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twistsandtwizzles · 1 year ago

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Stars on Mars: Episode 5

After a week off thanks to the Fourth of July, we’re back with a new episode of Starssssss on Marssssss. Full disclosure before we dive in that I am already a glass and a half of wine deep before even pressing play, because we’re all just doing our best these days, okay?

Shatner kicks us off with the previously on: robot dogs, Lance taunting Ariel with a dead roach, blow torches, and Natasha and Schwartz getting eliminated. We ended on a cliffhanger: four new mystery celebrities are on their way to join the hab.

Adam has our opening confessional: “Yesterday was an emotional day,” he says, as we watch the sunrise over the Australian desert Mars. “People I got close to left, and it feels really different without them here. But we have four new people coming to Mars. I’m really looking forward to having all this brand new energy in the hab.”

Adam wanders into the kitchen, where the Lady AI Hab Voice greets him. “It’s a quiet morning in the hab, Adam,” she says, as he makes some toast.

“It is,” he agrees. “I struggled a bit this morning to get up. And I only did it because I like you so much.”

Lady Hab Voice, who I should really give a name, responds, “I am your analysis device and constant companion, and if I had feelings, I might like you too.”

This makes Adam chuckle. “You got it, girl.” (“This AI is getting really cheeky this morning,” he tells someone offscreen.)

Ariel, Marshawn, and Lance are playing darts. Ariel explains that she and Lance very much do not get along. “It’s safe to say we’re not friends.”

Lance tells the camera that Ariel is a tyrant and he doesn’t connect with her, “which is the nature of my life." No comment.

Ariel wins the darts game, to Lance’s displeasure.

Tinashe, Porsha, and Ariel talk about the new arrivals. “What if one of them is a chef?!” Porsha asks. She begins listing the food she hopes is in the resupply containers, which she calls “the necessities” - butter and cheese ("and cheese, and cheese"). I love her.

Tinashe gives a talking head about some of the remaining celebrities and their strengths. “Right now I think Porsha is the most influential in the hab because she breaks down the barriers of the cliques, she has the ability to talk to anyone and be pretty democratic.” She notes that the “athletes” clique - Ronda, Marshawn, and Lance - seems to be especially tight.

Ronda confirms as much in her confessional, saying that she feels most comfortable around the athletes, and calls them her support system. We get some footage of Lance and Ronda sparring a bit in the workout room, and then Marshawn asks Lance if he can punch at him. “No, you can hold,” Lance says.

Marshawn scoffs. “Man, that’s what you’re here for. To be the punching bag.”

Our next scene is a clip that went semi-viral so you may have seen it online already. The crew is all in the kitchen (or within earshot of it) when Lance, seemingly unprompted, brings up a podcast he was on recently talking about transgender athletes in sports. I’m not going to transcribe Lance’s thoughts on the matter, because they don’t deserve the oxygen and I’ll link to the scene below, but needless to say most of the cast is visibly uncomfortable as Lance talks.

“To me I think we just have to care about if you otherize people,” Tinashe says. “It’s not good for their mental health.”

“Do what?” Lance asks. “What’s that mean?”

“Like exclude them from the spaces and places where everyone else is,” Tinashe says, with far more grace and patience than I would have in the same situation.

“We’re not excluding anyone,” Lance says, before adding the perennial refrain of bigots everywhere: “I’m like the most liberal person. But from a sporting perspective . . .”

Tinashe notes in her talking head that she “didn’t really think that (Lance) should be the spokesperson for that” which again leads me to conclude that the entire cast was forced to agree that Lance’s doping could not be brought up while cameras were on.

“You’re ostracizing people who don’t fit in the categories,” Ariel adds, as Adam looks on from nearby, visibly pissed.

Lance says in HIS talking head that there are lots of controversial topics and look, he’s just trying to start a dialogue, okay, and god I hate him so much.

“That is so disheartening,” Adam says to Ariel after she flees the kitchen and joins him in the command center. Both of them look a little heartbroken.

“Those comments, here in this experiment,” Adam tells the camera, “have completely shifted the energy and have completely shifted the focus, and I will not EVER forget them.”

“This is not a conversation you need to be having here,” Porsha says to Lance. “You’re not at your kitchen table.”

“It’s way more nuanced than he’s making it,” Adam tells Ariel, as Tinashe walks over to join them. “Way more nuanced. For those trans girls to compete in sports, they need to be on these testosterone blockers for -”

“- For a long long time,” Tinashe finishes, as Adam nods and agrees. The three of them fall into a sad silence.

You can watch both the scene and read the interview Adam gave about it here - and I strongly recommend you read the interview with Adam as it sheds some light into some off-camera dialogue with Lance, and also contains this excellent quote: “I don’t need to hear what the greatest cheater in American history has to say about what he thinks is an unfair advantage.”

When we return from commercial, we’re back to regularly scheduled programming, and it’s time to discuss who should be our base commander. Ronda throws out Ariel’s name, and Ariel demurs that she’d love to but she’s not sure the timing is right. Tinashe says she thinks Porsha would be good at the job.

In one of the bunk rooms, Tinashe, Porsha, and Adam are talking strategy. Tinashe tells the other two that one of them should be commander. “If I’m BC, there is no way that either of you are in the bottom three,” Adam tells them.

“I think the game is really changing,” Adam says in his confessional. “We have four new people joining us here in the hab, but we have no idea who the new crew might be. So did I think it was time for some strategy? I did.” He explains that he wants him, Porsha, and Tinashe to be the final three standing.

“I want to do it,” Adam says, back in the bunk room. Tinasha and Porsha promise him their votes.

“I do NOT do alliances,” Porsha tells the camera. “Alliances ruin things. So we are not standing *against* anyone else. We’re just standing *for* each other.” Sounds like semantics to me: the Porsha/Adam/Tinashe alliance has officially been formed.

The official vote goes pretty smoothly: Adam stands up and says, “I think I would be a good base commander.” (“I think you would be a great base commander!” Tinashe replies, as if she is pleasantly surprised by this turn of events.) “I think I’m a good communicator -” (“Agreed,” Lance says somewhat begrudgingly) “- clear and concise, I can think on my feet . . . I’m ready to buckle down and take us to Mars.”

And with that, Adam is unanimously selected this week’s base commander.

Side note I have been writing this recap for more than an hour and we are only thirteen minutes into this episode and this is all Lance Armstrong’s fault.

Time to assign base duties. First up: collecting rock samples. Marshawn immediately volunteers, he wants to go outside. So does Lance. Ronda also excitedly raises her hand. “Marshawn and Ronda, you’re going to collect rock samples,” Adam says. Lance pouts. (“It’s fine,” he tells the camera.)

Ronda and Marshawn wander around outside, and Ronda is totally jazzed. She is telling Marshawn all kinds of Mars facts. “Did you like, read the encyclopedia for Mars?” he asks.

“No, I just watched a lot of YouTube,” she replies. In her talking head, Ronda explains that she’s always been fascinated with rocks and stuff and that she was trying very hard not to nerd out on Marshawn. But Ronda is clearly geeked, and it’s really charming.

“I don’t know what the hell she was saying,” Marshawn says. “I just nodded my head.”

Marshawn wanders over to a little incline so he can hit a big rock with his spade, because I think that maybe Marshawn is actually a nine year old boy in an NFL player’s body. Ronda warns him that the rocks don’t look especially stable, so of course he immediately falls down.

Marshawn and Ronda discuss their alliance: “Are we making it to the end?” Ronda asks him. Marshawn says he’s not sure he’ll make it that far with all the twists and turns in the game - but that he’ll always have her back.

Emergency alarms blare inside, and Adam sprints across the hab in his socks yelling “Emergency! Emergency! Emergency!” The team gathers to watch Shatner’s message. The resupply vessel has crashed, and worse, it has split in half! This has caused two nuclear canisters to break free. (The cut to Marshawn here, with very wide eyes, is an excellent editing choice.) The mission: locate the downed craft, safely dispose of the nuclear canisters, and rescue the four new crew members.

“Alright, so,” Base Commander Adam says, snapping into business mode and turning to his crew. “It sounds like that ship that had four people coming in crashed. And there’s radioactivity that you’ve got to bury in the ground. Feels like a serious mission, but you guys feel like serious people.”

Ronda laughs while Porsha nods, feigning seriousness. “I love this pep talk,” Porsha says.

“I think at this point you need to have a little strategy,” Adam tells the camera. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

Back in the command center, he says: “Porsha, I would love for you to be my mission specialist.”

Porsha is thrilled and Ronda starts chanting, “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

“I am so shocked!” Porsha says. “I wasn’t even prepared so I don’t have a speech.” But then she dives into one anyway. “I want to first thank Ronda, you have gotten me ready for this role, you’re getting out and punching me every day and I really do appreciate it. To our base commander: stay fabulous and get us through this mission.”

“I wasn’t expecting an acceptance speech,” Adam says drily, later on in his confessional. “Did I love it? Every second.”

“I do want to give a warning,” Porsha tells the group. “This mission is before we bring on the four people. We have been charged with the mission to go get them - which means one of us is maybe going home in the place of those four people. So let’s really, really show up for the original team on this mission.”

Porsha also notes that new people may mean more competition, but it also means she can re-wear some of her outfits since they haven’t seen them yet.

The team suits up and heads out, Adam and Porhsa ushering them out the airlock with another pep talk and some twerking. The two mission leaders situate themselves at the command center, noting that the team has a great attitude today. “And so do we!” They high-five. I am here for this duo.

The mission begins. The crew is going to use the robot dogs to find the nuclear canisters and drag the canisters to a nearby cave - where they will blow both the robot dogs and the canisters up.

Ronda is SO GEEKED OUT about this mission. “I got handed a playstation controller attached to an actual robot and it’s like the clouds opened up and the light shined upon my face and said, ‘it is your time.’” Lance directs Ronda on where to steer the robot, and they successfully get the canister and the dog into the cave.

The other robot dog - Eartha - has a bit more difficulty - it’s not responding to the controller Tinashe has. “So I’m going to be honest,” Adam says. “I think Eartha had a mind of her own and was trying to avoid her duties.”

Then we’re treated to this little gem of an exchange, as Ariel and Tinashe stand approximately a foot apart:

Ariel: “Tinashe?”

Tinashe: “Yes.”

Ariel: “Tinashe?”

Tinashe: “Yes?”

Ariel: “Tinashe!”

Tinashe: “Yes! What? I am literally right behind you!”

Ariel: “Sorry! I can’t hear anything!”

Marshawn, on the other side of the mission site and listening in on comms, is losing his shit.

Eventually Eartha starts to move and they get the canister into the cave. “This will be the last time we touch or see Eartha or Marsha,” Porsha tells the crew. “They are sacrificing themselves today.”

“I will name a crater that is over forty kilometers wide after you,” Ronda says to the robots solemnly, and the specificity of this made me laugh.

“You all ready to blow some shit up?” Marshawn asks. He pushes the detonator and I do have to admit that the ensuing explosion is fairly impressive.

“Marshaaaaaaaaaa!” Porsha wails as she watches the explosion from the hab, arms outstretched.

Phase 1 of the mission is complete, so now it’s time for Phase 2 - gathering the supplies and rescuing the new crew members. This moves pretty quickly, and soon the supplies are all on the vehicles and the team opens the door to the downed spacecraft. We meet our new crew members one by one:

Paul Pierce, NBA All-Star

Andy Richter, Comedian

Ashley Iaconetti, “Bachelor Royalty” (I actually watched her season of The Bachelor, on which there were several Ashleys so she was always called “Ashley I” and I will be referring to her this way in recaps going forward because that is just . . . who she is to me. Also she was iconically dumped on a two-on-one date and left sitting alone in the Badlands crying while that season’s Bachelor flew away in a helicopter. Frankly she dodged a bullet, and I think she would agree with me on that seeing as she’s now married to some other dude from the Bachelor franchise. But this is not a Bachelor recap!)

Cat Cora, Iron Chef

The SCREAM of joy Porsha lets out at the arrival of a chef is adorable.

“I think there’s been some hesitance towards new people entering the hab,” Adam says. “But I feel like we’re really going to hit it off. And I hope that we do. Or we’re going to be in some serious shit.”

The full group arrives back at the hab, and everyone is chattering excitedly and can’t hear Adam and Porsha as they try and talk to them through their comms. This causes Ariel to say, “Hey, base command is trying to talk to us so let’s listen so we can get our ass inside.”

This immediately rubs Paul the wrong way. “The way she was talking to us in a really bossy kind of way, I thought she came off kind of firm and aggressive and I really didn’t like that,” he says.

The newbies are ushered inside. Paul comes in first, followed by Cat (“the first female Iron Chef” Laby Hab Voice tells us).

“I hope you like bread and I hope you like ketchup,” Adam tells her.

“I can make magic with that!” she replies.

Once Adam and Ashley I are also inside, Porsha asks the newbies who they think should be eliminated. Paul immediately says that he thought Ariel was “a little firm.” Cat and Ashley kind of agree that Ariel was maybe a little aggressive, if she wasn’t even the person in charge.

“I’m not voting for anyone,” Andy says. “I just got here. I’m here to make friends!”

Back upstairs, Tinashe says she was feeling pretty protective of the original crew. She didn’t love the idea that one of them would have to go home.

Luckily, Shatner is here with good news: because they just got so many new supplies, there’s no reason to send anyone home! Adam is given permission to let everyone inside. Adam and Porsha are thrilled and relieved.

Of course, Porsha and Adam toy with the crew a little bit first: “Okay, our crew in the airlock - this moment is very serious,” Adam says.

“On this mission, everyone, to me, was mission critical.” Porsha continues, solemnly.

Adam takes a deep breath. “Yeah. And so . . . if everyone feels like they were mission critical . . . then come on in!”

The crew all breathes a sigh of relief and heads back through the airlock.

Lance is excited about the new people coming in with “less drama.” He says as much to Cat and Ashley I, and Ashley is especially excited to learn details of what went down because “I’m from the Bachelor franchise, I need the drama.”

Lance just says that Ariel was awful and warns Cat and Ashley to avoid her. Cue my eyeroll.

Cut to the unpacking of new supplies - kitchen utensils, pizza, hot wings (“I want to cry,” Ronda says), and more goodies. As they dig into the new food, the group chitchats and Paul says openly that he voted to eliminate Ariel before they knew no one was getting kicked off.

“Wow, okay,” Ariel says. “You just got here?”

Cat promises the crew that she’s going to cook a feast tomorrow night, which earns her a hug from Porsha. She says that she’s a fierce competitor and her goal is to win . . . and knows that she can win favor with her cooking skills.

Ashley I says that whoever fits in best with the original crew is who is going to make it to the end, so that is her strategy.

And Andy says that he would just really love to beat the super competitive people, which is honestly is also my motivation in most games.

Then we have Lance, who says that he wants to win, desperately. “However, I’m going to have to survive the current situation, the current drama, the current politics. I’m not for everybody, and I think the world knows that. But life on Mars is not a popularity contest.”

You'd think that would be the last note before credits. But we end, however, on the triumphant return of Marsha and Eartha - now sporting a bunch of duct tape but otherwise looking surprisingly in good shape for getting blown up in a nuclear blast.

Next week: the first mission for the new folks - a meteor strike! And Adam saying, “Welcome to Mars, bitches.”

#adam rippon #recaps #stars on mars

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middlenameray · 2 years ago

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Honest Thoughts on Bros.

I figured this would be the case going into it, but I did not find the leads relatable at all. Their cynicism annoyed me, and not just because they’re cynical (I mean, it was released just last year - there’s PLENTY to be cynical about), but because these characters as written both are tapped into so much access and luxury and comforts and proximity to power that the average gay person does not have that I just find it hard to buy their “woe is me I’m just so emotionally unavailable” act. I could maybe take it if these guys were working class or even paycheck-to-paycheck middle class living with roommates, but their lack of economic struggle (one is a lawyer and the other the host of a podcast with a million subscribers while also serving as director of a brand new national LGBTQ museum) AND the fact that they’re both conventionally attractive with strong social support networks just makes their worldview and the decisions they make so off-putting.

With the obligatory apologetics about centering “cis white gay men” every half hour, the film feels like it’s apologizing for its own existence, but only in a wink-wink, nudge-nudge kind of way. It’s like it’s making fun of the “woke” audience it’s pretending to pay lip service to (multiple references to who threw the first brick at Stonewall come to mind). More on this later.

The film’s main contradiction is ultimately its undoing: it wants to be a romcom and an anti-romcom at the same time. It wants it both ways, but does a bad job of convincing us it deserves it. It heavily critiques gay hookup culture, but thinks gay marriage is an antiquated aspiration, BUT also disdains and pokes fun at open relationships and polyamory. Its feelings about love and commitment start off flippant and then just end up lukewarm. It resents “love is love” and heteronormativity but is BEGGING straight people to buy a ticket only to blame them for causing the film’s bombing at the box office. Straight people don’t exist anymore (“They had a good run.”) but there’s still people like Luke’s character’s mom who doesn’t believe 2nd graders should learn about gay history — oh but there’s also that really awesome progressive straight couple that talks casually about bottoming with Billy within a earshot of their kids! So is this movie made for “us” or “them?” Cus you can’t try to guilt [straight] romcom fans into turning out for this movie only to spit in their face when they get there. It’s kind of cruel…which has always been my gripe with Billy’s brand of humor to begin with.

So many of the jokes rely on super-timely cultural references/trending topics (fearing getting “cancelled”, namedropping the latest celebrities) that likely won’t mean much to anyone in 5 years. Unfortunately this is the case with most new comedies these days, especially ones targeted to marginalized audiences, so I won’t come down on this movie too hard for this. But the film is definitely at its best when the jokes are more evergreen and not trying so hard to be relevant (I LOL’d hard when 1) Billy’s character abruptly freaks out over a bee landing on him during one of their dates 2) Luke’s character’s brother says [in reference to how gym-obsessed gay men are], “What are you guys even training for? A war?”)

The sex scenes take quite an odd approach for a romcom. They aren’t touching or romantic, which is fine. They’re kind of trying to be funny, but not funny enough. And they’re not very sexy either, but it doesn’t seem they’re exactly trying to be sexy. It’s kind of like they’re poking fun at sex scenes and sex in general, and attempting to flip the expectation of on-screen sex on its head a bit, but they’re also trying *not* to do this *too* much as to not repulse straight people or offend gay people. The results are…clunky. At least to me anyway.

Speaking of the sex, it’s kind of surprising how little nudity there is in this film for an R-rated romcom. There’s one foursome with strategically placed heads and a coffee table to cover things up, but then the guys are all in their underwear in all the other sex scenes. No real eye candy anywhere save for some shirtless torsos at club and park scenes. No frontal nudity at all, not even a comical boner poking under the sheets a la American Pie/The White Lotus. Off-screen intercourse and ejaculations. I think we maybe see half of Billy’s bare butt in a nonsexual scene at one point, but I don’t recalling seeing anyone else’s. Just kind of odd for a movie that wants to market itself as the first theatrical major studio adult gay romcom or whatever, that’s working SO hard to normalize queer sexual DIALOGUE and preaches about not “toning it down” for straight people, how tame the actual gay erotic imagery is in comparison. But perhaps they knew the homophobic MPAA might give them a tough time with even an R rating if they tried to put any of the nudity that’s commonplace in raunchy straight comedies within a gay context.

As Guy Branum has tweeted about before, I will give Billy and the casting crew *some* credit for putting Black, Asian, Latino, trans, femme and fat characters in this film, and not making any of them the butt of terrible jokes and stereotypes. However, seeing folks like Madison and Miss Lawrence in this movie in the few scenes we get of them just made me wish THEY were the ones who were on the screen more. I want the movie told from their perspective. Also the film still glorifies fit and muscular white bodies at every turn and does nothing to celebrate any other aesthetic so it all just feels more obligatory than anything else or done to shield the film from the criticism that it knew it would get for being about two thin cis white men (as it tongue-in-cheek reminds us over and over). The film goes out of its way to be self-aware about and poke fun at all the toxic aspects of white gay culture, acknowledging and (like I said earlier) practically apologizing for it at times, but stops short of transforming that reflection into any kind of change. That scene with Luke’s character and the testosterone injections is the perfect embodiment of this.

ALL of this said, I did laugh quite a bit during this film, more than I thought I would, and actually rewinded a couple times to laugh at moments again. It’s worth a watch if you don’t mind all the above, but I don’t know that I’ll ever desire to see it again. So I’d have to give it a 6/10.

The reality is, this movie was always going to have a lackluster performance in theaters given that neither of the leads were box office draws to begin with. Even if we weren’t still dealing with “post-Covid” audiences being choosy about if and when they turn out to the theaters, I doubt the queer community is sizable enough to turn out in droves and single-handedly give a big budget major studio film the box office returns it needs to justify its investment (perhaps I’m underestimating us and if this movie were better it could’ve happened with word of mouth). But I will say, the film did itself no favors by half-catering to/half-sticking its middle finger up at the straight moviegoers it claims it needed to turn a profit. I hope we get more queer romcoms with nice budgets and wide releases but I also know there have been plenty of indie films with modest budgets distributed through companies like TLA for decades now and we’ll never stop doing it for ourselves if Hollywood gatekeepers decide they don’t want to take the risk again.

#bros #peacock #gay film #queer film #gay cinema #queer cinema #film review

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bureaukat · 2 years ago

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Superlatives: 2022

I have an enthusiastic dislike for ranked, annual lists -- not because there is anything inherently wrong with them, but because they are, personally, a bad way for me to experience things I'm supposed to enjoy.

But I did make more of an effort to be mindful of how I felt about the culture and activities I engaged in this year, and have some thoughts, if you'll have them.

Books I'm Happiest to Have Read

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins (2015)

A dark fantasy tale full of interesting, productively broken characters, told with immediacy and care. So mad that this was someone's first novel.

The Auctioneer by Joan Samson (1976)

This was Samson's only novel before she died of brain cancer. Every part of that statement is sad. The Auctioneer is about the confluence of modernity and hucksterism, taken to horrific extremes. Has shades of my beloved Shirley Jackson.

Films I'm Happiest to Have Seen

Attachment dir. by Gabriel Bier Gislason

youtube

Surprise! It's a foreign horror film that dabbles in religion and broken love. It is often very funny without drawing attention to itself. I fell hard for all the performances. Happy to see Shudder picked it up.

Everything, Everywhere, All at Once and Glass Onion are also on the list, but I don't have a single interesting thing to say about either.

Podcast I Was Most Obsessed With

I've listened to You Must Remember This for years, but 2022 is the year I went back and listened to as much as possible and annoyed everyone in earshot about it. The run on Polly Platt shifted something that finally got me to start writing again.

Games that Brought Me the Most Joy

I spent months grinding for the next neat thing in No Man's Sky. I have no desire to return currently, but it soothed some rough days. It's an interesting game that keeps evolving and has deeper mechanics than I initially guessed.

After Fortnight launched a no-build mode, my husband I have gotten very into the dominant battle royale. It's main aim is to delight, and it very often does.

A year after release, I played Cyberpunk 2077 and could not believe how good it was. It's my favorite action, open-world RPG I've played since Fallout 4, in an environment when those games are increasingly expensive and risky to make. Plus, my player character looked so damn cool all the time.

Right now, I'm absolutely obsessed with and delighted by Marvel's Midnight Suns. As much as I'm loathe to allow any more Marvel IP into my life, this is not the MCU. This is the corner of Marvel I still enjoy and am interested in. The turn-based combat is fun and satisfying and I've found my true calling as a superhero therapist. I would die for my best friends, Blade and Magik.

Food I Ate That Made Me Question If I'd Ever Enjoyed Any Other Food Before

My husband perfected a homemade mochi donut that was so good I hollered.

I finally went to Uchi for happy hour. I had the sake tom kha and nearly blacked out from pure pleasure.

#end of year #best of lists #Youtube

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earshotpodcast · 4 years ago

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সোহাইলের প্রতি সোহানের ভালবাসার যেন শেষ নেই। কিন্তু কে এই সোহান? আর কেনইবা সোহাইলের প্রতি তার এত অগাধ ভালবাসা? ভালবাসা দিবসে শুনুন সোহাইল রহমানের গল্পে ‘ট্রু ভ্যালেন্টাইন’ এপিসোড।

Listen to More listen bengali podcast to know More

Click Here...t.ly/LXev

#podcast websites #indian podcasts #best indian podcasts #indian podcast app #audio series #english podcast #hindi podcast #podcasts in india #earshot #earshot podcast #listen bengali podcast #bengali podcast app #app for podcast #listen podcast online #hindi podcast website

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vipinshots · 4 years ago

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In this series, we’ve come to know about celebrities of old centuries who have kept history of modern India with their sacrifices. Listen to the amazing podcast only at earshot, the best podcast app.

#earshot #indian podcasts #best indian podcast #hindi podcast #podcast #best podcast website

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stusbunker · 4 years ago

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Brother Knows Best

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester/ Plus-sized!Reader

Written for: @lukn4inspo for my 800 follower Celebration

Word Count: 1679

Warnings: Floof, Dean playing wingman, self esteem issues

It had been months since he had seen her in person, and the sight of her crawling out of her truck just to beam up at him with her gorgeous smile hit Sam straight in the chest.

“How was the trip?” he asked once he shook the cobwebs out of his thoughts.

“Not bad, yours?” She shrugged just before she snuck her arms under his for a quick hug. Sam held on a little longer than she seemed to, enjoying the way her plush body pressed to his.

“The usual, straight through with a lot of Zeppelin,” Sam replied.

“At least you got to sleep?” She offered, optimistic as she rounded the rear of her vehicle to grab her bags. Sam caught up quickly and took what could only be her weapons from her, it was so heavy.

“Uh, just listened to a podcast actually,” Sam said, almost as an afterthought.

“Nice! I just caught up on mine on the way. What are you into these days?” She tossed her bag over her shoulder and listened intently as he rattled off the ones he had checked out. When he got to the ones he listened to regularly she beat him to the punch, listing three out of the four right along with him.

“You like true crime, how did I not know that?” Sam chuckled.

“Am I into True Crime?! Boy, I practically only do cases where I can get a peek at some serial killer paraphernalia, if not the actual crime scenes,” she balked.

“Ever been to the Lizzie Borden house?” Sam kept going.

Dean watched them from the doorway of the motel room, shaking his head.

Dean glared at Sam across the booth, his brother’s eyes had gone glassy as he watched her hips as she rushed out of the diner and back to surveillance detail. This was going to be a long one, Dean thought to himself as he slurped his coffee loud enough to draw Sam out of his little revelry.

“Really?” Sam’s face pinched in annoyance.

“You should go with her, see if you find anything,” Dean suggested over the rim of his mug.

“What? Come on, man, she’ll be fine,” Sam looked at Dean like he was crazy.

“Oh I’m sure she is, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go, eh?” Dean waggled his eyebrows.

“Stop. It’s not like that,” Sam rolled his eyes and went back to his egg white omelette.

Dean chuckled and started counting off reasons with his fingers. “She’s cute. She’s single. She listens to the same creepy ass podcasts you listen to. And she called you about the case.”

“Just, stop, okay? Sure, she’s great, but it’s just a case,” Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t mean she’s interested in me like that.”

“Aren’t you? Interested in her?” Dean pressed, head cocked knowingly.

Sam bit his lip and set down his cup for a refill from the waitress. The table fell quiet as they said their thanks and returned to their meals.

Was he? Sam didn’t usually allow himself the novelty of romance. He’d been through too much. He’d lost too many people to think it was in the cards for him. Hunters don’t get happily-ever-afters. Sure, she was smart and resourceful. And Sam did get warm in the cheeks whenever she smiled. Sam introspected until Dean dropped his silverware and blinked at Sam with slow disbelief.

“Once this is over, you’re asking her out or I’m doing it for you,” Dean spat out under narrowed eyes.

Sam rolled his eyes again. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. Okay? Geez.”

Dean grinned and patted Sam on the shoulder. “That’s more like it, Sammy.”

Sam stood awkwardly at the edge of the booth, Dean refused to slide in another inch.

“Hey, Y/N, would you mind scooting in for Sam? I want to keep this leg elevated,” Dean asked, playing the injury card. They had wrapped up the vengeful spirit and had gone for drinks to celebrate an early night off the job.

“Sure? Actually, why don’t I,---” she stood and eased out off the bench seat, brushing against Sam as he moved to take her place. “If that’s cool? I just wanted to grab the first round, since you guys drove in for the assist.”

Sam swallowed as she looked up at him, eyes playful and full of gratitude.

“That’d be great, thanks.” Sam awkwardly patted her shoulder before he dropped onto the old vinyl seat.

Dean waited until she was out of earshot. “Have you ever spoken to a woman before? Did I just invent every person you’ve ever slept with? Because what the hell was that?!”

Sam flinched and eyed Dean in annoyance. “Shut up. She was--- it was--- I was just really close to her,” Sam trailed off. “Anyway, you can shut up about your knee, you’re fine. You drove here fast enough.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I’m not as young as I used to be, Sammy. And neither are you, so pace yourself, alright?” Dean nodded, tapping his temple and gesturing to Sam’s junk.

“You are disgusting.” Sam pointlessly looked to the heavens for help.

She quickly returned with a round of shots in her hands and three beers clutched to one breast. Sam tried not to oggle as she leaned down to disburse the drinks, but her tank top was askew from her efforts. Dean chuckled and drummed on the table.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Bottoms up!” Dean toasted her and polished off his shot.

Sam stilled as she rested her hand behind his back and leaned in. “You gonna let me in or do I have to pay a toll?”

“Oh, sorry, here,” Sam slid to the farthest reaches of the bench, retreating from the welcoming give of her body as it brushed against his shoulder. He didn’t catch her look of confusion.

“Let’s go, you two, gotta keep up!” Dean pushed their shots closer.

They drank and talked, laughter and stories flowed freely long into the night. Sam kept to beer, mainly because Dean had blatantly stolen his shots. She trailed off after the third round, bringing them water and beer instead.

“So, where to next, champ?” Dean asked her, fingering through the bottom of a bowl of popcorn.

“Who knows, not gonna start looking until check out time tomorrow,” she answered, playing with the straw in her glass, and followed up asking pointedly of Sam. “You guys heading back to your fortress of duo-tude first thing?”

He chuckled at her jab and nodded, sighing. “Yeah, as long as nothing pops up between here and there.”

Sam glanced at Dean and Dean’s eyes dropped to the table, assessing the graveyard before them. “You know what, why don’t I just clear these out of the way. Don’t need to give the staff more to---,” Dean’s voice dropped to a mutter as he rather obviously left Sam alone with the girl.

“Glad to see his leg is better,” she murmured, a smile dancing around the tip of her straw.

“Yeah, it was just hollow, needed his hunter fuel to fill it back up,” Sam agreed, dimples on full display. Sam poked the side of his cheek with his tongue, considering if he should keep talking. “You know, I told him I would talk to you after the case. He threatened to ask you out for me if I didn’t.”

“Damn, big brother goes that hard to get you some, huh?” She laughed, but the nervousness was palpable.

“I guess,” Sam huffed, feeling the conversation was balancing on the edge of a knife.

“Well, it’s a good thing you talked to me then, cleared the air. Don’t have to worry about Dean butting in anymore,” she nodded, swallowing. She wouldn’t look at Sam, his stomach dropped.

“Hey.” Sam spun to face her completely, his knee bent at an awkward angle in the narrow booth. “Want to get out of here?”

“You’re serious?” She balked. “I thought that was your way of letting me down gently.”

Sam’s face twisted in concern and he shook his head. Before he realized it he was leaning towards her, her face still a mask of skepticism. The telltale rumble of the impala’s engine revved in the parking lot, which Dean hardly ever did. Sam closed his eyes and shook his head.

“And apparently my brother is as tactless as ever.” Sam sighed. “Mind taking me back to the motel? I mean, unless you wanted to---?”

She looked defeated. “Sam, are you sure this isn’t Dean tricking you into being stuck with me? Like a joke he’ll use against you in the future?” Her doubt tore through him; she’d been hurt before, more than he’d realized.

Sam dropped a hand to her thigh. “What? No, Dean even said you were cute. He’s just a little too---enthusiastic, sometimes.”

He waited for her to believe him, nervous for an entirely different reason than he had been all night. She put her hand on his, squeezing as she looked into his eyes. Sam saw a deep pool of emotion and he couldn’t help but lurch forward and give her the only true reassurance he could. His lips met hers in an earnest kiss. Sam forgot to be scared and worked to be honest. To prove to her that she was who he wanted.

That this was real.

She quickly caught up, mouth opening to accept his graces. When she pulled away gasping, Sam couldn’t help but grin. She rested her temple against his cheek as their fingers intertwined on her lap.

“Okay, okay, twist my arm why don’t ya?” she teased.

“I mean, you are basically rescuing me from walking back,” Sam reasoned. “My hero.”

“Wow, you really are gonna lay it on thick now, aren’t you?” She blushed and shook her head, giving him a playful kiss.

“Pretty thick, yeah.” Sam bit his lips, but couldn’t stop himself from continuing. “But mostly long.”

She gave him an impressed cocked eyebrow.

“Hey, Sam?” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “wanna get out of here?”

Prompt #8 of 8

Sam and plus size reader where he’s smitten?

Tagging:

@flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @awesomesusiebstuff

#supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #stu's 800 or less #sam winchester/plussized!reader #sam fluff #plussized!reader #sam winchester/reader

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justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 16

Previous: How Cricket Got Her Name

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader/OFC/You

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.04K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Our lovely P.I. goes on the search for Min Yoongi, and stumbles into the identity of the mystery man with Taehyung.

(this is... rough? did not expect it to be so long...)

Missing Min Yoongi

Present Day

My sister always tells me she’s given me all she can, that she can’t help me past my one favor a year. It’s a ploy, a deception, a boldfaced lie she tells at work or anytime we’re in earshot of anyone else. Does she misuse her government clearance? Yes. Does she defy laws and challenge the ethical code? Yes. Has she ever gotten caught? No. You’d think the government would put more tabs on her, considering her sister is a registered and licensed PI, but no, no one seems to bat an eye.

Min Yoongi, Park Yoongi, Yoongi, is nonexistent. I barely understand what he did at Lee Enterprises, let alone how he ended up bedding Euna. He supposedly comes from no money, no name to build off of, nothing. His grades were fine, his college experience came and went with nary a note of youthful rebellion. Now, now that he’s no longer at Enterprises, I cannot fucking find him. Nothing on the web, nothing in the statewide system, nothing in the national system. No death certificates, no marriage licenses, nothing.

All I’ve got are his charges, well, Euna’s charges against him.

Cheating in the 1st degree, no proof, no photos or receipts or basic evidence of his behavior. She had nothing but her recollection of the fight they had, and minimal information on what led to the break up. From her manifesto, it seems that Yoongi was pulling away and she clung to him, claws drawing blood, trying to get him to stay. He didn’t, clearly. With only that to go off of, it’s no wonder I can’t find Min Yoongi, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe, Min Yoongi doesn’t exist. He’s her Snuffleupagus, and I’m starting to not believe.

While I’m unsure if Yoongi exists, I do know a person who does.

The man with Taehyung.

Spectacled and broad shouldered, quaffed hair and arms the size of tree trunks, this man exists. He goes to the gym regularly, religiously, makes his coffee at home, and frequents his local nursery. The man is obsessed with plants, it seems unhealthy. Multiple days a week he’s carrying one, or more, I have photos of him watering them, speaking to them… He tends to them with such care, such love, it’s mesmerizing. He goes to work, some corporation, and once a week meets Taehyung. They’re clearly pals, best friends, brothers. They laugh and eat and enjoy one another. It’s cute, their friendship date. Once in a while, Jimin joins them. The three laugh uproariously and often draw attention for their volume. The unidentified man doesn’t seem to understand how loud he is, his baritone resonating enough for me to hear.

I haven’t intentionally bumped into the three of them, yet, but I’ve stationed myself near enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. They never discuss work, only music they’re listening to, books they’re reading, podcasts, plants, general culture. Have I written down a few of the artists and podcasts they listen to? Yes. Do I feel dirty about it? Yes.

But it’s the job, and I tail them for a month before a package arrives. A package with my name on it, waiting outside my apartment door. It’s not addressed, no stamps or packing label. It’s new, not reused as a shipping box or gifted for the umpteenth time, no dingy tape sticking to its brown coating. The box is sitting, like it’s appeared out of thin air. A secure building is only as secure as the tenants make it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner snuck in behind some dummy who didn’t see the harm in letting a potential rapist, stalker, murder, into the building. Taking the package inside, and as my blood continues to cool and chills run down my spine, I delicately open it.

I know, it could be a bomb. However, the only thought calming me down is the knowledge that my life has never once been a Shonda Rhimes production and thus, I’m not really worried this package is a bomb. Frankly, that’s far more sophisticated than any of the people I’ve worked for and gives them too much credit.

Inside, there are copious amounts of surveillance photos and a note, written in a script that I’ve seen before.

“That was your last warning / The line has been drawn and you’re bleeding / Next time, face to face is how we’ll be meeting”

Whoever heard of a stalker rhyming?

I bag the evidence to toss under my bed so Jungkook won’t find it and pull out my list of potential threats.

Check It Once, Check It Twice

William Daniels

Cheated on his wife of 5 years with a stewardess who flew almost exclusively on his flights (big shock)

Threatened to ban me from American Airlines - Jokes on him, I don’t fly American

Photos in the act & audio recordings

Wife divorced him immediately

He has to pay alimony out the nose

Lives in the area

Allanah McMahon

Arrested and tried for insider trading and embezzlement

Discovered who I was when I was subpoenaed to testify

Still in jail

My testimony added a few years to her sentence … oops

Cassie Harrington

Set up a Multi-Level Marketing scheme

Tried to hide out in Hawaii – but changed her Instagram to private after I’d already followed her

Ordered to pay back all the money she stole

On parole

Adam Gregory

Tried to run an illegal adoption agency for homosexual, non binary couples

Paid a fine and on parole – forbidden from creating any LLC’s or Incorporating

Brian Welch

Pissed that I found evidence of his partner cheating but turned him in on charges of possession of child pornography

In jail for kiddy porn and for threatening my life

His husband got everything despite the infidelity

You acquire quite detailed list of people who want to threaten your life on the daily, but then again, wasn’t it Audre Lorde who said “I’m deliberate and afraid of nothing?” I can’t be afraid. If I’m afraid, they have the power. They have the power to intimidate me, to run my life for me, to make my decisions. I will not back down because they got caught. But I will protect myself, I will keep my license for my gun up and go to the shooting range often. I will strengthen the locks and security of my apartment, and I will ask Jungkook to stay over more, or sleep at his.

I will not back down, not when Lee Euna has paid me what seems like the cost of tuition at Princeton for a year and wants answers. We signed a contract, didn’t we?

And who am I if my word is no longer worth anything?

Instead of harping on the sickening feeling that I’m being watched 24/7, I run through my plans for bumping into Taehyung and his friends. In the weeks that I’ve continued to follow him, he’s solidified Wednesday’s as his night for dinner with friends, and Thursdays as his cultural exploration. He goes to museum openings, concerts, movies, plays, clubs, all on Thursdays. While those nights are fun for me to watch and put on my expense account, it’s Wednesdays that I adore. I love following him from his house to the restaurants and am excited each week to see what he and his friends have chosen.

This week, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant. Slipping my coat on, I give them a few minutes before following in.

The sound of mariachi welcomes me into the yellow painted restaurant. The furniture, dark mahogany against the vibrant walls, is full of people. I note the variety of sombreros, the different colors and patterns, the meanings hidden within the stitchwork. It’s not a large restaurant, but big enough to fit a few large groups of 7-10 people, and plenty of space for smaller groups such as the three men. The hostess asks if I want to sit at the bar, and I request a table near the men. Sitting a few feet away, I’m able to pick up their conversation easily. Instead of jotting it down, I hit record and let the metaphorical tape play.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” The mystery man says.

“It was awful, Taehyungie couldn’t stop laughing, every time he hit the ball it went flying in the wrong direction,” Jimin says.

“I was trying so hard!” Taehyung laughed.

“That’s the problem, you were trying too hard,” The man tells him. “You’re too pure of heart.”

“I am not,” Taehyung shook his head.

“I know, you’ve experienced a lot, Tae,” Jimin says.

“Joon, here’s the question,” Taehyung says, and I’m momentarily distracted by the utterance of the name, Joon. “You get to pick next week, we heading back to that barbeque place?”

Jimin erupts in another fit of laughter, Taehyung following suit. It’s cute, watching them interact. I wonder if Jungkook has friends he does things like this with… those nights we aren’t together, if he has friends to spend his time with.

I wait until they’ve left to take a glance at the signed bill on their table, Taehyung Kim is scribbled, no evidence of the other men, and I’m about to bag evidence when I hear my name.

“Y/N?” Taehyung asks.

“Taehyung! That was you!” I smile.

“Have you been here the whole time?” Taehyung’s eyebrows express more than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.

“I, yeah. I wasn’t sure it was you and Jimin. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell him.

“Oh, you could’ve! Don’t worry about them, we’ve been friends a long time,” Taehyung smiles, it’s boxy and wide, the edges curling as his eyes soften.

I’ve already started my dance, a waltz to an even tempo and I’ve got the next five paces planned. “Who was that new guy?”

“Why, you single?” Taehyung smirks, his lips no longer joyful but devious.

“I just was curious,” I reply, “And no, I’m not single, remember?”

“Oh yes, yes, Jungkook,” Taehyung recalls with a nod.

“You, Jimin and that other guy, go way back?” I lead him, it’s easy to lead Taehyung, he’s pure of heart, the most honest intentions in his eyes.

“Mm, yes,” He continues smiling at me.

“Your dinner looked fun, I’ll definitely be coming back to this place,” I tell him. It’s true, maybe I will bring Jungkook by one night when I know these three men won’t be around.

“Yeah, we like it. We try a new restaurant every week. It’s a fun no work zone,” His arms are relaxed at his sides, one hand slipping slowly into his pocket, his cardigan open and glasses pressed close to his ebony eyes.

“I like that, no work zone,” I agree, I wish I had one of those.

“Yes, it helps clear the mind,” Taehyung tells me.

“Do the three of you work together?” I inquire.

“Kind of, we have a lot of the same shared interests,” he sidesteps.

I nod, the final step in our dance presenting itself. “Very cool, well I don’t want to keep you from Jimin and –

“Joon, yeah, very considerate of you. Maybe I’ll see you at the dog park again?” He asks.

“Oh god, I hope not, Maisie is a nightmare,” I laugh.

“Well have a good night, Y/N, take care!” He says as he walks out the door. I stand, watching, pretending to not notice how he gets in the car swiftly, not looking back.

Joon.

What kind of a name is Joon? If Taehyung and Jimin, and Jungkook, and Seokjin… and Yoongi, are all Korean, must Joon be short for something Korean?

Glancing at my phone, it’s only 8:30PM, if I hurry, I can get in another few hours of work before I’m overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. But what will I find?

Oh Joon

Kim Joon

Lee Joon

Joon-Ho

Joon-Hee

Joon-Hyuk

Joon-Ki

Joon-Tae

Joon-Young

Byung-Joon

Ha-Joon

Hee-Joon

Hyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Yong-Joon

Nam-Joon

Joon-Su

Ye-Joon

Not to mention add in the top 5 Korean last names, and I’ve got hundreds of possibilities. Luckily, I can run the name against the address of the apartment building Taehyung picked Joon up from. Being a PI means I have access to the state databases, which gives me names and addresses. In the building, there’s one Joon, a Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. I pull the information before digging into my search.

Unlike the seemingly nonexistence of Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon is present. Every search result yields a perfectly manicured article dating anywhere from the year of his birth to age sixteen, and then, much like everyone else on this case, the trail begins to run cold. Whatever happened to him during high school, still radiates through his file. Whether he’s shaken it or not, that’s the question.

No known career or job at all, his status as a prodigy in math, linguistics and rhetoric is astonishing. One of the highest IQ’s of recent memory, he’d mastered calculus by the time he was 8, besting PhD’s by 13, and then in a blaze of glory, disappearing by 16. He was studied, written about, documented, photographed, and somehow managed to be nominated for a Nobel Prize… how he accomplished all of that during puberty is beyond me. Not only does he accomplish that, but then, disappears completely, without a trace. How?

I’m ready to pack it in when someone steps into my office.

“I saw the light on,” She says.

“Ms. Lee, what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do tonight.

“I wanted to, to talk to you,” She takes a few steps forward, pausing to ask for unspoken permission.

“Please, sit. What did you want to talk to me about?” I lean back, hoping she can’t see the bags forming under my eyes or the tears from the yawn I’m stifling.

“I wanted to tell you about, about why I need you to find Min Yoongi,” Euna informs me. She’s dressed in what can only be described as winter white, and only as a cashmere sweatsuit. Never have I ever seen such glamor in my dingy office. I feel bad that she’s risking the integrity of her outfit by being here.

“Oh, okay,” I sit up and reach for a notebook. “Do you want me to write this down?”

“No, you don’t need to. We can just talk between women, between friends,” Euna’s voice is soft. The slack in her jaw, the demur manner in which her hands are placed on her lap, it’s evident she doesn’t know how to be girlfriends. Raised by her family, groomed to take over, friends was never a word in her vocabulary.

“I wanted you to know that I really saw a future with Yoongi,” She starts. “You know that place in your heart where you hold all your hopes?”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly.

Her eyes narrow in warning, “Do you have someone, someone who’s beginning to fill that space?”

“Um, yeah,” I reply.

“I thought that’s what Yoongi was. I thought we were, we were building something. Jun-Seo had Jimin, they thought they were building an illustrious future together, but one day he disappeared too.” She pinches the slight bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly to steady her nerves. “I don’t know what changed in our relationship. Yoongi didn’t want me anymore, he didn’t want to be around me, or with me at all. A switch flipped, like one day he realized he didn’t love me in the first place. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but when your entire future is destroyed, do you stand back and watch it burn?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” I ask.

“Sure, what I did after that was terrible, but it was within reason. Everything I did was within reason. I tried to hold onto him, I did what I thought was right to get him to stay and he just, ran. Bolted, broke up with me on the phone like I’m Taylor Swift in 2012. Maybe I am,” Euna rolls her eyes, the comparison both too true and too terrifying. “At least Seokjin had the kindness to break up with me in person. But Yoongi? The coward! He knew I loved him. He knew I would carry his child, would marry him, would love him eternally and then some. I would’ve done anything for him. Even after he refused to go family dinners or go on trips with Seo and Jimin, after he started lying and cheating and stealing. He broke my heart, shattered it. If anyone is to blame for what happened after our relationship, it’s him.”

Interested peaked, I inquire “What happened?”

“It’s in my document,” She snaps.

“The handwritten one?” I clarify.

Rolling her delicate ebony irises, “Yes, of course.”

“The abortion, the embezzlement, insider trading?” I try to rattle off the accusations she’d detailed. Somewhere I had a list and had sorted them by man, but damn, there were a lot of them.

“Yes,” She snips.

“That’s all true?” I ask again. The look she gives me is unwarranted, this is the first time in months, nearly a year, that she has sat down with me and discussed the charges. I am well within my right as her Private Investigator to ask clarifying questions.

“Do you make a conscious decision to not believe your clients? Am I not paying you enough Y/N?” Euna snaps.

“I’m sorry,” I respond.

“I should go, I expect next week at our meeting you will have an update on the mystery man,” She stands.

“Yes, yes, I will,”

“Good, oh, there was a note under your door. I didn’t pick it up,” She turns and walks, stepping gingerly over the note. Scrambling behind her, I pick up the folded paper, and scrawled in crystal clear letters it reads:

Cricket, was driving past when I saw the light on. Why are you working? Come to mine when you’re done, it’s been three restless nights without you.

XO – Bunny

Fuck me, I love him.

Next: Cricket & Bunny Pt. 1

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historystrainwrecks · 3 years ago

Text

John D. Rockefeller’s Favorite Cheese

The richest man in the world was on the run.

President Theodore Roosevelt’s Justice Department was planning to file an antitrust suit against Rockefeller’s Standard Oil Company in 1906, and the states wanted to get into the action before the Attorney General did. Multiple lawsuits were filed against the directors of the company that controlled over ninety percent of oil production in the United States and had, by prevailing accounts, used unfair practices to gain its monopoly in the market.

John D. Rockefeller, a Cleveland produce merchant during the Civil War, had diversified into the nascent oil business in 1870, taking huge risks in a new industry that no one believed would endure. He took advantage of this lack of confidence, buying up failing refineries. In one six-week period between February and March of 1872, he bought 22 of the 26 refineries in the city in what was later called “The Cleveland Massacre.” In his telling of the story, Rockefeller paid a fair price for refineries that were failing, poorly run, or had inferior equipment. He could have simply waited for them to go under and then picked up the pieces, but he believed he was doing a good thing by buying them out. Some of the later gripes about his tactics derived from the refiners he bought out for cash (most refusing shares of Standard Oil stock instead) who later saw him build a massive fortune from the bones of their endeavors. A lot of them were peeved they hadn’t taken the stock, which paid out over half a billion dollars in dividends between 1882 and 1906.

Ida Tarbell, one of America’s first and best-known investigative journalists called “muckrakers,” grew up in the oil fields of Pennsylvania during the early years of the oil boom. She saw what the oil business was like from the side of the original drillers and producers—fluctuating prices, deadly accidents, and the gradual squeezing out of small producers and refiners by Standard Oil. Her father’s refinery was put out of business by Rockefeller, she believed, because of the company’s unfair business practices, which included favorable transport rates achieved through secret collusion with the railroads.

In 1904, Tarbell wrote the bestselling “The History of the Standard Oil Company,” which laid bare the worst of Standard Oil’s monopolistic practices. She found evidence of strong-arm tactics, price manipulation that drove the sale price of oil below the costs of production, and collusion with the railroads that gave Standard a significant competitive advantage. And this was not merely history; at the time of her investigation, she was able to procure documents from Standard’s headquarters at 26 Broadway in New York that showed the company was still up to its usual monopolistic shenanigans.

John D. Rockefeller was portrayed as the evil mastermind behind the “Octopus,” as Standard Oil was derisively known, even though he had been retired from the business since 1895. Management of the company had been left in the hands of his mercurial and combative successor John D. Archbold, but Rockefeller remained its largest shareholder. His income from dividends in 1902 alone was $58 million. This massive fortune already made him a target, but once Standard Oil’s shady practices became known, Rockefeller became the poster child for everything that was wrong with big business in America.

President Roosevelt, having established a reputation as a trust-buster, could not ignore Standard Oil after Tarbell’s expose. He did believe that large and efficient companies were essentially good for the country, creating jobs and lowering the cost of items that most Americans had to buy or use on a regular basis like kerosene and oil byproducts, meat, sugar, and railway transportation. But Roosevelt owed a large part of his political success to mastering the press and its capacity to influence public opinion. Once Tarbell’s scathing indictment of the Octopus came out and outraged the country, the President was hoist with his own petard. The Standard Oil antitrust suit offered a shot at both the world’s largest oil monopoly and the unfair practices of American railroads.

He could not let this one get away.

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Once the floodgates of lawsuits against Standard Oil opened, the focus landed on the company’s origins and rise to power, which meant the testimony of the company’s founder was essential. And of course, having the richest man in the world dragged into your courtroom was a pretty big deal.

Process servers with court orders and subpoenas (along with legions of reporters) went on the hunt for Rockefeller, whose testimony was sought in cases in Missouri, Indiana, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Kansas, and others. He went on the lam, moving furtively between his estates, living the life of a fugitive. Rumors spread that he was hiding on a yacht off the coast of Puerto Rico, or at his business partner Henry Flagler’s estate in Key West. Rockefeller asked his wife not to call him on the telephone, believing the line was tapped. He didn’t put return addresses on his letters. He hired detectives to guard his estates and turn away process servers. He told Standard Oil headquarters to send his correspondence in plain white envelopes, so that no one would get any sense that he was involved in the operations of the company (which he wasn’t).

Rockefeller went by boat from Tarrytown, New York to a fortress he had set up in Lakewood, New Jersey, complete with guards, floodlights, and thorough inspections of all incoming vehicles. Newspapers reported that Rockefeller was unable to visit his first grandson, born in 1906, because the process servers would get him. The New York World put out a headline, “Grandson Born to John D. Rockefeller and He, Mewed Up in His Lakewood Fort, Could Only Rejoice by Phone.” Rockefeller cut his correspondence by seventy percent and asked relatives to keep his location a secret: “Confidentially,” he told his brother-in-law, “I prefer not to have it known where I am. It often saves me much annoyance.”

Rockefeller was fond of understatement.

Long retired from the company, he dictated a letter in 1906 resigning as president of Standard Oil and asking the board of directors to approve it quickly. With the directors facing their own subpoenas, they stalled. John Archbold and Henry Rogers, who were running Standard Oil, “told him he had to keep the title of president.” They said, “these cases against us were pending in the courts; and we told him that if any of us had to go to jail, he would have to go with us!”Despite all these many precautions, John D. Rockefeller was ultimately undone by cheese.

A modest and plain Baptist for most of his life, Rockefeller studiously avoided vice and ostentation. He made his children (and his business partners) pledge to abstain from alcohol (on one memorable occasion asking his daughter Edith to promise to never serve alcohol in her house on the day before her wedding) and metered out small allowances to them in exchange for household chores. He and his wife lived plainly, often using the furniture that was left behind in the houses they bought instead of buying new. His wife Cettie was horrified when she learned one of her daughters wanted to buy silk underwear. John, beset with digestive ailments, ate plain and simple food.

Cheese was both his luxury and his weakness. To teach his children restraint when they were young, Rockefeller restricted them to one piece of cheese each day. His daughter Alta one day tattled on her sister Edith for having two pieces of cheese. “Rockefeller professed shock at this indulgence,” and for the rest of the day, whenever the offender was within earshot, he would say, “Edith was greedy” and “Edith was selfish.”

Rockefeller’s chickens came home to roost, as it were, while he was on the run from various state governments. He had his favorite cheese shipped to him daily. While holed up in his Pocantico estate in New York, the New York Central railroad delivered his cheese to the station, where hack drivers would take it the rest of the way. One of these drivers, Henry Cooge, told the press (with ominous gravity) that “suspicious cheeses were again entering Pocantico.” This was irrefutable evidence of Rockefeller’s current whereabouts. “Them cheeses,” Cooge said. “I would recognize anywhere, no matter whether it is day or night…Rockefeller, in my opinion, is somewhere on his estate.”

Rockefeller and his family had to leave the country, sailing for France in the spring of 1906. His name was discreetly left off the ship’s passenger list, and the rest of the family traveled under assumed names.

The heat was on back in the States. A court in Ohio brought an antitrust action against Standard Oil and issued a warrant for Rockefeller’s arrest. John Archbold sent a message that Rockefeller should extend his European vacation: “There seems to be a perfect wave of attacks all along the line.” A sheriff vowed to meet Rockefeller’s ship when it came back and arrest him right there on the dock.

Standard Oil had never taken lawsuits like this seriously, and there had been many over the years. It was able to fend them off with high-priced lawyers (and the fact that most of its rapacious practices weren’t illegal until the 1890’s). The company and Rockefeller remained silent in the face of public criticism, which was a tactical error; it made the company and its founder out to be as privileged and arrogant as everyone said they were. And as guilty.

In the new age of muckraking journalism and widespread attacks on the super-rich, this approach wasn’t going to work anymore. Standard Oil’s legal team arranged for Rockefeller’s voluntary testimony, and he was able to safely return to America.

Rockefeller was served and did testify in court in 1907, and the government’s case against the company was filed in 1909. In May, 1911, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that Standard Oil was “an unreasonable monopoly under the Sherman Anti-Trust Act.” The company was broken up into 34 independent companies with different boards of directors.

Rockefeller ended up owning a quarter of the shares in all the smaller companies. With the advent of gasoline-powered automobiles, the value of those stocks “mostly doubled.” His fortune reached as high as 900 million dollars.

John D. Rockefeller, now even richer after the breakup of Standard Oil, was finally able to move freely about the land.

And wherever he went, his favorite cheese followed.

#history #rockefeller #teddy roosevelt #standard oil #cheese

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sixqueendom · 5 years ago

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New Fanfic: If Only You Would Listen, Chapter 1

So, after having a few requests to, I’ve decided to post my new fic on here as well as AO3. If you would prefer to read on AO3, I have included the link below! No real warnings for this one. Just the usual angst I'm sure you've grown accustomed to with my fics if you’ve read any of my previous work!

A huge thank you to Phoebe (@theatergirl06), Lilac (@timetoriseabove) and Blue (@pen-and-a-microphone) for beta-reading this fic! You guys are the best!

AO3 Link

---------------------

Kitty decided she had had enough. Everything was becoming overwhelming. The home she shared with the five other Queens suddenly felt overbearing and overly dominated by the others, so much so that she felt like she didn’t belong there anymore. Like she was an outcast. Sidelined. She didn’t feel like a priority to any of them, more a burden. An afterthought.

The truth was, Kitty was fed up with being mollycoddled by Jane. She was fed up of being treated like she was a child. But most of all, she was fed up of walking into a room, only for the lively chatter to descend into quietness, the other women refraining from talking openly for fear the topic might upset or offend her. They’d never told her that, but she knew. She was, after all, the vulnerable one in their eyes. The liability.

She appreciated Jane’s love and care towards her, she really did. It was nice to finally feel like someone genuinely cared about her, after a childhood with inattentive parents and ultimately being raised by her father’s negligent stepmother, the Dowager Duchess. For once, she felt wanted and loved. But as much as she appreciated it, Jane’s motherly care was smothering. Suffocating. Jane had always had a desperate longing to be a mother, having been robbed of the chance with her own son. So, naturally, with Kitty being the youngest, she projected all that energy onto her. But for Kitty, it was all too much. She didn’t feel she had any real independence.

Eventually, she started to realise she was being excluded from conversations.

She’d accepted it at first. Perhaps she didn’t want to hear it. The conversations would just stir up old memories and rip off the superficial plaster she’d put on those wounds. That was, until she realised she was slowly losing her voice within the group, her right to speak for herself. Instead, the Queens were doing it on her behalf, assuming they knew what was best. Assuming they knew what she would say.

Last week, the Queens had all been invited to a podcast interview with an up and coming theatre critic, who had recently seen the show. The critic had analysed and dissected each of their individual songs and probed them for more details. When it came to Kitty’s song, she immediately saw the concerned faces of the others, like they anticipated a breakdown. Much to her annoyance, Anne butted in halfway through her response to a question. After that, Kitty noticed the subtle actions of the others: the critic saw it as casual banter, but it was really just a cover-up for the tougher questions regarding her past, an effort to keep things light-hearted in an attempt to stop it being so upsetting. What they didn’t realise was that Kitty had recounted her previous life so many times that, although still arguably painful to recall, it didn’t provoke the heightened emotions the Queens were probably expecting. She was tougher than that. Yet, by the end of the interview, Kitty felt like she hadn’t really contributed anything.

A couple of nights later, there was a small incident at stage door when Kitty was approached by two young girls. As she happily signed their programmes, one of the girls piped up excitedly.

“I can’t wait to hear your next interview on Saturday! I’m going to send a question in for you to answer!”

Kitty frowned, but quickly concealed her confusion with a laugh. “Yeah, you should totally do that! I’ll try my best to answer as many as i can!”

On the Tube home, Kitty queried the conversation. “What’s this about an interview this weekend?”

Anne gasped. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you! We’ve got an interview with a theatre magazine on Saturday. They are also hosting a little Q&A session with the fans. Should be fun.”

Kitty leant back in her seat, going quiet. When were they actually going to tell her if she hadn’t prompted?

The next evening, when Kitty came downstairs to find the Queens huddled around the kitchen, seemingly in a deep conversation without her, it was the final straw. Right on cue, as soon as she walked in, the mood immediately changed and, like a flick of a switch, a hush fell over the room as the discussion dropped away. It always felt like she was disrupting them. Like she was gatecrashing a party. Uninvited and unwanted.

Kitty glanced from one Queen to another.

“What are you all talking about?” It was an innocuous enough question. She kept her voice light, casual. There was no need at this point to get tense and uptight.

Anna, in one corner, gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Nothing important. Just about that silly interview we have tomorrow.”

The interview with the magazine. The interview that she was also involved in.

Kitty blinked. “What about it?”

She caught Cathy giving a nervous glance across the room to Anna, her hands firmly cupped around her coffee mug as she leant against the kitchen counter. Kitty could sense the atmosphere in the room growing tense. After all, they weren’t stupid. They could tell where this was heading.

Anne gave a shrug. “Just about what kind of questions we think they’ll ask. Just...boring stuff really.”

Here we go. Trying to assure her she wasn’t missing out on anything. That it wasn’t important enough for her voice to be included.

“It didn’t sound boring,” Kitty leant against the doorframe. “Sounds like a good idea, actually. Always best to be prepared for whatever they throw our way.” She was still maintaining her casual tone, but she could feel her patience being tested.

Jane, as always, was the first to get flustered, sensing that things were starting to head south and wanting to avoid confrontation. “Look,” she held up her hands. “Why don’t we just talk about this later when-”

“When what?” Kitty snapped. “When I’m back upstairs in my bedroom? When I’m out of earshot and can’t hear what you’re really talking about?”

Jane blinked. She didn’t know how to respond. Catherine bowed her head, staring at the lines of her hands. Across the table, Anne visibly squirmed in discomfort.

Kitty smirked. She’d caught them red-handed and now they didn’t know what to say. There was nowhere to hide. She raised an eyebrow expectantly, looking around the room for a response.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Have I made things a bit uncomfortable?”

This tense confrontation had come as a surprise for them. Out of them all, Kitty was largely overlooked, usually the quietest and the most reserved of the group. Sweet in nature and often quick to comply, she was the last one they’d expect to be interrogated by. But it was becoming clear that she was on the offence. Quite frankly, Kitty had reached the end of her tether. She wouldn’t tolerate being made to feel like a child, like an inconvenience, any longer. Whether it was the Queens’ intention or not, it still hurt. She still felt like she didn’t matter, that her words were worthless.

Finally, Cathy took a deep breath. “What is this all about, Kit?” Her words sounded so feeble. She wasn’t stupid - she knew exactly what was going on here - but she felt the need to break the awkward silence.

Her attempt only made Kitty scoff. “You all know exactly what this is about. I’m sick of this!” She yelled, her voice increasing in volume.

Jane bit her lip, the harsh tone of Kitty’s voice packing a sting that she really wasn’t accustomed to. Not from her sweet Kitty. She was trying to hold back tears, startled by this sudden outburst and hostility. Realising her discomfort, Catherine squeezed her hand under the table.

“Do I really not matter?” Kitty lowered her voice again, trying to keep composed. “Because sometimes I wonder if you’d all be better off without me!”

Anne looked up at that comment, hurt and panic in her eyes. “That’s not true! Of course you matter! Of course we want you here!”

“Then why don’t you ever include me?!” she cried, unable to conceal her trembling voice, despite her resolve not to cry. Crying would prove to them that she was volatile. It would justify their actions. “Why am I always the one treated like a child and left out of everything?”

“Kit, we’re not doing this to hurt you. We’re doing this to protect you and to stop you getting upset-” Anna started.

“See, that’s just it, isn’t it? You all treat me like I’m some kind of porcelain doll that might fall and break. Don’t think I don’t notice you acting like you’re walking on eggshells when I’m around and pandering to my wishes like I’m a kid! I hate it!” Her frustration mounting, Kitty slammed her hand against the doorframe, making Jane visibly jump.

Catherine, remaining as composed as ever, thought quickly, trying to desperately diffuse the situation before it got the chance to escalate any further. “Kitty, why don’t you sit down and we can talk about this rationally?”

The suggestion only made Kitty laugh. “Oh, so now you want me to sit down and talk?”

She shook her head. “I’m sick and tired of being made to feel insignificant. Like I don’t matter. Because isn’t that what you say in the show? I think she’s the least relevant Katherine.” She changed her tone, trying to mimic the other Queens. ‘Oh, we can’t talk about that in front of Katherine, it’ll only make her upset’ Well, guess what? I want you to stop invalidating my opinions and my words, just because the topic of discussion might hurt me!”

“Kit, you know we don’t really mean that when we say that line in the show!” Cathy insisted.

“Well, it certainly feels like it!”

“We didn’t realise you felt like this…” Anna mumbled.

“Because you never thought to ask!” erupted Kitty, exasperated. “You were all so busy trying to keep me sheltered away that you never once thought to ask! You don’t want my opinion on anything! Precious little Katherine can’t think for herself and make her own choices and decisions! Why don’t you let me make up my own mind on whether a topic is too sensitive or not? I can always walk away, can’t I?”

“Like that other night at stage door. I was made to look so stupid because I was oblivious! I can’t believe a fan knew before I did! So, when were you all going to decide to tell me about the interview, hm? If it wasn’t for that girl mentioning it, I’d probably still be in the dark!”

“That was my fault!” Anne admitted, putting her hands up in surrender. “I genuinely forgot to tell you! Anna even mentioned it in the morning and I still forgot. I’m sorry.”

This admission from Anne seemed to soften Kitty slightly, her shoulders relaxing. It put the tiniest doubt in her head: maybe she was overthinking this all? Seeing Kitty relax a little and contemplate what Anne had said, Jane took the opportunity to try and reason with her and further dampen her anger. “Look, maybe you’re right. We’ve been unfair not including you. But none of us have done this to intentionally hurt you, love. You must know that. Neither do any of us see you less of an adult-”

“But Jane, you make me feel like a kid all the time! The constant prompting of what time I’ll be home when I go out, the constant fussing, it’s just too much! I’m constantly made to feel like I am incapable of doing anything for myself. I’m just as capable of being independent as Anne is, and you certainly don’t hover over her shoulder all the time!”

“I just like to make sure you’re okay…” Jane’s voice had gone quiet, almost a whisper.

“Well, you know what, Jane? It’s suffocating! You need to face up to the fact that trying to mother me isn’t going to bring back Edward!”

The words cut through Jane like a knife right to the heart. The others watched as the woman crumpled in front of them, before fleeing upstairs to the confines of her bedroom. Catherine pushed her chair back and marched up to Kitty like a protective lioness, pinning her against the fridge.

“That is quite enough! Jane has done nothing but show you love and care, which is much more than any of your true family did for you. And this is how you repay her? You don’t deserve it. If you want to stop being treated like a child, you need to buck up your ideas and try and show some respect and gratitude. You should be ashamed of yourself, Katherine.” At that, she stormed off to console her friend.

Although Kitty had to admit that she’d regretted the words as soon as they’d come out of her mouth, she was determined to stand her ground. If she crumbled now, this whole confrontation was pointless. She looked to the three remaining Queens.

After a long pause, Anna approached her, her jaw clenched, stone-faced. “You know, maybe you’re right, Kitty. Maybe we would be better off without you.” She grabbed her jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind her. Anne and Cathy flinched.

Having long abandoned her mug of coffee, Cathy folded her arms. “If you wanted to be treated more like an adult, perhaps you should have thought about approaching this like one. We could have had a civilised talk, instead of this mess.” With a disappointed shake of her head, she too strode out. As she passed the table to leave, she cast an apologetic look to Anne.

Now, it was just the two of them. The two cousins. Sitting there at the table, Anne was bewildered. She hadn’t expected such an outburst, especially not from Kitty. She’d never thought her capable of causing so much upset, to get so angry. She suddenly felt like she’d lost a good friend. As quiet once again fell over the room, Anne wondered if she’d ever really known Kitty at all.

She was also consumed with guilt. They were so close, and yet, she hadn’t realised that what they’d been doing had proved so hurtful to her own cousin. What’s more, Kitty had never confided in her. There had never been any hint that she was feeling this way.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Anne mumbled, finally lifting her head to look at her cousin in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?”

Kitty turned her face away. She was just so disappointed in them all. She felt utterly let down by the very people she trusted the most.

“Anna didn’t mean what she said…” Anne made a pitiful attempt to show Kitty she was on her side. “She just upset-”

Tears pricking at her eyes, Kitty clenched her fists. But all the fight had gone out of her.

“Well, now you all know how I feel.”

Kitty whirled around and sought the refuge of her bedroom, throwing herself onto her bed as the sobs overcame her. Suddenly, all the fire in her belly was extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness. Now she realised the enormity of what she’d done, the potential consequences of her actions. Things had spiraled out of control, her words had become ammunition created by her pent-up frustration. She had just been so desperate for change. How long was she expected to tolerate it all? She feared if she’d waited much longer, her voice would be silenced altogether. She might as well just walk out the door. Now, consumed with the horrible dark thoughts that shrouded her as she cried into her pillow, she started to take the thought seriously. She didn’t fit here and the Queens now despised her. Seeing the disgust in Aragon’s face and Anna’s clear contempt said it all. Maybe she needed to prove it to herself, not them. To prove that she was capable of looking after herself, like she insisted? Being independent.

She lifted herself from the bed, grabbed her rucksack from the wardrobe and blindly stuffed some clothes in, her vision still blurry with tears. She checked the contents of her purse: her bank card and £60 - it would be enough for now. As she fumbled for some essential items she thought she’d need, her hand fell on a polaroid photo - a black and white picture, taken of them all on stage after their first performance together. They all looked so happy, so united. Now, she’d ruined all of that. Yet, something made her take it with her, slipping it into the zip pocket of her bag. Just because they hated her, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss them. Lastly, she picked up her phone, staring at the lockscreen photo of her and Anne for a second before putting it back onto her bedside table. She didn’t really have a use for it now.

You know, maybe you’re right, Kitty. Maybe we would be better off without you.

After all, she was of course, the least relevant Katherine. They wouldn’t want to talk to her now.

At that, she tiptoed downstairs. She was relieved to see the kitchen was empty. Helping herself to a few biscuits, pieces of fruit, and granola bars, she took one last look as she slipped out of the back door.

And, just like that, Kitty disappeared into the night.

#six fanfiction

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sunnydaleherald · 6 months ago

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The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, June 5

WILLOW: I mean, he said he was gonna wait until I was ready, but I'm ready. Honest. I'm good to go here. BUFFY: Well, I think it's nice that he's not just being an animal. WILLOW: It is nice. He's great. We have a lot of fun. But I want smoochies! BUFFY: Have you dropped any hints? WILLOW: I've dropped anvils. BUFFY: Ah, he'll come around. What guy could resist your wily Willow charms? WILLOW: At last count, all of them. Maybe more. BUFFY: Well, none of them know a thing. They all get an 'F' in Willow. WILLOW: But I want Oz to get an 'A', and, oh, one of those gold stars.

~~BtVS 2x15 “Phases”~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Everything's New (Buffy, PG) by badly_knitted

Poison Blossom (Cordelia/Lilah, M) by MadeInGold

You’re an Angel (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

What could have been What is (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

Feed me or feel me (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Desicat

[Chaptered Fiction]

[Ukrainian language] Forward to Time Past//Вперед у час минулий, Chapter 45/67 (Buffy/Spike, E) translation by Uraniya

Hero, Chapter 2/3 (Buffy/Willow, M) by Xyex

Infinitely, Chapter 55/? (Willow/Tara, M) by Laragh

In the Company of Witches and Slayers:, Chapter 57/200 (Willow/Tara, E) by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer)

[French language] Recommencer, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Faith, M) by Friday Queen

Reunion, Chapter 3 (Willow/Tara, Buffy/Spike, T) by riah alice drake

[French language] Do as Romans do, Chapter 31 (Dawn/Spike, T) by OldGirl-NoraArlani

Spike Has A Girlfriend, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Spikelover4ever

Morning Stretches, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by CheekyKitten

Early One Morning, Chapter 54 COMPLETE! (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by all choseny

Deliverance From Destiny, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Ragini

Stomping on butterflies, Chapters 2-3 (Buffy/Spike, 18+) by Blackoberst

Early One Morning, Chapter 54 COMPLETE! (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by all choseny

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Well, who do we have here? (Buffy/Spike, worksafe) by lialivingart

Artwork: leanin’ in (Spike, worksafe) by yarboyandy

Crafts: my handmade kiss the librarian mug! (worksafe) by melaniemoth13

[Reviews & Recaps]

ReWatch: Angel - S3, E7 - 8 by kimannebb

PODCAST: HELLMOUTH HOMOS: The Yoko Factor/Primeval by Fear Queers

PODCAST: Episode 59: Fear, Itself (W/ Samantha Marr) by Gym Was Cancelled

PODCAST: Is That My TA or a Bush? (S4E8) by It Stakes Two

[Fandom Discussions]

[About AtS writers making Angel decide to turn back the day he was human] by nicnacsnonsense

Gunn’s whole trajectory with always piss me off by initiumseries

as excited as I am to see Wesley, it is weird that this show got rid of Doyle by nicnacsnonsense

I feel like the scooby gang never took accountability for how Faith turned out by there-are-many-ways-to-smile

It’s really interesting to me that Buffy tells Faith the girls are all potential slayers “just like we were” because she and Faith never knew they were potentials by reality-schmality

It’s actually a little f* up, that they just assume Faith with take over for Buffy so she can live a normal life by there-are-many-ways-to-smile

I never noticed before but it’s weird that Willow thinks she’s being the bigger person by letting Cordelia be upset with her and Xander like she wasn’t apart of the affair by there-are-many-ways-to-smile

What If: Jonathan died in Earshot by nightshade, multiple posters

Okay, what is everyone’s absolute least favorite episode? by queenrosybee

Did Harmony ever have a soul? by Kilomech

Theory: The First manipulated Willow into resurrecting Buffy by LiviaDruzilla

What's your favorite metaphor or symbolism from Restless and why? by jonaskoelker

I think there are only 6 times in the whole series where we see Buffy not wearing earrings, only 4 of which are SMG and all in the first season by diehardnick

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

PUBLICATION: Top 18 best Vampire TV shows of all time ranked by fans [BtVS #1 - AtS #6] by Coveredgeekly

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #ats #angel the series #fan art #fan fiction #meta

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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ah shit we broke 50k on this beast. happy Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday

Scattered on my Shore (Chapter 12)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [ao3] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: Damien and Arum, Arum and Damien, and Rilla- Rilla is having a difficult evening.

Chapter Notes: Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day I first started writing Penumbra fic. Oh, how time flies. Oof. Also. Hm. I've been mentally calling this the emotional whiplash chapter. Be gentle with yourself? Warnings for blood, violence, fighting, canon-typical deception, canon-typical monstrous horrors and canon-typical monster-horror deaths, including some upsetting imagery that I wrote at like two a m and then was a little perturbed by the next morning. Uh. I think that's everything? I swear this fic is soft sometimes.

Rilla still tastes sticky pink at the back of her sinuses, reeking strange but somehow vaguely sweet, and Tal's voice calls out through the jungle. Tal's voice is not the only noise, though. There is crashing, tree limbs cracking, shouting and roaring and rattling that makes Rilla's stomach twist with familiarity she doesn't want to place.

She clings to Marc's shoulders as Dampierre runs them towards his brother's voice. She catalogs symptoms, catalogs coincidences in the back of her mind, and she hopes that the twinge of instinctive terror in her gut is wrong.

Time sighs past them, tortuously slow, and Arum is beginning to suspect that the knight is deliberately attempting to drive him out of his skull. Eventually Arum's thin patience snaps, and he sits up straight in the bed, tail thrashing as he scowls.

"Must you do that?"

Damien doesn't seem to hear him. He paces in a tight circle on the other side of the room, seemingly unaware of the book still clutched tightly in his hands, unaware that his knuckles are going pale with that tightness. "Saint Damien above, please," he murmurs to himself, for perhaps the eighteenth time, "oh I cannot lose her, I cannot- how can I remain here, still and unharmed while she flies towards danger with a smile, my Saint? How can I endure the torturous burden of safety while my beloved could be in any peril, any peril at all? Perils unknown! Perils unknowable, teeming in the dark of night, and with my forever-flower accompanied by so untrustworthy a companion-"

"Songbird, honestly, the squawking-"

"The Salamander, of all companions, and I must remain behind, must either leave her unprotected- or precariously protected, at the very best, or else I shall break my word to her! To act otherwise would be to break not only the bond of my word, but to break her heart in the same moment-"

Arum barks a laugh. "Oh please, honeysuckle. I do not think Amaryllis' heart is quite so fragile as that." He snorts. "Not quite so fragile as yours, that is, always aching and cracking within you."

Damien pauses his pacing, then shoots the monster a scathing look. "What business have you, beast, in discussing either of our hearts?"

"You certainly won't shut up about it in earshot," Arum growls. "Forgive me for misconstruing a conversation out of your ceaseless heartsick blather."

"I would not expect a monster to understand the value of prayer, Lord Arum," Damien says through his teeth. "Nor the ache of love."

Arum opens his mouth, meaning give a biting retort, and then he remembers Amarayllis' eyes, and how soft they were when she asked-

He closes his mouth again, sighing, and Damien eyes him suspiciously for a few moments before he resumes his pacing, resumes his muttering.

The poet's heart speeds again as the minutes continue to pass, his breaths growing more shallow. Arum does not know what else he is meant to focus on, besides Sir Damien slowly twisting himself to pieces. His words are running so fast that they have begun to bleed together, almost too panicked for Arum to parse into individual thoughts, and when Damien chokes on a breath and his eyes go bright Arum cannot keep his mouth closed another moment longer.

"You are not helping, Damien," he says, and the knight turns towards him, his lips curling in something that could have been a scowl, if he did not look so otherwise distressed. "If your prayer has value, so be it, but it does not appear that it is doing anything at this moment beside causing you to pull your own feathers out. Stop- stop thrashing about and find another thought to worry on. Threaten me again. That certainly seemed to amuse you, before."

Damien startles, oddly, somewhere in the middle of Arum's words, and then he goes still. "I…" he pauses, coughs. "I suppose… I suppose I have been- twisting and drowning in the mire of this misery for far too long," he mutters, pressing his hand over his mouth. "Tranquility is… so terribly far from me, this night," he says, even more quietly, more to himself than anything.

"Amaryllis is clever and ferocious. I very much doubt she would bolt off in foolishness at the risk of her own neck. Do you imagine that she would wish for you to drive the both of us to madness in your worry? If your words are not helping, find other words, or other action. Do something useful, honeysuckle. If you continue as you are, you will simply distress yourself further." He pauses. "And continue to give me a headache."

"Something useful," Damien echoes, his gaze distant. "What … I cannot compose in this state. I cannot- I do not know what to do. I am…"

Enough tension pulls at the poet's frame that he looks as if he may crack in two.

Arum sighs. "Here," he says quietly. "Give me that book, at least. Before you go ahead and snap its spine in your little talons."

Damien looks at his own hands, then, as if he had forgotten that they existed entirely, his grip on the book finally loosening. "Ah-"

"Amaryllis was going to share the notes with me anyway. I may as well begin work on my translation. Perhaps I can have a page or two to share with her when she returns."

"When she returns," Damien whispers. "When she returns. Yes. Of course, when she-" he shudders out a breath, and then he steps close enough to Arum to pass the journal to him.

The leather of the binding feels warm from Damien's hands, and Arum brushes his thumb over the label on the cover, written in Amaryllis' impatient but neat scrawl. "Excellent," he says, because he does not wish to say thank you. "Now, perhaps you should check the food, as she asked, honeysuckle. Perhaps it will be easier to calm yourself if you have a moment where you need not share the room with so foul a beast as I."

Damien opens his mouth, his cheeks darkening, and then he snaps his jaw shut again, looking away. "The food. Yes," he murmurs, and then the poet retreats.

When Damien leaves the room Arum leans back, sighing and allowing himself his own moment of worry.

A couple hours. Amaryllis is- Arum's words were in no way false, she is both clever and ferocious, and he does not know this other human she has gone into the wilds with, but he cannot imagine that she would trust her protection to someone unworthy of that honor. This is her home. Certainly she knows the territory that surrounds it. Certainly she will be in no danger at all.

Certainly.

He composes himself before Damien returns with their meal, and Damien is tense and stiff but he finishes his bowl without another muttering collapse, which Arum is learning is as close to a success as he is likely to manage. He resumes his translation, then, poring over the thin botanical tome and trying not to notice as Damien's heart gradually begins to race again.

The poet straightens, suddenly, standing from his lean against the counter, and then without a word he goes back out to the front room again, leaving Arum watching his back in alarm. When he returns he is clutching what appears to be- his bow, his armor, his quiver and packs and all manner of miscellany. Damien crouches to drop the lot of it on the floor, somewhat close to Arum's bed, and then he sinks to sit beside the pile, pulling his bow out first and examining it with keen, narrowed eyes.

"What are you up to now, honeysuckle?" Arum asks, lowering the books in his hands.

"Something useful, I hope," Damien warbles in response. "I have been meaning to restring my bow for weeks, now. I cannot do much else, at the moment, so I may as well perform the tasks I have been delaying in favor of more pressing matters, as I am being currently pressed to stillness instead."

Arum certainly cannot complain about that. Damien's expression has gone focused, poised, as he carefully and skillfully bends his bow into the proper position for him to remove the current (apparently unsatisfactory) string. Arum eyes the rest of the pile curiously, observing the well-battered armor, the quiver which looks both old and loved, patched with many careful mendings.

Arum narrows his eyes at the rest of Damien's packs as the knight carefully begins the process of restringing his bow, and a small plain leather sheath catches his attention. He reaches with his tail to pull it out from the rest, lifting it to take into his hands, setting Amaryllis' book and its translation aside on the sheets for a moment.

"Hrm…" Arum notes that this leather is vaguely tattered, but not mended with care as the quiver is. He slips the knife out, and Damien turns towards him and tenses at the edge of his vision but Arum is far too distracted to care because- "Honeysuckle, have you no respect at all for your weaponry? I understand that you favor your bow but-" he turns the blade in the light, noting the dullness of the edge, the light speckling of rust across the metal. "This is a travesty. It is dull as a branch and it looks as if it went swimming with you. You would be more likely to harm yourself with this mistreated thing than any enemy." He growls low, scraping his claw along the edge of the blade, bringing it closer to his snout to inspect more closely, clicking his tongue in disappointment. "Careless. Negligent. You must have a whetstone somewhere, oils and the like, honeysuckle. Bring them here this instant and I will give this little blade the care it has been denied."

Arum continues to turn the blade close in front of his eye, and it takes him a long moment to realize that Damien has not moved. Arum blinks, shaking his head, and then he looks over the metal and Damien meets his eye, his seated stance tense, his hands on his bow gone slack and his eyes bright with worry and with- something else Arum cannot interpret.

Arum frowns, unsure for a long moment precisely what the issue is, before he realizes-

A knife in his hands. An armed monster, and a knight with his bow unstrung.

Of course.

Arum looks away from Damien, his breath rattling in discomfort, and his hands flex against the hilt of the blade. He inhales around the strange weight in his chest, and then he hisses the breath back out through his teeth. "Don't be foolish, honeysuckle," he manages in a growl. "What could I do with this wretched knife that I could not do with my claws already? If I wanted to hurt you, there would be cleverer ways than this. Bring me the tools. I do not care to watch you oil and polish and spoil your favored toy over there while this little edge remains in disrepair. Besides," he gives a short, stilted laugh, "a dull knife is far, far more dangerous than the alternative. I will protect you from your own negligence, have no fear."

Arum does not look back towards Damien, so he does not see whatever expression it is that the poet wears as he stares for another long moment. He manages not to look when he hears Damien rise to stand, as well, though when the knight leaves the room he cannot keep his shoulders from sagging.

Damien does not have the first clue what Arum is capable of, with any sort of blade. Damien does not have the first clue what Arum is capable of at all. But obviously, obviously the knight's instincts are sound. He is more correct than even he knows.

Damien returns, and without a word he hands Arum the requested tools, and then he goes to resume his own tasks.

Without a word, Arum turns the blade in his hands, and then he begins the slow, gentle work of restoring it to its proper sharpness, and shine.

The false Rattlepanther is a puddle of melted spores behind them, and Dampierre bursts out from a tangle of bramble and glossy leaves. Their entrance into the clearing scatters the thick pink mist enough that Rilla sees the source of the noises immediately, the shouting, the fighting-

Damien and Arum, trying to kill each other in the mud, just beneath the enormous thumping threat of the Numb-Cap.

They're both bloody already. The bandages on Arum's midsection are soaked through with red beneath the dirty brown, his frill is worse off, even, than it had been when she found him in the first place, and Damien- Damien's arms are totally sliced up, obvious claw wounds, and there is a similar gash across one cheek, too, bleeding brightly over his chin and down his neck as they grapple with each other, their legs caught tight together in the sticky grip of a writhing pink slime mold beneath them.

"Damien! Damien stop-"

They do not pull away from each other, but both of them glance towards her for a moment as she leaps down from the saddle, Arum with his teeth bared and bloody, Damien with his eyes flat and hard and blank.

"Of course," Damien says in a cold murmur. "Of course. I begin to doubt and- and you, my precious flower, you come like dawn to show me my true path. To remind me of my duty. This creature has twisted your mind, has pulled your heart from me-"

Her heart plunges like a stone, actually, at the accusation. "Damien, that's not-"

"Has upset the order of our very lives. It is for you, my love, that I must kill this monster. I must slay this beast."

"If you even can, you boasting little fool-"

"Don't! Stop! Just- don't do anything, I'm coming over there and-"

"Rilla, wait-" Marc grabs her shoulder, and Rilla fights back an urge to smack him. "Remember how it was with Talfryn. They're knee-deep in slime, and for all we know they could be more of those spore illusion things, right?"

"I-" Rilla looks back towards them, and then she meets Marc's eyes. "I don't know. I don't know if- I don't know why they would-"

"If you go over there you're gonna get stuck in it too," he says, and Rilla grits her teeth together tight.

"If they're real they're going to kill each other!"

Marc's brow furrows, but he shakes his head. "So what do we do, then? Maybe we can pull Damien out, but that monster's not gonna make it easy, and we gotta do that without getting sucked in in the meantime."

"I know, I know," Rilla chokes, her mind spinning in helpless circles as Damien and Arum fight. "I just- I'm thinking, I'll-"

"Do you think they're real?" Marc presses, squeezing her shoulder, and Rilla looks up at him for a moment before she looks back towards the grappling pair. "Talfryn- those things he said. All of that- it was on my mind today. Would Damien fighting a monster like this, would that have been on your mind today? Or- is there any chance Damien would even be out here?"

She and Marc have been turned around enough- Rilla doesn't even know how far they are from the hut, anymore. Could Damien and Arum actually be out here? Is that possible? Rilla doesn't have a clue. Possible or not, though-

Real or not. Rilla's heart is pounding and pounding and pounding. Louder than the Numb-Cap. Twice as fast, too. Damien and Arum trying to kill each other- would they? Would they really, or is Rilla just so scared, does the idea hurt her so much-

Arum isn't evil. Arum wouldn't hurt her. She knows that. She's been hoping that Arum not hurting her would extend to Damien, too, but- but Damien still thinks-

Rilla can't even tell who's winning. Damien's bowstring is snapped, it looks like he's just trying to stab Arum with one of his arrows instead, and Arum is holding him back from completing the strike with two clawed hands digging into his wrists, his other hands swiping towards Damien's stomach.

"Stop!" Marc's hand on her shoulder is the only thing that keeps her from bolting towards him. "Saints- stop it! Stop fighting! You're going to kill each other-"

"I will slay this beast," Damien snarls, his muscles straining as he twists, barely avoiding the claws and barely having his own strike held off. "I must do my duty-"

"Get on with it, then, honeysuckle," Arum snarls, claws drawing blood at his wrists, and Damien cries out-

"Arum!"

"I told you, Amaryllis. I warned you that you would not be able to collar him-"

"Be silent, beast," Damien shouts, wrenching his arms back from Arum's resisting hands, "and die-"

Damien's hands bring the arrow down, and Arum's hands swing his claws up-

And Rilla isn't even sure which terrifies her more.

Damien plunges the arrow into Arum's shoulder and he gives a pained, gasping snarl that stretches into almost a howl, and at the same moment Arum's claws find Damien's ribs, making him scream.

Rilla could scream too. She can- she knows- the angle of the arrow, the depth of Arum's claws, she can still fix them, both of them, she can still make this okay if she can get them away from each other-

If they're real.

Arum digs his claws in, twisting his wrists. Damien shouts, and grits his teeth, and pushes the arrow deeper, and behind them, the Numb-Cap beats like a giant exposed heart.

Rilla takes a breath. She digs her hand into the satchels at her belt.

"Step back, Dampierre," she says, and as the horse moves she moves with him, until they are just barely far enough, and then she throws the explosive.

It catches quickly. The slime mold races with fire as if it is soaked with oil, and the fighting figures are caught within it, so-

They burn beneath the mushroom, screaming and writhing, and Arum does not pull his claws from Damien, and Damien does not release his grip on the arrow. Not even when the both of them melt and pop into a flurry of burning spores, as the Numb-Cap's horrible beating heart finally scorches out.

Death grip, Rilla thinks grimly, and then she leans heavy against Dampierre.

She guessed right. It wasn't them. She didn't kill them.

The light of the flames is still burnt into the back of her eyes, two twisting silhouettes, intertwined.

She guessed right.

That doesn't make her feel better. Not at all.

"There," Arum says softly, and Damien, who has long since finished with his bow and has now resorted to rearranging the entire contents of his traveling packs, looks up.

"There?"

"It has been treated as well as possible, with the tools provided. I hope it shall not be so neglected again."

He holds the knife out between them, then, hilt first, and Damien-

Damien stands, slowly, and steps close enough to reach out and take the blade back.

Arum drops his hand and his gaze once the knife is in Damien's hands. Damien lifts it closer, inspecting, and-

It is beautiful. Arum even polished the hilt, even cleaned the grit from the engravings. Damien can see the surprise in his own eyes reflected in the new shine of the metal, and he can tell when he tests it against his thumb that it is sharper, perhaps, than it has ever been.

"It is nearly as sharp and dangerous as I am, now," Arum hisses low with a flick of the tongue, and something about his tone coils in Damien's stomach, and his breath catches and his fingers twitch and-

"Ah!"

Damien only barely manages not to drop the blade, though he has run the curved tip across his palm, below his thumb, pulling open a shallow red line.

"Honeysuckle-" Arum sits up straighter, his tongue darting in the air again, and then his brow furrows deep. "Foolish creature. I sharpened it. Did you not think it would then be sharp? "

"My- my hand slipped, Arum, I assure you it was not some intentional testing of your word. Ah, ah-"

Arum slips from the sheets, rolling unsteadily to his feet. "Let me see- ah, not too terribly deep, then." He reaches a hand out, taking the blade back, and then he pushes Damien so that he stumbles to sit on the bed instead. Damien makes an instinctive noise in protest, but Arum narrows his eyes sternly. "Sit, you delicate little songbird." He turns away then, limping to the counter and then reaching to rummage through the cabinets, grumbling to himself as he goes.

"Arum, I-"

"Hush. I have seen the doctor work enough that I believe I can manage so small a wound as this." He returns with disinfectant and a roll of bandages, and when Damien opens his mouth to protest again he scowls. "I should certainly love to see you attempt to apply all of this one handed, honeysuckle. It was my efforts that you managed to damage yourself upon, allow me to fix it so you may not lay this blame on me as well."

Damien feels his cheeks darkening as Arum kneels heavily beside the bed, and then he takes Damien's hands in his own with an inarguable sort of gentleness, turning his palm upwards and hissing low. His eyes glitter as he examines the injury, as he begins to treat it.

Lord Arum does not work with the same smiling sort of care that his Rilla does, but he is efficient and attentive, even as he growls under his breath. When he slices through the bandage with a claw to separate it from the roll, Damien's pulse jumps oddly, his breath catching, and Arum meets his eye for a moment.

"Careless little honeysuckle," he murmurs as he finishes the wrapping. Then he draws his claws over the white of the bandages on Damien’s palm with a delicacy that makes Damien's skin race with something that feels like lightning. "If I did not know any better, I would think you were trying to have your petals plucked…"

Damien feels heat rush through him like a furnace door thrown open at his back, his hand flexing in Arum's grasp. "I… Lord Arum, I…" he pauses, and Arum's eyes are so vivid, so strange. "Th-thank you."

Arum blinks, and then his vivid eyes drop. He releases Damien's hand, then shifts to grip the bed so he can pull himself to stand. "Don't thank me," he mutters, his tone so entirely blank after the strange warmth that came before. "It was my sharpness that cut you. I was simply ensuring that you would have no evidence to throw in Amaryllis' face to push further towards my death, little knight."

The coldness of the words pushes Damien to stand, far more than Arum climbing back into the bed does.

"Arum-"

"What?" Arum is already curled onto his side atop the blankets, already turned away, but he shoots Damien an irritable look over his shoulder. “What, knight?”

Damien feels his mouth hanging open. His eyes draw slow along the strange, elegant curves of Arum's snout, his teeth, his horns, but he cannot find the right words.

The pause hangs too long, and Arum drops his eyes with a sigh, rolling to face away.

Damien feels his heart, thudding like a stranger at the door. He lifts his bandaged hand, cupping it to his chest, and he feels the wound pulse too, with each unceasing beat.

The jungle is darker, after all that fire, and there is a glass jar rattling heavy (in metaphorical weight) in Rilla's pocket, and Rilla has enough Numb-Cap to make Marc's medicine for years, now, and she's so tired that she feels like she could collapse. And Marc-

"So… Rilla… do you want to-"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"You were gonna ask again if I wanna talk about it, and I don't, Marc."

"But, Rilla-"

Rilla scowls and starts walking faster, pulling ahead of Marc and Dampierre for a moment or two.

"Rilla! C'mon, don't- don't be like that. You can't honestly expect me not to be worried! That- that whole thing-"

"We handled it, Marc. It's done with."

"We did and don't get me wrong, any adventure with that many explosions is gonna wind up featured prominently in my memoirs, but seriously, what the hell was that?"

"A bunch of big, gross, mutated fungi with shitty magic metaphor powers," she gripes, but Marc pulls Dampierre in front of her, making her stumble to a scowling stop. "Marc. I want to go home, finish your pills, and go to sleep."

"You know that's not what I meant, Rilla." He stares down at her, his eyebrows furrowed with uncharacteristic gravity. "That fake-monster that fake-Damien was trying to kill. You called it by name, Rilla."

Rilla's muscles tense. She hadn't- she didn't realize that-

"If you're doing something dangerous- we're family, Rilla. I just want to know that you're safe, okay? It's been … things have been dangerous, lately. More dangerous than normal, I mean. The monsters have been pulling stuff like that fungus, you know? Stuff that gets in your head, uses your fears against you, turns you against each other, and I just- I know you won't take a break from your work, but I need to know that you're at least looking out for yourself."

"I'm looking out for myself, Marc," she grits out through her teeth, and then she pushes her way around Dampierre. They're close enough to the hut that she can see the light through the underbrush, and she just doesn't have the energy-

"I'm just- c'mon, I'm not being unfair here, I know I'm not," he says, trotting after her again. "Just tell me why you seemed just as freaked out about Damien hurting that lizard as you did about it going the other way, Rilla, because I just can't-"

She spins back, scowling. "Drop it, Marc!"

"Just give me something to go on, here! Give me something that lets me know you aren't doing something illegal and dangerous again, because right now I'm scared that the next time you get caught red handed, they're gonna skip the exile and go straight for execution!"

Rilla's breath catches. "I- I-"

"Rilla," Marc says. "Please. You know that I love you. You gotta talk to me, because if things have gone so wrong that I'm the one worrying about you? We're breaking the natural order of the universe, here. Water's gonna start flowing uphill next thing you know."

A laugh pushes past her panic, choking but sincere. She hesitates, then steps closer to Marc again, reaching a hand to rub Dampierre's ear as she meets Marc's eye.

"I love you too," she says, first, and then she sighs. "I wish I could explain, Marc, I really, really do, but- but I don't know how to. You just have to trust me. You have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"You say that even when you don't know what you're doing, though," he points out, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well." She shakes her head. "This time I mean it, okay? Look, just- I didn't know for sure that they were fake when I burned them, Marc. I had a solid theory, but I didn't know, and I still did it because I knew it was the right thing to do. Because I knew Damien would rather burn than kill himself with guilt, and because I knew if I was wrong about A-" she stumbles. "About the monster, if he would hurt Damien or anyone else, it would be my fault. So- so I burned them."

"Rilla…"

"You have to trust me," she repeats. "I know that I'm right. That I'm doing the right thing. But- but if the evidence doesn't bear that out, I'll … I'll face those consequences. I'll deal with the situation. I'll fix it."

Marc's frown eases, just slightly, and after a moment he sighs, reaching out to pat the back of her hand. "Alright, Rilla. Okay. Just… be careful? And- and just- let me know, y’know? If you need help, if- if things get out of hand."

Rilla sighs, too tired to bristle properly at the suggestion that she might need help, and then she nods. "I know, Marc. I will. Now c'mon, we're almost there, and I still gotta make your medicine."

They hear Rilla come in through the closed exam room door, and she calls out very clearly to Marc through the outer door before they hear her pull the window open so she can continue to talk to him as she starts to mix her ingredients together.

It takes about an hour, all told, and Damien does not relax that entire time. From the way Arum keeps forgetting himself and growling low, from the way his tail continues to flick and thrash, neither does the monster. Eventually, though, Rilla passes some quiet words to Marc, and then she finally, finally closes the window again. Even through the door Damien can hear Rilla sigh so deeply it makes Damien's heart pull, her exhaustion a physical sort of pain within him.

Once he hears the hoofbeats fade away from the hut, Damien pulls the door of the exam room open and Rilla is already standing just outside, her legs muddy to the knee, her hair pulling from her braid and clouding around her, her eyes bright, and she looks at him and then over his shoulder at Arum and then her shoulders sag and her face splits with such relief that it looks as if it may crumple her.

Damien takes her into his arms instantly, without thought, guiding her back out into the front room. "Rilla, my dearest, my Amaryllis, you aren't hurt, are you?"

"No. I promise, I'm not, I just-"

"What happened?"

"Monster mushrooms, basically," she mumbles, shrugging, and Damien tries not to feel it like ice in his guts, his failure to protect her. "We- we dealt with it."

He inhales, exhales, prays for a silent moment, and then he asks, "And you are certain that you were not hurt?"

"I'm just-" her voice is too thick, but she gives a laugh through it, waving a hand in the air and pushing her hair out of her face. "Tired, that's all. I'm just- exhausted and covered in gross fungus slime and- and I've got about a thousand sticks caught in my hair, and- and- and I'm glad," she laughs again, a little wild. "I'm glad you didn't f-fight, while I was gone."

"Of course not," Damien says, as soft as he can manage, and then he pulls her closer, squeezing tight for just a moment before he spins, turning her as if they're dancing for only a breath. She chokes a surprised laugh against him as he gently maneuvers her to sit by the table, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Now. I can help with at least one of your dilemmas, my love. Let me fetch a brush, and I will at least help you comb the jungle from your hair before we sleep."

She inhales a shaky breath, then nods. "Alright. I'm- I'm not gonna argue if you wanna- if you wanna spoil me a bit," she murmurs weakly.

"Always," he murmurs through a smile, "I always do." He kisses her temple again before he straightens to go fetch the comb.

When he returns, Arum is in the doorway of his room, peering out at the herbalist with obvious concern, leaning heavily on his crutch.

"You are- not injured?"

Rilla sighs, and that more than anything assures Damien that her exhaustion is no small thing. Ordinarily, she would at least scowl at having that question asked of her a third time.

"Merely weary, she assures me," Damien says, and Arum flicks his eyes towards the knight for a moment before he frowns, and then nods. The monster watches as Damien steps close again, sinking to sit behind Rilla so he may take the tie from her hair, and slowly begin to comb out the tangles, the leaves and- and bits of ash that seem to have stuck there.

She sighs again, deep and tired, leaning back into Damien's hands, and he slowly, soothingly, quietly combs out her hair. He's nearly forgotten Arum watching them by the time the monster slowly crosses the room, sinking to sit at the other end of the table, watching with suspicious, curious eyes. When Damien is finished, when he has managed the worst of the tangles and brushed out the soot and debris, he sighs, and then he starts to separate out the sections to pull her hair into a new braid, but-

"Ah. Hm."

His hand. The hurt is almost entirely dulled, by now, but the placement of the cut and the resulting placement of the bandages make it so he cannot quite bend his thumb in the way he needs to. Rilla glances over her shoulder, blinking at him muzzily, and then she finally seems to notice the injury herself, sucking in a startled breath.

"Damien, what- what happened? " She pulls his hand into her own, her thumbs gentle on his skin, and over her head Damien watches as Arum cringes, drawing his shoulders up towards his chin, clearly expecting-

"Simply a cut, love. I was going through my packs, and I was careless, and I cut myself. I assure you I am fine."

She frowns, and then she shoots him a look. "This bandaging is too neat. You didn't do this."

Brilliant, Damien thinks helplessly, his heart pooling with bright, sparking love. "No," he says. "It would have been too difficult, of course, with only the one hand. Lord Arum was… generous enough to assist."

Lord Arum hisses under his breath at the mention, his frill raising and his face turned decidedly away from the both of them, now, hidden by the folds.

"He was, huh?" Rilla says, and her amusement manages to push through the layer of exhaustion that hangs upon her. Amusement, and a clear note of fondness, as well. "Well…" she pauses, gently turning Damien's hand in her own, biting her lip. "I… my hands are a little… shaky, at the moment. Maybe he'd wanna be generous again, just for a second?"

Arum freezes, and then his frill presses to his neck and he glances towards the pair of them with a look of alarm.

"Wh- what do you mean? What do you want?"

Rilla ducks her head, and then she glances up at the monster and Damien knows what she means, even if Arum does not.

Damien feels, perhaps, that he should be… concerned, at the very least. Disgusted, perhaps. But…

"Do you… do you know how to braid, Lord Arum?" he asks, tilting his head, and Arum blinks, and then scowls.

"Of course I do. Don't ask foolish questions."

"Would you… perhaps… would you help me to braid Rilla's hair, again? With my hand…" Damien frowns gently at himself, and he fully expects the monster to snap, to laugh, to bolt.

Arum stares, his violet eyes wide and stunned, and then he drops his gaze, pulling his hands close to wring awkwardly in front of himself for a moment before he seems to become aware of what he is doing, and then without answering he- he crawls closer, bringing himself beside Damien and stubbornly not looking at Rilla as she smiles, breathing a soft laugh.

"Fine. Helpless little thing. Move aside, will you?"

Damien shifts, moving to sit beside Rilla instead, and then he gestures for Arum to take his place, and the monster does so with a graceless grumble. Rilla exhales, her eyes closing again as three of Arum's hands (the fourth, his broken wrist, apparently not quite dexterous enough for the task just yet) sink into Rilla's hair, parting and sectioning it off before he starts to weave an elegant braid slowly down.

Arum's shoulders are stiff, at first, but Rilla is quiet in front of him and the monster seems to ease into the pattern of the motions, eventually, and Damien is quiet as well as he watches, the movements of Arum's scaled hands almost hypnotic in their rhythmic consistency.

Rilla falls asleep before he is halfway done. Damien thinks that Arum notices that this has happened as well, considering the way that his motions grow slower and more careful as his claws carefully twine her hair together. When he reaches the last few inches, Damien passes him the little leather band for him to tie at the bottom of the braid. Damien tilts his head to better see the rippling whole of it, a complex and beautiful weave, even if it was only done with three of the monster's four hands. Damien is unsure if he could replicate it with only his two. He finds himself wondering what sorts of complexities they could create if he and Arum were both to…

Arum is staring at the braid as well, and he lifts a hand as if to drift it down the softness of Rilla's hair, but he stops himself just before he makes contact. He pulls his hand back to his chest, clutching the scales just over his heart, and Damien feels his own heart skip, oddly.

Arum glances towards him then, his tongue flicking.

"What… ah… she has-" he pauses, hissing a low, concerned noise. "Amaryllis is sleeping on my legs, honeysuckle. What- what- what do I do?"

Damien barely manages to muffle his laugh so that it does not bubble bright and loud. He does not wish to wake her, if he can help it, but it is- ridiculous, utterly absurd, for Lord Arum to be so thoroughly trapped merely because he does not wish to wake Rilla. Damien has some degree of practice in this arena, however.

"Just be still for one moment, Lord Arum," Damien murmurs, and then he comes closer, eyeing the both of them and taking a moment to determine his approach. He leans down, slipping one arm beneath Rilla's knees, the other behind her back. It is impossible not to touch Lord Arum in this, too, since she is leaning back against the monster, and his scales are cool and strange against Damien's arm. Arum hisses low at the contact, and his chest is rumbling in a way that vibrates against Damien's skin. Damien tries not to notice. Tries not to feel the way the contact makes his stomach twist, the odd contrast of Rilla's gentle warmth in his arms beside Arum's coolness, and then he carefully, carefully lifts.

Rilla, safe in his arms, her head slumping to rest against his shoulder with her monster-woven braid rippling down her back, and Arum stares up at the both of them with his head tilted, his expression focused and wary, and Damien smiles without meaning to.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and Arum scowls but does not deflect this time, and Damien drops his gaze from the monster as he carefully carries Rilla to the bedroom.

When he reaches the doorway, however, he hesitates, and then he glances back towards Arum, still sat amongst the cushions by the table.

"Can… can you manage back to your room on your own?" Damien asks, after a pause, and Arum looks away.

"In a few minutes, perhaps," he mutters. "I believe the doctor put my legs to sleep along with herself."

Damien stifles another laugh, pressing his lips softly to Rilla's hair to hide his smile. He hesitates again, but then-

"When I have settled her… I will come help you to your feet again, at least," he murmurs.

Arum blinks, his thin lips parting in surprise, but Damien simply nods and carries Rilla into her room, before Arum can thank him. Before Damien can memorize that precise look, flustered surprise shaping Arum's inhuman face.

[->]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #scattered on my shore #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile

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yousayparty · 4 years ago

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The right place, the right time, and the right amount of exclamation marks

The history of Vancouver via Abbotsford British Columbia’s You Say Party is a storied one. Imagine this: trapped in a never ending nightmare of suburban dystopian hell, you form a band. With the simple adjective of having fun, spreading a message, making people dance - you leave the confines of a religiously stifling community. Within a few years you’re playing the world’s top festivals, winning awards, and wooing critics.

But now I find myself piecing foggy bits of memory fragments together with duct tape and hairspray. Like stickers on a dive bar bathroom stall, I know I was there. But why and for how long? I feel like I’m sifting through a shoebox of handbills and press clippings like some True Crime podcaster placing myself at the scene.

I’m not sure where I first heard the name You Say Party! We Say Die! but it caught my eye. It was an era of exuberant band names. !!!, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Shout Out Out Out Out, Hot Hot Heat, Fake Shark- Real Zombie! And my own band GoGoStop! It was also a time when bands out Vancouver’s sleepy conservative suburbs were starting to break out: Witness Protection Program, The Hand, Fun100.

It was exciting. There was a sense of community. Of people just wanting to have fun. Perhaps we were shaking off the anxieties of a post 9/11 world, or shrugging off the self seriousness that was emo and hardcore. We still made mix tapes and zines- scoured Terminal City and The Straight for new bands. There was this new social networking craze called MySpace that had yet to be a ubiquitous omnipresent corporate behemoth that dominated every corner of our lives. We were called Scenesters not Hipsters. Everyone was in an art collective.

Adorned with white belts and one-inch pins; asymmetrical hair cuts and red velvet blazers we set out to prove Vancouver wasn’t No Fun City at now long shuttered venues like the Marine Club, the Pic Pub, and Mesa Luna. I didn’t drink at the time so dancing, and by extension dance punk, had become my saviour- bands like The Rapture, Les Say Fav, Pretty Girls Make Graves to name a few. When Mp3 blogs became a thing, I immediately downloaded The Gap from their 2005 debut Hit The Floor! and loaded it on my 100 song iPod shuffle. I like so many others, became an instant fan.

I moved into what could only be described as a punk rock compound- 3 houses that were owned by a former Christian sect that we dubbed Triple Threat. Members of Bend Sinister, No Dice, Witness Protection Program, and Devon Clifford from You Say Party and Cadeaux (and Whiteloaf) all lived there. He drove an orange 1981 Camaro Berlinetta to match his bright red hair and big personality. We would walk to the greasy spoon Bon’s Off Broadway to get terrible but cheap breakfast and to watch The coffee Sheriff pour undrinkable refills of sludge. It was like living in the movie Withnail and I, but funner. We all wore pins that said Do You Party? on them.

It felt like Vancouver was blowing up and You Say Party was the hand-clapping drum majorette leading the pack. Ladyhawk, Black Mountain, Radio Berlin, New Pornographers, Destroyer, S.T.R.E.E.T.S., The Doers, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? And The Organ highlighted just how tight-knit and diverse our scene was. Relentless touring and glowing reviews for You Say Party’s sophomore Lose All Time ensured they were head of the class, despite being unable to tour the US due to a previous border snafu.

Lose All Time sat on top of the Earshot charts for what seemed like forever. Famous for their frenetic live shows, and aided by stunning videos, their sophomore effort was a clear progression from Hit The Floor! It still harnessed the visceral rawness of their origins, but hinted at a confidence and maturity that was to come. The title of Lose All Time was a reference to the discombobulation of constant touring and it too was a hint of what was to come.

The touring would take its toll. Fuelled by Chinese Red Bull; a well document public dustup between band members at a bar in Germany would throw everything into uncertainty. But it was that turbulence that would set the stage for XXXX and after a restorative tour to China, the stage was set for the penultimate You Say Party record.

Flash forward to 2009 and the city was on edge. Everything was about to change. Vancouver was preparing to host the world amidst the unfolding Great Recession. Anti-Olympic protests ramped up. A gang war raged in the streets and made international headlines, tucked behind Swine Flu hysteria and the ongoing imperialist war on Iraq.

It seemed like all the venues started closing and all our friends were moving to Berlin or Montreal. We starting looking in. Is this the city we want? Was it just growing pains? This kind of introspection is clearly reflected in XXXX. If Lose All Time was a record the band wanted to make, XXXX was a record for the people; a record for the city of Vancouver; a record for 2009.

"I finally feel like a singer, rather than a dancer who loves being in a band" said Becky Ninkovic at the time. It’s a perfect quote. One that succinctly captures the maturity and focus of the record. After a breakdown for Ninkovic, a year of rest and vocal lessons, Exclaim! announced XXXX to be a career resuscitation.

And it was. Going back now and rediscovering the record is such a magical thing. Opening for You Say Party with my band Taxes in 2008, I was impressed with the new material even if was a little jaded (I mean I was almost 30). But now with time and space I can see the songs they were working on were truly timeless. Laura Palmer’s Prom could so easily slot in with the latest 80s synthwave revival along alongside bands like Lust for Youth, Lower Dens, and Chromatics.

Overall, XXXX sounds like an exhale. A moment of stillness when you know you’ve made something extraordinary. When you know all those moments combined; moments of sheer terror, adrenalin, elation, boredom, and longing- culminate in a piece of art that once you let go of it- you just know in your gut that it’s right. It draws you in, wrestles with a brooding tension, then sends you into a churning whirlwind of tight drums and buzzing synths. It’s a remarkable achievement.

There’s plenty of vintage YSP sass throughout. “She’s Spoken For”, “Make XXXX”, and “Cosmic Wanship Avengers” are all classic synth punk gems, but the it’s in the subdued that the album really grips. “Dark Days”, “There is XXXX (Within My Heart)” and the sprawling Kate Bush like ballad “Heart of Gold” are the hallmark of a band that is comfortable exploring the limits of their genre. While lyrically quite positive, the melodies are daunting. Indeed, as Pitchfork put it, “the slower pace and more sentimental outlook of XXXX gives listeners the necessary space and encouragement to surrender to the band's emotional message”.

And it was a message they would finally return to the US with in 2009. The band was poised for mainstream breakout success. They were long listed for the Polaris and they won a Western Canadian Music Award for Best Rock Album of the year. Much has been written about what would happen next. I don’t want this article to be about the tragic onstage death of drummer and friend Devon Clifford, but it’s inexorably linked to the band’s story.

And I can only really tell it from my point of view. I wasn’t sure I would go to the funeral but a mutual friend told me that Devon would want me to go. Portland Hotel Society, a local housing provider which Devon had thrown the weight of his passion behind, rented a bus to drive out to Abbotsford. I held up pretty well until my friend Al Boyle got up to play. Then some yelled “Spagett”. Then Krista and Becky sang “Cloudbusting” and I lost it.

The band would try to carry on. Krista would leave the band and Bobby Siadat and Robert Andow of the band Gang Violence would fill in for touring. When that didn’t go as planned Al Boyle who had been in the punk band Hard Feelings with Devon would replace Bobby. They officially went on hiatus in 2011 only to reunite a year later with Krista back on keys and a drum machine in place of Devon.

And while the band’s self titled 2016 release would be their moment of closure, the reissue of XXXX is one of celebration. Celebration of what they made with Devon. Celebration of a near perfect moment in time. A capsule of a entire city at it’s peak. The band has changed. The scene has changed. And I’ve changed. But there will always be XXXX within in our hearts.

'Cause every time it rains

You're here in my head

Like the sun coming out

Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen

And I don't know when

But just saying it could even make it happen

Sean Orr Vancouver, BC January 2020

--------------------

We are so excited to reissue a limited run of XXXX on clear vinyl through Paper Bag Records Vintage for Record Store Day on August 29th! Support your local stores & grab this album on vinyl for the first time in 10 years! https://recordstoredaycanada.ca #yousayparty #YSPWSD

--------------------

About Sean Orr Sean Orr is a writer, musician, artist, activist, and dishwasher living and working in the unceded Coast Salish territories of Vancouver, B.C. Besides his twice weekly news column in Scout Magazine he writes for Beatroute and has written for Vice Magazine and Montecristo among others in the past. He’s the frontman in the punk band Needs and also has a pickle company called Brine Adams. Twitter | NEEDS | Tea & Two Slices | Flickr

#yousayparty #xxxx #vinyl #reissue #paperbagrecords #yousaypartywesaydie #dancepunk #seanorr

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maddie-grove · 5 years ago

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The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2019

My main takeaways from the past year’s reading:

Sometimes you think something is happening because of magic, but then it turns out to have a non-magical explanation so weird that you find yourself saying, “You know what? I wish faeries or God were responsible for this. I’d honestly feel less disturbed.”

Stop bathing and changing your clothes and shaving for three years, three months, and three days. You’ll find out who your real friends are. I promise you that.

I want more books about bisexual ladies!!! Give them to me!!!

Anyway...

20. The Prodigal Duke by Theresa Romain (2017)

Childhood sweethearts Poppy Hayworth and Leo Billingsley were separated when his older brother, a duke, sent him away to make his fortune. Years later, the duke is dead, a financially successful Leo has come back to England to take his place, and Poppy has become a rope dancer at Vauxhall Gardens after a life-shattering event. New sparks are flying between them, but is love possible when so much else has changed? Leo and Poppy are believable and charming as old friends, Romain makes great use of obscure historical details from the oft-depicted Regency period, and I loved Leo’s difficult but caring elderly uncle.

19. Simple Jess by Pamela Morsi (1996)

Althea Winsloe, a young widow in 1900s Arkansas, has no interest in remarrying, but almost everyone in her small Ozarks community is pressuring her to remarry, and she still needs someone to help farm her land. Enter Jesse Best, a strong young man with cognitive disabilities who’s happy to take on the work. As he makes improvements to her farm and bonds with her three-year-old son, Althea gets to know him better and starts to see him in a new light. This earthy romance could’ve been a disaster, but instead it illustrates how people with disabilities are often...uh...simplified and de-sexualized in a way that denies them autonomy. Morsi has a similarly nuanced take on Althea and Jesse’s community, which is claustrophobic and supportive all at once.

18. Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli (2018)

Outspoken and insecure, bisexual high school senior Leah Burke is having a tough year. Her friend group is in turmoil, her single mom is seriously dating someone, and she’s caught between a sweet boy she’s not sure about and a pretty, perfect straight girl who couldn’t possibly be into her...right??? The sequel to the very cute Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, Leah on the Offbeat pulls a The Godfather: Part II with its messy protagonist, sweetly surprising romance, and masterful comic set piece involving the Atlanta American Girl Doll restaurant.

17. Copper Sun by Sharon M. Draper (2006)

Kidnapped from her home in eighteenth-century Ghana, fifteen-year-old Amari is sold into slavery and winds up on a South Carolina plantation, where she faces terrible cruelty but finds friends in an enslaved cook, her little son, and eventually a sulky white indentured servant around her age. When their master escalates his already-atrocious behavior, the three young people flee south to the Spanish Fort Mose in search of freedom. Draper’s complicated characters, vivid descriptions, and deft handling of heavy subjects makes for top-notch historical YA fiction.

16. A Prince on Paper by Alyssa Cole (2019)

After her controlling politician father was jailed for poisoning a bunch of people in their small, prosperous African country, Nya Jerami gained unprecedented freedom but also became the subject of vicious gossip. Johan von Braustein, the hard-partying stepson of a European monarch, wants to help her, partly because he sympathizes and partly because he has a crush, but she thinks he’s too frivolous and horny (if wildly attractive). After an embarrassing misunderstanding compels them to enter a fake engagement, though, she begins to wonder if there’s more to him. I’m not a huge fan of contemporary romance, but this novel has the perfect combination of heartfelt emotion, delicious melodrama, and adorable fluff.

15. One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney (1997)

Stephen, the Duke of Ashburton, has always done the proper and responsible thing, but that all changes when he learns that he’s terminally ill. Wandering the countryside in the guise of an ordinary gentleman, he ends up joining an acting troupe and falling in love with Rosalind, the sensible adopted daughter of the two lead actors. Like another Regency romance on this list, this novel celebrates love in many forms: there’s the love story between Stephen and Rosalind, yes, but there’s also Rosalind’s loving relationship with her adopted family, the new bonds she forms with her long-lost blood relatives, the way her two families embrace the increasingly frightened Stephen, and the healing rifts between Stephen and his well-meaning but distant siblings. Stephen’s reconciliation with his mortality is also moving.

14. My One and Only Duke by Grace Burrowes (2018)

Facing a death sentence in Newgate, footman-turned-prosperous banker Quinton Wentworth decides to do one last good thing: marry Jane McGowan, a poor pregnant widow, so she and the baby will be financially set. Then he receives a pardon and a dukedom at the literal last minute, meaning that he and Jane have a more permanent arrangement than either intended. I fell in love with the kind-but-difficult protagonists almost at once, and with Burrowes’s gorgeous prose even faster.

13. Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell (2013)

It’s 1986, and comics-loving, post-punk-listening, half-Korean Park and bright, weird, constantly bullied Eleanor are just trying to get through high school in their rough Omaha neighborhood. He’s only grudgingly willing to let her share his bus seat at first, but this barely civil acquaintance slowly thaws into friendship and blossoms into love. Far from being the whimsical eighties-nostalgia-fest I expected, this is a bittersweet love story about two isolated young people who find love, belonging, and a chance for self-expression with each other in an often-hostile environment (a small miracle pre-Internet).

12. Shrill by Lindy West (2016)

In this memoir, Lindy West talks about the difficulties of being a fat woman, the thankless task of being vocally less-than-enthused about rape jokes, the joys of moving past self-doubt, and the very real possibility that Little John from Disney’s Robin Hood was played by “bear actor” Baloo, among other subjects. I was having a hard time during my last semester of law school this past spring, and this book’s giddy humor and inspiring messages really helped me in my hour of need.

11. Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood by Karina Longworth (2018)

In 1925, very young businessman Howard Hughes breezed into Hollywood with nothing but tons of family wealth, a soon-to-be-divorced wife, and a simple dream: make movies about fast planes and big bosoms. He got increasingly weird and reactionary over the next thirty years, then retired from public life. More a history of 1920s-1950s Hollywood than a biography, this book has the same sharp writing and in-depth film analysis that makes me love Longworth’s podcast You Must Remember This.

10. The Beguiled by Thomas Cullinan (1966)

In Civil-War-era Virginia, iron-willed Martha Farnsworth and her nervous younger sister try to run their nearly empty girls’ boarding school within earshot of a battlefield. When one girl finds Union soldier John McBurney injured in the woods, she brings him back to the house, where he exploits every conflict and secret among the eight girls and women (five students, two sisters, and one enslaved cook). Charming and manipulative, he nevertheless finds himself in over his head. Cullinan makes great use of the eight POVs and the deliciously claustrophobic setting; it’s fascinating to watch the power dynamics and allegiances shift from scene to scene.

9. A Gentleman Never Keeps Score by Cat Sebastian (2018)

Reserved tavern keeper Sam Fox wants to help out his brother’s sweetheart by finding and destroying a nude portrait she once sat for; disgraced gentleman Hartley Sedgwick isn’t sure what he wants after having his life ruined twice over, but he happened to inherit his house from the man who commissioned the painting...plus he’s not exactly reluctant to assist kind, handsome Sam in his quest. I wrote about this heart-melting romance two times last year; suffice it to say that it’s not only one of the best Regencies I’ve ever read, but also possibly the best romance I’ve ever read about the creation of a found family.

8. Frog Music by Emma Donoghue (2014)

Blanche Beunon, a French-born burlesque dancer in 1876 San Francisco, has a lot going on: her mooching boyfriend has turned on her, her sick baby is missing, and her cross-dressing, frog-hunting friend Jenny Bonnet was just shot dead right next to her. In the middle of a heat wave, a smallpox epidemic, and a little bit of mob violence, she must locate her son and solve Jenny’s murder. This is a glorious work of historical fiction; you can see, hear, smell, and feel the chaotic world of 1870s San Francisco, plus Blanche’s character arc is amazing.

7. The Patrick Melrose novels (Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, Mother’s Milk, and At Last) by Edward St. Aubyn (1992, 1992, 1994, 2005, and 2012, respectively)

Born to an embittered English aristocrat and an idealistic American heiress, Patrick Melrose lives through his father’s sadistic abuse and his mother’s willful blindness (Never Mind), does a truly staggering amount of drugs in early adulthood (Bad News), and makes a good-faith effort at leading a normal life (Some Hope). Years later, the life he’s built with his wife and two sons is threatened by his alcoholism and reemerging resentment of his mother (Mother’s Milk), but there may be a chance to salvage something (At Last). Despite the suffering and cruelty on display, these novels were the farthest thing from a dismaying experience, thanks to the sharp characterization, grim humor, and great sense of setting. Also, I love little Robert Melrose, an anxious eldest child after my own heart.

6. The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope (1974)

In 1550s England, no-nonsense Kate Sutton is exiled to the Perilous Gard, a remote castle occupied by suspicious characters, including the lord’s guilt-ridden younger brother Christopher. Troubled by the holes she sees in the story of the tragedy that haunts him, she does some problem-solving and ends up in a world of weird shit. Cleverly plotted, deliciously spooky, and featuring an all-time-great heroine, this book was an absolute treat. The beautiful Richard Cuffari illustrations in my edition didn’t hurt, either.

5. An Unconditional Freedom by Alyssa Cole (2019)

Daniel Cumberland, a free black man from New England traumatized from being sold into slavery, and Janeta Sanchez, a mixed-race Cuban-Floridian lady from a white Confederate family, have been sent on a mission to the Deep South by the Loyal League, a pro-Union spy organization. Initially hostile to everyone (but particularly to somewhat naive Janeta), Daniel warms to his colleague, but will her secrets, his shattered faith in justice, and the various dangers they face prevent them from falling in love? Nah. Alyssa Cole’s historical romances deliver both on the history and the romance, and this is one of her strongest entries.

4. The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics by Olivia Waite (2019)

Heartbroken by the death of her father and the marriage of her ex-girlfriend, Lucy Muchelney decides she needs a change of scenery and takes a live-in position translating a French astronomy text for Catherine St. Day, the recently widowed Countess of Moth. Catherine, used to putting her interests on hold for an uncaring spouse, is intrigued by this awkward, independent lady. I’ve read f/f romances before, but this sparkling Regency was the first to really blow me away with its fun banter, neat historical details, and perfect sexual tension.

3. The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli (2010)

After losing his entire fortune to a tidal wave, Sicilian nineteen-year-old Don Giovanni de la Fortuna sinks into poverty and near-starvation. Then Devil makes him an offer: all the money he wants for as long as he lives if he doesn’t bathe, cut his hair, shave, or change his clothes for three years, three months, and three days. This fairy-tale retelling is an extraordinarily moving fable about someone who learns to acknowledge his own suffering, recognize it in others, and extend compassion to all.

2. Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell (2013)

In this collection, Russell weaves strange tales of silkworm-women hybrids in Japan, seagulls who collect objects from the past and future, and, yes, vampires in the lemon grove. She also posits the very important question: “What if most (but not all) U.S. presidents were reincarnated as horses in the same stable and had a lot of drama going on?” My favorite stories were “Proving Up” (about a nineteenth-century Nebraska boy who encounters death and horror on the prairie), “The Graveless Doll of Eric Mutis” (about a disadvantaged high school student who discovers an effigy of the even more hapless boy he tormented), and “The Barn at the End of the Term” (the horse-president story).

1. The Wonder by Emma Donoghue (2016)

Lib Wright, an Englishwoman who has floundered since her days working for Florence Nightingale during the Crimean War, is hired to observe Anna O’Donnell, an eleven-year-old Irish girl famous for not eating for four straight months. With a jaundiced attitude towards the Irish and Catholicism, Lib is confident that she’ll quickly expose Anna as a fraud, but she finds herself liking the girl and getting increasingly drawn into the disturbing mystery of her fast. Like The Perilous Gard, this novel masterfully plays with the possibility of the supernatural, then introduces a technically mundane explanation that’s somehow much more eerie. Donoghue balances the horror and waste that surrounds Anna, though, with the clear, bright prose and the moving relationship that develops between her and Lib, who grows beyond her narrow-mindedness and emotional numbness. I stayed up half the night to finish this novel, which cemented Emma Donoghue’s status as my new favorite author.

#books #reading #top twenty

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suechoiart · 5 years ago

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SU19 Internship_ Week 4

Today I want to talk about client relations and office productivity.

Firma started business in 2015 and it is a relatively young firm. It has been interesting to see where Scott has adopted practices from Olin (where he had worked for over a decade) and where he is trying to cultivate new standards and a “knowledgebase” for his own firm. I love the energy of the firm and their attention to office improvement- it really feels like they are in for Firma to be a good firm, and not just one that exists.

I attempted very, very briefly to do freelancing as an artist and I like to entertain the idea of having my own practice in the distant future. My (marriage) partner has been running his own business for nearly five years. Entrepreneurship and small business are both dreams and reality to our lives. So, another benefit to working at Firma is: this is a chance to absorb a lot of small business skills.

_ project management (Asana)

Firma is a small office. There’s enough breathing room for two regular employees, one intern, and an extra desk for a second intern (or new employee?!). Anyways point is, we are always in earshot of each other when we’re in the office together. It is still very important to touch base and keep track of project/office tasks and progress!

Firma uses a service called Asana to track to-do lists. I think I’ve heard Asana be advertised on a podcast, so it must be popular in the tech field (just a guess)... Few notable things are: each task has its own section to take notes and create subtasks; tasks can be assigned to specific people and put a deadline on it, so you can open your profile and see what tasks have bee assigned to you.

My task page under “intern tasks” - some are actually assigned to my profile, some are floating tasks that have been filed in this category. I don’t have access to any ‘pro’ features, so this could be substituted with any document sharing platform in my world... The important thing is probably to actually use it and update it regularly.

This has been a helpful tool for us to get together at the beginning of each week and assess priorities. Yesterday (Monday/Week5) was the first time in my internship we looked through all active projects and checked through any outstanding tasks. (With summer vacation days, it’s been a quick 4 weeks!) During that process, Scott and Sarah added new tasks to projects, archived projects that are no longer active (e.g. the rest of the work was not part of the scope anymore.) It was good to listen to that conversation to get a sense of when projects finish, when limbos happen, etc...

_ scope

Scott shared with me a copy of a new “Proposal for Landscape Architectural Services” that he had written for a new client. (The client has accepted the proposal and we have started working on this project!)

The scope is essentially the contract of work between the LA and the client. Along with fees, this proposal lists a range of services that will be provided organized by phases (e.g. 1-Schematic Design, ...) over a schedule, a estimated time frame for services to be completed. In addition to what Firma will do, there is a section called “Assumptions/Exclusions” that list, well, exactly assumptions and exclusions stated by the designer for the client to review.

For instance, if the scope outlines production of CAD drawings but not other renderings - any task for Firma to produce visual renderings for municipality reviews would be an additional service, because it was not included in the initial scope.

This document also includes the fascinating world of fees! Firma typically charges in lump sum (e.g. $100,000 for all work rather than $200/hr), and Scott shared that price reflects his experience with similar types of work and how many hours he typically spent on similar jobs. He also keeps in mind market standards for landscape architect work. For instance, firms with more ‘boutique’ reputation (”market power”) could, in addition to assumed hours spent, charge a little more and still attract clients!

So it is within this scope that Scott and Sarah create tasks on Asana; and based on those tasks we work and keep track of our time spent...

_ time tracking (Harvest)

I think this has been one of the best things I’m going to gain this summer- the very habit of time tracking. Firma uses a service called Harvest to keep track of time spent for different projects. I’ve had multiple conversations with different design students about how much work design students do, and how little there is to show for it.... If not good design, I have now developed the habit of showing how much time I’ve been doing stuff--!

What I’ve done on June 14. This was a day with various tasks- some days I’ve spent more than 7 hours on one single project; and it has been cool to be able to see all of that!

There isn’t too much to share from my window, but I can speak to the strength of Harvest over just pencil scribbles. Through this platform, you can create a list of sub-tasks per projects and even categorize them - e.g. into “billable” and “non-billable” hours. In a previous office I worked, we tracked by hand (or recited by memory?) how many hours were spent on a project, and it was to be tallied by the person creating the invoice... But this interface prompts you to log descriptions, categories for projects, etc.... And you can get a quick glance at what you’ve done in a week!

This was the week I spent mostly researching and creating a presentation for outdoor furnishings-- more than half of the week was spent on it!

Obviously I won’t have billable hours doing my school homework, but this in itself is a brilliant thought to just track what I am doing when. It would be good to find a free or personal version of this software to use on my own.

Anyways, Scott uses this to tally up the hours spent on jobs- I think he uses his professional discretion before writing the invoice, but he has a solid body of documentation to back up ‘work done’ when he is talking to clients. I think that is so cool!

_ reflection

I ended up just geeking out over what we do in the office, but I really am impressed that Firma incorporates smart ‘apps’ that exist out in the wild. I guess I’ve just never worked in an environment like that and hadn’t thought of those workflows that make lives easier! Of course, this increases office productivity (less time spent mulling over “what did I do?” and more “do!”) and keeps everyone very accountable, which I believe leads to a happy work environment.

I do want to share one story about scope -- Scott shared that clients typically reduce scope first by dropping site visits. He attributed this to how site visits occur typically in the later part of the project when clients realize how MUCH money they’re paying (which is what they agreed to pay!). So I’ve learned that there are scopes where the site visit is not included at all, and some that have a lot less site visits than designers would like.

I got to follow along to one site visit, where it turned out the landscaping contractors had been operating on a old planting plan. When we got there, they had already ordered based on the old planting plan and started planting as such, and the plants that arrive were different too, because it’s based on wholesale availability... Thankfully the new planting plan was not a big departure from the old one, but Scott had to make a lot of new decisions on site that he wasn’t planning on. He mentioned that this particular project did not include as many site visits as he’d like, so the other times he’s visited, there was always something slightly different than what they had proposed...

_ closing

This (last) week I’ve learned that landscape/landscaping is a particularly difficult career to ‘see through,’ since there are so many variables along the way. The nursery might not have the right plants, whoever is installing or maintaining it might introduce a new problem, or the weather just might say no.... There is always something to be cautious about, and it requires a whole lot of optimism and patience to tend to these issues!

Oh, I didn’t get a chance to address client-designer relationships at all!

Next week I want to talk about company structure, hierarchy, and employee management. !! Fun stuff

#lar561 #internship #landscape architecture #business #management

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