#anyway it's mostly the third column that's giving me trouble

[tragedykery]

I might be going slightly insane :)

trying to develop a semi-phonetic vowel system for my dutch tengwar mode. this sucks ass <- is enjoying it but also it’s hard :(

[allovertheworldblog]

The bus to Haparanda leaves early

So, I was up at the top of Sweden and had to decide where to go next, west to Norway or east to Finland.

In the end I decided on neither and went back down through Sweden.

When I was leaving Kiruna though it looked like I was going to Finland, that was the plan anyway. 

I decided on going to Haparanda (what a great name) which is on the border with Finland.

Only trouble was the bus leaves, the only bus to Haparanda, leaves at 07.10.

I get to the bus station 20 minutes before the bus leaves.

I’m the only passenger that does the full trip.

We have three different drivers over the 6 hour trip through snow filled Sweden.

The only reindeer we see over the course of the trip are in a sort of farm.

We get to Haparanda after 13.00 and I walk to the hostel through the ice and slush covered paths.

The city has a strange feel to it, a sort of half a city feel to it.

And in a way it is. 

Next door in Finland is Tornio, the original settlement in the area. Then when Sweden lost Finland to Russia they needed a base for trade in that region, on their land as it were, so they built up Haparanda.  

Today there’s no border control as Sweden and Finland are both members of the European Union.

The two cities have banded together and created a joint city in effect, a Eurocity.

The hostel has a sign up saying that the reception is only open from 16.00 to 19.00, I knew about this in advance but turn up anyway.

I ring the ‘out of hours’ number on their sign.

A lady opens the door and asks if it was me that was ringing, she’s not happy for whatever reason.

I ask if they’re open.

She agrees to 'sort of open’.

She checks me in and again with the sheets.

She wants to charge me 50 Swedish Krona for sheet 'rental’. That's Euro5.60 or $7.40.

I have my own sheets but thanks anyway.

She has a certificate for helpfulness on the wall behind her, NOT!

I put my stuff away and walk to the nearby IKEA, their most northerly store in the world.

I have a not very pleasant meal composed of some kind of meat.

It’s mostly Finns that are shopping there, they pay in Euro at the food counter.

The Finnish language sounds strange after hearing nothing but Swedish for the past week and a half.

My Swedish is non-existent but I’d become used to hearing it and used to the Swedish way of things, their bread, their ubiquitous cinnamon buns, kanelbulle.

They even go as far as to dedicate a day a year to their buns, 04 October is Kanelbullens dag or Cinnamon bun day. http://scandinavianfood.about.com/od/coffeecakessweetbreads/r/cinnamonrolls.htm

The Finns suddenly looked quite different from the Swedes, not as stylish, more brusque. 

The shopping centre is quite new but about a third of the units haven’t opened.

There are a couple of fast food restaurants and few cheap clothes and a few over priced ones, a couple of mobile phone shops and that’s about it.

If this was Sweden there’d be people around every corner in little cafés drinking coffee and every third shop would be a flower shop. 

The prices in the Finnish supermarket, on the Finnish side of the river, made me wonder about how travelling in Finland would compare to Sweden.

Sweden is considered to be one of the more expensive countries in Europe but from what I could see Finland was giving them a fair run for their money and in many cases coming in ahead of them.

The next morning I walk to the Finnish side of the river and search out the bus station.

It’s a Saturday morning so the bus station is closed, don’t bus stations the world over close on Saturdays?

The signs in Finnish that different bus companies have up in the window of the station do mention a Saturday service.

I’m annoyed and frustrated though, so I don’t give it time to work on my Finnish to figure out which column is Saturday and to figure out if the right destination I want is served by the individual companies.

So I decide I won’t be going to Rovaniemi after all.

Two Australian girls in the hostel in Kiruna had recommended the place for seeing the Northern Lights and for visiting Santa Claus in the year round Santa World close by.

I walk back across to Sweden and find that their bus station too is closed but they have a waiting room open and their electronic signs list all departures and arrivals for that day.

I felt relieved to be back where I know the set up.

Umea, half way down Sweden, is where I’m headed.

It might even be possible to catch a ferry across the Gulf of Bothnia from near there to Finland.

During the trip from Haparanda to Umea there’s enough time to watch a couple of movies.

Only trouble is they’re the same movies.

The attendant on the bus mustn’t have a very big movie collection as we’re shown 'One Day’, which we just catch the end of, then 'I Don’t Know How She Does It’ with Sarah Jessica Parker.

Then 'One Day’ again, then the Sarah Jessica Parker movie again.

Umea looks interesting and I might spend a couple of nights there. Of course it wasn’t to be.

In Umea I walk to the hostel. It's just before 20.00 at this stage.

A guest who's smoking outside lets me in.

The locked reception has a sign on it:

     'Good Morning guests…. the reception will be open from 06.00 to 07.00.  The Emergency Out of Hours number is …… (it cannot be used for making reservations).

Tomorrow reception will be open from 19.00-20.00’.

I walk back to the bus station, get some food and wait for the night bus to Stockholm. The bus gets me to Stockholm at 05.30.

I hang around the bus station for a couple of hours.

I go back to the hostel that I’d left a week previously before I went to the north of the country, it’s like coming home.

[ausp-ice]

This is a painting Val makes when they first meet Malice! (Val gets my art hobby, as a treat.) 

I also have a short story for this first meeting here, though I’ll copy it below. 

Val first sees them in the distance, a dark form standing at the tip of a cliff overlooking the city. It's far away, so he can't tell what it is, but it's definitely strange—darkness billowing around it, a strange blue light shimmering in the near-dusk afternoon.

He wonders if it's an Edeia. Lievan is a city of mostly humans, but the number of ideated residents is nothing to scoff at. Quite a few are regulars at the coffee shop Val works in.

His curiosity is piqued, but he doesn't think much of it besides going home and doodling what he imagines it might look like up close on his tablet.

Val sees it again the next day, around the same spot, around the same time. They're just exiting Carel Café, and the walk back to their apartment gives them a prime view of the cliffs.

Huh.

By the third day, with that dark shape consistently appearing at the same spot every day, Val's curiosity gets the best of him. Not to mention that he has the day off. So he takes a small backpack with some snacks, a water bottle, and a tablet (if he doesn't find the being, might as well take the chance to draw outdoors), and starts the hike up to the clifftops.

He probably could have taken an easier way up with a rental hoverbike or something, but he needs the exercise anyways, so. Here he is, trudging up the hiking trail and hoping his sweater is enough to keep the autumn chill away.

It's just about 5 PM when he reaches the top, setting sun shining through the dark columns of the trees around him. He casts his gaze towards the direction of the cliff, and—

There it is. It—they? are still a ways off and partially obscured by the trees. Val moves closer, doing his best to keep quiet, avoiding the dead leaves scattered across the soft earth below his feet.

When he reaches the treeline, the being still hasn't moved, and Val—Val finally gets a good look, poking his head out from behind a tree.

So tall, Val can't help but think. He thinks they might be around three meters. Three meters of sleek, graceful black, a humanoid figure with dangerous claws and pointed feet floating just slightly off the ground. There are blue lines across their body—around their legs, arms, back, neck—shimmering with a soft glow. They have two horns on their head, going out and back in, and a fragmented halo of blue flickers around their head.

And of course, the most noticeable part might be the smoky wings emerging from their hips, swirling delicately to a force Val does not know.

The possibility of them being an Edeia is not insignificant. Edeia can be of all shapes and sizes, and while they aren't a common sighting—Val's never met one himself—most interact with human society in some capacity.

Hm. Well. It's not like standing around here will give him any answers. This will burn at him forever if he doesn't find out, especially after coming this far, so: "Excuse me," he calls out, stepping forward, "are you an Edeia?"

The being whips around so suddenly that Val can't help the squeak that escapes him as he throws up his arms in defense. Without obscuring his vision, of course.

Now that the being has turned around, Val can see that they have six eyes on their face—each of them a solid, glowing blue. There are similar shapes on their chest and where their navel would be in human anatomy, but he's not sure those count as eyes or not.

"Human," they say, a voice like a growl and an echo and a whisper all at once, one Val isn't sure they hear from their ears or in their mind.

"Uh, yeah. That's me." Val waves. "Or, that's what I am. Who I am is Valence, he/they, but you can call me Val if you like."

The being narrows their eyes, and the shapes on their chest and navel narrow at the same time so Val will consider them eyes. "Valence," they repeat.

"Yep," Val confirms, popping the 'p.' "And you are?"

A hum answers him as the being turns to like sideways at the city. "Malice," they say. "An Edeia. You were correct."

Huh. Malice. That sounds particularly pernicious. So, like any reasonable person who meets a neat and dangerous-seeming entity that doesn't look to be posing a significant threat, Val presses for more information. "So, why are you here?"

A pause. They look back towards Val. "You first. What are you doing here, Valence?""

Val shrugs. "I saw you—I think—from the city the past few days, and I got curious?"

"Hm." Malice turns back to fully face the city. "Malice festers," they say. "I am here to oversee the result of it."

How delightfully… mysterious. Makes sense though. "You're not going to cause any trouble, are you?" Val asks, giving Malice a suspicious look.

"And what would you do if I were planning to?"

Val blinks. "Report you to the supernatural authorities?"

Malice turns around, meeting Val's eyes. He thinks. It's hard to tell with the solid eyes. They approach slowly with steps that don't quite touch the ground, until Val finds himself craning his neck to make eye contact. "Human lives are so very fragile," they say. "It would be such an easy matter to end yours."

A chill runs through Val's spine, but he still doesn't look away. "That's… illegal though?"

Malice's eyes narrow in a way that almost suggests amusement. "So it is." They step away, and the turning motion makes a wing brush against his arm. There's a curious coolness to it. "Worry not," they say, "A heart with no malice has nothing to fear from me. Regarding 'trouble'… it is those individuals' who will choose whether or not to act. Malice is simply a motivator. One that grows all too easily."

Huh. Do they mean… "A heart with no malice? Me?"

"Somehow. Not unheard of, as most have at least some hidden malice towards something in the world."

Interesting. You be fair, Val really just wants everything to go well and everyone to get along. Doesn't everyone, though? Hmm.

"And somehow fearless."

Val looks up from where they were pondering to see Malice looking at him again. "A spirit of malicious intentions appears at the edge of your city and not only do you seek it out, but also you are unafraid of it."

"It's not like I'm not scared at all," Val says, rubbing the back of their head. "But, well. You haven't attacked me or anything, so I figure it's fine."

"A foolish presumption. If I were to attack, you could be dead in moments with no time to act on that new information."

Val raises a finger. Puts it down. "Okay," he admits, "fair point."

Malice scoffs. "Leave, human. You have seen me and I have satisfied your curiosity about who and what I am—your business is finished here, yes?"

"Well," Val says, extending the sound and looking off to the side, "I mean. The hike up here took so long, and it's a nice view. I was thinking of sticking around to doodle for a bit."

Malice narrows their eyes.

"Just pretend I'm not here!" Val says cheerily. "You can do your… whatever you're doing." Brooding? Hm. "I'll just sit here."

He makes his way over to one of the trees and pulls off his backpack before sitting with his back against it, pulling out his tablet. Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Malice staring at him, but he elects to ignore them and instead open the drawing program on his tablet.

What to draw, though?

Well. He does have an excellent subject before him. Hopefully they wouldn't mind… but it's not like he'll show it to anyone, so it's probably fine.

He starts sketching the scenery first, hoping Malice will look away before he starts sketching them. They do, eventually, and Val does a mental victory dance.

The dark form against the fading light is certainly a sight Val wants to keep forever. They do their best to capture the sharp grace of Malice's form, the feeling of their presence.

Before long, the setting sun fades to the ambience of dusk. And then—one moment, Malice is there. Val looks down to his tablet, looks up, and they've completely vanished.

Val can't help the pang of disappointment in them, but… they lift their tablet to look at what they have. It's a fairly good likeness, they think.

And maybe… maybe they'll be back again tomorrow.

[ellaofoakhill]

Oak and Stone, Part Two

Oak and Stone was a bustling town, with fey and creatures briskly going about their business. There were mice like Jasper here, as well as voles, weasels, ground squirrels, tree squirrels, stoats, a few bats, and many other creatures Ella knew.

As well as a few she didn’t.

Creatures like the lizards Ella had encountered on Gaea, or a bit more commonly on Fey. But no lizard she’d heard of had four arms. The smallest of these was a head taller than her. Tusks twisted down from their jaws. Their bodies were a uniform grey-brown or mottled green, with frills on their jaws and crests on their heads, which many had painted or tattooed or pierced with rings and studs. According to Meline, they called themselves drakles, and most of those in Oak and Stone were sailors.

What most surprised Ella about this place—unknown beings were really to be expected—was the abundance of elves. Well, relatively speaking; abundance was not a word that fit well with elves. But there were more of them here than Ella had ever seen outside of Fey. To be fair, impeccable manners and upturned noses aside, elves were known more than anything for their love of the sea. And the sea Oak and Stone did have in abundance.

Meline showed her down to the shipyards, where vessels from across this world—the drakles called it Nidd—docked and unloaded their goods. These went to the seaside market, a paved square by the water with a stream running through. The stream allowed smaller boats to paddle or pole into town and drop their goods right by the stalls.

There were fabrics Ella had never seen, some softer than velvet, others smoother than silk, still others so strong Ella’s knife couldn’t cut them; according to Meline, those needed crystal-edged scissors to cut into shape. There were spices alien to Ella’s nose and tongue, including one somewhere between lemon and banana that she particularly liked; Meline laughed at the incredulous delight that flashed across Ella’s face when she tasted it. There were strange rocks and shells, scales shed by massive beasts, and gems that seemed commonplace here which Ella had only read about. There was a wood here, one a fairy could mould with her bare hands while it was green—or, more accurately, orange—and once it seasoned became like fairy silver. Ella shaved the hair from her arm with a knife made from it. There were metals as well—the mayor had banned the import of iron for all but a few specialized purposes—but this claywood, as it was called, was so easy to work hardly anyone used any metal not found as a nugget.

The moonbeams were strange too. Nidd had four moons and two suns, and each moon made beams different not only from Gaea’s moon, but from Nidd’s other moons as well.

Beyond the market were shops. There was a shop bordering the market that sold crepes filled with berry and honeyed cream; Ella laughed at the white moustache on Meline’s upper lip. Another sold kebabs of sweet and spicy fruits, of roots savoury, sweet, and spicy, and of the spiced meats of different fish and insects, or whatever the equivalent was here.

There were shops that sold fine berry wines, cordials, and ciders, and shops that sold candied chocolate mixed with granules of nuts and dried fruits. There was stronger drink as well, but Ella had hardly more than a sip of a spiced liqueur that made her fingers and toes tingle. Too much made a fool of anyone, and Ella was in a town she didn’t know, in a world she didn’t know, surrounded by fey and creatures she didn’t know.

And Meline knew a great deal about this town in another world. Many shopkeepers and stall-owners in the market waved or greeted her by name, and she knew not only them, but their families, and how business was doing. And she presented it all masterfully.

After they were quite full, Meline led Ella across the bridge and out of the square. Ella had heard the sounds of industry from this section of town for some time, but she suspected Meline had been building toward this.

Ella worked a wide variety of metals, woods, and some fabrics, but would have freely admitted her grasp of other materials was lacking. She saw a water fairy weaving six different materials into one cloth, a mole and a frog setting gemstones into a brooch, a squat, spiny

local—they called themselves ekidnes, according to Meline—throwing a clay pot, and a squirrel blowing glass.

Meline led Ella around a corner, and Ella’s fingers thrummed to the melody of hammer on metal. A shop with a sign depicting a hammer and anvil drew her. Beneath a slate lean-to, a drakle so green he was almost yellow held a bronze bar in two pairs of tongs while his upper arms operated a hammer and punch. Ella watched as he twisted and worked the cherry-red metal into a whorl of vines and leaves. He’d already finished the central portion, which had what looked like three vines braided around each other. He had two trays of tools in easy reach, and the fluidity and precision with which he picked up and set down tools—hardly taking his eyes off his work—gave Ella to know this drakle might have plied his trade as long as she had.

Finally he set the piece on a frame and stood, reaching for the ceiling. His crest and frills were bright red. He wore a thick apron, and heavy trousers with a third leg for his tail. He wore a grey sleeveless shirt with two wide armholes.

His eye wandered in their direction. “Ah, Meline,” he said, stepping out from under the awning, “good to see you again.” He had a thick, unfamiliar accent, with something of a lisp.

Meline went forward and took his hands—well, two of them, anyway—with a bow. “And you, Art.” She turned to Ella. “Ella, this is Arthur Bronzemonger, the best metalworker in Oak and Stone.”

Ella bowed. “It’s always nice to meet another of my kind.”

Meline turned back to Art. “Art, this is Lord Ella of Oakhill. She recently did me a great service, and to repay her I’m showing her around town.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Her smithing might give you a run for your money.”

Art raised a pair of scaly eyebrows as he took Ella’s hands and bowed. A forked tongue flicked out of his mouth. “You smell of metal, charcoal, and wood—mostly oak, but also willow and poplar—but you have overlaid it with lavender.” Ella reflexively moved back from the tongue. Art’s eyes widened, and he sucked it back into his mouth. His frill reddened more. “Forgive me. Fairies are new to Nidd, and your ways do not always come easily.”

“I could forgive a smith of your caliber far worse than a small eccentricity,” Ella said. She felt a flush creep up her neck. “Could you… would you honour me by showing us around your forge?”

Art’s eyes gleamed. “I would be delighted to show another smith my work.”

“Then lead on, good sir!” Ella said.

Arthur reached for a clay pitcher by a sturdy door leading into what was probably his house. “Would you like a glass of ice water?” he asked. “Smithing is good work, but hot.”

“How do you keep your ice?” Meline’s ear-points wiggled. With interest, as far as Ella could tell.

“Carters bring the ice down the mountain packed in crates with sawdust,” Art said as he opened the door to his cellar and hopped down. He came back up with several finger-sized chunks of ice, dropped one in each glass, and put the rest in his pitcher. “and I put it in my ice

box downstairs.” He took a long draught from his cup. Ella noticed his frill start to pale. “You can also have a water fairy freeze some water for you. But the genuine article tastes better. Now,” he rubbed two of his four hands together, “let me show you some of my projects.”

Hanging from the ceiling was a bronze-bladed scythe. On two hooks on the far wall were a pair of axes, one with a silver head, the other copper. Tools of various kinds hung on the wall, including a number Meline was unfamiliar with; the only one that stumped Ella turned out to be a set of scale clippers. A pair of silver shields shaped like gigantic scales intrigued her.

Art, unsurprisingly, proved a fount of knowledge regarding his craft. There were a few points he was unable to clarify for Ella, though she suspected this was due more to a slight want in his vocabulary than a lack of understanding. He’d no trouble making silver and gold as hard and strong as any fairy.

“I have a question,” Meline said, as she examined a set of caterpillar shears. Art and Ella both raised their eyes from the minutia of a serpentine-handled camp knife (which had a blade below the municipal length limit).

“What is it?” Art said.

Meline looked around the shop. “You have a lot of high-quality items here.”

Art’s eyes lit with understanding. “You are wondering how, in a busy port town, I keep thieves from walking away with my wares.” Meline nodded. Art looked between her and Ella. Ella felt her own eyes widen as a thought occurred to her.

“We’ve just met,” Ella said, “so I understand if you’re uncomfortable talking about the security of your forge. I don’t tell strangers about mine, either.”

Art smiled; Ella hadn’t realized a drakle’s grin split its head in two. He gave a coughing, raspy laugh. “From anyone else, I might have taken the question amiss.” He shook his head. “I will not go into details,” he lowered his voice. “But it stems from my kind being dragonkin.”

Ella felt the blood drain from her face. She remembered from long ago the whump of colossal wings, a roar that shook the bowels of the world, a column of flame so hot it burned white. A pair of eyes larger than she was, a five-part pupil so huge it could have swallowed her, slamming shut as the flame poured out. And a voice, so deep Ella felt it in her bones, howling fire and blood.

“Ella?” She jumped at Meline’s touch on her shoulder. Judging by her and Art’s concerned looks, she’d been elsewhere for a while.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, handing the knife back to Art. “Dragons have occasionally wandered into Fey.”

“And massacred and extorted everyone they could, I would guess?” Art asked. Ella nodded. “It is good to know, I suppose, that they are consistent.” Art hung the knife back on the wall. “They have been exacting the same cruelty on us since before our most ancient writings.”

He refilled their cups. “I have set foot beyond Nidd thrice in my life. Once to visit Gaea and learn a special technique for forging steel.” He held up a hand. “I have not used it in Oak and Stone, if anyone asks. Twice I visited Fey; yes, I visited your home world. Once when I was

still in my father’s care, and much later with my wife.” He sipped his water. “And it seems to me both worlds are less wild than mine. Though still full of dangerous creatures, I’m sure.

“Dragons are the worst, though wyverns and drakes are plenty vicious. Wyrms cause serious problems, though they usually stay deep underground. Sea wyrms are actually good to deal with; we give them baubles," he gestured to the silver shields, “and they leave our fishing vessels in peace. And the lung are kindly creatures.”

Ella leaned back. “So… this is where the lung come from?”

Art and Meline both stared at her. “I mean, yes,” Art said. “But they are rare on Gaea, much like the dragons, yes?”

Ella nodded. “I saw one once, shortly after I left Fey.” She sipped her water. “It danced on the clouds, even though it had no wings. And it conjured rainclouds as it danced, weaving in the sky like a glittering ribbon.”

She met Art’s eye. “They’re so different from dragons, I never made the connection before.”

Art shrugged. “Understandable. Take away the long bodies and scaly hides and there is hardly any similarity.” He looked at his own scaly hide. “But kin we all are.”

Ella did not ask which drakles were closer to, dragon or lung. Maybe they didn’t know. Either way, it seemed an unpleasant topic.

[luckyspike]

The Past Informs the Future - a Good Omens fanfic

in which anathema has something to tell crowley, but she feels it’s very important to figure out why he hated the 14th century, first

mild angst with ample fluff

anathema and crowley are best friends forever i will fight you over this.

--

“What happened during the 14th century?” Crowley, who is lounging upside-down over the couch, joint smoking lazily between his fingers, blinks once or twice. Anathema puts her head to the side. “You always talk about hating it, but you never say why.”

“It was terrible,” he answers automatically. “You don’t want to know.”

“You discorporated, right?” She knows that much, had gleaned the information from cast-away remarks here and there throughout the years. “Three times?”

“Yeah.” He rolls over, languid, and looks levelly at her. “Book-girl, believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“What if I do?” she challenges. “I asked, didn’t I?” He is glaring, but she meets him eye-to-eye, and rests her chin on her hand. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”

“Why do you want to know?”

That question slows her roll for a second: why does she want to know? Certainly, she considers Crowley her friend, but he is an interesting character with his foibles and his inconsistencies and his iron-clad but completely incomprehensible values. He has his secrets, thousands of them, and she is more than happy to let him keep most of them. But something about the 14th century pulls at her, and she wants to know. Needs to know, because the future is looming, and it’s the only thing about Crowley that gives her pause when trying to incorporate him into it.

It’s become more pressing recently, too, she thinks. She has a good idea why. She is changing, and he is a demon, and she needs to know.

“Because you’re my friend and it bothers you,” she says finally, mostly honestly. “You talk about how awful it was, like you want us to ask, and then when someone does you balk at it and change the subject. Does Aziraphale know?”

“You - yes, he knows.” He looks puzzled. “Book-girl, I’m being very serious. It’s … weirdly kind of you to want to know I suppose, but you do not want to know.”

“Crowley.” She leans back into the chair, and draws her knees up to her chest. “I have something I have to tell you. I want to tell you, anyway. But I need to know … you have to tell me why you hate the 14th century.”

That gets his attention. Slowly, graceful, snake-like, he slides off of the couch, dumps the joint into the ash tray, and stalks across the living room toward her. He is examining her, like a doctor sizing up a patient, or like a snake sizing up a mouse; she can’t quite decide. “You alright, Book-girl?”

“I will be.” Her belly is roiling, and suddenly, pinned under those snake eyes, she regrets this. She still wants it, but she also wants to avoid it. She could avoid it, really, but then she wouldn’t be able to … She let that train of thought trundle off, and jumped onto the next one. “You don’t have to tell me specifics. I just need to know why. Basically. Beyond the discorporations.”

She never saw him sober up, but there isn’t a hint of anything but diamond-sharp clarity in him now. “Not enough for you? Looking for some juicy gossip?”

“For what?” She snorts. “My advice column? A blog? No. I just … Just tell me why you hated it so much.”

“It was hell.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well yeah, obviously, if you hate it that much -”

“No, literal Hell. With a capital ‘H’.” He swallows. “S’where I go when I discorporate.”

“Right.”

He stares at her for a minute, when it becomes clear that that answer had not satisfied her. His jaw works for a minute. And then, quietly, he says, “I have only ever told Aziraphale about this.”

“I promise it doesn’t leave this room. I will tell you why, but you have to tell me, you have to be honest, Crowley. Please.”

He sighs, and puts his head in his hands, suddenly cross-legged on the carpet in front of her seat. “You know what they do, when you discorporate too many times in a certain time frame? They punish you.”

She nods. She had rather thought it would be something like that. “I see.”

“The first time wasn’t anything - fill out form BD663 in triplicate, here’s your new body, don’t do it again. The second time in a century they make you wait, maybe ah ... “ He makes a vague sort of motion with a hand. “Maybe a light flaying. You know. ‘Be more careful next time’.” He swallows. “Didn’t think I was going to get to come back up here, after the third time.”

She folds her hands. “But you did.”

“Oh, yeah.” He sounds a little strangled. “For a price. By then they started to think I wasn’t doing my job right, although I was, at least at the time. So for a while they had me down in … it doesn’t matter, you really don’t need to know, but then some cult up top wanted to summon up a demon with a real wallop. And I was available.” He sighs. “Better the Serpent of Eden than a Duke of Hell - wasn’t like they really needed me down there for anything anyway, and humans are always impressed by the whole original sin thing.”

“Mhm.” She thinks about reaching out to him, but this is important, and she doesn’t want to stop him. She wrings her hands together instead.

“You know the worst part?” He looks up to her, wide-eyed and unabashedly remorseful. “I didn’t care, was the worst thing. Because I was back up here, I wasn’t in Hell, and if they wanted to bind me to do … dark bidding or whatever the fuck it was, that was better. So I did it.” He holds up a hand, fingers splayed. “Five years. Five years in servitude to some stupid cult in back-country Italy. It wasn’t hard work, mostly meant looking scary and killing someone occasionally.” He closes his eyes, pressed the heel of his hand against the bridge of his nose. “Then they wanted me to kill a kid.” She inhales sharply, and he snorts. “S’what I said.

“And, you know, five years isn’t that long, not for me. Is for humans, though. And they’d slipped on keeping some of the bindings together. I probably could have slithered out of there a year or two earlier, but it would’ve been work. Wasn’t fun as it was.” Sharply, he hauls the right side of his t-shirt up, and points to a broad web of scars slashed across his hip and ribs. “Got that for my trouble. But I did not kill that kid.” He doesn’t look at her when he says, “Was about the only one there I didn’t.”

She releases the breath she’d been holding, and leans forward. “Crowley -”

“You wanted to know,” he snaps then, and she sits up. “So let me finish. Because after I got out of there, who do I run into but Aziraphale, and after the run I’d had it was a good thing he was the angel I met up with because any other one would’ve … Anyway, doesn’t bear thinking about.” He smiles, a little bitterly and a little fondly. It looks strained. “He helped me burn all the books on summoning we could find. Scoured all over Europe. I’m sure we missed a few, but no one’s dared try anything serious since then.” He forces a little laugh. “And it was the last time I discorporated, you can bet on that.”

Anathema nods, and then pauses. “But … there are summoning books still. I’ve seen them.”

“Nothing that can bind you,” he says quickly. “Summoning is one thing, binding is another. If you see anything that mentions binding, I’d be obliged if you got rid of it.” He sighs. “Nah, summoning is different. Last time I got summoned I ended up helping three college students in Massachusetts with a group presentation. And they didn’t even put me on the Powerpoint.”

Anathema takes a moment to wonder how that would have gone over. ‘Presentation thanks go also to the Demon Crowley, who was surprisingly helpful for an infernal being of temptation and sin.’ Probably, she thinks, not well. 

“Anyway,” he says, with a sort of gruff finality, “that’s your answer. Now why the fuck did you need to know so bad?” He’s half-glaring at her, and she can’t tell if he’s angry or relieved. She wonders how many other humans he’s told about this, decides the answer is very likely a definite ‘0’, and she shrugs.

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He stammers for a little while, eyes flicking from her face to her belly and back-and-forth. “How is that relevant?”

“Well.” She sits back, and laces her fingers together, resting them on her crossed knee. She looks to the ceiling for a minute, thoughtful, and tries to think of a way to explain this that doesn’t make her sound absolutely unhinged. “Crowley, we’re friends, right?”

“I should hope so.” He sneers. “Hate to think you just twisted the worst 100 years of my life out of me if -”

She waves a hand. “It was rhetorical, but fact established. So that being the case I … well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s going to happen after I have a kid. About who I wanted to have around.”

“Oh.” He looks away. “Makes … Right. I get it. Don’t exactly have the greatest record with babies.”

“Mm, not recently, but I’m considering that extenuating circumstances. Plus,” she adds, “according to Aziraphale, you were a really good nanny when you weren’t trying to get the kid to be evil.”

“Does he know about this?”

“Not yet. I figured you could tell him. But he’s mentioned it in passing.” She takes a breath. “Anyway, I know that you don’t hurt kids. I know that. But, I dunno, when I found out about … all this … I wanted to make sure it wasn’t because something happened and it made you that way.” Her mouth twists. “It’s weird, as soon as I found out I started thinking about things I never thought about before. Wondering about stuff, planning for things, that kind of stuff. I still don’t want the book,” she adds, because she sees the way he’s looking at her, and she knows what he’s thinking. “But … Yeah. I had to make sure.”

“Hm.” He watches her for a long, long moment, and then nods. “So what’s this mean, now?”

“You wanna be its uncle?” She raises a finger. “You have to promise not to try to make it evil.”

“No problem.” He looks thoughtful. “I think godfathers is more typical -”

“No, that’s outdated and kind of cliche, at this point.” She waves a hand. “Besides, my brother lives in San Diego, and Newt doesn’t have siblings, so the poor kid’s gonna need some aunts and uncles anyway.”

“Fair.” 

She softens, and leans forward. “Crowley, I’m sorry to push, but I had to … I just really needed to know that there wasn’t anything, you know -”

“Extra evil?” He sighs. “I get it. There was, but not in a way that’s going to happen again, alright?”

“Very much so.” 

He leans forward and pokes her in the stomach. “Who else knows?”

“Newt.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Hm. Way to make a demon feel special. Argh,” he says then, because she has taken advantage of her proximity to grab him and hug him. “You’re only getting away with this because you’re with child,” he grumbles, and she gives him an extra squeeze. And then suddenly, he is trying to pull away, wide-eyed and panicky. “Wait, how pregnant. When’d you find out?”

“About seven, eight weeks. I took a test about a week ago.” He sags with relief, and she laughs. “Why? What was that about?”

“You didn’t see any broad-shouldered feathery assholes with purple eyes then?” She shakes her head. “No one said, ‘be not afraid?’” 

“No,” she laughs, “but it might have helped when I took the first test. Not that I wasn’t sort of trying - we weren’t trying, that is - but when you see the two little lines, you know, it’s kind of … startling. Sobering. All of it.”

“So no Gabriel.”

“Ah.” She chuckles. “Yeah, no Archangels. Just a little stick with some lines on it.”

“Oh. Good.” Miraculously, he suddenly is holding a bottle of wine. The joint is still in the ash tray, no longer smouldering, and she makes a little noise of protest. He waves a hand and it vanishes into the ether or, probably more accurately, into an ash tray in a cottage in the South Downs. “Secondhand smoke,” he says, by way of explanation, uncorking the bottle and taking a mouthful.

“How considerate.”

He grunts, and holds up the bottle. “Not at all. Demon, remember? This is a Caymus cabernet, very delicious, and you can’t have a single drop. You are very jealous.”

“Oh, extremely. Very evil of you.” She budges over, obligingly, and he sprawls into the space on the two-seater next to her. “Want to watch a movie?” She waggles the remote. “I rented The Tide of Blood.”

“Is that anything like Blood Tide?”

“I dunno. Never saw it.”

He takes another swig of wine, and raises an eyebrow. “It’s awful. I’ll get a copy some time.”

“Deal.” She gestures to the TV. “This one’s about a prehistoric sea monster that stalks and eats promiscuous teenagers.”

“Classic. I’m in.” He settles back, and her too. The first teen - a football-playing bully - has been eaten before either of them says anything. “Uncle, hm?”

By this time, she is slouched against his shoulder, the better to reach the shared bowl of pretzels that somehow appeared ten minutes ago. She hadn’t asked. “I figured. Unless you want something different.” She doesn’t look at him as she elaborates, “I mean, chronologically, I could certainly justify grandpa -”

“Oy.” The pretzels are snatched away, just momentarily, although he is laughing. “You have your own parents, use them for that.”

“Right. So uncle.”

“If that’s the alternative, I’ll take it,” he grumbles, and she finds herself with a bowl of pretzels in her hands. “Grandpa, Book-girl, honestly.“ The wine bottle glugs as he takes another drink, and Anathema crunches another handful of pretzels. On screen, another teen fruitlessly tries to fend off the monster with a kayak paddle. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Hm. Yeah. Yeah, I think I must be.”

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point 10

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten (here)

Thank you @beyondthemoor for your edits!

Chapter Ten All the right moves

Sweat dripped down the back of Sakura’s neck. It clung to her skin and made her shirt stick to her body. She breathed hard, trying to catch her breath.

Kakashi didn’t give her that opportunity. He came at her, fists swinging and adrenaline pumping. Sakura threw her hands up in front of her face. Just in time to block his swing. Her wrist stung at the contact, but she ignored it, throwing her own blow.

He had always been faster. His military training giving him an edge she didn't have. He grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm painfully before he swept her legs out from under her. Her back hit the mat hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Kakashi glared down at her. “What did I tell you?”

His irritation stirred her own. Pushing herself back up onto her feet, she inhaled a shaky breath, “I'm trying.”

“Not hard enough,” he returned. “Get your hands up and pay attention, or I'll do it again.”

A glare settled over her features as she fell back into her defensive stance. They traded swings. He cuffed her across the cheek but she knocked him on the chin. Back and forth, they danced across the matted floor, alternating between throwing punches and wrestling on the ground.

Kakashi did everything he could to pin her, wrenching her arms behind her back, using his body weight to trap her against the floor. Sakura in turn used all the training he had every taught her to free herself. Pressure points, supported elbows against sensitive muscles, using her slight frame to twist under his guard. They trained until Sakura’s arms were stiff and her shoulders ached.

Kakashi was first to relax, after he had failed to pin her for the third time. “Much better. You’re getting faster,” he told her.

A faint smile passed her lips, even as she felt bruises already forming under her skin. She followed Kakashi towards the wall where they left their belongings. She reached for her water bottle first, chugging a quarter of it before she patted her skin dry with a towel. Beside her, Kakashi rummaged through his duffel bag.

Sakura took another drink as she eyed the other gym members. Most were working out in pairs. On the far side, there was a row of punching bags. Only one was in use now. This early in the morning, the gym was still mostly empty, the more aggressive boys still sleeping. By noon, Sakura was sure it would be full.

Two men had stepped onto the floor mat behind Sakura and Kakashi. She observed them as she waited for her heart to slow back to normal.

“What’re you working on now?” Kakashi asked after he had finished putting his things away.

Sakura glanced down at him before she dropped herself onto the bench so their conversation wouldn't carry. "I'm collecting more arms. Hashirama and Tobirama need to regroup after their confrontation with Akatsuki."

"Do you know what Hashirama is planning next?"

"No, but that's not my primary concern right now," Sakura said. When Kakashi arched his brow, she elaborated, "I'm more interested in Hashirama's relationship with Madara."

“Because of the CIA.”

“That and because I still don’t know the agreement between them,” she told him. “Hashirama has a deal with Madara. One that does not include sharing territories.”

“You think Hashirama is providing Madara protection?” Kakashi asked.

“I don’t know,” she frowned. “It’s been four years since Madara turned traitor. The CIA isn’t exactly known for their forgiveness. Especially since he sold information to the Chinese and Russians.”

Kakashi arched his brow, mildly amazed. "Where did you learn that?"

“Shikamaru,” Sakura said, smiling faintly. The more she worked with the ex-CIA operative, the more useful she was finding him. He was just as brilliant as he was lazy.

“So if Hashirama is providing Madara protection from the government, what does he get in return?” Kakashi asked.

"I don't know. That's what I want answered."

They both looked up when a particularly hard hit echoed through the room. One of the men on the mat took a hard fall. His wheezing breaths reached her ears. He recovered surprisingly quickly to twist out from under his partner's hold, their positions suddenly flipping.

She and Kakashi spectated the sparring match a little longer before they collected their things and left. Outside, she handed her water bottle to Kakashi. He accepted it wordlessly, his eyes lingering on the passersby. A habit he had picked up in the military.

“Are you still being tailed?” Kakashi asked at last.

Sakura smiled. “Of course.”

“Do you want me to get rid of them?”

“No,” she said, pulling on her sweatshirt. She zipped it up only halfway, low enough to let the air cool her still-heated skin. “Not yet anyway. They’re harmless for now.”

Kakashi didn’t look so convinced but he didn’t argue. Instead, he jerked his head towards the corner. “That car has been sitting there since we got here.”

“I know,” she told him, her smile still in place. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

That expression of his didn’t fade but again he didn’t say anything. Simply shouldered his bag and shot her a look that was clearly a warning not to press her luck before he wandered down the sidewalk.

Sakura waited until he was out of sight before she too left. She went the opposite direction the car was facing, pretending to occupy herself on her phone. She was hardly surprised when it pulled away from the curb and did a u-turn.

The black vehicle merged in with the other slow-moving traffic seamlessly. Sakura wouldn’t have even noticed it if not for the fact it was a shiny new Lexus. The same one that had been keeping her company all week.

Without looking back, Sakura entered a nearby convenience store. She wandered into the back towards the case with refrigerated water. Only to slip out the back door. It opened into a parking lot with a half dozen stalls. Only two were occupied. Sakura waited in the shadows out of sight until she heard that familiar V8 engine.

The instant the car came around the corner, she went for it. Ripping open the door, Sakura slipped into the driver's lap, releasing the chair adjustment under the seat so she could fit. In one, smooth motion, she shifted the car into park and slammed the door closed behind her, leaving the pair tightly wedged in the seat made for one.

Itachi stared at her. A long moment of silence passed before he sighed. "Was this really necessary?"

Smiling, Sakura leaned forward, her knees pressed tightly against his lean hips in the confined space. Her hands skimmed the front of his dark jacket, her fingers playing with the zipper of his breast pocket. This close, she could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. "You obviously wanted my attention. Now, you have it."

A frown tightened his expression before it relaxed. His face turning carefully blank as he settled his hands on either side of her, careful not to touch her more than necessary. "You need to accept my offer," he told her.

A laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "You're rather persistent, aren't you? Tell me, what is it about Madara that makes you so desperate?" she asked, leaning closer. If only to see if she could draw a reaction out of him.

Itachi didn’t answer. But there was something behind his eyes that made her smile fade. Her fingers stilled against his zipper.

“It’s more than just his capture your company is worried about,” she guessed.

His lack of answer was answer enough.

“What do you know?” she asked.

“Only that Madara is planning something,” Itachi told her, his voice low and troubled. “Which is why we need your help.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Madara and I aren’t exactly friendly.”

“We don’t need you to be friendly. Just close enough to know what his next moves are.”

"The last time I got that close, Izuna tried to strangle me," Sakura countered darkly. "So your plan is going to have to be a little more specific than that."

Itachi's gaze drifted down to the column of her throat, as if searching for the bruises that had faded months ago. When he raised his eyes back to hers, his face was surprisingly open. Something she couldn't quite name reflected back at her. Something a little desperate, a little impatient.

When he blinked, that look was gone. Itachi reached into his jacket.

Out of habit, Sakura grabbed his forearm, using their close proximity to pin his arm to his chest with her body weight. Her instincts screaming it was a gun. To her surprise, Itachi just looked at her, waiting for her grasp to loosen minutely before he withdrew a business card. It was white and utterly blank. Except for a single phone number etched in black ink.

When she made no move to accept it, he slipped the paper into the pocket of her hoodie.

“Help us and we will return the favor. Guns, protection...Akatsuki,” he said knowingly. Then he quickly added, like he knew she was going to feign ignorance, “You burnt down one of their supplier’s ports a few months ago.”

Sakura couldn't help the small lift in the corner of her mouth. It seemed Agent Uchiha was more than just his handsome face.

Shifting in his lap, she settled more comfortably against him, her hands still resting on his chest. Feeling the solid muscle beneath her palms. The soft, easy inhale and exhale of his breath. "And what could you possibly know about Akatsuki?" she whispered, as if they were a couple sharing an intimate moment.

His hands shifted to her hips, less as a means of dominance and more of somewhere to put them in the tight space. “Agree and I'll give you everything,” he murmured in reply.

Sakura held his gaze. The moment stretching on for one too many seconds for it to be teasing. Only the soft rumble of the engine filling the space between them. Then she leaned away with a shrug. "If only I actually cared about them."

Itachi's eyes searched her face, as if trying to determine if she was just toying with him again or not. When he found only real honesty, he stared at her with genuine curiosity. "Then what do you care about?"

She pretended to think a moment. "Tequila."

Impatience flickered behind Itachi's eyes so quick she would have missed it had she blinked. It seemed her games were finally beginning to get under his skin. Good. Sakura didn't bother to hide her smirk. Hopefully this time, Itachi would get the hint and leave her alone.

"Really, Itachi, we should stop meeting like this," she said. Humor colored her tone but there was an underlying seriousness. Because in all honesty, the whole watching her back everywhere she went thing was getting a little old.

Sakura reached for the door handle then, but Itachi's hands tightened on her waist before she could exit the car.

"I know you do not trust me," Itachi murmured, leaning forward as if they were somewhere they could be overheard. "And if I had it my way, I would not choose you for this operation. But Madara is dangerous. Not only to me but to you and everyone else as well. He holds loyalty to no one. Not even his own family. Just consider that while you're out there running your guns, Sakura. Because if there is one thing I know you care about, it is your business."

She met his unwavering gaze but didn't offer him a response. Simply waited for him to release her before she slipped out of the car. With no reason left to linger, Itachi drove off, disappearing back around the corner and into the city in his smooth, smooth car.

Sakura didn’t think she was still being followed but she took the back streets and winding park paths back to her studio apartment. There, she showered and grabbed a quick bite to eat while her hair dried. She checked her phone messages over her bowl of cereal, trying to think of anything but her conversation with Itachi.

For a little while, her texts kept her busy. But as she munched on her second bowl, her mind couldn’t help but wander a little. Even with her position, Itachi had admitted he didn’t wanted her help. The CIA must really be desperate to send Itachi to her not once but twice. Her arrest in Tel Aviv must have been a test of her abilities. Or to gauge how easily they could turn her.

Chewing slowly, Sakura glanced towards the corner of her room where she had tossed her hoodie, Itachi’s card still in the pocket. She considered reading the number. Considered ripping it up and throwing it out.

In the end, Sakura did neither. She left it untouched as she dried her hair and swiped on mascara. In her closet, she grabbed a business suit, sharp and professional, and completed the outfit with a pair of heels. The kind that drew attention with every step.

With Hashirama’s car sitting at the bottom of the river, Sakura called for a ride. An expensive car service drove her across town. The well-dressed driver dropped her just outside the bamboo gates of what Sakura could only call a mansion, judging by the multiple peaks she could see above the fence line. The guards at the gate let Sakura in at her name. They patted her down and searched her clutch before they radioed for the owner.

As she waited, Sakura studied the way the water sparkled off the fountain. She wasn’t left alone long.

“Tsunade.”

Sakura turned towards the speaker, a wide smile on her face. “Neji, it’s been too long.”

He wasn’t a very tall man but he was certainly handsome. Especially dressed in a suit. His features were distinctly Japanese but his accent had faded long ago to be replaced with smooth, clean English.

With a friendly smile, Neji gestured for her to follow him inside. “I hope New York is treating you well.”

“My cities always treat me well,” she told him good-naturedly.

A secret smile passed his lips. She wondered if he was remembering the time she had helped him in Kobe with a small yakuza war. Back before either of them were of the legal drinking age in Japan. Not that anyone ever carded them in the bars they hung out in.

Neji led her further into his large house. Staff stood on every corner, silent statues until they were summoned. The house itself was heavily influenced in traditional Asian culture. Every room they passed had Japanese furnishings and artwork. Even the shoji doors were decorated with fierce tigers and peaceful koi fish.

Sakura eyed them appreciatively until they finally reached the end of the hall and their destination. Neji paused before the only solid wood door. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Inside was a large office. There were multiple computers and monitors. Some were for security purposes. Others for business.

A young woman looked up upon their entrance. She eyed Sakura, silently sizing her up just as Sakura did to her. Only more discreetly.

“Meet my cousin, Hinata,” Neji introduced. “Hinata, this is is my contact, Tsunade.”

Sakura inclined her head in greeting while Hinata smiled politely.

“Hinata has been helping me cover my connections in Japan while I’ve been here,” Neji explained. “She can help you get whatever you need.”

This time Sakura’s smile was warmer. “I have guns overseas, but I need help transporting them,” she told Hinata. “And I have enough money to make the effort well worth your interest.”

xx

Two hours later, Sakura left the Hyuuga compound. It would take a couple of weeks but Hinata would be able to help her transport the weapons Sakura needed. It was something Sakura could pay some low nobodies to do, but with the threat of Akatsuki still in Egypt, working through Neji gave her some security. Which meant Sakura had time to focus on other things.

Like checking in on Naruto to see how her current shipments were doing. He had been texting her updates periodically and so far everything had been running smoothly. But she never liked to leave her clients unchecked for too long.

Pausing on the sidewalk just outside the bamboo gates surrounding the property, Sakura pulled out her phone. She was just about to search for her last conversation with Naruto when he phone suddenly rang.

The number was unsaved but she recognized it as Kakashi’s. “Hey, what’s up?” she answered.

“I thought you said you were handling your tail,” Kakashi told her sternly.

Frowning, Sakura glanced around the high-end neighborhood. There were half a dozen cars parked on the street but none appeared to be occupied, except for one. She recognized the nondescript, grey Honda Kakashi liked to cruise around in.

“Ten o’clock,” he said. “Dark blue Mazda.”

Following his directions, Sakura peeked at the car out of the corner of her eyes. Sure enough, there was a vehicle exactly as he had described. At first, she saw no movement inside the car. But then a shadow caught her notice. She was being watched.

“Is that one of your CIA buddies?” Kakashi asked.

Keeping her expression in check, Sakura turned and began walking down the street towards where Kakashi was waiting. Halfway down the block, the Mazda began to follow. "No, it's not."

For the last few weeks, she had become familiar with Shisui and Itachi’s cars - hell, a few hours ago she had been inside one. Neither of them looked like that. Which meant only one thing.

She had another tail.

to be continued...

[perfectlyrose]

Up In Flames (4/10)

Summary: In the year since they decided to become a team, John Smith and Rose Tyler have made quite the names for themselves as Team TARDIS, bank robbers extraordinaire. Newspapers the world over run headlines about The Doctor and the Bad Wolf and their latest heists. They’re practically unstoppable.

Then their world spins to a halt with a phone call. Jack’s in trouble again and a formidable enemy from John’s past has emerged from the shadows to try and destroy the bank robbing couple once and for all. Will they be able to survive this new threat intact or will the life they’ve been building together go up in flames?

A sequel to Watch it Burn, a Nine/Rose bank robbers AU

Word Count: 2065

Rating: Teen

Note:  Look! An update! Seriously, I apologize for going so long without updating this. There was a combination of hitting a writing block on this fic and me being really discouraged about it's general reception (I know, it's a sequel and a WIP and those combine to give lower response but while my logical brain KNOWS that, my heart/muse does not lol) and it led to me focusing on other projects and shying away from this one. I do promise that this will be finished but I cannot promise how quickly. Thank you SO MUCH to those of you who are still reading, it means more to me than you know. <3

Read here: tumblr // ao3 // tsp // ff

Rose mulled over Amy’s advice as she and John headed to the airport and purchased tickets for the first flight out to London. It made sense, she knew it did, but the airport and then the plane did not allow them the privacy they would need for that kind of conversation.

It would keep, she told herself, worrying at her bottom lip as she watched the blackness fly by outside the plane window. Until they got to her flat, it would have to keep.

Besides, Amy was right. She and John were solid. They could get through this current disaster intact. Perhaps not all of their secrets would be so lucky, but that could be a good thing. There were definitely times when the weight of their individual secrets put stress on their relationship, that they pressed into its hairline fractures.

Rose looked over to where John was dozing fitfully, the overlong day finally catching up with him. She was almost ready to share some of her secrets with him. Most days she thought she was completely ready, but then she would start to worry about if he would look at her differently once he knew everything and she would back off the idea of laying herself bare.

“You’re staring,” he grumbled, not opening his eyes. “I can feel it.”

Her mouth quirked into a small smile. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Trying, but someone is staring at me.”

“Rude.” Rose shut the window and put the armrest between them up so she could cuddle into him. Neither of them were very good at talking about their feelings, about the things that made them who they were. There were times like this though, when she could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear and there was nothing else they could do except hold onto each other and hope for the best, that she barely kept a certain three word phrase from spilling off her tongue.

Now wasn’t the time to finally tell him, though. They would have time later. She would make sure of it.

//

They bought two new mobiles at Heathrow and Rose called Amy the moment they cleared customs to confirm that she had made it in and out of John’s flat without any trouble and figure out a place to meet.

“All good?” John asked once she’d rung off.

“Yeah. We’re meeting her at an office building in an hour. She said she had keys to get into one of the office suites after-hours and it would be a secure place to meet.”

“Do I want to know how or why she has these keys?”

“I don’t even want to know and she’s one of my best friends.” Rose said with a laugh.

They grabbed a taxi and gave the driver an intersection a few blocks away from their actual destination and settled in to watch as dusk fell over the city.

“It’s always good to be back in London. I never realize that I miss it so much until I come back,” Rose said. She leaned her head on John’s shoulder.

“Were you getting homesick with all the travelling?”

“Not really. I was with you and doing what I love, I just like occasionally coming back to where my roots are, I guess.”

John turned to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for London, too.”

“Guess that’s why we still pay exorbitant prices to keep our flats while we’re not using them,” she teased.

“Speak for yourself, I don’t pay rent,” John said. Rose pulled back and saw a smug grin spread across his face.

“Right, because you’re the wanker who owns his building.”

“You’re never going to get over that, are you?”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

Rose’s mobile vibrated. She quickly pulled up the text from Amy and showed it to John so they both knew the code to get into the building and the suite number where their friend would be.

Ten minutes later, the cab pulled to a stop. John quickly paid the driver and he and Rose set off on foot to their actual destination.

“You ready?” Rose asked. She adjusted the strap of the duffel bag so it wouldn’t cut into her shoulder through her jumper.

“As I ever am,” John replied.

“I know Amy’s a handful but she-”

“She’s a friend, I know,” he interrupted.

“That she is,” Rose said, spearing him with a look and a raised eyebrow.

“And she is doing us an enormous favor,” he said. It sounded like he was reminding himself of all the reasons there were to be nice to the grifter who was more Rose’s friend than his.

“She’s not going to run a con on us, John.” Rose bumped her shoulder against his arm. “If you’d give her a chance, I really think you’d like her a lot.”

“She introduced herself by trying to run a con on me,” John grumbled.

Rose laughed. “Classic Amy. And if you’ll remember, I’ve made friends by stealing wallets before.”

They both sobered at the reminder of how Rose and Jack had met, each of them worried about how their friend was faring.

“This is it,” John said, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript office building.

He quickly keyed in the entry code and gestured for Rose to go ahead of him. She led the way up the the third floor and to the suite where the grifter should be waiting for them. The door wasn’t locked so Rose opened it and let it swing open.

A wide grin spread over her face as she caught sight of Amy in the middle of the open office space, leaning against a column and examining her nails.

The ginger looked up and her grin was as big as Rose’s. “Look at you! You’re a bit tan! I’m jealous, I don’t think I’ve seen the sun in two weeks.”

“There are definitely perks to not being in London in the fall,” Rose shot back as she made her way over to her friend.

“Obviously!”

Rose wrapped Amy in a hug and then pulled back to press a kiss to her cheek.

“That’s hardly a proper greeting when I haven’t seen you in almost a year!” Amy protested. Before Rose could do more that curl her lips into a smile, the other grifter laid a smacking kiss on her lips.

She released Rose who was grinning and looked past her to John who had followed on Rose’s heels. She smirked at him and held out a hand for him to shake. “Stop bristling, big guy, I’m not going to steal your girl. I’m very happy with my Rory.”

Amy waited a beat after shaking John’s hand to continue. “Although, if things don’t work out there I will come after her.”

Rose laughed. “You’re not my type, Ames.”

Amy made a derisive noise and gestured to herself. “Look at me, I’m everyone’s type.”

Rose sidled up next to John and slid her hand in his, rubbing her thumb over his skin in soothing circles. He was already on edge and grifters often irritated him, despite the fact that he was friends with Jack and in a relationship with her, and Amy was a grifter through and through, no matter which side of the law she was working on.

Playfully pretending to hit on her probably wasn’t helping matters either. John hadn’t been around Amy enough to know that she was entirely joking. Or at least mostly joking. The truth of the matter was that Amy was completely head over heels in love with Rory and everyone who knew her well enough to see past her flirtatious front could see it clear as day.

“Anyways,” Amy said, smiling as she flicked her gaze down to the couple’s joined hands for a split second, “I’ve got the stuff you asked for. Thanks for giving me the security code to the system in the flat, you know I’m hopeless with those things and that one looked like overkill.”

“What is it with grifters and not knowing how to disable security systems?” John asked as he took the duffel bag from Amy and started rifling through it.

The ginger grinned. “Well, if I’m doing my job right, the mark just,” she made a clicking noise and mimed the turn of a lock, “opens the locks and turns off the alarms for me.”

“I had to teach her how to pick locks,” Rose added. “Gotta have a back up plan for when a con falls through.”

“I took to it quickly,” Amy said. She wiggled the fingers of one hand and raised her eyebrows. “Talented fingers, you know.”

Rose couldn’t hold back her laughter. John just rolled his eyes, but Rose could spot the way the corners of his mouth twitched. Amy was definitely growing on him.

“Looks like everything’s here,” John said, zipping the bag back up and hoisting it over the shoulder that didn’t already have a bag hanging off it. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I don’t know what mess you two have landed yourself in, but when you’ve got it all sorted you have to come over for dinner with me and Rory. He does the cooking so I promise it will be edible.”

“That sounds great, Ames. I don’t know when we’ll be free with everything that’s going on but…”

Amy waved her hand. “Oh, I know. But you two are an amazing team and I’m sure you’ll have this all handled in no time. Call me when that happens and we’ll have dinner. I need some quality time with you and a bottle of wine before you go globetrotting again.”

“You fiancé won’t mind you bringing over a couple of criminals?” John asked.

“He’s marrying me, he knows at least half my friends are criminals. As long as you’re not actively breaking the law while at our flat, it’s all good with him.”

“I’ll call you to set something up, I promise,” Rose said. She gave Amy another tight hug and then picked up her own duffel bag again. “Thanks so much for the assist, Amy. I owe you one.”

“Come to dinner and we’ll be even. Actually,” she looked up at John, “if you bring dessert to dinner, it will be even. Rory’s a good cook but neither of us can bake to save our lives. I still have dreams about whatever chocolate creation Rose brought over last Christmas.”

John’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “I can do that.”

“Good. Now, on with you both. You’ve got problems to solve and I have a dinner party to inform my fiancé about.”

They both thanked Amy again and made their way out of the building by a different route than they’d come in.

“Are you sure my flat is our best option?” Rose asked once they were on the street.

“I think so. You’ve essentially lived off the grid for years and are almost impossible to track. I erased what few breadcrumbs that tied you to the alias that rents the flat awhile back. We should be safe there for a bit.”

Rose nodded and they set course to her flat by a circuitous route that would hopefully shake any tail they picked up. When they reached her building, she led him around the back to the fire escape and through the window into her living room.

“Home sweet home,” she said, dropping her bag on the floor with a thump. “I can’t wait to see my bed.”

“Could do with some sleep myself,” John admitted as he closed and locked the window. “Let’s do a sweep of the flat and then get some shuteye before we start planning Jack’s rescue.”

Rose thought that sounded like a perfect plan and told him so before starting a quick visual sweep of the flat, knowing John would follow behind her with one of the devices in the bag Amy’d given them that would search for bugs.

The sooner this was done, the sooner they could sleep and be clear headed to tackle the problem of the Master and getting Jack back, and the sooner Rose would be able to take Amy’s advice and actually tell John some of the things that she wanted to tell him.

Sleep first. Planning and relationship maintenance later.

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Writing Q & A #1

This is stolen from one of my own ask games, but (A) some of my answers and changed, (B) no one ever asks me for those games anyway and ( C) I do what I want!

Q: What is your favorite punctuation mark?

A: Anyone who has read the Styx Trilogy knows that it is the ellipsis, followed closely by the m-dash.

Q: What writing taboos do you break consistently?

A: "Don't use adverbs", "don't use passive voice", and "don't use prologues". I have no regrets.

Q: What POV do you prefer and why?

A: I prefer third or first from multiple viewpoints. I'm just not a fan of sticking with one character throughout the whole story.

Q: What tense do you prefer and why?

A: Past, hands down. I am grudgingly using present tense in my novella-in-verse because the immediacy adds to the who-dun-it-ness, in that you are seeing exactly what the characters are thinking as it happens. I think present tense sounds extremely unnatural in prose, but since poetry is already artificial, it actually works.

Q: Adverbs: for or against?

A: For. Why? Because adverbs, unlike present tense, sound natural. I would much rather an author use "adverb + everyday verb/adjective" to describe something than "flowery verb/adjective that sounds completely jarring in the narration" or, worse "inexact fancy verb/adjective that might be a synonym for an everyday verb/adjective but has a totally different connotation". There's some old author adage about saying "exhausted" instead of "very tired", but "exhausted" is not the same thing as "very tired", and would not work in all the same circumstances as "very tired", so it should not be seen as an automatic substitute. Part of writing is choosing the right words, and sometimes the right words are the ordinary, everyday words that you and I use all the time.

Q: Do you outline or not?

A: Well, now I do.

Q: Do you prefer writing dialogue or narration?

A: I prefer dialogue when writing prose, but narration when writing poetry. I secretly (or maybe not secretly?) like being overdramatic when describing things, and poetry allows this more than prose. On the flip side, I like realistic-sounding dialogue, which is trickier to write with poetry.

Q: What punctuation/grammar/spelling errors do you make consistently?

A: I don't use question marks, tend to stick apostrophes in plurals for no reason, and generally make a lot of spelling mistakes. Spelling is not my strong suit.

Q: Do you write characters based off of real people or make them up?

A: I make them up, but sometimes they are loosely based on other fictional characters, or perhaps even just the arcs of other characters. I have sometimes created characters off of the missed opportunities in other people's stories.

Q: Do you write more guy or girl characters?

A: Girls! I have no idea why this is. I wouldn't say it's because I'm a woman, because I have female friends who do the opposite and write mostly men. It's just what my brain comes up with!

Q: Which is easier to write: guys or girls?

A: 99% of the time, they are equally easy to write. The exception is when writing the social niceties of romantic relationships in the 20th century! I've researched aspects of this from the man's perspective, like "how soon is too soon to give a girl flowers" or "how do you make it clear you're asking a woman out on a date", because a certain character in my alternate-history/fantasy/mystery WIP is head-over-heels for an absolutely oblivious woman. I need to walk the razors edge of him being obvious about his intentions without seeming desperate. I've never had to research anything about women, so I think that means men are just a little harder to write.

Q: Which is easier to write: original fiction or fan fiction?

A: Original fiction. I might do the odd fan fiction as a poem or in my head, but most of what I create is original.

Q: What do you include in character descriptions?

A: I'm very much a minimalist. I might mention a few features--sex, height, dress--but little else. The secret behind this is that... that's sort of how I imagine people... I honestly think I have a mild case of prosopagnosia, and have a horrible time both remembering and recognizing faces. When I think of a scene, as I've said in previous posts, I might picture blocking and close ups and actions, and maybe facial expressions, but rarely actually imagine what the characters' faces look like. I'm not one of those people with face claims or detailed lists of identifying marks should my characters disappear or show as Jane Does. It's just the way I am.

Q: Do you let people read your rough drafts?

A: Yes! Usually only very close friends and family. Perhaps I will use betas in the future, but we'll see.

Q: What do you do with your rough drafts once you write a new draft?

A: I save them! Once I tried to keep these in organized folders on my computer, but then I started more than one folder for some reason, and one thing led to another and... let's just say that the old drafts are all safe, but are scattered all over the place.

Q: How do you handle writer’s block?

A: I talk about the story to someone I trust, usually a family member. Just bouncing ideas off of someone, or hearing their reaction to a plot point, can be a big help.

Q: How many stories do you work on at one time?

A: Usually two "on paper", be that outlining or actually writing, and several in my head.

Q: Do you write from beginning to end, or jump around in your story.

A: In my head, I jump around. I try to generally start at the beginning while writing "on paper", but sometimes I'll skip scenes that are giving me trouble or will jump to scenes that are the most fleshed out.

Q: What is one thing you would never do in a story or to a character?

A: I would never use a character's death for shock value. I absolutely detest when authors do this, because it is clear they don't care about their characters and have no better means of surprising their audience. To be clear, I'm fine with shocking deaths as long as they are fitting, naturally follow from the story, and have some point, effecting the story or the characters after the death. Shock-value deaths serve no actual purpose other than to shock the audience; they are the jump-scares of death, which is a pretty poor reason to nix a character.

Q: What do you do if you come to a fork in the road (where your story could go one of two different ways)?

A: I usually write out in too columns what this will mean, not just immediately, but for the rest of the story. I choose the one that ends up with a more satisfying result.

Q: Do you “write what you know” or not?

A: Technically yes, because my writing is based off of the massive amount of fiction I consume in my life. My alternate-history/fantasy/mystery is also going to be chock full of things that I happen to be interested in: true crime elements, the history of the atomic bombings, Japanese everything, folklore, etc etc.

Q: How do you figure out your characters' looks, personalities, and speech patterns?

A: It mostly just sort of happens, honestly.

Q: How do you figure out character motivation and backstory?

A: By doing a lot of daydreaming and letting my imagination do what it will. Some characters are very easy to figure out, while others have trickier situations to deal with, relevant to the plot or otherwise. But, truly, daydreaming and letting my mind wander is my modus operandi for character backstories (and regular stories, truth be told).

[pwrestlingxpress]

Reddit Article about Golden☆Lovers History

Found this interesting column by WrestlingisJay on reddit.com about Kenny Omega and Kota Ibushi’s history in which I felt compelled to share it here on the Pro Wrestling Express.  You can click here for comments on the article and if you a member, log in and make your own comment.  Anyway here is what WrestlingisJay had to say about the reunion of the Golden☆Lovers that occurred back on January 28, 2018 at New Beginning in Sapporo Night Two and remember, I take no credit in this.  The credit for this should go to WrestlingisJay on reddit:

Hello, I’m u/WrestlingIsJay! You may remember me from such walls of text as this post or this other post. Today I’m here to invite you to come with me on a journey… a Golden☆ journey! A lot of stuff has already been written on the greatest relationship in pro-wrestling, and I always make sure to send people looking for a quick fill-in to this excellent post from a while ago or this more recent Uproxx article, but what I really wanted to do was to create a place to also include all those little details and bump on the road that obviously often get overlooked for the sake of brevity in those kind of summaries but that I really think make up the soul of this amazing story. All the Small Things, basically (thank you Tom DeLonge). I’ll try my best and I hope people will come up with all those other things I’ll probably leave out in the comments, so to make this more and more complete. Let’s start, shall we?

2008-2012: Beginnings.

I guess pretty much everyone knows how it started at this point, so I’ll be quick: Kenny has a unique vision for pro-wrestling that sets him apart from most of his north American colleagues, finds a clip of Kota Ibushi having DDT-style matches on YouTube and immediately thinks that this guy from across the Ocean must thinks the same way he does, so he sets on a quest to face him no matter the odds. He films himself doing a crazy DDT-styled “Anywhere match to appease to them, cuts a promo on Ibushi and manages to get himself to become the one and only gaijin in DDT for quite a while. They have the match (DDT Universe link, it’s 9$ a month, first month is free), and it’s a rough sketch of everything Omega and Ibushi have in store for pro-wrestling: a perfect blend in of comedy, crazy high spots, unique storytelling and unparalleled athleticism. It ends up winning a MOTY trophy earning Omega his stay… the rest, as they say, is history.

I think one of the best “Small Things” about this is the way Kenny Omega retells it during his appearance on “Japanophiles”, a TV Show about foreigners living in Japan which dedicated an episode to him, in a somewhat-shoot interview he did while he was still in DDT (timestamped link) which really drives home how much of real life anime characters these two are: “I felt that my destiny, if there is such a thing, was to come out here and fight Kota Ibushi”.

He will later say that his first match with Ibushi was also the first time he cried after a match during a 2016 NJPW interview but let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here. They have the match and clearly immediately develop a strong friendship as early pictures and statements from Michael Nakazawa, a huge friend of both and basically the third unofficial member of their team (kind like a proto-Elite), attests. (shout out to @archaicbro by the way, who put together a most useful Twitter-sized recollections of their story). They join forces instead of facing each other again, as DDT originally had planned, and hit one homerun after the other: they even get a MOTY in New Japan in 2010 which, as Kenny recalled in the Edge & Christian Podcast, it’s something Jr. Tag Teams just “don’t do”. Their shenanigans both inside and outside the ring really depicts one hell of a great time for both of them, and Japan loves them as well.

Their peak probably comes in 2012 when, as many will already know, they main evented DDT’s most important show of the year, Peter Pan at the Nippon Budokan arena in Tokyo. There the “sketch” that was their first match together gets refined and they put up one of the greatest matches of all time (here’s another DDT Universe link) battling over the KO-D Openweight Championship, DDT’s top singles belt. One very interesting note: Kota Ibushi wins the match after having kicked out at 2 from a One Winged Angel in the center of the ring, the only wrestler to ever having done so without interferences or rope breaks.

At this point, life couldn’t be better for them, as Kenny himself will say to Meltzer in an interview in 2017 that he felt his career had peaked at that point, having gone all out at such a legendary arena, within a company he helped grow, with Ibushi. Despite that though, unfortunately trouble was brewing not so far on the horizon…

2014-2017: Paradise Lost?

2014 comes, and with it the biggest turn in Kenny Omega’s career arrives. He signs a contract of exclusivity with New Japan Pro-Wrestling and decides to stay a Jr. Heavyweight for the time being: with Kota already a Heavyweight in New Japan, this effectively breaks up their team and sends them separate ways. After an emotional (and pretty crazy) farewell match (rutube link as I couldn’t seem to find the match on DDT Universe), Kenny’s conference with NJPW is unusually cold when he talks about the fact that he will stay separated from Ibushi going forward: whether something happened behind the scenes or Kenny’s just preparing to become the evil Cleaner, we may never know, but the Golden☆Lovers are no more.

This is where turbulent times start for Kenny, and this is where the “Small Things” really shine. You’d be hard pressed to find an interview without a shout out, a quick hint or a monologue of the Cleaner towards his former tag partner, and what it all adds up to is a compelling depiction of someone clearly dealing with a lot of unwanted thoughts in his head. Kenny’s constant wandering with his mind towards Ibushi is so powerful, so humane that the lines between reality and kayfabe gets very blurred, and it’s astounding.

The first big crack in the “wall” Kenny put up to forget about his past obviously comes at Invasion Attack 2015, when in a wonderfully put-together segment wanted by all three involved, Kenny finds himself between a rock and a hard place when he has to help AJ Styles retain his IWGP Heavyweight Championship against Kota. He doesn’t go all out in helping his Bullet Club brother, but the split second hesitation he causes in Ibushi is enough for AJ to turn his Phoenix Splash into a Styles Clash for the 1, 2, 3. After the match, Omega is definitely not thrilled about the outcome and his part in it. Some say this even started (in kayfabe) his path towards the inevitable takeover of the Bullet Club against AJ Styles: even when they just graze each other, Ibushi always has a huge impact on Kenny’s psyche and career.

They will stay apart for all of 2016, the true breakthrough year for the Cleaner, and this seem to weigh in deeply on Omega. After winning the G1, he states to having finally surpassed Kota, but he’s also clearly hurt at his disappearance at such a pivotal moment for him. He will start antagonizing him more and more, building up basically a feud with Kota’s shadow that will accompany him throughout all of 2016 and shape his interactions with him when Ibushi will finally return to New Japan later (as himself, although Kenny didn’t refrain from throwing shade at him with a couple of ironic comments on Twitter about Tiger Mask W’s performances being “a little green”). One important moment comes almost six months later, in March 2017, when TV Asahi hosts a ceremony to make a list of the greatest wrestlers in history and Kenny Omega, ranking #15, ends up standing in front of Kota who is amongst the judges. The look Kenny gives Kota here speaks for himself, but he also doubles down on Twitter, truly opening up for the first time in a while.

Keep in mind what he says here, as it’s one of the greatest details of this whole thing: Kenny clearly sees standing in the ring with Kota as the only way to truly be able to communicate with him after all this time. He doesn’t know how to tell him all the things he would like to, and he doesn’t even know if he would be able to, but he knows damn well how to wrestle, so that’s how he wants to speak to Ibushi – by fighting him. He will say this again later, and he will ultimately state as much after the reunion. But once again, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

WrestleKingdom 11 comes and goes, and Omega becomes the hottest topic in the world of pro-wrestling, but he doesn’t forget Ibushi, not even after his war with Okada: in an exclusive interview he states that the WK11 main event brought him to a ”magical [state of mind] where wrestling didn’t hurt”, something he only felt one other time in his career, ”when I was still in a tag team with… an old friend of mine”. Whatever happens, Ibushi is still there, always lingering in the back of his mind. This becomes evident when the rumors get more and more loud until yes, it’s revealed that Kota Ibushi will indeed be a part of the 27th edition of the G1. Kenny doesn’t hide his intentions: he will take part in the G1 because he wants, because he needs to be in the ring with Kota again. Maybe it’s because he really wants to prove himself he can surpass him, but mostly it’s because he’s aching for that chance to talk to his old friend in the only language he would be able to – that of professional wrestling.

Countless “Small Things” are littered among the interviews, tweets and shoot Q&As Kenny did around this time, but two of the most intense statements can be easily found on New Japan World. The first happens during a Skype interview Kenny did to promote the G1 USA Special. At the 22:53 mark, he gets asked about Kota being in the G1 and cuts a short, but awesome promo. I’ll transcribe here some of the best lines for those unwilling to click the link, as I believe it’s one of Omega’s best mic work I’ve ever heard:

“Look… Ibushi. Yeah, I’ll say his name, Ibushi. It’s been a while. I was waiting… I wondered what it would take. […] after I’ve won the G1 I thought for sure, you would come back to me. After I had the greatest match of all time at the Tokyo Dome, something you could never do, I thought you’d come back. What makes you come back now? What makes you want to challenge the G1 after everything we’ve been through. Is it something that you’re doing for yourself? Are you trying to challenge me? […] Questions that are running through my head. You know… I could always call you, I could always contact you, but I wouldn’t know what to say. […] Let’s do the talking in the ring. I want you to promise me… be a man of your word, promise me Ibushi, that you would make it to the finals. It’s the only way we can meet. Show me how much you’ve grown, and I’ll show you how much I’ve grown. You’re not the man anymore… I’m so much more than what you are now, and I can’t wait to show you the difference in that power.”

This is enough to make the situation look even more like a real-life anime rivalry than already is, but Omega wasn’t finished yet. During his appearance at a NJPW World’s one-hour show called Wonderland (it’s on their streaming service but the clip itself is free, so you can watch it without having to pay the monthly fee), where he was asked to go through all his adversaries for the upcoming G1, he stated multiple times that the only reason he was joining the tournament was Ibushi. In the end, around the 55:00 mark, he addresses Kota directly and cuts another gem:

”A-Block? There’s only one… there’s only one. […] There’s only one I want to beat, there’s only one I want to meet. And It’s you Ibushi. It’s a different world, and I saw your training video. You can’t just wake up one day and say, ‘I’m going to win the G1’! It isn’t that easy… but Ibushi, somewhere in there, I know you have it in you. [If it’s] really is your time, take it. Because I never stopped after you left. After you left me all alone, to fend for myself, I never stopped training, I never stopped sacrificing, I never stopped feeling the pain. I never ran away like you did. If you can make it to the final, that’s where I’ll be waiting. And then finally I’ll make you feel the pain Ibushi, and I’ll show you through my actions everything that I felt while you were away, after you threw me away.”

After these two pieces of work, hype was through the roof, but alas, Ibushi didn’t manage to reach the G1 Finals, and the Golden☆Lovers seemed destined to stay apart… for a little longer.

2017-2018: Reunion.

The finals arrived, and after them, the unexpected happened: a beaten Omega clad in gear that was an homage to his former partner met Ibushi backstage, even if the encounter lasted only for a few, seemingly misunderstood, seconds. A failed connection if there ever was one, for sure. But despise that, things kept moving and Kenny kept going there: in an interview with Kevin Kelly (another free one!) months later, when he was about to defend his IWGP US title against Juice Robinson, he reiterated that his only regret for the G1 Finals was the opponent. He wanted Ibushi, he needed to meet him in that ring, and that need was still there, clear as day. A need that would have been answered months later, in a truly unexpected fashion, amidst the snows of Sapporo.

…and here we are, at last, at the final reunion. At that single shocking moment, ten years in the making. With some unrequested help from the villainous Cody, Omega and Ibushi are standing face to face in the same ring again. It’s nothing like Kenny had thought, there are no wrestling moves involved, no fighting. It’s just his old friend, lending a helping hand, and for him it’s his whole world coming down hard. There’s no more feigning indignation, or hatred, or masquerading the pain of having been left alone. It’s all thrown in his face and the Cleaner’s metallic exterior gets shredded by the events. Underneath, the “real” Kenny resurfaces and after some hesitation, he gives in to a liberating hug. The Golden☆Lovers are back.

Again, click on the link (or here if confused) above to comment on this very interesting article from reddit by WrestlingisJay. 

[artdjgblog]

​Innerview: M.P. / Undisclosed Design Student​

March 2008

Art: DJG, 1999-2002

Note: Email Q&A​

Question:​

hey man, my name is m.p. and i​'​m a graphic design student at UCF, I randomly stumbled across your page doing a search on cubism images on google for a project i am working on... I browsed through your extensive collection and found it inspiring and beautiful... I more or less have the mutual desire of wanting to design posters and art related to music in general, because music is more or less my life, im just not as good at it as i am at art ha.... Anyways I was wondering what advice you had if any in regards to your direction you have taken, how did you get started and involved in making show posters for bands like built to spill and etc... I am more or less clueless to the whole process, I understand networking is obviously a requirement, but are there any other suggestions you have or stories perhaps? Have you always been able to pump out mass amounts of artwork and turn them into such great aesthetic pieces... or is it a talent that you developed at a certain age and just ran with it... Im 22 turning 23 and often times feel like giving up and etc... anyways i understand if you dont have time to respond to random messages like this just thought maybe I could get some feedback from a stranger. take care​.​ ​Answer:​

michael, thank you for getting in contact with me and for the kind words. it means a lot to me that you found my work and took time out to sift through it all. did my cubism imagery help at all? that was for an old college assignment... i kinda pushed it a little bit. i looked at the typography in cubism. anyway... i hope you were able to navigate my site. it's in shambles a bit for now as i'm working on a new one. should be up in April. it's a long process and i'm not advanced in the technological realms and lots of road snares along the way. if you are interested in music and poster design and feel you are stronger in that area... then, just go for it. it's something that i wanted to do as well, especially after visiting design firms and coming back home empty inside for my future. it's great if you can find a spot in a real firm, but i tell people to follow their heart. it wasn't in my heart for anybody else to own my work/heart. indeed, there is no money in the area i'm at with the independent music design. but, i have freedom and am able to have pretty much full custody of my children. and i've for some reason carved some mild success. still, i have to work a day job. i've always managed to find jobs that give me enough free time and very low responsibility. jobs like janitorial / grounds keeping and right now, data entry. my main advice: just make stuff and get yourself out there... make the stuff that you want to make. it's easy to get overwhelmed/frustrated with it though, and i too get there at times, but as long as you are making the stuff that you long to make, then i would chalk one up for the win column. heck, i even had to take about a year off in order to get back in the game with what i'm doing so i wouldn't become burnt out. it was healthy for me. i don't do nearly as much work as i once did, and it's a hard balance as i can't stay up all night like the ol' days of design, and i'm married and have the responsibilities of adulthood and at times it's easy for me to be too self-involved with it all. i guess right now it's more a matter of spreading out the eggs i've been sitting on for seven years and learning to work smarter, not harder. i'm also just doing a lot of work that only i and the basement and the kitties will see. how did i get started on all of this? i had befriended several bands in college and just asked them if i could design for them. and they all said yes. and the work i was doing for them felt more pure than anything that i probably would be doing for an actual design firm. i dropped out of school and eventually moved in with a band in Kansas City, MO and started my paper trail. i then submitted work to magazines/competitions and started getting a little following. true, networking helps, but the majority has been word of mouth for me. now, i'm finally getting to the networking... have i always been able to pump out work? well, i guess so. i stayed in my room a lot growing up and even when i wasn't in my room, i was always making stuff on my farm that i grew up in. i enjoy being by myself in great measures. and with my head, every day is darn different, so i've never had trouble with the ability to always be working or making or thinking or finding new channels and avenues to lock into. always gotta be making or thinking or filling up the wagon behind me and then spitting it all back out into a ticker tape parade. inspiration is in all things. and i always say, if i'm not doing anything, then i must be doing something. at at this stage in my ball game, i play all positions and just making moves that aren't really pre-calculated, more like a third arm sometimes. just make, don't think. but, now you've got me thinking too much. and that can be a dangerous thing. my goal is to eventually be able to handle free-lance illustrating and music graphics full-time, and it's not too far off, and mostly been waiting on the arrival of my new site to sling my work from. but for now i'm just working away. and the past month i caught a new wind. i'm also trying to conjure up a book or something... among many other little things. actually, lots of things. just not enough time in the day, you know?! and it adds fuel when i find out that people are taking time out in this fast-paced world and getting a tickle out of my work. really, i appreciate it greatly. thank you. i hope i was able to answer your questions. sorry if this felt too rushed. shoot... i have to run up the street now to eat. just get out there and make some things! thanks again! -djg ps: do you have any of your work online?

[fifielady]

The Blue Dues

Ship: USUK

|ao3|

Bright and deep blue. The ocean and sky are free and endless but are enclosed in those eyes. And Arthur knows all he can do is to drown in them.

(Second fic to The Wizard in the Backyard Series)

Part 1 of 3

Arthur Kirkland, wizard extraordinaire and self-certified gentleman, was not a coward. 

Many times has he faced beings and occasions worth fearing. He was also a fearsome person who had done a few questionable acts in his lifetime. He still does, sparingly.  And Arthur was sure that at least most people that met him had a semblance of the feeling 'fear' when facing him; he could prove it at any given moment.

As stated, Arthur was not the type of person to back down and retreat faster than the neighboring duke's chef, and that people like the chef usually and mostly find a way to escape him. Yet. Why did he slam his front door shut when he was taking his broom to leave for the capital? 

Er, it was more like what he saw.

He wasn't afraid of Victoria, oh no, not at all. The maid liked him as much as he liked himself, somewhere around not-at-all. And she wouldn't hesitate to raise her fist to his gentlemanly face but that was not what bothered him. What, not who thank you very much, made him turn around, lock his front door shut, and burn his face brighter than the red silk dress his mother bought from the southern empire, was the bouquet of flowers cradled in Victoria's arms.

'What was this?! A powerful wizard cowering like a priest seduced by an incubus at the sight of flowers?', you may ask? Well, this was the third bouquet now! He had already told him, by letter of course, that it was nothing to worry about and that he was completely fine with it. Yes. Completely fine... And not at all conflicted.

A lie. A god damn lie. An as big-as-his-ego-lie. Arthur had to be comforted the rest of the afternoon and then the whole night by his little friends. They were fretting for his well-being so much they almost burned his cottage down to the ground to cook dinner while Arthur himself was fretting what to do next after that--that kiss.

A bored kick on the door jolted him to awareness. "Oi, Mister Wizard, " the clicking of heels and the shuffling of the flowers could be heard from the other side of the door, "Stop being rude and accept the flowers."

The maid was right. He was being rude. Not accepting the blooms from his next-door neighbor's luxurious garden as an apology bouquet for the little and harmless misunderstanding they had three days ago is disrespectful and completely goes against the image he was working hard for. 

Besides, they really were only apology flowers anyway. That was not a good reason to be upset--much less, disappointed. 

Arthur brushed off the non-existent dust off of his cloak and gripped the doorknob. Steeling himself, Arthur slowly creaked the door open. "Seriously, don't you know that some people have a lot of things to do than you do?" Victoria reprimanded him as she carelessly throws at him the arrangement of daffodils and lilacs, "I can't believe I let you talk me into coming with you to this country!"

The wizard barely caught the gift. Arthur bristled, to the careless handling of his gift and her statement, "Wha-- You were the one begging to come along! And you can't tell me you don't find working as the head maid of the prestigious house of Sableon is better than where you worked before, Victoria." 

He was right about the events, as always. The green-eyed wizard had met Victoria and saved her from her doom when he was operating under the orders of Her Majesty to reclaim a book from a library in the "annoying little kingdom in the southwest".

Victoria crossed her arms in a begrudging agreement. She held her head high as she stood her ground, looking at him straight in the eye. Arthur frowned back at her. For a person whom he'd 'rescued', she was too prideful. Or was it because she simply disliked him so.

"Oh? Are you going on a journey or something?" She asked as her eyes observed his thick, violet wizard cloak and a gold lion pin which represented his rank. It was Arthur's uniform. And was for every other registered wizard in the kingdom, except for the pin.

"Or something, yes. The Tower needed someone who could continue to observe the last stage of this year's examination. I was told that a professor had gotten himself thrown off of one of the windows and broke his spine when he chased down a thief loitering in the palace," Arthur winced and the maid thought for a second there he was concerned about this person but Arthur continued without a beat, "So much for my retirement--err vacation." 

Victoria sighed in defeat. She had given up reforming her "friend" long ago. But perhaps another could. The maid eyed the bouquet with amusement. This scene with the Lion-ranked wizard cradling the flowers with gentleness while his face was the face of someone cursing another's existence is very silly. She was sure if he hadn't met her current employer, he'd have burned the arrangement with lightning. And have it thrown to a crater of a volcano.

She snatched the bouquet from his hands. Arthur spluttered in displeasure from having his apology gift taken away from him. Victoria tutted at him before he could complain any further. "I know you're in a hurry--"

"Damn right." She shot him a look.

"--So I'll put these in a vase," she waved the bouquet at his face, "and lock your house for you while you fly on your magic stick to the palace to babysit your magelings."

Arthur looked at her with surprise and nodded as he took his broomstick near the doorway. "Ah, thank you for the trouble Victoria."

She waved him away. "Go, it's the most I can do for you." And Arthur took off on his broomstick into the air with a nod. 

Victoria went inside the quaint cottage to find a vase to put the flowers in. It was strange. The duke was the kind of person who'd go out of his way to do most things first-hand and face-to-face. Her brow furrowed as she poured water in the vase for the flowers. There were two other arrangements set on a nearby windowsill, the ones she was ordered to give yesterday and the day before. This was the third bouquet.

The garden was least frequented by the staff of the mansion. The only ones who knew what happened there that day were only the duke and the wizard so no one knew why both abruptly refused to meet the other personally.

Victoria paused as she locked the front door. If both were avoiding the other, then it would be too late. She forgot that Alfred had gone on a carriage to the palace for business at sunrise. The same palace that the Tower Arthur was probably complaining about.

Well, their private matters don't concern her. Both were grown men, the duke and the wizard can solve their tension themselves.

////////////

"You there! Stop drinking the damned Frogswurt-- No-- Move, you fool!" Arthur's scolding reverberated across the walls of the magically-distorted room making the magelings flinch and drop apparatuses. The wizard could feel the veins throbbing on his forehead. Give him the apprentices who practice divination any day, just not these idiots who couldn't even differentiate Ivory Stone from Chalk Stone. Ugh.

And he was supposed to enjoy his three-year vacation, too! Right now, Arthur was regretting buying a cottage and not a beautiful ship to sail to a tropical islet. Alone and at peace.

The questionable sound of something sizzling snapped him back into his current nightmare. Shit, he thought as he witnessed an apprentice from the furthest row ignite his potion with Lizard Breath. Explosives weren't on the course. Students were forbidden to brew fiery potions at the palace court. 

They were all going to burn...

The wizard jumped off from his platform and sprinted. He dodged the boiling pots and students. The air surrounding them warmed. Arthur could imagine it was the heat of the sun as he lay on the white sand. But he wasn't going to get that if he doesn't flip the utterly stupid mageling's table.

His breath had become shorter and he was still eight rows away-- too little time! The apprentice, while looking at a potion book,  was haphazardly adding more and more Lizard Breath to the potion as it hissed and sparked. Arthur raised two fingers at the pot and yelled, "Suelvert!"

Silver sparks shot from his fingers and hit against the charred side of the pot. All of a sudden, the sizzling pot of potion sucked itself into a smaller angry pot. It shook and hopped as it went from large to small to little to as tiny as a ring. The transformed container spewed a line of fire and even at its size, the thin column of fire almost reached the ceiling.

The student was now aware of the actions, and lack thereof, he had caused. The poor mageling faced Arthur as pale as his maker's bosom and squeaked under the heavy green glare. No one dared to move nor utter a word as Arthur Kirkland strode his way to the young wizard. 

"You fool! You could have burnt this place and everyone else to the ground. I don't even want to know what was running in your mind during an examination that needed your absolute attention." Arthur hissed, angry and tired. He was spent. Arthur adored children but could barely do a good job watching them. The wizard took a deep breath. "Clean your table. You are going to Miss Elizabeta." 

He watched with resigned irritation (mostly frightened by the possibility of arson under his watch),  weariness, and a little bit of pity at the student he scolded. Arthur had been there; it was part of the natural paths of being a competent wizard.

The wizard turned to walk back to his pedestal to oversee the others once again. Hushed murmurs and whispers slowly replaced the silence that had overtaken the room. Everyone went back to their respective pots and tables and continued their brewing and mixing and mutterings of magic.

He shut his eyes and leaned back on the high chair. A headache was beginning to throb at the back of his head. Arthur wants to go home and relax on the chair by the window overlooking his garden with his bouquet from Alfred beside him. Smelling the sweet scent of lilacs and daffodils and enjoying the summer breeze was what he should be doing right now.

Daffodils and Lilacs... Arthur shook his head as if to shake away that line of thought. After all, if Alfred didn't know the names of most flowers, then he wouldn't know their meanings.

Arthur looked up to examine the fledgling wizards upfront only to see a troubled-looking girl staring at her cauldron. The student suddenly yelped in surprise as her pot grumbled and rumbled on the table, rolling off the glass bottles from the table to the floor. 

Their wizard guardian, dreading the rest of the day, absently flicked his wrist in a silent command 'Sedpus' and caught the falling glass from shattering. Arthur groaned, it was only the first hour out of five.

Maybe he should visit the fae living in the palace gardens. They always cheered him up. The Magic Tower was quite close to the gardens so walking would take little time... Well, at least now he had something to look forward to in the palace.

tbc

|2|

[leisurelypanda]

Here We Go Again chapter 4

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11776227/chapters/27061308

They managed to make an appointment with Michael’s ob-gyn, Dr. Whittaker for the following Thursday. In the next couple days, Craig was a bundle of excitement. He spent some time upstairs, trying to decide whether he should have the new child sleep in River’s room with her or whether they should convert the spare room into a second nursery. Michael thought that it was a bit early to be planning anything until they knew how far along he was, but he honestly loved how ecstatic the idea of having another child made his bro. He remembered his first interaction with Joseph and how he had joked that anyone with more than 2 kids had to be crazy. Now he worried whether he might be crazy himself. They had Amanda, who was in college. They had the twins, who were in elementary school. River would be 2 by the time he gave birth, she’d be starting to walk and talk and everything.

 He hoped that it was a boy, honestly. They had 4 girls already. And he loved all of them (especially Amanda, but who could blame him? He raised her himself), but he honestly was curious as to what it would be like to have a son (whether he was born that way or came out later in life). He could imagine Craig teaching him how to play sports the way he taught his daughters how to play softball (he only knew the basics about soccer, which was enough to kick the ball around with the girls). He saw himself and Amanda teaching him to be a rebellious rascal.

 They hadn’t told the kids yet. It was still too soon. That said, nearly everyone who saw Craig knew that he was even more happy and boisterous than he usually was. It was infectious, really. His personal apprehension at being pregnant again was mitigated somewhat by his bro’s enthusiasm. He honestly could not have asked for a better partner to have another child with. He knew, of course, that there were lots of people who had children later in life and were completely fine. But he had lived so long with the message that pregnancy was dangerous later in life that he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. It was a huge help that Craig’s boundless optimism and enthusiasm for the situation was so predominant.

 By the time the day of the ob-gyn appointment arrived, Michael was a lot steadier and calmer than he had been when he first received the positive result. Craig went with him, of course. For moral support. The official test echoed the over-the-counter tests and Michael’s doctor, Dr. Whittaker, did a general health assessment to determine the risk of complication during the pregnancy. Michael, it turned out, was about 4 or 5 weeks pregnant.

 “You seem much healthier than the last time you scheduled a visit with us,” she remarked. “I’m generally optimistic about your prognosis.”

 “So there’s no risk?” Michael asked.

 “Well there’s always some risk,” she said. “but I would say that your risk is largely minimal.”

 “See, dude?” Craig beamed. “All that running and working out is paying off.”

 “Your workout regimen should be scaled back, however,” Dr. Whittaker said. “Don’t overdo it.”

 “How much are we talking, here?” Craig asked.

 “30 minutes of moderate exercise at least 4 days a week is ideal,” she said. “Avoid heavy lifting. Avoid overheating while working out and saunas, hot tubs, and the like. Yoga sessions for pregnant people would be an excellent option.”

 They asked some a few more questions, when around the baby would be born, when they could find out the sex, dieting suggestions to help ensure Michael’s health. When they were done, she handed them a schedule that had visits twice a month every month for the first 6 months and then every week for the last 3 months. As they left the office, Michael felt more optimistic about the situation than he had in days. He was actually a little excited to be pregnant again.

  2 weeks after the ob-gyn visit, Michael decided the worst part about being pregnant, aside from the whole throwing up every morning thing, was that he had to limit his intake of caffeine. Which was sort of okay so far, since he hadn’t started feeling tired all the time, but he really hated not being able to drink coffee when he woke up in the morning so he could go into the world without hating literally everyone. The first time Craig said early in the morning that water was better for you anyway, Michael glared groggy, sleepy daggers at him over a mug of said water.

 Pregnancy sucks, he thought, sitting at his work desk bitterly wishing he could go get some fucking coffee. He was just tired. All. The. Time. Amanda didn’t give me this much trouble, he tried to telepathically communicate to their little hybrid bro growing in his uterus. Please have mercy on me.

 When he was pregnant with Amanda he hadn’t actually been that tired for most of the pregnancy. Just the last month or so. Which was hell, but that was expected. These days, the only way he woke up was by running to the bathroom early in the morning.

 He sighed and got back to work. And by work, he meant thinking up baby names for the baby because it was a slow day at the firm and he had finished all the busy work he had for the day. On the sheet of paper in front of him he had a column for boy names and one for girl names. The list of boy names was longer. Bryce. Dakota. Jeremy. Jordan. Aiden. Liam. Julian. Samuel. Landon. Adrian. Brayden. Bryson. Easton. Nolan. Hayden. Leo. Jayce.  Chase (the potential for puns would be amazing). Elias. Evan. Asher. Malcolm. Simon. Cameron. Mark. Hunter. Mason. Grayson.

 I should really go to human services and tell them that I’m pregnant so no one will be surprised by my frequent need to pee or see my doctor, he thought. That’ll burn, like 30 minutes of my time if I’m lucky. He looked at the clock. 2:30. Maybe I can just leave early to pick up the kids and go home. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

 Craig got home later that night to find no one home. There was evidence of the twins. Their backpacks were on the kitchen table, homework looked done. But they were nowhere to be found. Finally he heard laughing outside from the back yard and he went out to find his bro and tiny bros running around kicking a soccer ball in the dark with the porch lights on. Michael was carrying River around strapped to his chest, going a little more slowly than his girls so he wouldn’t exert himself. Craig just watched them play for a while. He could get used to seeing his bro and tiny bros running around together. It was a beautiful thing.

 Eventually one of them looked up and shouted, “Dad’s home!” They ran up to him and he knelt and grabbed them in one big hug, kissing their heads.

 “Hey tiny bros,” he said. “How was school, today?”

 “Briar ate a bug at recess,” Hazel said. “It was awesome!”

 “Nuh-uh!” she protested. “Hazel ate a bug and she’s trying to pin it on me!”

 “Hazel…” Craig said. “What have I told you about impersonating your sister?”

 “That it was impulsive and rude?” she asked.

 “Yes exactly,” Craig replied. “Except the exact phrase I used was, ‘don’t.”

 “I’m so proud of you,” Michael said. “Of your dad, not you Hazel. Don’t impersonate your sister.”

 Craig let them go and stood up to kiss his bro. “How are you feeling, bro? How was work?”

 Michael sighed into the kiss. “It was boring. I’m tired. I miss coffee. I looked up some baby names.”

 “Oh yeah, bro?” he asked, grinning. “Gimme a minute to change and get started on dinner. I wanna hear what you got.”

 Craig changed out of his business suit. Michael got out the paper with his list of names and read them aloud as he helped Craig cook dinner. And by help, he mostly just chopped vegetables to throw into the spaghetti. Craig listened and occasionally commented on ones he liked (not surprisingly, he liked any and all nature names). When he was done, Craig produced his list of names and they compared notes.

 “Craig, bro, babe, I’m not calling my child Forrest,” Michael insisted.

 “What’s wrong with Forrest?” Craig asked. “Forests are awesome!”

 “Until you get lost in one,” Michael countered, chopping some mushrooms.

 “Whatever, bro. Nature is cool. Nature names are cool,” Craig said. “And may I remind you of how we started dating in the first place?”

 “I’m not saying I disagree with you, just not with Forrest,” Michael replied. “And if you ask me, that’s all the more reason to not name our child that. Who wants to be named after the place where their parents first had sex? That would scar them.”

 “Bro, I think we need a third opinion.”

 “YOU’RE PREGNANT????” Amanda said calmly over the video chat thing. “Skype” the twins had called it. “POPS, I DEMAND TO KNOW WHY I WASN’T THE FIRST TO KNOW!!! Or, you know, at least the second. But why am I JUST NOW hearing about this?”

 “Well…” Michael said, “I was nervous about the whole thing so I didn’t want to tell you/make a general announcement until we were a few months along.”

 “I can respect that,” Amanda replied. “How far are you along, anyway?”

 “The doctor figures I’m about 6-7 weeks pregnant,” he said.

 Amanda nodded. “Yeah, I can see why you didn’t want to say anything. So what do you need my opinion on? I’m not giving up my room for the new kid.”

“No worries Manda Panda,” Michael said. “We already moved all your stuff back to the old house.”

 “Wait, really?” she said. “Then hell yeah the kid can have my room! I’ll have loud, obnoxious parties all summer and adopt, like 6 dogs!”

 “Nope, sorry kiddo,” Craig said. “We’re converting the spare room into another nursery. Briar and Hazel will room together.”

 “Well, as long as I get my own space, I’m happy,” she said. “What’s the question, now that we’ve gotten off topic?”

 “If the kid turns out to be a boy,” Michael said, “Craig wants to name him Forrest.”

 “No.” Amanda said. “My little brother will not be named Forrest.”

 “What do you two have against Forrest?” Craig demanded.

 “It’s kind of a boring name. No offense, Craig” Amanda said.

 “Thanks, Manda Panda,” Michael said.

 “We have to name him something nature themed,” Craig said. “I got a whole thing going with my kids.”

 “Craig, I hate to break it to you,” Michael said, “but most nature names are feminine names.”

 “So?”

 “So even though I’m all for breaking the gender binary,” he explained, “I also know what it’s like to be misgendered and I don’t want that for my kids, bro.”

 Craig thought for a moment. “I get where you’re coming from, bro,” he said. “I didn’t think about that.”

 Michael laid a hand on his. “We have plenty of time to figure out a name, bro,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

[personalsecondblog]

9.9.18

It’s 8:44 PM. End of the weekend and start of the third week.

I felt very accomplished because I completed assignments that were due today yesterday. And I took initiative and adjusted my team’s Doc and Sheet to let them decide what sections they want to be responsible for. At first, I thought, “How do I get my teammates to start working on the project without sounding bossy?”. So, then I remembered of a team that operated smoothly from last semester. I was grateful that I didn’t delete the group chat so I browsed and found that although I was the one who proposed we split up the group essay in person, another girl in the group actually asked us which parts did we want to work on.  When I saw how smoothly things went after that, I got an idea of how to split up the work. I finally filled in the two columns in the Sheet that I purposefully left empty as columns for people to sign up for each section. I almost forgot how to recreate what I had earlier in the sheet, but I remembered. (Good old data verification) That thing allowed me to create a list of names to choose from instead of having to type it in. I thought it was so cool, but only a few people from my team were able to see it :( Anyway, I’m proud of what I’ve done on Excel that I haven’t really learned from an actual class. I just taught myself from looking at the Google sheet templates. 

So, almost all of the team is signed up for a section, except Goro.........

Goro is that guy in my team who always wants to wrap meetings up, but doesn’t contribute any material. If he had contributed any material , we would’ve finished the meeting earlier, but still he has the nerve to ask to finish things up. 

Anyway, maybe he’s got some troubles. The new chick, Sheeva, actually tells us she’s at work so at least we know she’s not ignoring texts. But Goro...Goro missed the first homework deadline for the class and stayed mostly quiet today...To me, it’s a bad start, but considering that I know he procrastinates, it might be how he will treat the team project. Or his phone service is horrible and he didn’t get our texts. Or he’s got some personal problems and doesn’t want to answer our texts right now.  WHATEVER!

With this system I’ve set up, it makes it very clear who isn’t pulling their weight or is holding the team back because everyone can see who’s responsible for what and what still needs to be done. That said, hopefully this puts pressure on my team to do their work efficiently because they can see in “real-time” if they’re behind the rest of us...and it will give them something to think about when they do peer evaluation. 

Hopefully, this gets the ball rolling and I don’t have to babysit my team anymore. I have to thank my past self for setting the deadline for our rough draft before Thanksgiving because I already have a lot on my plate and wouldn’t have come up with that now. 

Ugh, it’s a lot of time and effort that I put in to organizing for my team, but no one else is going to do it even though they feel entitled to be in charge. I could’ve done this yesterday, but I was procrastinating too. Ugh, no more spontaneous day trips. I ended up getting lost in Manhattan Beach and ended up in Playa del Rey yesterday. The upside was I found Dockweiler Beach, a beach I thought was far from where I live. 

I wish that would be the end of it, but no. I’ve got a long list of things to do for my other classes. 

EDIT:  I knew I jumped the gun when I tried to choose our country too early. You see,I read the slides for Ch. 2 and 3 and they have way more information on the criteria for an ideal candidate for an FDI. If the professor would’ve directed that to us earlier,  it would’ve made selecting a country easier because we did this blind.