp

Magandang Buhay sayo lahat! 

For those of you out there who don’t know me, my name is Anthony Luis Lawang... better known as Lamaroc, the dance alter-ego that’s brought just about the same amount of joy as it has sadness haha. Who’s to say that life is meant to be smooth sailing all the time anyway? ;9 Drama’s aside, this post isn’t going to be about me, but more so about us. A concept that seems to be prevalent in all my works as an artist... even if not as apparent as my fake Filipino accent tickling your inner-ear as a call-out to the lack of brown pride of being chill and familial. 

Having spent the past month in Osaka, Japan with brother man Huy Le: “...the Poster-boy of Backseat Ballads...” as he tells me of how others view him, I thought to ask him if I could do a write-up about the crew since my fingers were getting itchy and my exit from the main social media platforms (don’t ask, it’s a long story) meant that I wasn’t writing as much as I had been since 2012. After the tumultuous year that was 2017, I felt like I’d been put through the Nutriblender enough times to finally write a piece that I can say is the smoothest, tastiest, heartfelt smoothie you can drink this side of 2018. 

Before jumping in though, the last time I ever wrote for this blog/website was back in 2015-16 for our efic “Ficnic” trip. Somehow the intentions to keep on writing and making videos of our time together instead transmuted into Huy’s passion project known as the “Pogi-SawSaw x Backseat Ballads” mixes/radio-style shows. And so through spending the past month as housemates in Osaka at my ex-wife’s house (sounds like a rom-com doesn’t it?) here we are writing about my first camping experience with my brothers and sisters at Murrindindi. *Note: soundtrack to this writing meditation is “SUPER MARIO HISTORY 1985-2010 FUN!!!

;9 ;9 ;9 <- That's three winking, smiling faces with their tongues out ;9 ;9 ;9

It’s funny how things go full-circle, albeit not as perfect as the lines meeting up. As if drawn with ultimate precision, but more like the calligraphy-style of the Japanese “Maru/丸" done with a brush the size of an adult human being. As a viewer of such simple art, you can see the amount of pressure, speed and flow that goes into the circle as you see the gradient of the ink tell you the story of the powerful miracle that is the circle. As the end of the line is deliberately disconnected from the usual perfect Maru, the opened-endedness of the circle couldn't be a more perfect example of how other's, including myself were allowed into an amazing group of loving individuals known as the BACKSEAT BALLADS.

Here I am, back in Melbourne after 3 years in Osaka. Returning from a failed marriage and beginning my own healing process. Let me state first, that the failure is not to be blamed on any individual/s but can be attributed to the circumstances that became what I've labelled it as. Logically, I jumped back into everything I once knew was, and quickly realised that things WERE not, what they used to be. Suddenly, I'm thrown back into my seat, having to contemplate how to move forward when everything around me, reminded me of what I'd built and been a part of my life prior to giving birth to our daughter. Here is an artist, who walked away from his creations, expecting that he could just walk back and pick up from where he left. How very naive of him...

Having seen and more specifically felt (through some crazy psychic sibling connection) what I was going through, my sister decided to invite me to a camp with her crew of mates. Man... I remember thinking: "I haven't been to camp since primary school, and the last camp wasn't even camp because we didn't even stay the night." So of course I was excited, and bringing a guitar with me, we departed from the area real late at night. After a bit of zigzagging and meandering through Victoria's north at breakneck speeds and a Major Laser soundtrack, here we were in pitch dark in front of the national park's camping site map. Whilst our driver Thai was discussing where to set-up with the other drivers in our entourage, the smell of fresh air almost neutralised the rolled cigarette I had in hand, and the negative-ions of the eucalyptus trees brought a sense of calm and comfort I hadn't felt in so many years.

And like a Special-Ops mission, we jumped back into the car, parked a little further up, and the whole squad of about 10 or so people switched into automatic mode, unpacking their vehicles and setting up the tent in pitch black. Slightly disorientated by the immense organisation of the crew, everywhere I looked, the members of this camp were busy setting things up in different areas of the space we were to joyfully occupy that weekend. I can almost recall the hustle and bustle of that arrival, as if it were a construction scene of a fort of some military group from the medieval times, with people zipping across the screen from all angles while our protagonist spoke to the person in-charge about what mission lay ahead. 

Here we had the sisters setting up the stove, cooking, eating area on a wooden bench, which was to be our outdoor kitchen whilst the brothers on the opposite end were effortlessly assembling the sticky, puzzle work of the tents that were to be our sleeping quarters. Stumbling back and forth to whatever I could lend a hand to, there was already efforts made to start the campfire in the centre by of course no other than the fire master himself Thai Tran. He'd brought all the wood himself and only later sourced out dry fire wood from the campsite itself... Working and sweating together to build something you can all enjoy and call your own... wow... what a way to feel part of something almost instantly.  *Note: soundtrack to this paragraph “GERUDO VALLEY" - Legend of Zelda 25th Anniversary Soundtrack. EPIC!!!

While I have toiled and tumbled with some of the best dance crews of the day, our environments were usually more "hostile" to say the least. We were always strategising, making tactical efforts to make a distinct plan of attack towards realms of battle like competitions and dance performances, but there hadn't been, for the better part of my memory, moments like this that were just as intense but towards a much more peaceful cause. You see, having a career in a realm that's predominantly competitive, at least in my own experience, there was hardly a time when we actually got together and worked on something with that concerted effort to bask in the fruits of our labours. It was always to represent the image and reputation of a name or value or principal to uphold, yet what I came to realise when we finally sat around the campfire and started drinking and vibing out, was that it was these moments and that sense of belonging that I had actually been yearning over all those years. 

Here was this 30 year old, nearing his birthday, amongst a group of mid-20 year olds rather, that seemingly had their shit together, having found a way to escape the hustle and bustle of the big smoke and the careers they were chasing. Like a shooting star that came in bursts, longer than a split second of being visible; new neuron pathways were going off in my mind that left me with a new vision of hope. In hindsight, what this crew of lads and ladies were presenting before me was the returning to barebones culture... a way to go off-grid, to get out of the matrix with all the cliches of popular trilogies. That first night was like rocking up to someone's place, setting up the backyard deluxe mode, drinks and music devices ready except the backyard you were going to was in Mother Nature's heavenly realm and the speakers were our voices! Haha! BOOM! Here [we] were, speaking and laughing at the top of our lungs, not concerned about noise restrictions while getting smashed on shots of the poison of choice. The guitar was out and we were singing medleys of whatever those 3 or 4 chords could muster up with all it's drunken splendour. Who would've thought that "F**kin' Problems" by A$AP Rocky was gonna be rapped over a nylon string guitar? What were these blessings from the Creator being bestowed on me, and what was this simultaneous coolness and cheesiness I was experiencing? Who the f**k were these kids and how can I suddenly be thrown into a pool of seemingly average individuals that [are] into the same shit that I was into? It was like heaven and hell merged together and God and Satan were having a brewski laughing about worldly matters and it was all good.

For just a moment, gone were my hang ups on feeling guilty of having these things... These desires to be part of a crew that seemed to tick all the boxes. Something so Filipino, yet different in all the best ways. No pretentiousness, no bitching, no self-celebratory vibes, just all-round good conversation, a soulful collaboration of singing, drinking and just being bloody merry. After polishing bottle number we've-lost-count, with guitar in hand, I could see how loose this crew was getting. Our medley had done a Hiphop Merry-Go-Round, losing our shit at how many times Joe would bring back that A$AP Rocky song back into the fold. Just when we thought we'd be taking it in another direction, here he was abruptly throwing that song back in with such conviction. We'd cracked up so much that it didn't matter that it was the 4th or 5th incarnation of that chorus... how pivotal that was for me to regain a sense of my inner-smile. 

How I could see almost every member of that camp, sing from the bottom of their stomachs and wail with all that passion, it was like seeing people vent their frustrations by yelling at the top of their lungs across an empty chasm. How much I felt the love when we sang about love, that later I would discover to be the whole crews cathartic response to the stressful world around them even if silently doing so. If only these guys knew how cathartic it was for me to observe them and being welcomed to be part of their outdoor rituals. Even if they didn't realise the healing power of what they were doing, at least subconsciously, deep down they instinctually knew why these camps provided them with a sense of relief from the ever-changing economic landscape that was Melbourne and whatever that meant to them. 

This crew had, what crews I had previously been part of had sadly lost. This usually was a result of a break-up or division between members, or groups of members within the crew where ego's clashed and where there was no returning... perhaps from not properly addressing issues as they were arising that would end up blowing up into a massive outburst, or being unable to tackle head on the feelings of honesty and the confrontation it took to sort these important underlying things out. This is perhaps why this written piece is directed at this wonderful crew I can proudly say I am a part of. After all these years of interacting with them as a tight self-contained unit, I could careless these days about anyone else who doesn't contribute to this commune... of course, with the door slightly ajar for any other potentials that could fortify the love that we create. See for me, my delusions of chivalry and community stay alive within the Backseat Ballads. The name itself is more than a literal analogy for the dramas of my life and for the better part a simple combination of two words that can tell the world about who I am... and I wonder if the crew can say the same thing about themselves in a similar context. 

Perhaps this continual commitment and support we have for each other, even if unspoken of those certain values and principals that are of the utmost importance to us is something that happens naturally when we are together. That's not to say that there aren't issues behind the scenes, and that certain people are unable to be part of the good times and bad times as often they would like to be, but really, in this narrative of holding onto what's dear and the challenges we would face doing so; it's as simple as literally setting up a camp, gathering or party and quite literally "airing out" whatever needed airing. In my experience, there's things we cannot control, but if we can control where we make time and place our foci on, then there's no reason why we can't focus on spending time together even when the glue isn't that strong.

Deep down, I hope the absence of Huy Le here in Australia and the realisation of how much effort he put into curating, hosting and organising these gatherings is something that would make us pull our pants up and pull our weight to maintain the legacy he opened up for us. More importantly, in retrospect, we should try to remember what we all contributed individually to the wonderful and timeless memories we shared... even if that meant just rocking up. Sure, we're all getting "older" and "slowing down", with more and more responsibilities popping up, financial and other, but I do hope that our affairs in the "real world"doesn't drop a veil over your eyes to say that what we do as a crew isn't just as important. 

Without making it sound overbearing, 'cos I mean our gatherings were always so laid back 'cos Huy and other key members were the magic to make it all happen, but that these camps and these gatherings, despite the splintering off of different groups within the group itself, were all essential for the intermittent escape we needed from the bullshit of the so-called "real world". As a matter of fact, I know for myself, in much more hyper-realistic circumstances, this place we know as the "real world", of contributing to a cold society that doesn't really care about you, but expects you to give it everything, was something that I allowed to become my internal-inferno those end days living in Japan. 

Unfortunately, that experience was in hindsight the end and the death of my romance of the illusions with her. If only in Japan I had such a group that I could be that close to, that could be so supportive as to being able to stand side-by-side with that I could and would savouringly build a tent with regardless of hail, rain or shine. The individuals that I may not interact with much outside these group gatherings, yet when face-to-face, I could talk to about the many different things and pour my heart out to if I needed to... while they honestly tuned in. Someone I could sit beside and sing the same lyrics with, the two of us releasing different yet powerful emotional energy through different interpretations of the same song. If that were the case, those many years ago, then perhaps, in blatant allegory, I wouldn't be here writing this little piece and still be side-by-side with my 5 year old daughter... 

As I wrap this piece up, I ask of you, even if you're not part of the crew, to take a memory of the unity you may have felt with those close to you and remember the smiles and the sense of belonging you felt, even if only temporarily... and then ask yourselves if there is still room for that in your life. Please don't replace this favourite past time of ours and make a concerted effort to keep this tradition alive. For surely, if there is still room for this in your life, even if only in thought, then one day soon hopefully, through a concerted effort, you'll all be in each other's company again, sitting around a campfire, chin up aimed at the stars, releasing and letting go of our woes and celebrating life by ironically singing: "F**kin' Problems"... Hahahaha~ what a cheesy way to finish up... let's embrace it and oh btw... you can change that song with any other anthem that means something to you and your people. 

One love truly.

Anthony Luis Lawang