#but Wonder Woman and Carol??? they should be jacked for real

[hasanyoneseenmyspoons]

Rolling Stone cofounder Jann Wenner, who left the publication in 2019, is coming out with a new book, "The Masters," about rock legends — Bono, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger among them. And while his list of seven "philosophers" of the musical genre doesn't include any artists of color or women, Wenner says that there's a reason.

"They just didn't articulate at that level," Wenner told The New York Times in an interview with columnist David Marchese.

Wenner's book is composed of interviews conducted during his Rolling Stone days, including his watershed conversation with John Lennon in 1970, in addition to a new one with Bruce Springsteen. Marchese confronted Wenner on an acknowledgement in the introduction of the book that female musicians and musicians of color are simply not in Wenner's "zeitgeist," and pushed him on how he selected his subjects — and Wenner pushed back.

The "zeitgeist" Wenner was referring to was specifically in reference to Black performers, not women, he told the Times. His selection was "intuitive," based on some criteria, but steeped in his "personal interest and love" — and it's worth noting that many of the artists featured are his friends. Artists like Grace Slick, Janis Joplin, or Joni Mitchell wouldn't have brought the same philosophical reflections on the genre as the white men he had spotlighted across his career, Wenner said.

Wenner's comments represent a real moment of saying the quiet part out loud, and were thoroughly dissected — and widely criticized — on social media: Rock is a genre that, while indebted to Black artists and Black musical traditions, has historically pushed them to the periphery. In an excerpt from his book "Just around Midnight: Rock and Roll and the Racial Imagination" published in Slate in 2016, Jack Hamilton effectively summarized how focusing on individual "geniuses" — some could say "masters" — predicates exclusion.

"There is a tendency toward stories of individual rock 'genius' that foreclose discussions of race by celebrating individual artistry and intellect," Hamilton wrote. "While many black performers of the 1960s have been relegated to book-length histories of black music generally, white artists like Bob Dylan or the Beatles receive increasingly lavish biographies and isolated critical treatments of musical output."

When it comes to women, it's easy to name a number of influential rockers — and name them Marchese does, from the aforementioned Joplin, Slick, and Mitchell, to others like Carole King and Madonna.

When Marchese asked how Wenner could know that artists like Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, or Curtis Mayfield couldn't "articulate" at the same "level" as the white artists he had interviewed across his career without actually speaking to them, Wenner said that his judgment was based on reading prior interviews or listening to their discographies.

Ultimately, however, Wenner said that his own interest was paramount.

"You know, just for public relations sake, maybe I should have gone and found one Black and one woman artist to include here that didn't measure up to that same historical standard, just to avert this kind of criticism," Wenner said. "Which, I get it. I had a chance to do that. Maybe I'm old-fashioned and I don't give a [expletive] or whatever."

[notjustanyannie]

Rolling Stone cofounder Jann Wenner, who left the publication in 2019, is coming out with a new book, "The Masters," about rock legends — Bono, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger among them. And while his list of seven "philosophers" of the musical genre doesn't include any artists of color or women, Wenner says that there's a reason.

"They just didn't articulate at that level," Wenner told The New York Times in an interview with columnist David Marchese.

Wenner's book is composed of interviews conducted during his Rolling Stone days, including his watershed conversation with John Lennon in 1970, in addition to a new one with Bruce Springsteen. Marchese confronted Wenner on an acknowledgement in the introduction of the book that female musicians and musicians of color are simply not in Wenner's "zeitgeist," and pushed him on how he selected his subjects — and Wenner pushed back.

The "zeitgeist" Wenner was referring to was specifically in reference to Black performers, not women, he told the Times. His selection was "intuitive," based on some criteria, but steeped in his "personal interest and love" — and it's worth noting that many of the artists featured are his friends. Artists like Grace Slick, Janis Joplin, or Joni Mitchell wouldn't have brought the same philosophical reflections on the genre as the white men he had spotlighted across his career, Wenner said.

Wenner's comments represent a real moment of saying the quiet part out loud, and were thoroughly dissected — and widely criticized — on social media: Rock is a genre that, while indebted to Black artists and Black musical traditions, has historically pushed them to the periphery. In an excerpt from his book "Just around Midnight: Rock and Roll and the Racial Imagination" published in Slate in 2016, Jack Hamilton effectively summarized how focusing on individual "geniuses" — some could say "masters" — predicates exclusion.

"There is a tendency toward stories of individual rock 'genius' that foreclose discussions of race by celebrating individual artistry and intellect," Hamilton wrote. "While many black performers of the 1960s have been relegated to book-length histories of black music generally, white artists like Bob Dylan or the Beatles receive increasingly lavish biographies and isolated critical treatments of musical output."

When it comes to women, it's easy to name a number of influential rockers — and name them Marchese does, from the aforementioned Joplin, Slick, and Mitchell, to others like Carole King and Madonna.

When Marchese asked how Wenner could know that artists like Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, or Curtis Mayfield couldn't "articulate" at the same "level" as the white artists he had interviewed across his career without actually speaking to them, Wenner said that his judgment was based on reading prior interviews or listening to their discographies.

Ultimately, however, Wenner said that his own interest was paramount.

"You know, just for public relations sake, maybe I should have gone and found one Black and one woman artist to include here that didn't measure up to that same historical standard, just to avert this kind of criticism," Wenner said. "Which, I get it. I had a chance to do that. Maybe I'm old-fashioned and I don't give a [expletive] or whatever."

[natreidess]

I appreciate the hard work actresses like Brie Larson, Gal Gadot and Daisy Ridley put into getting into action roles, I really do. They worked their asses off and they’re super fit, but whenever I see people saying they’re “jacked” I have to laugh a bit. 

Hollywood is not ready for “jacked” female superheroes. It it were we’re be seeing bodies like the ones on the right, all proffesional athletes at the top of their sports. We’re not even talking about bodybuilding, these are funtional muscles, weightlifting, MMA fighting, rugby playing muscles. Action heroes could look like this, and I think some of them should. 

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[badjoices]

My Life With You

I. Move-in Day Dean and Cas move into a new home and start to build a life together with baby Jack.

[Read on AO3] | [Fic Masterpost]

The sun was sitting high in the sky, creeping towards the apex of its arc, when the U-Haul pulled up outside the modest two-storey on a quiet, tree-lined residential street. The crisp spring air was warm, moving through the green leaves and blush blossom with a quiet rustle. The sound of the late Sunday morning was largely void; defined by its absences more than anything; no children playing or parents chit-chatting over their hedges just yet, as most in the neighbourhood were making the most of the last lie-in of the week.

Except for Dean Winchester, and his better half Castiel, who had been up since the sun first began to peek over the horizon, packing, stacking and taping boxes in the bunker. Several chaotic and disorganised hours later, all was packed and prepped, and here they were; home. They’d seen it before of course, but this was the first time seeing that house become their home.

“I can’t believe it,” Dean said, after silencing the rumbling engine. “My own white picket-fence.”

Cas, unsurprisingly unsentimental about fencing retorted with confusion. “The fence isn’t white.”

Dean rolled his eyes, lovingly, and made to get out of the truck without a response.

“We could paint it white, if you’d like?�� Cas continued, once he too had disembarked, and had met Dean on the pavement side.

“No, man, I like it as is.”

The two walked up their front path - theirs - their steps springy with giddiness as they approached the front door. Pulling a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket, with a turn and click, Dean swung open the door to their new life. The pair stood on the front porch for a moment, not quite believing that this door was for them.

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” Dean joked, leaning over to Cas, face plastered with a grin.

Cas looked to his side and met Dean’s gaze, holding for a moment before-

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Cas took the first step and walked into the entranceway. Dean quickly followed behind. The house was dark, with all the blinds left closed, the only light now streaming in through the open door, silhouetting Dean and Castiel in the narrow doorframe. Cas stood there, studying the blank walls, mentally populating them with where he envisioned they would put up photos of their family, past, present and future. Something about those blank white walls, the canvas for him to paint a picture of the life he had chosen, caught the angel off guard as he became overwhelmed with joy. The moment was only sweetened when Dean, who was having equally soppy thoughts about the prospect of a coat rack - a real place to hang his hat - intertwined his fingers in Castiel’s. Neither said a word for a good minute or two, not wanting the moment of pure indulgent fantasy to end - they were so unused to complete unapologetic wanting that it was so nice to bask in it even for a minute.

“We need to start unpacking at some point.” Dean broke the silence.

“Yes, Sam’s bringing Jack by tomorrow morning,” Cas agreed. “We need to have his room ready by tonight at the very least.”

Despite their agreement, they were still glued to the spot, hands still locked together.

“You gotta let go, Cas.”

“You first.”

The two began to stare at each other in a mix between a loving gaze and a challenge. Cas intensified his gaze.

“Same time.” he said.

Dean nodded, eyes never drifting from Cas’s. They each pulled their hand away at the same time, eyes still locked, and broke into a soft laughter.

“You let go a little earlier than me.” Dean teased.

“Actually, you started to pull your hand away six milliseconds before I did.” Cas retorted playfully.

Dean started back out towards the U-Haul with Cas in tow, turning his head back as he walked to reply;

“You can’t prove that.”

Dean opened up the back and the pair were reminded of the magnitude of the task ahead of them.

“Well,” Dean said, nodding his head slowly in a pre-emptive defeat. “Where do we start?”

Cas stepped up and made for a stack of two boxes. “I can take all the heavy ones.” he said, lifting the boxes with ease.

Angelic strength or not, Dean felt compelled to protest. “I can carry the heavy ones too.”

“There’s no need, Dean. It’ll be faster if I do it.” Cas replied, his voice earnest as he offered his help as always.

Dean scrunched up his face in a faux irritation. Of course, Cas was probably right, and even still, Dean wasn’t one to complain about having a literal angel do the heavy lifting for him. Dean opted for a double-box stack too, but ones marked ‘clothes’; an acceptable compromise for him.

Box after box, Dean and Castiel ferried their life from its transit state into its permanent home. With only one box left, Cas began to unpack and sort their contents on the empty living room floor, while Dean went to fetch the last box. The sun now sat directly overhead. This, paired with the strenuous back-and-forth, had lead Dean to ditching his flannel over-layer a while ago.

“Oh, hello!”

A cheery female voice chirped from behind Dean as he began to close up the U-Haul. Dean turned and was greeted by the broad smile of a mid-thirties woman in yoga pants. Welcome to suburbia, huh.

“You must be my new neighbour!” she continued.

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Dean said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the piercing sunlight. “I’m Dean. You live next-door?”

“Carol,” she replied. “And yes, I’m your right-side neighbour!”

“Awesome.” Dean nodded. Despite typically being effortlessly charismatic, Dean definitely felt out of his depth; he was simply not accustomed to the rules and decorum required in scenarios like these.

“You know if I’d known you were moving in today, I’d have made a casserole,” Carol began to ramble. “Do you like casserole? Oh, everybody likes casserole. In the next few days, you’d better expect a casserole.”

“Sure, I love casserole.” Dean shrugged, humoured somewhat by this strange, incredibly enthusiastic woman.

“Great,” Carol sighed, face still plastered with a big grin. “I hope your wife won’t mind.” Carol gestured to Dean’s wedding ring.

Dean licked his lips and started rolling his wedding band around his finger as he was put in the not unusual bet never pleasant situation of having to correct someone to explain himself.

“Husband actually,” he corrected. “And uh, he won’t mind; I do most of the cooking anyway.”

Carol clapped her hands over her mouth in a melodramatic gasp. “Oh! A husband of course! My bad! How long have you been married?” Carol said, frantically attempting to recover from her faux-pas.

“‘Bout three months.” Dean answered.

“Oh! Newlyweds!” Carol cooed, already seeming to have completely recovered from her earlier embarrassment. “Any kids?”

“Just one, he’s four.” Dean grinned proudly, his earlier reservations melting away as the joy he felt at the opportunity to talk about his family took over. “My brother’s bringing him over tomorrow once we’ve settled in.”

“Aw! So cute! So you’ve been together a while then?”

“Six months.” Dean replied honestly without thinking.

Carol paused, unable to hide her confusion as the cogs in her brain connected dots in ways her traditionally-wired brain couldn’t comprehend.

“Wow,” Carol laughed awkwardly. “You got married after three months; that’s so fast!”

There was another pause. Just then, Cas emerged from the still open front door and strolled over.

“Dean, I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Hey Cas, come here I’m meeting the neighbours,” Dean beckoned Cas closer and placed an arm around his waist. “This is Carol from next-door.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Castiel.” Cas said, plain and business-like.

“Wait, but your son’s four?” she continued to work through her thoughts aloud. “Oh, is he from a previous relationship, or?”

“Jack?” Cas answered, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “No, we adopted him.”

“Before you were a couple?”

Dean figured now was the time for a little lie of convenience, undoubtedly the first of many.

“He’s the kid of a friend of ours,” Dean half-lied. “She died when he was born so we took him in; me, Cas and my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your friend,” Carol said, her confusion fading. “But that’s so sweet. Well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got tonnes of unpacking to do!”

“Yeah, well, great to meet you Carol, see you around.” Dean said with a smile.

“You sure will, with casserole!” Carol assured before she headed off along the street.

Dean’s smile lingered as he stood there, outside the house he shared with the love of his life, who was right there pressed to his side. He let the noon sun shine down on his face and the gentle breeze flush over him.

“Dean,” Cas spoke, tentative to break Dean’s moment of euphoria. “I came out here to tell you that we left all the crockery and kitchenware at the bunker.”

“Shit.”

[zayray030]

Jordan Family Party

Summary: Hal gets invited to the Jordan Family Party. This time he brings Bruce. Yeah, we wonders why he ever thought this'll work.

“No!”

“C’mon Hal! What's the worst that could possibly happen? !” asked Bruce, speed walking to catch up with his already angry lover. In hindsight, bringing up the invitation to the Jordan family party probably had been a horrible idea but Bruce wasn't one to really think straight when it came to his boyfriend.

“Oh, I don't know? How about the last time I tried to show my face I got kicked out and called an uncaring asshole and a fag?” snapped Hal, spinning around to glare at Bruce. He was out of his lantern costume so the effect was ruined and the fact that he was slightly shorter than Bruce didn't help.

Bruce's eyes turned stormy at the word and Hal winced internally. He really should not have said that.

“Who?” hissed Bruce. For some reason, he looked extremely threatening in his suit and Hal worried if he had been in the bat suit it would have made his scream in fright.

“Not important! What's important that I ignore this and then they never have to see me and-” Before Hal could finish Bruce had rudely cut him off with a kiss, pulling Hal in with an arm around his waist.

“How about you don't ignore this and you show them what they've been missing out on.” Bruce said huskily and Hal felt himself become slightly dizzy. He shook his head and pushed Bruce away.

“That's cheating! And God, how much do you weigh?” asked Hal when he couldn't even move Bruce off by an inch. On the contrary, Bruce just pulled him closer and chuckled on his ear.

“Is it baby? And I weigh 210 pounds.” Bruce answered and Hal rolled his eyes. Bruce gently grasped his chin and lifted his face to see him. Bruce was no longer smirking, instead giving him a soft smile and there was love in his eyes. “Baby it's going to be alright.” he said softly.

“No, it's not.” mumbled Hal, turning away from his and facing away from him. ‘He would not cry, he would not cry, he would not cry.’ he repeated that in his head like a matra.

Bruce said nothing, just kept him in arms, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“Fine, you asshole. I'll go. But you're so coming with me.” Hal finally snapped, lifting his face up to glare at Bruce. Bruce smirked slightly but it had a touch of concern.

“Are you sure baby? I don't want to push you and-?”

“Yes I'm sure. Now let me go so I can call Jim and tell him we're going. Also get Alfred to get me coffee. I'm going to need it.”

“This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a-” Hal repeated over and over again from where he stood in front of his family house. It looked like it had looked before when he was younger except more older and worn.

“Hal, honey, come on. If you do this I'll let you fly the bat plane.” Bruce promised in his ear and that made Hal’s mind up. Bruce's plane was amazing and he was so not going to pass up the opportunity to fly it.

“Fine.” Hal huffed and took excruciatingly slow steps towards the door. Bruce rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's childishness and picked him and carried him to the door. Hal squawked in indignation.

“Act like a child, get treated like a child.” was all Bruce said before putting his indignant boyfriend back down. Hal shot him a  glare without any real heat before turning to the bell in front of him. Hal stared at it for what felt like an eternity before he gave up and turned to Bruce.

“I can't do it.”

“Yes you can! You know why? Because you're Green Lantern. You snuck into the Air Force and you magically managed to make Damian like you all within two minutes of meeting you. That's amazing.” Bruce said.

Hal blushed at the praise, turning away. Before he could respond however the door swung open to reveal his older brother, Jack.

“Hal.” he said coldly, sneering at him slightly. Hal felt himself stiffen but an arm going around his waist helped him relax slightly.

“Jack.” he said back, slightly warmer than his brother.

“So you did come. Guess you weren't lying for once.” he said mockingly and Hal so wanted to turn right back round and ignore this family bit Bruce's strong presence kept him rounded. He wouldn't fail Bruce.

“Yup. I'm here.” it came out more awkwardly than Hal desired but Hal counted his wins. Jack just scoffed at him before his attention diverted to Bruce. His eyes widened slightly before going back to their normal size, if not slightly disgusted.

“So you managed to tap Bruce Wayne?” he asked in a not so nice tone. Hal blushed but didn't shrink down. Instead he shot a cocky smirk that screamed Hal Jordan through and through.

“More like he managed to tap me. But who wouldn't? My ass is flawless.” Hal said. To anyone who wouldn't know him he sounded arrogant to people he did know he sounded teasing. To Bruce it sounded like an invite.

Jack didn't smile, just continued glaring at Hal. “Name's Jack Jordan. His older brother.” he finally said, extending a hand to Bruce.

“Bruce Wayne, this one's boyfriend.” he said. His face was blank but Hal could see the cold fury in them. Shit, this wasn't going good.

“Well, come on in.” Jack said, moving out of the way to let them through. Hal walked in quickly and Bruce followed after him.

“Uncle Hal!” yelled his niece, hurling herself at him.

“Hey honey. How are you?” he asked, bending down to be Eye level with the small girl.

“I'm good. And who are you?” she asked curiously when she saw Bruce. Bruce bent down until his eye level with the small girl.

“I'm Bruce. Hal's boyfriend.” There was a collective gasp going around the room but damn Bruce if he gave one.

“Cool!” she said, too young to understand why everyone was acting so weirdly. She quickly bounded off to her mother when she heard her name being called though.

“Hey Hal!” said Jim. Hal just smiled back, not going over to his younger brother. Bruce hugged him from behind and he could feel glares going all across the room.

“What happened to that Carol girl?” asked a voice Hal will always remember. There, sitting in front of the room sat his mother, eyes glaring and sneering deeply.

“Uh, we broke it off.” Hal said. He heard several scoffs go around the room and he felt Bruce's arms around him tighten. It was a good thing Damian wasn't here.

“Of course you wouldn't be able to handle a relationship with a woman so you decide to whore yourself-” his mother said in her disappointed/angry voice that she would always use on him and the last time he had heard it was when she found out he had joined the Air Force.

“Can I just say something?” Bruce interrupted her rant. Hal felt slightly shocked but leaned back against his boyfriend.

“No you may-” his mother started but Bruce cut her off again.

“Well I don't care, woman. Now, each and every single one of you except for the kids are awful and should go and die.” Bruce snapped. “He's one of the most selfless people I have ever met. He has helped hundreds of people out there, even thousands and he deserves more than you. He has done good thing, after good thing but the universe decides to fuck with him constantly. He's been beat down constantly yet he always rises back up. He's been insulted and degraded but he didn't pay attention to any of that and continued to be strong and prove everyone wrong.”

And it continued, Bruce praising him constantly and by the end of it Hal was a blushing mess and he could see some of his fewer nicer relatives looking down in shame. His mother, however, stayed the same.

“Now, I'm going to take my boyfriend back home and away from the undeserving.” Bruce finally snapped before dragging Hal away and to the door again. When Hal turned to look at Jack he could see some shame but Hal didn't spare a second to talk to him, just walked out the door with Bruce.

They both got in the car and the drive back to the Manor was silent. Eventually they got there and Bruce steeped out before walking right back round and opening his door up and picking him up.

“How romantic.” Hal said sarcastically. Bruce just smirked at him but it wasn't the same as his usual smirks. This one had regret.

“Would you like me to run you a rose-petal bath?” he asked sarcastically. Hal just snorted before relaxing right back into Bruce's chest.

Bruce walked to the Manor and when he went inside, instead of going all the way up to his room he chose the guest room and quickly placed Hal on the bed.

“I'm so sorry, honey.” Bruce whispered.

“It's okay.” Hal tried to soothe him but Bruce just shook his head.

“You said you didn't want to and I pushed you.” he said mournfully.

“If you hadn't pushed me then one of your kids would have.” Hal said.

“Still. Let me make it up for you.” Bruce whispered in his ear and Hal squeaked when he felt a hand squeeze his ass.

“Two presents in one day? I must be getting lucky.” Hal gasped.

“You deserve all the presents in the world.” Bruce whispered again and the night was lost in love and passion.

Obviously the next day Bruce spoiled Hal within an inch of his life.

[docholligay]

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave IV-- The Last of the Spirits

Creeping out of the shadows of the subway station, little bits of shadow began to move toward her, and even as Ana stepped back, they came into a pile on the ground, growing higher and higher. As it grew she heard voices overlapping, little snippets of conversations, things that could not be, in contradiction with each other, wave upon wave of idea, none real and all real, at once. 

The shadows became one. It was a tall, imposing figure, the face unable to be seen, its body barely formed, wavering in the air. The darknesses overlapped one another, shade upon shade, and Ana felt a chill knowledge come into her heart that she was looking at her very own future. Darkness upon darkness. Shade upon shade. Moving and whispering in every second. 

The future. 

“Are you,” her voice sounded so high and so fearful even to her, but she could not control it, “Are you the ghost--the spirit---that Jack and Reinhardt and Tra--my friends. Are you the ghost that my friends have sent to me?”

No face fell into view, just that same blue and grey and black in a muted palette, brushing up against each other, as the spirit nodded and whispers of a dozen different voices emanated from in it and around it. 

Nem. Ja. Tak. Of course. Ken. Oui. Yes. 

“You’re here,” she walked cautiously about the spirit as it towered over here, “to show me things that haven’t happened yet.” 

More nods, and more whispers, and more shadows. The shade of an arm outstretched, and pointed on toward the stairs that led up and out of that tube station, toward the future. No longer was Ana concerned with narrative structure, nor surprised at the spectre of a spectre itself, and yet, in a way that no spirit before it had managed, she felt herself tremble before the gliding shadows and barely audible whispers in some form of human shape before her. 

“Are you,” she thought of those that had come before, “A friend?” 

No. Nein. Nyet. Nej. La. Meiyou. 

She gave a low, shaking chuckle. “Not that you need to be. I’ve worn out my chances with that, I think.” 

The spirit did not respond but with the same hand, pointing up the stairs, out of the darkness into a far more terrifying morning gloom. Ana’s eyes followed the hand, knowing where she had to go, wishing she could go anywhere else. 

“I am afraid of you,” she steadied her voice, let herself like in that terrible, vulnerable truth, “In a way I have not been of any ghost before you. But I know they would not send you if you couldn’t help me. I will try to learn from you, more than I ever have have before, Spirit.” 

A shadowed finger to the stairs, the only response. 

“Yes.” Ana tightened her scarf and tied her robe tight, trying to crack a smile, “Come on, then, as Tracer would say.” 

They started up the stairs, but they did not so much climb them as the stairs fell down around them, revealing the city as they fell away, and suddenly Ana was on a snow-dusted street, and then the cafe with the black awning and the gingham tables, and then they were inside of it, the two women behind the counter, same as they were every morning. 

Ana looked around, not much about the place but a few pastries left here and there, the two women cleaning up tea pots and chatting amongst themselves. She knew this place well, had frequented it many times before, and yet she was nervous to enter it again. 

“You seen that old bat of ours lately?” One of them said to the other. 

“Oh, the one grumbling every morning, with the coffee? Naw, not for a week or better now.” She did not seem to give the matter any thought, but squeezed out a mop. 

“Wonder if she’s died.” From over a wiped off counter. 

“Think we might have heard?” 

The first burst into a peal of laughter. “From who exactly? Not as if she’s ever with anyone, right? And I’m more noticing than mourning, mind you.” 

The other chuckled appreciatively. “Maybe it’s only that she’s decided to grace someone else with her growling.” 

“We should be so lucky, I think!” 

The women collapsed into laughter as the sides of the cafe fell away, and then more walls began to be constructed in its place, newspapers on the walls falling away to clean, crisp white, the floor from wood to a highly polished stone, the counter becoming a front desk with pictures behind it, the plaque above them reading For Those Who Gave All In The Cause Of Good. 

“Well I don’t know anything about it, just that she couldn’t be reached. Commander Amari said to send someone over later, been two weeks since she checked in,” the little secretary laughed behind the desk, ‘She told me, the agent is either gone rouge or dead, and handed me plans for both, said not to worry till after the holiday. Commander Amari said I should go home to me and mine, it’s nearly Christmas.” 

“That was kind of her,” a dark haired man leaned against the edge of the desk, “I think it’s only a handful of us that don’t bother with it on today. You know,” he laughed, “I’d really rather her be rouge. More entertaining, and I don’t have the energy for an official Overwatch funeral.” 

“Oh,” she stood up and grabbed her coat, “I doubt there’d be any kind of funeral, even if the devil has taken his own at last. Or a cheap one, none of the trimmings.” 

“I mean,” He laughed, “I’ll go if there’s a tea at least. I heard when Commander Oxton died, there was a spread for the gods.” 

She slipped on her coat. “Not likely to be that. Maybe a bag of crisps, for the memory.” 

They laughed together, him wishing her a Happy Christmas with her family, and again the walls fell away as Ana turned to the spirit. These conversations were so small and could have been insignificant, and yet Ana felt something twisting around her heart, tighter and tighter. It came to her so fast, here with this cold and silent spirit, this lesson, and yet she cursed the Ana of the past, and the present, who had taken so long to see their own lessons. 

“I understand, Spirit.” She nodded slowly. “This woman could be me. My life--it does support that sort of treatment, right now. I won’t ever forget this lesson that you’ve taught me, but--what about...my Fareeha? She must--”

But before she could finish the thought, the walls fell away again, and constructed just as quickly, until they were on that same street she had seen with Tracer, in what had been earlier this evening, and so long ago. It was no more impressive than it had been, though certainly more built up, no longer many empty shells of what had been bombed and shot out in the Battle for London, but apartments and a market, a pub and a bakery, all the street looking so much more complete for all of it. 

Pharah and Mercy’s home was there, standing where it had before, in a row of newer apartments made to incorporate the old bits of what had been there before the unpleasantness of battle. 

The apartment was not at all decorated, a light in the upstairs window the only indication of anything at all. In the dim light it glowed like a candle, beckoning them on. The doors to apartments around them were covered in garland, trees lighting up the windows, but this one was quiet, and undecorated. 

“Fareeha.” The name escaped her lips before she could even finish the thought, “I know this part of the story. I mistook Tracer for Tiny Tim but--She must have---” she paused, and looked down at the snow made dull and muddy by the traffic that had already walked by. “She was so angry. And I never did anything. I encouraged it, in her. I told her to set it aside. I never helped her deal with it. And now--” 

She looked back to the spirit, who simply pointed to that grey door, a hole opening in it, darker grey still, overlapping colors of the night so much like the spirit itself. 

Kommen. Ma. Priyti. Come. 

“But, I have to see. Yes.” 

She walked into the house, and looked around. Still dark, thought it was fully eight am and if Pharah had been here there would have been a flurry of activity, certainly. She smelled a hint of cinnamon in the air, that must have been wafting over from one of the other close-knit apartments, but she stared and stared up those stairs, where she knew that bedroom sat, where she knew she would have to look and see what all her failures had wrought. 

The Spirit pointed up the stairs, not even whispers from its lips as it points, Ana looking up into the hallway that should have been cheerful and bright, but seemed so foreboding, so dull, so frightening. A step. She had to climb. 

“Poor Angela.” 

It surprised her even as she said it. She had spent so long thinking that Mercy was weak, that she wasn’t built for the work that she had chosen to do, that she would have been better off choosing a softer job, marrying into a softer family. Now, she felt a stirring in her, something that could remember Mercy had lost her parents young, Mercy had seen soldiers crying for their parents in their last moments, Mercy had plucked dead children out of rubble. And she refused to callous. She cried every time. 

Maybe she was braver than Ana had ever given her credit for. Maybe she was braver than Ana. 

She turned around, nearly up the stairs now, to the Spirit. “Are you going to tell me what happened to their child?” 

An outstretched hand, pointing. 

Another step. Another turn, another pause. 

“Pharah can’t be dead. I know this, because she was mentioned at Headquarters.” 

Nothing but that finger, those moving, shifting, shading darknesses. Ana turned around, and took those final steps. Staring down the hallway where the light circled the door, waiting to be opened, knowing she had to do it. 

“I can’t imagine Fareeha leaving…”she kept walking, even as she feared it, “Angela must have left her. I should have...This is all my fault. ” She stopped at the door. “Oh no. Angela can’t have died, Spirit, that would be the most unfair thing of all. I could have--I will stop it. I will.” 

She rested her hand on that cold, hard doorknob, and let the rage flash in her. Knowing that she would change Mercy’s death, knowing that she would heal Pharah, knowing that she would go back and fix it all. She twisted, and let it open. 

Pharah lay in bed, her arm not even on, reading a book in the dim light. The smell of coffee filled the air, and that cinnamon she had been so sure earlier was coming from another house was the cinnamon roll sitting by her side of the bed. 

And Mercy’s. Mercy was tucked in next to her, hair piled high on her head, in an oversized t-shirt and her glasses, paging through her own novel. Between them was a little blonde girl, sitting crosslegged and also determinedly reading her own book, a blanket drawn around her shoulders, a battered stuffed sloth tucked into her lap, helping her read. 

“Mama,” she turned to Pharah, “Can I have a bite?” 

“Of course.” Pharah smiled warmly, and the little girl crawled onto her, mouth open as Pharah chuckled and stuffed a piece in her mouth. 

“I love you, Mama.” She chewed on the bun. 

“I love you, too,” she swung over her arm and pulled the little girl onto herself, “Don’t talk with your mouth full. You could choke.” 

The little girl nodded, and carefully swallowed, then treated Pharah to a sticky kiss, Pharah smiling contently all the while, as Mercy looked on, licking her fingers from her own cinnamon roll. Pharah tucked her own blanket around the little girl, and patted her affectionately. 

“We’ll have to dig into the cookies, at this rate. And so early.” 

“Oh do we?” Mercy sat up and looked over at the both of them. 

“Avi’s stolen most of my cinnamon roll, you see.” 

“Nuh-uh!!” Avi protested. “You said I could have a bite, Mama!”

Pharah gave a deep laugh. “I should have made more.” 

Ana looked at her daughter as she leaned against the doorframe. She had told herself as she came up the stairs that now was the time when she would see all the mistakes that were made, that now was the dark part of this story, that there was nothing but sadness to be seen here. And yet. It was warmth and coziness and comfort, all. There were none of her fears, either of the old Ana or the new, in this family. 

“But I thought…” Ana stepped forward a few steps, staring at Pharah. 

There was no red about her at all, no halo about her spelling trouble, just, if anything, the gentle light of a contented love. 

The breath left her as she realized. 

“It has nothing to do with me.” She felt it catch in her throat. “Her anger...she didn’t need me. She, she let it go herself. Because I mean nothing to her.” 

The floor dropped out from beneath her, falling, falling, through all the grey and the darkness, like smoke surrounding her and clouding her, entering into her as she opened her mouth to scream. 

And then, as soon as the fall started, it stopped. 

She was on the floor of that same raggedy hallway in her apartment building, with that same flickering light, though it seemed somehow even dimmer than the last time. She struggled to her feet as the Spirit materialized beside her, extending that same arm, pointing to the door that she knew, oh, very well indeed. 

“Am I--going home?” she looked for a moment, confused, and then let the moment settle in. “No. This is the woman everyone was talking about. This is the woman no one was talking about.” 

She took a step. 

“I have a question. The future, I mean, these can only be the shadows of what might happen. Things could change, in any moment. This is true of the future, it always is.” 

There was no response, not even a whisper, just pointing, pointing. Ana looked at the door, and slowly inched forward, knowing she had to see the truth, knowing she could hardly bear it. She reached out her hand to the knob, and could feel the cold breeze coming from inside the room. She took a shaking breath, and tightened her grip. 

She lost her nerve, and pivoted, looking back at the Spirit, so close behind her she could smell those hundreds of smells, just like the whispers, one overlapped over the other. 

“I know what’s behind that door. What is the point of any of this? Why bother showing it to me if I can’t change!? It exists only to torment me!” 

Ana felt her hand on the doorknob, though she could not remember placing it there, and heard that horrid, dark click as the door creaked open, calling her inside. 

“No.” She whispered. 

But she looked, because she must look, and there it was, on the terrible, dank, threadbare carpet, but her own self, stone dead where she had fallen. There was a squeaking Ana realized could not longer be coming from the door, and she adjusted her vision a moment, saw two rats eating at the edge of her hand, their own Christmas feast offering the filling warmth Ana never had otherwise. 

She cried out, bent against the doorframe. How long had she been here? Days, and no one had noticed she was missing, more than a week, at least, and in that time not one person had reached out to see her, to check on her, to even know that she was dead. How much longer might her body lie there, eaten by rats in the cool of the evening? 

Ana looked up at the Spirit, hurt and angry, most of all with herself and her own thousand failures. 

“Tell me who you are! Let me at least know the face of my accuser!” 

The Spirit stepped back away from her, and slowly, slowly the shadows began to drift, two hands becoming many tiny hands as they ringed around the cowl that hid the face, the horrible face that Ana had asked to see and yet now wished to see no longer, and she took a step back as it pulled away the cowl, like a peel slowly retreating from the fruit. 

Pharah’s eyes glowered at her, and Ana shrank back, shaking her head, opening her mouth to apologize, to say something, and then the shades turned and moved and became Waldemar, and then again to Mercy, to Tracer, to Zeina, to Reinhardt, moving and shifting between all these people she had known, all their voices and whispers surrounding her and cutting her as she held back, and then, there it was, locked in and staring furiously: Ana herself. The whispers started, the accusations, everything she had learned and already known coalescing in her head, tying tight around her, and she felt that same chain, cold and hard. 

She fell to her knees, grasping at the Spirit. 

“Please! I can change! Jack must have sent you because he knew!” The words choked up in her throat and stuck there, tears coming to her eyes, “Tell me these things can be changed. Why show me if these things can’t be changed? A life CAN BE CHANGE--”

[schraubd]

Should I PlagueWatch It?: Series Finale!

In March 2020, I inaugurated on this blog what I said "may but hopefully won't(?) become an ongoing series": Should I PlagueWatch It? Basically, it took the thing Jill and I do best -- watch TV -- and offered our recommendations for what you should watch to get you through the pandemic.

Over a year later, Should I PlagueWatch It? did, indeed, become a series. In addition to the first entry -- HBO's Avenue 5 -- I also did entries on Gentleman Jack, Marvel's Runaways, Alpha House, Never Have I Ever, Jelle's Marble Runs, Making the Cut, and a "roundup" post that covered Billions, Insecure, Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Ultimate Tag, Titan Games, and Holey Moley.

But now, it feels we're finally closing the chapter on the pandemic. Jill and I are vaccinated, my parents came to visit this past weekend, we're seeing friends, the CDC says we can go unmasked. It seems, alas, that all good things must come to an end. And while the pandemic itself is certainly not a good thing, some of us may be feeling a bit bittersweet at the prospect of being expected to interact with other humans rather than sit around and watch Netflix all day.

So to wrap up the series, one more omnibus "quick hits" review of all the shows we PlagueWatched that haven't yet gotten their own entry.

* * * Mild spoilers * * *

Blown Away

Reality TV can be wonderful in its formulaicness. Take a random hobby, find ten people who are pretty good at it, dangle $50,000 in front of them, and bang, you've got a competition show. This one's about glass blowing. I know nothing about glass blowing, but the competitors seem pretty talented to me?

I was impressed at how versatile a medium glass is. I worried when I started the show that the challenges would end up being pretty one note (how many vases can one make?). But the competitors actually made a lot of really cool material!

There's a lot of running and swinging and flailing given that they're handling molten-hot material.  It stressed me out. Also, apparently "glory holes" are an essential part of glass blowing, and nobody made a joke about it.

This show is definitely more in the "everyone likes and supports one another" mold of reality TV compared to the "constant cat fights and 'I'm not here to make friends'" mold. No judgment, just letting you know what to expect.

Sexify

A Netflix series about a young college student with no sexual experience who decides she needs to develop an app to optimize the female orgasm. It's not the most innovative concept, but it works well enough.

Of the core trio, my favorite character is Paulina -- the religious Catholic best-friend who is having (bad) sex with her fiancé and feels guilty about even that sin. She does a lot of great expressive work and has some superb character beats (her popcorn addiction -- just casually munching away while watching porn). 

Speaking of Paulina, at the outset I told Jill she looked like someone and Jill's first guess was "a plainer Emily Blunt" (that's not an insult -- who isn't plainer than Emily Blunt?). It wasn't who I was thinking of, and soon I realized the answer was like six women I've known over the years. So maybe "plainer Emily Blunt" is a more common face than I realized?

The show is in Polish (with subtitles), and I'm very proud that I managed to identify the language as Polish right away (I do not speak a word of Polish).

The musical motif for the show combines one of the catchiest guitar riffs I've ever heard with a sample loop of a woman's sex moans. It fits the show perfectly, but it's a bit awkward to listen to on its own.

Wandavision

You shouldn't need me to tell you about this show. It's good, but my hottest take -- and I stand by it -- is that as an exploration of grief Never Have I Ever does it better and it's not close.

Can we concede that Wanda is the unambiguous villain of the show? With only the barest shift in perspective, Wanda could be the nemesis with an admittedly sympathetic motive. To some extent, I think the show was far too forgiving of her. Motives aside, how different is she from Kilgrave on Jessica Jones?

Poor Emma Caulfield. So much build-up for her character, and it's only a head-fake.

Space Force

I liked it. It's not in the most elite of the elite comedies, and maybe that's the standard when Steve Carrell is the lead, but it was quite funny. That said, I keep on almost forgetting that I watched it, and have no substantive commentary to offer. So take from that what you will.

AOC lookalike alert (the character even gets the nickname AYC -- "Angry Young Congresswoman")!

Mythic Quest

I love that Ubisoft is actually involved in the show (which is set at a game studio producing a popular massively multiplayer online RPG).

Surprisingly, given my love affair with Community, Danny Pudi is one of the least interesting characters on the show.

The actress who plays Poppy isn't the very strongest (though she's improving), but Poppy herself may be my favorite character. Of course, everyone knows I'm a sucker for an Australian accent.

The show has some great characters in side parts who don't get enough attention, like Sue the community manager and Carol the HR director. Also, Aparna Nancherla has a small recurring role in the first season and apparently doesn't come back for season two? I don't get why she keeps getting sidelined like this -- she's funnier than the rest of the cast put together.

Ted Lasso

Good, sweet, endearing, fun. British soccer comedies with heart are a winner for me (Bend It Like Beckham, anyone?).

Ted's estranged wife is played by the same actress who plays Linda in Better Off Ted. This was very strange, though admittedly I'm probably the only person who cared enough about Better Off Ted to notice or care.

Lupin

Dashing gentleman thief who's always a step ahead of his adversaries, except maybe the one nemesis who actually can match him step for step in a constant cat-and-mouse game? Look, it's a cliché for a reason. I'm not going to say Lupin breaks the mold, but it certainly is a well-crafted entry into the mold.

If there is anything innovative, it's how Lupin particularly leverages stereotypes about race and class to maneuver more freely in certain spaces (e.g., he can smuggle himself into prison because the guards can't tell him apart from another inmate -- sad commentary, but useful for Lupin!).

It did do something I hate, which is release "half a season" and just leave the audience hanging at the end. Maybe it was the pandemic's fault, but one could really feel its incompleteness.

Kim's Convenience

Of the Canadian shows I've been watching, I'd say Working Moms (not in this post because it is pre-pandemic) is the stronger of the two. But this is fun as well.

It just got cancelled, unfortunately depriving it of the chance to wrap up its single greatest storyline (that's been ongoing since season one). That's a real, real shame.

Simu Liu as Jung is the latest iteration of the Jason Mendoza trend of "dumb male Asian hottie leads". I guess it's a blow against stereotypes?

Pastor Nina also could be an AOC lookalike. I think the show struggled a bit to draw a bead on her character.

Legomasters

I actually mentioned this show in my post about Jelle's Marble Runs, but it is such a joy to watch. I can't wait for season two, which is dropping very soon. For pure, simple, uncomplicated happiness, Legomasters beats out everything on this list.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/3yamzYb

[appalachianwiine]

Swim - Chapter 5 - A Light In the Darkness

I need light in the dark as I search for the resolution   

-"The Resolution" by Jacks Mannequin

“Well we’re not going to be starting Chemo tonight after all.” Dr. Rhee says as she walks in shortly after lunch. 

“We’re not?” Daryl frowns.

“No her post op lab results show just a little bit of an increase in white blood cells.” Dr. Rhee explains. “I’m going to give her some antibiotics and retest tomorrow morning. But the good news is that means she can go down to the playroom for a bit.” 

“Can she have visitors?” Daryl asks. Lydia had been asking about seeing Carl since the child life specialist, Beth, had left. 

“Yeah she can, but visiting hours for non family end at 8pm” Dr. Rhee informs him. 

“Want me t’ call ‘em baby girl?” Daryl asks. 

“Can you?” Lydia pleads. 

“Yeah.” Daryl picks up his phone and dials Lori. 

“Daryl?!” Her voice is a little strained. “We’ve been calling all day. Is everything okay?” 

Its with a rush of guilt he realizes he’s hardly looked at his phone since she called him yesterday. “Shit sorry Lori.” He gives her the short version of it all, about the leukemia, the lumbar puncture, the results they were waiting on.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call earlier.” Lori scolds. “Daryl, we should’ve been there. I can’t believe you had to do all this alone.” 

Daryl grimaces. “Sorry, I uh - I actually had a meetin’ this mornin’. With a nice woman who runs the support group here fer parents. She was a single parent when she went through this with her daughter.” 

“Oh.” Lori says. “Is - is there a lot of that? Single parents I mean.” 

Daryl glances over at Lydia, who’s drawn back into the television. “I ain’ even the only adoptive parent righ’ now. There’s a guy across the hall, Ezekiel, an’ his kid.” 

“Shit.” Lori mutters. “Well um - do you - do you want us to come by? Can she have visitors?” 

“Yeah she can. She’s been askin’ t’ see Carl. Real disappointed in not getting t’ see him yesterday.” Daryl says. 

“I’ll give Rick a call and we’ll be by.” Lori says. “You need anything from home?” 

“No we’re alright.” Daryl says. “Thanks Lori.” 

“Of course.” Lori says. “We’ll see you around 3?” 

“See you then.” He hangs up, turning back to Lydia, who’s watching him with hopeful eyes. “They’ll be here around three.” 

“Yay!” Lydia grins, bouncing up and down. 

“Ya know,” Dr. Rhee says. “Maybe Miss Lydia would like to check out the playroom. She’ll have to wear a mask and stay connected to the infusion pump, but they’ve got a lot of good stuff in there.”

“Can we daddy?” Lydia asks. 

“Sure.” Daryl agrees, he’ll do anything to keep her in good spirits right now. She seems to be feeling good and he’d like to keep it that way. “You know there’s a little boy yer age across the hall?” 

“There is?” Lydia asks. “Can I see him?” 

“Sure, lets go over and see if he wants to come with us.” Daryl helps Lydia out of bed and sets her carefully on the floor. “Hang on let me get the pole.” He reaches for the infusion pole, fumbling with the latch that attaches it to the bed for a moment. It releases and he pulls it towards him, it’s surprisingly heavy. “Alright lets go kiddo.” 

They have to pause twice for Daryl to gather up the tubing that comes out of Lydia’s arm and up to the bag of antibiotics. As he loops them around his hand it strikes him that this isn’t unlike Dog’s long line, wrapped around his hands and unraveling as they move. Lydia looks back at Daryl as they reach the door of 323. 

“You knock daddy.” Lydia mutters, reaching out to grab his hand. The wariness returns to her as they stand in front of the door. 

“Okay.” He says, squeezing her hand and reaching out to knock. 

“A moment!” Ezekiel’s voice comes from beyond the door. There’s some scrambling and then the door pulls open. “Daryl!” 

The booming voice makes Lydia flinch and draw closer to Daryl. Daryl reassures her with a hand on her head, stroking her hair back. “Uh, Ezekiel. This is Lydia.” He smiles. “She was wondering if - if Henry might want to come to the playroom.” 

Ezekiel kneels in front of them, and it’s then that Daryl sees he’s wearing a paper crown colored in yellow and pink. “Hello Lydia.” His voice drops. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ezekiel.” He holds out a hand. 

Lydia’s brown eyes look back up at Daryl, and then, slowly, she reaches out to shake Ezekiel’s hand. “Hi.” 

“Would you like to come in and meet Henry?” Ezekiel asks. Lydia nods silently, and Ezekiel stands, offering a smile and stepping back from the door. “Come in, he’s over there with Carol.” 

Daryl pushes the IV pole into the room, it’s a mirror image of their own, except this one is decorated. Behind the bed is one of those banners you get from the party store spelling out ‘Henry’ in bold green letters, and a bunch of printer sheet sized papers with colorful backsplash and lettering taped around the room. As he walks past one Daryl sees it’s a bible verse, the others appear to be too. Over by the window the bald little boy is sitting on Carol’s lap and holding plastic dinosaurs. 

“Henry.” Ezekiel calls. “Someone is here to see you.” 

The boy’s head turns and Daryl is struck by how in the light of day his skin appears almost translucent but his eyes are bright and alert. “Hi.” He says, climbing off of Carol’s lap and trotting across the floor, his own infusion tube trailing after him. “I’m Henry.” 

“Lydia.” She mumbles, hiding her face against Daryl’s leg. 

“Go on.” Daryl mutters, nudging her forward. “Ask him.” 

“Do you um… want to go to the… to the playroom?” She mutters, half into Daryl’s leg. 

“Sure.” A smile stretches across Henry’s face. “Can we daddy?” 

“Sure Henry.” Ezekiel says, already fumbling with the latch on the infusion pole. 

“Hi Daryl.” Carol says. “She doing okay?” 

“Yeah I think so.” Daryl nods. “Better now that she ate, and uh her friend is coming to visit soon.” 

“Are you coming with us?” Henry asks Carol as he drops a few plastic dinosaurs into a tub. 

“If your daddy doesn’t mind.” Carol smiles. 

“Never do.” Ezekiel smiles, sliding Henry’s own infusion pole over to them. “Ready?” 

The playroom is at the other end of the floor, it’s empty and clean, even here everything smells sterile and controlled. There’s a sign telling the kids to wear masks before they go in, and two boxes, one with princesses and the other with trucks. A bit gendered but it’s an option. Henry reaches confidently for the princess one and puts it on, Lydia on the other hand looks warily at them. 

“I don’t want those.” Lydia murmurs. 

“I know.” Daryl sighs. “But those are the rules, if you don’t follow them you have to go back to the room.” 

“Fine.” Lydia scowls, grabbing one of the pink princess ones and putting it on. “Can we go play now?” 

“Go on.” Daryl says, pushing her infusion pole over to one of the small tables and watching her drag out the barbies.

“They seem to be hitting it off.” Carol comes to stand next to him, Ezekiel is helping the kids pull the toys out, still wearing the paper crown. 

“Yeah.” Daryl mutters. “What’s uh - what’s with the crown?” 

“Oh,” Carol chuckles. “Henry was making us play something he calls ‘’Kingdom” It changes but the theme is usually he’s a prince and Ezekiel is the King and they have to fight monsters.” 

“Ah.” Daryl chuckles. “A fun kid?” 

“Oh tons of fun.” Carol nods. “When he feels good anyway, he’ll probably take a hit after this round of Chemo.” Her smile fades a little bit. 

“Oh.” Dary mutters. 

“Sorry.” Carol apologizes. “It’s just - it’s always a little hard being here.” 

“I can’t even imagine.” Daryl sighs. “Losing her it’s -” 

“Don’t.” Carol cuts him off. “I’m sorry just - the words don’t… they don’t help and you don’t need to go there right now.” 

“Right.” He’s quiet for a while, an awkward silence stretching out in front of them. 

“What do you do?” Carol says after a moment. 

“Cop. Special Victims, domestic violence and child abuse mostly” He nods. “‘S how I met Lydia. You?” 

“High School English teacher.” Carol says. Daryl chuckles. “What?” 

“I don’ know I didn’t picture that.” He shrugs. 

“Oh really?” Carol raises her eyebrows. “What did you picture Mr. Cop?” 

“I don’t know. I just can’t picture you as a strict highschool English teacher.” He scratches his chin. “You uh make the kids write a million drafts?” 

“If I don't, no one will.” She chuckles. “I wanted to teach Elementary though, but after Sophia… highschool was easier.” 

“Ah.” Daryl nods. “And uh, you an’ Ezekiel, how long has that been a thing? Just since he moved down here? Or did you know him before?” 

“Me and Ezekiel?” She raises her eyebrows. “Oh we’re not - no, just friends. Trust me the last thing either of us has the time or energy for is dating. He got in contact with me a lot like you did actually, referral through Maggie.” 

“Oh.” Daryl says. “I uh, sorry I just assumed, I mean Henry seems to adore you and I just assumed.” 

“It’s fine.” Carol promises. “So what’s her plan?” 

“Lydias?” Daryl asks, Carol nods. “Oh um, well apparently the lab is closed on Sundays, but we should have results by Thursday, but I think she’s supposed to start Chemo tomorrow. What uh… what can I expect? I mean Dr. Rhee told me but it’s kind of overwhelming.”

“Daryl.” Carol sighs. “Are you sure you can handle this right now?” 

“I’m fine.” He insists. “The hallway was just -” 

“It’s okay.” Carol reaches over and squeezes his arm. “You don’t have to explain, I promise we’ve all had breakdowns in the hallway.” 

“Right.” Daryl rubs his hands on his jeans.

“So um,” Carol says. “So they’ll probably give about four hours of fluids first, chemo does a lot of damage to the kidneys so they’ll want her to flush it as quickly as possible. So expect a lot of potty breaks, then she’ll get her chemo, then another four hours of fluids. She’ll feel pretty tired, nauseous, she might get constipated, and her blood counts will plummet.” 

“What does that mean?” Daryl asks. “Like what do I - what will she look like.” 

“Um, pale, they’ll watch her for a certain kind of bruising, she’ll have a higher chance of infection. It’s not too bad when they’re checking her all the time, but it’s nerve wracking when you’re at home.” Carol sighs, chewing her lip. 

“Her hair.” He says quietly. “How long… um will that take to…” 

“To fall out?” Carol says slowly, he can still sense some reluctance on her part. “Sophia's took about 2 weeks to really start coming out and then we shaved it after the third week, it was starting to upset her. But Henry kept all of his until it was gone and that was about a month.” 

“A month.” He mutters. “That’s uh - that’s not very long.” 

“No.” Carol shakes her head. “But you’re gonna get through this Daryl. It’s like Ezekiel said, you’re not alone in this. You can call me any time, seriously.” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “I uh - I will.” 

“I know that look.” Carol says. “Which means I’m going to be calling you to check in.” 

“What d’ ya mean?” He gowns. 

“That look means you’re not going to reach out first and you’re going to be stubborn about it.” Carol nudges him. 

He blushes, that had been what he was thinking. “Fine. FIne. I’ll call.” 

“Before you’re discharged. You’ll need help with that. There’s a lot that needs to be done for her to come home.” Carol insists. 

“Yeah alright. Before she’s discharged.” Daryl promises. 

They linger in the playroom for another half an hour, after which Henry starts complaining that he’s tired. Ezekiel takes Henry back to their room and Daryl helps Lydia put away some of the toys. 

“Come on kiddo, Carl will be here soon.” Daryl says, putting a few barbies in the bin. 

“Alright.” Lydia pouts putting a couple more barbies away. “Is she coming with us?” 

Daryl looks over at Carol who’s putting away a few plastic animals. “Um, I don’t think so. Why?” 

“I thought she’s Henry’s mom.” Lydia shrugs. “But he says she’s not.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods.

“You two want some help getting back to the room?” Carol offers. 

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head, sliding the bin of barbies back into the cupboard and starting to gather up Lydia’s infusion line. “I think we got it. Don’t we Lydia?” 

“We got it.” Lydia nods. 

“Alright.” Carol smiles. “I’ll get going then okay?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods. “And uh… thanks for everything.” 

“Of course.” Carol says, holding the door open so he can push the heavy infusion pole through it. “And I mean it, I’ll be calling you. I want to see you in our meeting on Tuesday okay?”

Daryl’s about to answer but he’s cut off by a sharp yelp, Lydia has rushed forward to the end of her line and tugged it. “Lydia!” He mutters, hurrying over to her and kneeling in front of her, it doesn’t appear to have come out. “What are you-” 

“Lydia!” And in a blur another eight year old has rushed up beside him, hugging her tightly. 

“Carl!” Lydia grins, barely noticing the worry she’d caused Daryl. “Move Daddy!” 

“I - “ He looks over at Carol, she’s covered her mouth trying to suppress a giggle. 

“It’s cute.” She says apologetically. “Tuesday?” 

“Yeah.” His shoulders relax. “Tuesday.” Carol walks past him towards the elevator and Daryl pulls the infusion pump closer to them. “Carl where’s your mom?” 

“I don’t know.” Caryl shrugs, sticking his thumbs in his belt looks. “Somewhere.” 

“Carl Grimes!” Lori’s harsh voice says, coming up rapidly behind them, baby Judith on her hip. “Don’t you ever run off like that again you understand?”

“Sorry. I saw Lydia.” Carl shrugs. 

“I can see that.” Lori sighs. “Daryl, sorry about him he knows better.” 

“It’s fine Lori.” Daryl assures. “We’re just heading back to the room.” 

“Who was the woman?” Carl asks, holding Lydia’s hand as Daryl gathers up the cords again and loops them around his arm.

“Oh that’s Carol. She’s not Henry’s mom.” Lydia shrugs. 

“Then who is she?” Carl frowns. 

“I don’t know. Daddy's friend I guess.” Lydia doesn’t seem phased by it and the two start off down the hall, leaving Daryl and Lori to hurry after them. 

“Woman?” Lori raises her eyebrows. 

“Carol.” Daryl says. “She’s from the single parents support group. She uh - saw that whole fiasco.” 

“Ah.” Lori chuckles. “She's pretty?” 

“Yeah I guess. Why?” Daryl narrows his eyes.

“No reason.” Lori smirks. 

“Oh no no no.” Daryl says. “My kid has cancer, you're not playing matchmaker.” 

“You’re no fun.” Lori pouts. 

“Where’s Lori and Michonne?” He’s eager to change the subject. 

“Already in the room probably, they didn’t have a baby to hold them up.” Lori chuckles. “Or a little boy who likes to play the world tour of bathrooms every time we’re somewhere new. They brought some decorations for Lydia.” 

“Daddy look!” Lydia grins from the doorway. “Look what aunt Michonne and Uncle Rick brought!” 

Sure enough, when he gets to the door the entire room has been done up like a Little Mermaid party. Balloons, streamers, and a big ‘get well soon lydia’ sign hanging above the bed.’. He grins sheepishly at rick. “Y’all didn’t have t’ do this.” 

“Of course we did.” Michonne grins. “Now come on Lydia we brought you some presents.”

[teaandatale]

Steggy and 'I Didn't Mean to Turn You On'

86. ‘I Didn’t Mean to Turn You On’

Ummm… You definitely meant to get a 2k+ fic out of this didn’t you? Omg. Anyway.

I’m not sure if you meant to pick a second AU or if this onewas good enough but if you’d like to send a follow up for another “I didn’tmean to turn you on” that you’d like to see paired with another AU feel free tohit me up again 😊

Here is what my brain jumped to and please please thank @dorrinverrakai1 for being a muse extraordinaire and making this become what it did. (There is quite a bit of backstory that goes to this that didnt make it into the ficlet fyi.)

I’m placing it under a cut because again… This grew legs from just being an answer to a tumblr meme…

Phillips’ annual Christmas party is a thing of legend aroundthe office. It’s always a grand affair, hosted at his mansion and everyoneknows that if you want to be someone in the company, if you show up, make agood impression, compliment the host and his wife’s hospitality, you have areal good shot at a corner office sooner or later.

For Steve, who was ambitious enough, but didn’t feel theneed to grease palms solely at a company party for his own selfish benefit, itwas an opportunity to spend some quality time out of the office with the girlof his dreams.

But the evening hadn’t gone on like he had planned, not afterthe flirtation between him and Peggy the day before back at the office. Whereshe had mentioned she had bought a spectacular new red dress just for the occasion,and then inquired about what he was going to wear. And how he promised her adrink. And that if there was dancing maybe a dance or two to go with that. And herlips had turned up and she said nothing for a moment as she regarded him.

“I will see you tomorrow night then Steve,” she said inpromise.

He’d never been so thrilled. He and Peggy had become goodfriends, and he was pretty sure their interactions would be considered flirtingon several occasions, but he’d never really had a good chance at pursuingsomething more.

But then he doesn’t spot Peggy at the party right away. Andwhen he finally does, she’s standing in a corridor whispering hurriedly with Phillips,and at her side holding her hand was a young girl of seven or eight years old. Thegirl teeters on her heels and leans her head against Peggy’s hip. He knows Peggywas close to Phillips and his family, he thinks that her parents were closefriends of his. The scene doesn’t seem like one he should interrupt soreluctantly he turns away and heads toward the catered food.

He doesn’t spot Peggy again for another half an hour, butshe’s over talking to several of their important German clients so he knows hecan’t interrupt that either. A bit disappointed, he decides to take a little tourof the place and heads up the stairs where one of the bar stations was set up,but heads towards the giant Christmas trees that flank a large bay window witha lookout. He’s passing the bar he overhears something that makes him stop inhis tracks.

“Can you believe she would bring her kid to an event likethis?” It’s Thompson, his least favorite guy in the office, talking with DanielSousa, both men holding generously filled glasses of whiskey.

He’s filled with rage at the dismissive and insulting tone ofthe comment.

“It’s a little embarrassing…” Sousa agrees, somewhat reluctantly.

“A little embarrassing? For fuck’s sake, you don’t bring yourkid to a company event period. And you definitely don’t saddle the fucking CEOof the company with your brat because you remembered you have to network with yourmost important clients.” He was ready to punch Thompson right then and thereeven before he hurled another blow that surprised Steve. “Classic Marge. She’s alwaysgetting a little too big for her britches. She should really learn about babysitters.”

He knows Thompson’s reputation for talking shit, so though thesurprise stuns him, he knows better than to believe gossip from his mouth.Still, he’d have felt the same way if it was Peggy’s child or not.

“That’s very wise advice from you Jack,” Steve says, “assomeone who doesn’t have kids, and given the way you talk may never findsomeone who would choose to have them with you.”

Thompson snorts derisively. “I don’t suffer from lack ofinterest unlike some people Rogers. Anyway I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Doesn’t matter who you were talking to when we can all hearyou badmouthing a coworker. Real classy. Definitely the way you’re going toearn brownie points in the office. And don’t pretend you know anything aboutchildcare or shame someone for doing the best they can to take care of theirchildren. Parenthood doesn’t just stop because you have to work. Do you knowhow many times I spent at the hospital when my mom was on shift because she hadno alternative? Parents do what they have to. I’m sure if there was a better orsafer option it would have been taken. And even if it wasn’t, it’s not ourbusiness. It’s not like anyone is asking you to babysit huh?”

“Fuck off Rogers.”

He rolls his eyes. “Original. Do me a favor and don’t let mehear you say shit like that again. I’m prefer not to ruin your night becauseyou can’t shut your mouth.”

He storms past not waiting for Jack’s response. It’s notuntil he’s right next to the ornate Christmas tree that he realizes the baywindow is occupied. On the wide cushioned seat, sits Phillips and at his sideis the little girl with a book. He doesn’t mean to interrupt but Phillips makeseye contact with him and it would be rude not to say hello to the host.

“Mr. Phillips,” he says, voice still a little surprised. “It’snice to see you.”

Phillips smiles at him. They’ve gotten along the few timesthey’ve interacted. “Steve. Are you enjoying the party?”

He nods. “You’ve got a beautiful house. It’s so warm andfestive.”

“I like all the Christmas trees,” the little girl saysproudly. “There are eight in the house this year because I’m eight years oldthis year,” she tells him.

“Wow! You must be very special to get as many Christmas treesas your age,” Steve tells the girl who grins at him. “Which one is yourfavorite?”

She stands up from the seat and bounces on her heels thenpoints below past the ledge that looks down at the first floor. There in themiddle of the large dining room is the largest Christmas tree in the place.

“The big, big one! How tall was it again Grandpa Phillips?”

The man chuckles. “Sixteen footer. The tallest we’ve everhad you my girl.”

She grins at him. And the sight is a wonder to Steve who hasnever quite witnessed Phillips act so soft. It’s sweet. “We’re reading aChristmas Carol. Do you know it?” The girl asks Steve.

“Oh yes! I know it well. My mom and I used to read it everyChristmas together.”

“Used to? You don’t like to read it anymore?”

He hesitates. “Oh no I would. I do. Except, my mom… She uhpassed away a few years ago. I still think of her every time I read it though.”He hopes that’s not too heavy for an eight year old.

The girl’s eyes widen and she nods very seriously. Then she grinswidely at him again and jumps up from the bench. “Well then you can read itwith me! I’m a very good reader for my age.”

Phillips laughs. “Yes you are Maggie girl. But I’m sureSteve is interested in getting back to the party darling.”

He’s about to retort when Phillips’ wife rushes over. “Thereyou two are,” she starts. “Honey, I know you asked not to be bothered but Zimmermangroup has arrived and there’s the toast to be given.”

Phillips and his wife exchange a look while Maggie flipspages in her book.

“I’d be happy to keep Maggie company,” he finds himselfoffering. “She did promise me we could read a Christmas Carol together.”

“Oh that would be lovely! You’re Steve yes? Steve Rogers?”Phillips’ wife asks with a bright, relieved smile.

“Are you sure Steve?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be back in half an hour Maggie my girl, okay? Youthink you can entertain Steve here for that long?”

The girl nods and shoves the book into Steve’s hand. “Is yourname short for anything Steve?” she asks him once the Phillips’ are gone.

He laughs. He likes how bold the girl is. “It’s short forSteven, but no one really calls me that.”

“My name is short for Margaret. Margaret Jr. to be exact,” shetells him with a smile.

Steve freezes for a moment. Can she really be Peggy’s daughter?Had he really never known that Peggy was a mother? He panics as he tries to rememberif she had every told him that information before. But he doesn’t have muchtime to ponder it as the girl demands he help do the voices. So he findshimself crying out “Bah Humbug” at increasingly dramatic tones once he findsMaggie finds it hilarious. Her little sweet giggles are infectious. So theyread, and occasionally Maggie will stop to ask questions about a hard word, orwhat he thinks of Scrooge, or to tell him what she wants for Christmas. He losestrack of time.

It’s definitely more than a half hour that’s passed whenfootsteps approach them. It’s a wild-eyed Peggy and she seems at a loss forwords.

“There you are my darling!” Peggy calls out, and Maggierushes towards her in a massive hug.

“Steve and I were reading together,” she tells Peggy. He noticesPeggy is staring at him.

Before he can say anything or explain, a second womanapproaches.

“Mommy!” Maggie cries out and rushes for the other woman.

“Hiya Margaret my baby girl. Did you have fun at GrandpaPhillips’ party? Oh Peggy I can’t thank you enough again. Wait who is this?”

Peggy, who had still been staring peculiarly at Steve,clears her throat. “Sorry, Angie. This is Steve. Steve Rogers. Steve this is mybest friend Angie.”

“Ohhhh!” Angie grins and throws Peggy a wink. “Steve Rogershuh?”

Peggy ignores her. “Steve was very generous enough to sitwith Margaret.”

Little Margaret bounces on her toes excitedly. “Mommy! Hisname is short for Steven. Did you know that? Steven.” She repeats his full nameas if enjoying the sound of it. It makes him smile. “And he does really goodvoices. Almost as good as yours mommy.”

“Now that’s a high compliment from my baby girl,” Angietells him, this time winking at him.

“That big of a compliment huh? Well I’m honored,” he tellsMaggie.

“Baby tell Peggy and Steve goodnight, it’s way past your bedtimenow.”

She hugs Peggy first, but then Steve is surprised to findthe girl come rush over to hug him. “Thanks for being my friend Steve. Maybe wecan read together again next year.”

“You got it,” he swears, because how could he not?

He notices Angie shoot Peggy another look before the twodisappear. He then notices that Peggy is back to staring at him. And this timehe thinks he realizes what kind of a stare it is she’s giving him. He feels alittle warm in his suit all of a sudden. He needs a way to break the silence.

“I didn’t mean to turn you on,” he finds himself sayinghelplessly.

It’s the strangest, boldest statement coming from him. But onelook at Peggy’s face and he’s a helpless mess. Her stare is so pointed and fullof heat he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. Her interest is so open, and full of…he feels like a fool but he hopes he’s correct recognizing it as desire. Theway that she bites her lip, the way her pupils are dilated and how she keepstracking not only his face but lingering all over his body.

“I—“ he tries to backtrack but his mouth is so dry and hergaze only seems to grow darker, her tongue flicking out to wet her red lips andSteve is unable to breath. He swallows hard. Who is turning who on exactly?

He finally gets a chance to take a good long look at her,something he’s been dying to do all night. Her dress, a deep red that matchesher lipstick accentuates every curve in her body in a way that makes Steve’sbreaths a little quicker. He can’t stop looking her over. She is magnificent. Agoddess. And it makes him giddy, as her presence has always made him. He wantsto feel the fabric of her dress, wants to see if it’s soft or silky.

“Oh you weren’t, were you?” she asks, her voice laced with disbeliefand amusement. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t get dressed in that well-tailoredtux and choose a red tie and pocket square?”

He gulps at the way she looks him over once more. “Well youmentioned you were going to wear red… so…”

“So you took it upon yourself to remember that fact and considerit when getting dressed.”

She looks so pleased that he’s confused for a moment. Ofcourse he listened to her. And if she was going to wear red why wouldn’t hewant to match her?

“And then you didn’t just so gracefully offer to reprievePhillips and watch my beloved Goddaughter and have her so enjoy your companyshe now calls you her friend?”

He clears his throat. “She’s a great kid. I didn’t know shewas your Goddaughter.”

Peggy takes a step closer. “You do realize that only makes youeven more attractive?” Her voice is lower and deeper and she’s close enough nowthat he could count every one of her eyelashes.

He licks his lips. “I um… Well… For a while there I thought shewas your kid. And didn’t know if I had forgotten that you told me you had adaughter.”

She laughs, the sound still low that it leaves him longing anddesperately he wants to lean into her, breathe her in.

“That wouldn’t be because Thompson was gossiping huh?”

He freezes. “How did you know about that?”

“Jarvis overhead him at the bar. He told me you gave him atongue-lashing of spectacular proportions.” He can only shrug. “So you can’timagine that a well-dressed man that I was already fond of, not only deftly defendedmy honor without making it about me, but spent time at a company Christmasparty making Maggie giggle uncontrollably.”

She’s standing so close, as close as he had fantasized abouthappening at this party.

“I…” He bows his head. He wants to believe her, wants to believethat any of that would make him attractive in her eyes. But she’s Peggy and asuperstar in her own right, and she’s oh so pretty he could cry. “If you likethat sort of thing,” he mumbles.

“I do,” she murmurs, tilting her head, her left hand coming upto press against his jaw. He can feel her body against his. “Now kiss mealready.”

There’s no refuting that. He flicks his gaze down at her,the adoring smile, her wide pupils. He places both hands on the back of herneck and kisses her hard, hard enough to make her gasp. The hand at his jawwanders up and cards through his hair. And oh he has never kissed anyone quitelike this. Full of fireworks and wonder and longing for more and more and more.She presses herself closer and they don’t stop kissing. He never ever wants tostop.

Eventually they part, both gasping and catching theirbreaths.

“Well…” she starts, still steadying her breathing, handsstill tracing over his face and neck, “I really thought we were going to needmistletoe to get you to kiss me tonight.”

He grins and pulls her in for another kiss.

[sholiofic]

I dont kno if ur still into agent carter at all but i was wondering about daniel/peggy/jack established relationship and how they are with their kids growing up - maybe in the same verse as the ‘steve is found in the 70s’ ficlet

Same universe as this ficlet (the one in which Steve is thawed out in the 70s). This is a few days later.

--

"I thought you weren't going to be home for my graduation, Dad," Debbie Sousa declared, flinging her arms around Jack's neck hard enough to make him stagger backwards.

"Plans change, kiddo." Jack caught her up in a hug, whirling her in her graduation gown. "Got in late last night. Hey, watch it, you're going to break an old man's back."

"Old?" she laughed. "You're not old!"

Peggy didn't think so either, but Debbie certainly made her feel old -- both of the kids, honestly. She watched the byplay with her arm around Carol, whose profusion of blond curls made it clear which of the men in Peggy's life was her biological father -- for all that it mattered; Carol had hewed to Daniel's quiet calm from an early age, while fierce, driven Debbie, who had just become one of the only women in her graduating law class, was just as evidently Jack's daughter despite her clear resemblance to Daniel.

And not a single person in Peggy's life would have really understood (the closest anyone ever got were the persistent rumors that she'd had an on-again, off-again affair with Jack for the last twenty years) but at times like this, it didn't really matter, on green grass under a clear blue sky. Ironically, the thronging crowd at Yale's commencement ceremonies provided almost as much privacy as total isolation. All around them, graduates and their parents or siblings were having their own little reunions, hugging or wandering about their arms around each other. The reporters had gotten tired of Peggy (and tired of Debbie, one of the only girls in her graduating law class) early on, and now the five of them enjoyed a rare kind of anonymity, just one little family group among many. In this kind of setting, no one was going to ask which of the men was Debbie's father and which was her uncle. They could stroll off, as they did, with their arms around each other -- Peggy with Daniel's hip bumping hers, and her other arm around Debbie, and Debbie with her arm laced through Carol's -- and the only thing anyone would think, looking at them, was There's a family.

And Debbie had never asked why Jack was home from Berlin days before he should have been.

*

Peggy had picked him up at the New York airport late the previous night. Jack was jet-lagged and grouchy, and she was already dreading the night drive up to New Haven for the ceremony. Daniel and Carol had driven up earlier. Peggy hadn't yet seen them, because she herself had only just gotten back from Norway less than twelve hours before. She was dazed and tired and still trying to convince her brain of the difference between midnight and dawn, and she kissed Jack without really thinking about it, then pulled back when she realized what she'd done. But no one at the gate was paying attention, she understood an instant later; no one thought her anything other than a middle-aged woman with gray streaks in her dark hair kissing a tall blond man, dapper despite the creases in his suit and his obvious jet-lag, who must be her returning husband or European paramour.

"Where is he?" Jack asked, as if she might have Captain America in the trunk of her sensible Chrysler.

"They flew him directly to SHIELD headquarters in DC. They have the facilities to deal with him there."

She realized after she said it that she was speaking of Captain -- of Steve as if he was some kind of superpowered threat to be dealt with.

But ... in some sense he was, wasn't he? She didn't know how to think of him, and most particularly she didn't know how to cope with the feelings that had been stirred up after nearly thirty years of laying dormant.

"He wake up yet?" Jack asked her, as they walked to her car in the parking garage adjoining the terminal.

"No," Peggy said. "He may not, you know. The serum appears to have preserved his body, but --" It came out steady. "Perhaps not his mind."

She had seen him in Tromsø, before he was hustled onto a plane for the US. The sight of that face had taken her back a quarter century, kicked her right back into the head of a completely different woman, one who had seen a very different future for herself.

The future she had imagined as a young woman would have completely erased Debbie and Carol. It would have washed away the life she'd shared with Daniel and Jack. And now here was the ghost of that life, dangled in front of her, while her real life went on: Debbie's graduation and Carol's angry diatribes about Vietnam and the mortgage on the new house in New York and the work on the permits for the New York SHIELD construction project and the vet bills for their aging Jack Russell terrier (currently boarding with the Jarvises while the family went up to Connecticut for Debbie's commencement) and midnight airport pickups and last-minute paperwork and ...

It was a life she had here, filled with her friends and her lovers and her children and the job she'd devoted her life to. She didn't even know how to fit Steve back into it.

"So who's driving?" Jack said, dragging her back to reality.

"Me. Obviously."

"I think you've had less sleep in the last twenty-four hours than I have."

"Me," she said, and he didn't argue.

*

Debbie and Carol were chattering about where to go for drinks after the traffic cleared out a little, the sisters' political differences washed away in their simple pleasure at seeing each other after several years of infrequent get-togethers at family holidays. Peggy rested against Daniel's hip and enjoyed the feeling of Jack's arm sliding around her from the other side, and the way their hands clasped briefly behind her back, letting go only with a light stroke across the wrists that she was aware of only because it happened across her hip.

If circumspection was a lifestyle for her and Jack, then Jack and Daniel had raised it to an art form. Thus far, even at the SSR, no one had guessed the second component of the secret the three of them shared.

The life that she loved was a house of cards, resting on a foundation of secrets. Any number of things could bring it crashing down. But never, in all her thoughts along those lines, had the thought occurred to her that Steve might be the agent of that destruction.

It didn't have to happen, she told herself. But ... she really didn't know what was going to happen when he woke up. She didn't know.

"Someone's moody today," Jack said, resting his head against hers.

Here, today, where familial gestures of affection were not uncommon; where she could stroll with two men while the girls giggled mere feet away, and she could feel Jack and Daniel's hands linked behind the small of her back.

"Just today?" Daniel said, like a tennis player batting back a serve, and she aimed a nudge at his ribs, but not hard enough to actually knock him off stride

Well. Okay then, if that's the way they wanted it. This was an oasis, with the real world still out there. The world, and Steve; the past she'd left behind; the politically uncertain present in which she lived.

But they'd lived their lives leapfrogging from oasis to oasis. And she had learned to take those warm feelings as they came, and not to worry too much about the future, a future that could break them apart.

She dragged in a breath. They had found Steve. They found him.

"But the real question is, who drives us to the restaurant," she said, and Jack laughed and Daniel kissed her temple, and things were good. Oh. So good.

[somedayonbroadway]

A Newsie Carol Have You Forgotten How To Smile

And chapter 4!

"You… I know you! Your that-"

"Oh of course you know me! I'm that happy spirit that you get when you feel even the slightest bit of joy inside that cold heart of yours!" the spirit assured. "But, I clearly haven't done my job, since you don't know how to spend a Christmas morning, my friend!" It scolded, standing from its crouched position beside the man's bed.

It was a woman. A short, plump, carefree, dark skinned woman. One with pink cheeks and a smile that showed off pearly white teeth. She wore a flattering, sparkling green dress with pink accents and glitter all over it. She was young, perhaps even younger than the last spirit he'd seen. "Oh, what is it, honey?" she laughed, gliding up to him. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Pulitzer was not laughing.

"Oh, cheer up, darlin'! You're back in the Present now!" she laughed, tapping his arm as he glared at her. "Unlock the door and let the music in, Joe! It's Christmas Day!" The spirit was bight and confident, even more so than the last. She glowed, not figuratively, but literally, as if she had spot light following her every which way. "Are you ready, honey?"

With a small shake of his head, Joseph could be nothing but honest with the beautiful ghost. "In all honesty, Spirit," he whispered, looking up at her, "I'm not sure I am…"

But she scoffed. "No use dwelling on the past, honey. Ya can't outrun it, but you sure as hell learn from it," she explained. Her voice was soothing to him. He couldn't place why. "Now… let's get you out of here and down onto the streets of New York… Christmas wait for no one, my friend!"

Before the man could even begin to rush back and hide beneath the covers of his bed, he was on the snowy, freezing cold streets of Manhattan. No one seemed bothered by that, though. No. Everyone seemed much too happy for that. "Recognize that building?"

That was enough to get Pulitzer's attention. He looked up. They were standing right outside of his building. His company.

And there, walking past them in a rush, was his assistant who looked as if he were late for something. He watched as the man fished some change out of his pocket as he passed by the carolers who were once again standing just outside the entrance to The World. He tossed whatever spare coins he had in their bucket and stopped for a moment, reaching out to shake their hands, offering a small thank you, before rushing down the street.

Joseph made to follow the boy. But a hand on his arm stopped him. "Not yet, Joseph, darling. First… lets go dancing!"

The caroler sang louder and an invisible orchestra seemed to begin accompanying them. The music was loud and cheery and everything that Joe had been trying to avoid.

Forcefully, the spirit pulled him down the road, twirling him around in the snow as he had no way to stop it. "Hey!" he cried, trying to rip himself from her grip.

But he stopped fighting when he was whirled around and forced to look at each and every happy face of every man, woman and child rushing down the streets of New York, bags and gifts in hand, treats smothered across their faces as they went to celebrate this commercial of a holiday.

For some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to be upset or angry in any way. A lightness took over him as people sang with those carolers who smiled and danced as they walked by.

He had no time to dwell as he was pulled continually down the road. The spirit didn't stop to let him watch.

She kept on dancing and caroling her way through the cold, but cheerful streets of Manhattan. He lost sight of where they were completely, just as he began to enjoy the music.

That's when things went quiet.

"Ah, here we are!"

Here was a small apartment that was somewhere deep within Manhattan. Somewhere warm and festive, but still small and simple. "Where… where are we-"

"No… he's not coming…" a voice sighed from behind him. Joseph whirled around at the familiar voice. "No… I'll be fine. I'm glad that you decided to spend Christmas with Bill, it was about time. Don't worry about me… Merry Christmas, Darcy."

"Katherine…"

She hung up her sell phone, sighing as she plopped down on the small couch with a small television playing some old, black and white Christmas movie. It was at that moment that Pulitzer realized how much he missed that beautiful young woman. She picked up a plate of fudge that had more than likely been a gift for somebody and stuffed two pieces completely in her mouth, looking more sad than Pulitzer cared to remember her.

She had always been his happy little girl.

"Spending Christmas alone is never something anyone should have to do."

"She said she was planning a Christmas dinner with a friend…" Pulitzer stated, shaking his head as he just didn't understand who would dare leave this woman alone on Christmas. She deserved better.

She had always deserved better.

But the young woman only sulked for a moment before she looked over at a small picture frame that was set on a table just beside her. Pulitzer's heart clenched. It was a picture of their small —now broken— family. The one that Pulitzer himself had torn apart.

A small smile spread over her lips. She stood to her feet and began to sway, just like someone else once had. Pulitzer smiled and stepped closer to her, just in time to hear his baby girl begin to sing. "Frosted window panes, candles gleaming inside, painted candy canes on the tree… Santa's on his way, he's filled his sleigh with things… things for you and for me…"

Joseph let his hands hover above his daughters hips as she began to dance just like her mother once had. "It's that time of year… when the world falls in love… every song you hear seems to say…" he sang with her as she smiled. "Merry Christmas, my love…" he whispered to her, hoping she could hear him. Hoping this scene might become real.

The spirit only began to dance right along with them. "Oh, I like her! She's a sweetheart!"

Pulitzer laughed. "Yes… yes she is… even after everything… she still calls me…" he admitted, his voice quiet and reserved. "She deserves better, Spirit… so much better… better than me..."

Nodding and pausing in her slow sways, the ghost offered him a kind smile. "There seems to be a lot of that going around." She placed her hand on Joseph's shoulder and the shadow of his precious daughter faded, giving way to white.

So much white.

"Spirit... where are we?"

It didn't take much to deduce that it was a hospital room. A small, quiet but secluded room with a single white bed in the corner, surrounded by wires and machines and one single stuffed bear that a small child clung to with a tired grip as he breathed in and out so slowly. Anyone in the small vicinity of the room could hear each and every inhalation he took through the small tube in his nose.

The boy was so small. Smaller than any child the old man had dared take notice to in a long while. Four, if Pulitzer were to guess. He'd put money on it. The scrawny, pale kid couldn't be older than four. He listened intently to every breath the child took in. They were forcefully deep and moved his small chest up and down with a grey blanket and a hospital gown. The boy's weak grip on his teddy bear was enough to bring forward something in the man's chest. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.

It was Christmas Day. And no one was here with this boy.

At least, not until moments later. Not until the door creaked open with a sort of hesitance that Joseph was sure he'd never had in his entire life. "Spirit..." Pulitzer called again. "Who is that boy?" he dared to ask, never once taking his eyes off of that precious, sleeping form.

The spirit beside him didn't move, and stared down at the boy just the same, sadness growing in her eyes. "That's Jack Kelly's brother, Joe... his only living relative... that's Tyler James," the ghost beside him stated, as if Pulitzer should have known.

A pang of guilt shot through the man's heart. Pulitzer should have known.

"How's he doin'?" a familiar voice with a thick New York accent asked, stepping cautiously into the small room with his hands shoved into his pockets as he took in the sight of that child, his voice soft and loving.

Pulitzer didn't know what this feeling was. But suddenly, it was like his heart was dropping down into his stomach. "Kelly..."

"He's been sleepin' for most of the night, but he ain't any worse off. Been callin' for you though..." There were two other men in the room. Jack and a nurse. A nurse that was only a bit taller than Jack and only possibly a few years older. One with dark brown hair and kind brown eyes.

Nodding a bit, Jack sighed, setting down his old coat and his backpack. That coat was wearing thin and that backpack had a broken zipper and a whole in its side. Joe wondered silently how his assistant had even managed such a thing before immediately shoving the thought to the back of his running mind. He watched as his employee took a couple steps forward, reaching to pet the small child's hair. That was when Pulitzer first caught sight of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. A sort of blue that he couldn't even begin to describe. One that made the morning sky on its best day look like night. He saw a smile that rivaled the sun with its brightness when that little child looked up to see the man that stood over him. "Jackie..."

The old man looked over to the spirit with wide eyes when he felt something in his chest tighten. That boy's voice was weak. It was breathy and shaken and quiet. It was broken. Sick. It was so small.

But Jack didn't even seem to notice. "Hey, baby..." Jack whispered, thumbing at the boy's cheek. "Merry Christmas..." he breathed, even more lovingly.

"Merry Christmas, J..." The child held fast to his stuffed bear, even as he tried to scoot closer to his big brother. A hand went down on his shoulder from behind. He pouted, squeezing the life out of the small comfort he held in his small, skinny arms.

Jack laughed and the nurse shushed the child. "It's okay, Tyler," the other man soothed, walking around the bed to a chair that was set in front of a small computer screen. "Jack ain't goin' nowhere..." he promised.

Nodding along, Jack agreed. "Yeah, he's right... I's stayin' right here all night..." The young man was so quiet. But the joy in his voice could be heard from miles away.

At that, the boy gasped in awe. And Pulitzer could hardly breathe. All he could do was stand and watch as this boy smiled so easily, simply at the news that he wouldn't be alone that night. Simply at the news of being able to spend Christmas night with the only family he had.

"He's only six..."

The vague memory of those words played over and over again in Joseph's mind. And it crushed him even more when he looked down at that boy again. He was so small. He looked so much younger than six. He looked so innocent, laying there so helplessly, just so happy that he had his brother with him.

"Hey, Dave?" Pulitzer blinked himself out of his own thoughts at the voice of his underpaid assistant. The one he was always so hard on. "Hey... do ya think maybe I could... uh... you think maybe I could hold him?" Jack's voice was quiet and unsure. The boy on the bed was hooked up to so machines and wires.

But when that boy looked up so pleadingly at the nurse above him, there was no answer anyone could give him accept for the one that he got. The man in the scrubs sighed and looked from Jack down to the child on the bed. It was as if Pulitzer could feel his heart being torn apart in his chest. He didn't understand it. He didn't know this child or the man who was begging to simply be able to hold him. What did it matter to him?

He watched the tall nurse nod slowly before standing to his feet and pushing Jack aside to help the small kid out of the bed. "Okay, Tyler... I'm gonna let Jack hold you for a minute... but only for a minute, okay? You need ta rest..."

Tyler nodded almost violently. He still held his teddy bear tight and squeezed his eyes shut when Davey began to carefully untether him from the machines that were there to cater to him and help him.

The ones that were there to keep him alive.

"Spirit... why didn't Kelly ever tell me that Tyler was ill?" he asked quietly, this whole scene tearing him apart inside. He could've done something. He could help. He could help this child. This little boy who had nothing. He could help.

The spirit turned to him. There was a certain anger to it as it did, one that burned within it's eyes. "He tried. You wouldn't listen." It was as simple as that. Joe didn't recall. He couldn't remember Jack speaking of it.

He couldn't remember Jack speaking of anything. Had he ever once listened to the young man?

Pulitzer tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He watched as that precious boy was lifted so delicately into his big brother's arms. He stared intently as the boy melted into the young man's chest, looking as though he weighed absolutely nothing, looking completely boneless as he lay his sleepy head down on Jack's shoulder. But that was nothing compared to the way that young man looked down to that little boy. "Hey, kid..." he breathed, his hands shaking ever so slightly.

The boy didn't move from the perfect position against the young man's chest. He sighed. "Hi, Jackie-Bear..."

The boy smiled tiredly as Jack began to sway on his feet a little bit. "How w's your day yesterday, Racer?"

It sounded like an old routine. One they had to go through. One that made them both grasp to something that felt familiar; something constant.

The child's grin seemed to widen, albeit sleepily, at the simple question. "Charlie came n' read me a story yest'rday... n' we watched The Grinch... n' Spottie brought me a new blanket..." he stated, curling his tiny fists into his brother's sweatshirt. "I missed 'em..." he explained before a precious yawn escaped him and he melted even further into the man who looked down on him with more love than Pulitzer could recall ever feeling. A type of love that was said only a parent could feel. Jack was feeling that right now.

"I know, baby... they'll be back t'night, I promise..."

"F'r Christmas?"

Nodding and beginning to pace and rock around the room with the child in his arms, Jack nodded. "Yeah... f'r Christmas..." he confirmed, though his voice was still so quiet.

The boy nodded against the young man. Pulitzer had forgotten what this had felt like. What feeling had felt like. It was almost horrible and most definitely foreign. But suddenly, it was like a flood had broken through the dam he'd built around his heart.

He watched that boy doze off on his brother's shoulder, seeing Jack shush and coo at him. It never occurred to the old man that this boy whom he'd hired almost a year ago had things to truly worry about. After all, he was so young.

Those piercing blue eyes blinked open again. And Joseph couldn't help but be memorized. "Why d'ya think Santa didn't come 'round again this year, Jackie?" his small, airy voice asked.

The way Jack paused did not go unnoticed by the old man who took a few silent steps closer to the pair who were already being closely monitored by the nurse sitting at the small desk beside the bed. He wanted to reach out, try and get the man to notice him, to offer some kind of reassurance or help. Jack couldn't see him. He cradled the boy even closer to his chest, breathing out so slowly and closing his eyes for just a moment. "Santa's doin' his best, kiddo, I promise... he's workin' hard f'r you... he just needs a little more time this year..." he breathed finally, brushing a kiss up against the boy's forehead.

That child looked as fragile as air. He could break into pieces any moment. This may be the last one he had.

As that small boy breathed in heavily, his small frame moving with every breath, he loosened his death grip on the small stuffed animal in his arms. He was getting tired, though he'd just woken up. "I been good this year, bubba..." the boy whispered.

Jack nodded, continuing in his pace back and forth across the small room. "Yeah... yeah, you have..." he agreed.

In his sleepy daze, the child nodded and dropped the topic, moving onto another and somehow making Pulitzer's heart hurt even more. "When can I go home?"

It was a simple question, one that any parent should have been able to answer with a quick "Soon" or a "tomorrow". Not Kelly. Kelly couldn't say that. Because that would make Kelly a liar. If there was one thing Jospeh Pulitzer knew about Jack Kelly, it was that he was no liar.

But Jack seemed to respond easily anyways, as if Tyler James asked it every night. "Home? No, Racer, we're goin' ta Santa Fe, remember? We're gonna ride the horses n' run outside in the fields n' you don't gotta lie 'round in bed no more..." he promised.

An exhausted smile spread back on the boy's face. "Santa Fe... you can bet..." he sang in a whisper. It must've been all he could muster. But it made Jack melt all the same.

Unable to take his eyes off of the small child in Jack's arms, Joe breathed out. Then, for what must have been the first time, the old man looked up at the young man who had been working for him for what felt like decades. For the first time, he saw the pureness of that young man. He saw the walls coming down, only for this moment. For the first time he saw how young this man was. "We won't let no bastards beat us..." Jack sung back to his baby brother. "We won't beg no one ta treat us fair n' square... there's a life that's worth the livin'... n' I'm gonna do my share..."

His voice was so soft. So smooth. Pulitzer had never known he'd had it in him. He hadn't ever known Jack could be so careful or gentle with something. He hadn't ever known that this little boy existed. He should have known. He should have asked.

He should have cared.

"I'm sorry we ain't in Santa Fe, JJ..." the boy whispered, yawning again and losing his grip in his bear completely.

Jack shifted the child so he rested in only one arm and steadied the bear against Tyler James. "We'll get there, baby... but I don't need nothin' else so long 's I got you..."

There was something inside Pulitzer that was crying out, though he found his lips melting into a small, sad smile. That baby boy was more precious than anything he'd seen in a long time. He could see his own child in his arms, a long time ago. He forgot what it felt like. To have nothing but that little baby keeping him going, making him smile.

It was like that same thing, that same feeling was happening all over again, only with someone else. Someone who needed so much help.

Help that he could give. Help that he'd withheld for so long.

"I thought ya wan'ed ta be rich..." the boy breathed.

"'m as rich as a king when I get ta hold ya, boy," Jack whispered, pressing another, firmer kiss to Tyler's blond, curly locks.

That was when the nurse sighed and waved Jack over to the bed. Time was up. Jack had to let the boy go back to sleep.

The most magical day of the year for so many six year olds in the world, and this one was about to be laid down in a hospital bed all over again, while his family stood there and wondered truly how long he had left.

The young New Yorker nodded as he made his way back over to the bed. And he lay his baby brother back down more gently than anything Joseph had ever seen. "Merry Christmas, my little angel..." Jack whispered as he lay him down.

That boy didn't waste a second. He sat up as quick as he could and wrapped his small arms as far as they could reach around his brother's waist. "Merry Christmas, my Jackie..." he responded with a crooked grin spread across his face.

Jack laughed and helped him lay back down. He began to sing all over again. A Christmas song this time. "I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas... just like the ones I used ta know..." He pet the child's hair as the machines were turned back on and the tubes and wires were replaced. "Where the tree tops glisten... and children listen... to hear sleigh bells in the snow..."

The boy turned his little head towards the touch and sighed in content, letting his protector sing him to sleep on Christmas Day.

And Pulitzer couldn't move.

"Spirit... that boy... he's going to die..." the man stated, knowing how these kinds of stories ended. He shook his head, turning back to the ghost that once took the form of a young woman. He gasped when he was met with the sight of a frail dame, much older than himself with those same chocolate brown eyes that the young female had once had. "Spirit?"

"It's about time I leave you, Joseph," the woman rasped, her hair turning whiter and whiter by the second, right before his very eyes. It was happening so quickly as the world around him spun. Suddenly he was back in his bedroom. His head whirled just as the universe had as he fell to his knees with a sort of nausea he'd never experienced before.

"Wait... Spirit..." he began to plead, truly unsure of why.

He was hunched over, gripping at his aching stomach. He blinked hard, trying to figure out what was happening. "What's happening to me?" He could vaguely hear someone screaming. When he closed his eyes again, he caught a glimpse of Jack Kelly, scooping up his baby brother, looking even smaller than he had mere seconds ago, tears rushing down his face as he ran out the door of a small, run down apartment.

Opening his eyes, Joseph felt tears in his own eyes. He looked up, wanting to beg the once kind, young soul for some sort of relief. But the old woman in front of him was much different than she had been only moments ago. Her once round, warm features were harsh and cold. Her eyes were angry.

He shook his head, frightened of this unfamiliar feeling of helplessness he felt. "I didn't know..."

"You didn't want to know. You were blinded by ignorance and greed," the spirit stated easily, scowling as it back away from him.

Breathing in deeply as the nausea subsided, Joe wearily blinked away the tears. "That child... is he going to die?" he asked, knowing the inevitable answer, but hoping there was something, anything he could do to prevent that dark future.

But that woman continued to grow older and older before him. "He'd be better to die and decrease the surplus population," she mocked. Her green ensemble began to fade and turn black.

"You mock me with my own words!" the old man cried. He didn't care what he'd said. He hadn't known. He had been a fool. He had been running a business.

A business he'd gladly give up if it meant keeping that precious child alive.

"Who are you to decide who lives and who dies?" the ghost spat. The room was growing dimmer as her light began to fade. "If these shadows remain unchanged, the child will die..."

Pulitzer blinked. The spirit was gone.

And the clock struck three.

Okay... this ghost is obvious... I mean... come on...

[wolfpawn]

Once Bitten Twice Shy, Chapter 17

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary -  Mark's wedding comes and Paige and Tom face a new challenge.

Tag, @wolfsmom1 @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @damalseer @nonsensicalobsessions  @standing-onthe-edge @hiddlesbitch1

anyone else who wishes to be added to the tags, just ask :)

Tom could see why Paige warned him about Fiona’s family. They were a lot like how his family was but the other way around, in that in his family Uncle George was the only ass, in her family, Fiona seemed to be the only nice one. They clearly saw themselves as better than the Winters’ family as their money was longer in the family whilst Paige’s parents had been born to very modest homes, but Tom, they seemed to feel was more to their standard. He looked at Paige who was smirking at him as he listened to an overdramatic sister of Fiona’s who seemed adamant to inform him as many times as was humanly possible, that she was going to make it as a model any day now and more importantly, she was a better partner to have than Paige, more in keeping with his place in society. Tom did everything in his power not to laugh in her face, which was a difficult ask considering he had heard her speaking throughout the meal and to say they were not compatible was an understatement. His years of training as an actor never felt more required than when she said that. When she stated that Paige was boring and unexciting, he stopped her with the statement that if she was such, then he was even more so. She ceased her attention to him after that.

“Dare I ask?”

He turned to see Paige standing behind him after he tried to flee to the bathrooms.

“Caroline...I think?”

“It’s Carolina. She was Carol but it wasn’t fancy enough for the world of high-fashion so she changed it.” Paige laughed. “So, what did Carolina do or say to make you try and break into the ladies bathroom?”

Tom looked at the door and sure enough, the symbol of a woman was there. “Shit...Only how we are so well suited and to ditch you.”

“Odd, she said that when she met Derek too. Though going by the comments she said both at the time and after I dumped him, I think he got a sniff, if not the full shag out of her.”

“Wonderful individual by all accounts then?”

“I am just grateful that I didn’t catch anything from him as a result of everything,” Paige sighed. “That would have been only icing on the cake.”

Tom gently rubbed her hand. “Don’t, don’t think such terrible thoughts right now. Not on the night before your brother’s wedding. Not on such a joyous occasion.”

“You’re right. You’re a hundred per cent right. What would I do without you?” She smiled.

Tom gave a small smile and looked away, not trusting himself not to say anything.

*

When the end of the night came, Tom put his arm around Paige’s waist as they said goodbye, promising to be ready on time in the morning as they did. When they got to the room, they both prepared for bed, both having brought sleepwear as they both knew that at the very least, they would be sharing a room.

“Those look brand new.” Paige laughed as Tom attempted to find the tie for his sleep pants.

“They are. I don’t own too much bedwear,” Tom admitted before looking at her with a raised brow, seeing her in some form of cartoon nightclothes that he was sure his sisters liked as children.

“Judge me, I don’t care.” Paige shrugged as she walked over to her side of her bed and got in. “I will probably crash quickly enough. You don’t need to worry if you want to continue reading or anything. I am not bothered by lights and such,” She assured him as she got into the bed.

“Honestly, I am similar. I had a long week, as I told you already.”

“You should have just gotten some rest, flying to China to the US and then back for this. It’s madness.”

“I wanted to get Bobby ready for quarantine. Besides, how could I ever decline a chance to see what I am missing with Carolina.”

Paige snorted in laughter. “So true.”

Tom smiled as he saw her get comfortable. He watched as she got her book, one of short poems and began reading. He got into the bed too and groaned as he felt his aching muscles from all his travels begin to rest on the mattress.

“You sound like you need this,” Paige commented. “I’m sorry you don’t get to relax fully and instead have me here, annoying you.”

“Darling, the last thing you could ever be accused of being is annoying. No, trust me. Through the years, I have had some annoying bedmates and you don’t even register on the scale.”

Paige turned to look at him. “Okay, I need to know what sort of madness you are referencing. Please tell me it is not just crazy-ex stories?”

“No, all the madness of this job. There was a time during the Thor, Ragnarok tour that I slept on the sofa part of a small airplane groin to ass with Taika Waititi.” She snorted in laugher at that. “Then there was a time when I went away with the college drama society and I drank myself into a stupor, as did everyone else, because, of course, you know…”

“Par for the course.”

“Exactly. Well, I woke up the next day, close to death, in Edinburgh.”

“Where did you start?”

“Manchester.”

Paige laughed but shook her head. “Not the worst.”

“Really? Look, I know I was out of college the time of that infamous urban myth of the Cambridge drama society weekend but this, at least, was real.”

“So was the Cambridge DramSoc weekend,” Paige argued.

“No it wasn’t,” Tom scoffed before he realised her face was entirely stoic. “Was it?”

“Friday afternoon, drinks in the college bar, three am, I am wandering around Amsterdam looking for a place to crash for the night and ringing my Dad to give me his credit card number so I can stay in a hostel with a few of my mates,” Paige informed him.

“Fuck off.” Tom became far more animated at her admitting such. “How did you all get there, what the Hell were you all doing?”

“So, drinking, obviously. And then Brianna, the Soc secretary started giving out that she never got onto the continent, so Piotr, one of the exchange students was saying how England knew how to drink, but the Netherlands knew how to party, and to this day, I have no idea who suggested he put his money where his mouth was but somehow, I am giving my date of birth and associated details to Jack, our society chair and getting a fucking flight from London to Schipol. Cheap EU flights were a dangerous thing.”

“But...We always thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

Tom stared at her in disbelief. “And that bastard had the audacity to accuse you of being boring?”

“Because I was young and stupid when I was young; when it came time to consider being a responsible adult, I was actually looking forward to being such. I had my ridiculous time, I had time to figure me out and what I wanted, and now I get to do exactly that, whatever that entails. Hence why I am not ever bothered too greatly by silly things.”

“You are to be commended,” Tom commented. “If not slightly mental, Amsterdam?”

“We ended up staying the weekend, it was lovely.”

“You are insane.”

“And proudly so.” Yawning slightly, Paige turned and started to settle to go to sleep.

Tom, taking her cue, did similar, laying back and reading a little before trying to get comfortable himself, not wanting to keep her awake with his reading or light.

Through the night, neither slept much. Both facing the opposite wall to one another, their backs almost touching and the heat of the other clear to feel. They both moved very little through the night, both conscious of the other behind them, not certain if the other was awake but both thinking the exact same thing, if they should say anything of their feelings to the other. Not crippled by the fear of their past experience and the rejection of one they loved.

*

The next day was as most every wedding was. Nothing overly exciting in the grander scheme of things. Paige joked and smiled with Fiona through the times she was required to assist in her bridesmaid's duties but the rest of the time she stayed close to Tom, knowing how awkward it was to be a plus one at an event and nothing was worse than being one at a place where you knew no one else.

When Tom bumped into Mark during the evening, both of them in good humour and a couple of drinks in. Mark embraced him as Tom congratulated him.

"I spent too long farting about. I should have asked her ages ago. I was lucky. Not everyone is as lucky. Take you, for example, farting around Paige."

Tom looked around, slightly worried that they would be overheard.

"Taking so long to ask Paige out, I mean, I thought I was bad." Mark kept his comments fairly vague purposely and Tom noted such too.

"I…"

"No, really. Not realising she felt the same and whatnot. If it wasn't heartbreaking to watch, then it would have been hilarious."

Tom frowned.

"I better get back to my wife, Jesus, it's odd calling her that." There was a surprised smile on Mark's face at his small revelation. "And you better get back to Paige, especially if Carol is about. She likes to try and get her claws into other women's partners if they are dumb enough to allow her to or try and imply she did with the ones that decline her and the added thing where she would brag you more than others and probably more publicly too. Honestly, I don't know you deal this sort of shit."

"It's sadly par for the course with my life these days. Honestly, I never thought it would come to this. It's a tad overwhelming, even for me," Tom sighed rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not fair to expect others to endure that for me."

"Yet when someone loves you, then endure it willingly."

Tom said nothing as Mark slapped him playfully on the chest before saying his farewells and heading back to find Fiona.

Tom thought over his words for a moment, both of how Mark felt that perhaps Paige could feel something more got him but also of the madness that was his life and how it was wrong to expect anyone to endure that for him, when he spent so much time working and knowing she would forever have to concern herself with wondering if he would do as her ex had done and cheat on her. She tried to act as though it didn't bother her but there was no denying she had been affected by it. It would never be fair to expect her to endure his work life.

He went back to Paige who was talking with her parents. He had to remind himself that this was all a charade when he wanted nothing more than to show her the affection he so desperately wished to bestow on her. While he sat with her and her parents, he felt as though it was organic, that there was no falseness to how they interacted, making it all the harder when he had to remind himself that her smiles and other acts of affection were merely put on.

When the wedding had come to a close and time came to rest, they bid farewell to her brother, her now sister-in-law and her parents before going back to their shared room.

“Thank you.” Tom glanced at Paige as she walked out of the bathroom in her nightclothes. “For coming to this. You really are incredible and the greatest company. I will be lost when you go to New York.”

Tom swallowed as he thought of the soon-to-be future. “I know the feeling. I will miss our talks.”

“Just remember, I am often reachable if you want to talk. If I go into a writing flow though, please don’t hold it against me.”

“How is the book going?”

“It isn’t.”

“Oh, everything alright?”

Paige could not answer immediately, to say things were fine was a barefaced lie, to say no opened her to admit that she had a countdown on her wall to the day he was leaving and when she looked at it, it made her feel like she was shot in the stomach to think he would leave and she would be alone again. “Writing inspiration comes and goes. I simply have to embrace whatever happens.” It took more than she was willing to admit to keep her voice steady as she said the second sentence. It was as much about the current situation as it was about her writing. Feeling her throat get tight, she cleared it and went to her side of the bed.

Tom, sensing the tension, went into the bathroom to ready himself for bed. When he came back out, having decided to try and speak about what Mark had said and with the few drinks he had giving him courage, he looked at Paige but noticed her even breathing and thought her to be asleep.

As he got into his side of the bed, Paige did everything in her power to keep her breathing steady as she willed her tears to stay at bay.

[defenders-core]

STOP PITTING DEFENDERS AGAINST EACH OTHER

DOCTOR STRANGE's hands SURE SEEM TO BE FEELING BETTER

THE HULK loves BEANS

NAMOR keeps LEAVING THE TEAM

VALKYRIE is PERFECT

NIGHTHAWK is a FILTHY CAPITALIST

SILVER SURFER PHILOSOPHIZES a lot

HELLCAT is BETTY AND VERONICA meets CATWOMAN and that should be ENOUGH FOR YOU

DEVIL-SLAYER liked a HIPPIE once

DAIMON HELLSTROM had a ROUGH CHILDHOOD

ARAGORN is a VALUABLE MEMBER of the team

LEDGE got HURT one time

MAN-WOLF is a trained ASTRONAUT

BLACK GOLIATH should really just be called GOLIATH

MAR-VELL is DEAD

CAPTAIN ULTRA saw the Defenders on TELEVISION once

FALCON is #MYCAPTAINAMERICA

HAVOK was RUINED by AXIS

HERCULES is CHO'S BEST FRIEND

JACK OF HEARTS has no CONTROL

MARVELMAN is now called MIRACLEMAN

PALADIN is a THUNDERBOLT

POLARIS doesn't get to do much with her SIBLINGS

PROWLER is Spider-Man's BODYGUARD

STINGRAY has met NAMOR BEFORE

TAGAK THE LEOPARD LORD hasn't been in a comic since THE 1970s

TORPEDO was killed by DIRE WRAITHS

WHITE TIGER was in ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN--the SHOW, not the COMIC

MS MARVEL was CAROL DANVERS UNFORTUNATELY

PECOS is a COWBOY

BATROC is besties with GWENPOOL

BEETLE is MACH X NOW

WHIRLWIND was a recurring villain in AVENGERS EARTH'S MIGHTIEST HEROES

ELECTRO was bitten by EELS OR SOMETHING

JOE THE GORILLA prefers CHOKEHOLDS

LEAP-FROG's son is named EUGENE

PORCUPINE is a good BABYSITTER

LOOTER likes METEORS too much

TITANIUM MAN worked for THANOS briefly

THE THING changes back into ben grimm ANNUALLY

ANGEL is very ATTRACTIVE

CLOUD is a CLOUD

CANDACE SOUTHERN is VERY RICH

ANDROMEDA lives in ATLANTIS

INTERLOPER thinks meme pages should be APOLITICAL

MANSLAUGHTER used a HOSTAGE SITUATION to join the team

DAFYDD AP TOWERTH is related to KING ARTHUR

SPIDER-MAN has a DOCTORATE

WOLVERINE is the BEST at what he DOES

NOMAD has unnecessarily large BOOTS

SPIDER-WOMAN likes ROAD TRIPS

NAMORITA is DEAD

SLEEPWALKER only ever fights NIGHTMARE FOR SOME REASON

SCARLET WITCH turns enemy units into BOXES

THUNDERSTRIKE is BOOTLEG thor

WAR MACHINE is suffering from PTSD

NORTHSTAR is HAPPILY MARRIED

DOCTOR DRUID replaced DOCTOR STRANGE once

SEPULCHRE was chosen through NEPOTISM

CADAVER is just a ZOMBIE

U.S. AGENT should have stayed on the DARK AVENGERS

DAGGER is in a cool TELEVISION SHOW

DEATHLOK terrorized a HOSPITAL once

RED RAVEN is basically SAMUS ARAN

ARDINA is GIRL SILVER SURFER

BLAZING SKULL should still be called SKULL THE SLAYER because that name is AWESOME

WASP supports CORY BOOKER

WONDER MAN lived in rogue's BRAIN ONCE

JUNTA was LEGALLY REQUIRED to join the team

BLACK PANTHER is the best MCU MOVIE

BLACK PANTHER (SHURI) killed a bunch of SKRULLS

ANT-MAN'S ANTS ANTS ANT-MAN

BLACK WIDOW doesn't really deserve a movie but HERE WE ARE

TIGRA does deserve a MOVIE

STORM is super FUN in MUA3

TARANTULA just misses her FAMILY

COLLEEN WING was WEIRDLY UNIMPORTANT to fearless defenders

ELEKTRA TECHNICALLY is a defender in MUA3

THUNDRA deserves BETTER

MAGMA was the protagonist of X-MEN LEGENDS

DELPHYNE GORGON is amadeus cho's GIRLFRIEND

KID RESCUE is YINSEN'S DAUGHTER

COLOSSUS was a DRUGGIE in the ULTIMATE UNIVERSE

FAIZA HUSSAIN is the best captain britain DON'T @ ME

ANNABELLE RIGGS should still be ALIVE

FRANKIE RAYE is called NOVA AND THAT'S CONFUSING

ANT-MAN is also sometimes GIANT-MAN

HAWKGIRL has an ELECTRIC MACE

DARKHAWK should have an ONGOING

CAPTAIN AMERICA has AMERICA'S ASS

NOVA deserves to TAKE A BREAK

IRON FIST I MISS YOU AND LOVE YOU

LOA was awesome in the TWO SERIES I READ WITH HER

DRAX THE DESTROYER's daughter is ALSO A DEFENDER

RED GUARDIAN was the victim of CHARACTER ASSASSINATION

DAREDEVIL is BLIND

LYRA's gimmick is kinda NONSENSICAL but it's FINE

DANI MOONSTAR is a BADASS SHIELDMAIDEN

MISTY KNIGHT has a ROBOT ARM

SHE-HULK broke the FOURTH WALL before it was COOL

GRITTY isn't a defender BUT THAT'S VALID

GARGOYLE just wanted to save his TOWN

BLACK KNIGHT gave valkyrie his HORSE

BEAST led the TEAM for a WHILE

LUKE CAGE knows THE N WORD PASS ISN'T REAL

HAWKEYE is the only good LANDLORD

REN KIMURA should really get A CODENAME already

BLACK CAT randomly went evil for a while in 2014 without a GOOD EXPLANATION imo

RED SHE-HULK has an AWESOME SWORD

YELLOWJACKET is high-key one of my FAVORITE CHARACTERS

WONG should really RETIRE ALREADY

CLEA makes good VALKYRIE COSTUMES

AMAZO should have been allowed to KILL LEX LUTHOR

DOCTOR FATE KIDNAPS CHILDREN

JACK NORRISS works for THE MANDARIN in the MCU

SHOCKER got the HEAD OF SILVERMANE

ELSA BLOODSTONE survived in MARVEL ZOMBIES LAND

MOON KNIGHT is MARVEL's MOON KNIGHT

MOONDRAGON used ICEMAN AS A BEARD

ICEMAN used MOONDRAGON AS A BEARD

AQUAMAN has a cool HARPOON HAND

JESSICA JONES

HIPPOLYTA WRECKS SHIT

DOLLAR BILL made an ADVERTISEMENT ONCE

SOLOMON GRUNDY was BORN ON A MONDAY

DEADPOOL doesn't often have FEET

GHOST RIDER is in DETROIT

NICK FURY stole an EYEBALL

ATLAS is a great THUNDERBOLT

KRANG was chosen by the UNIVERSE to be a defender

HOWARD THE DUCK was created by STEVE GERBER

RHINO doesn't have SWEAT GLANDS anymore

BOOMERANG got his own team and WASTED IT

LIBRA is an ESCAPED ANDROID

SUPER-SKRULL helped SHE-HULK save his DAUGHTER

MELTER is also a FILTHY CAPITALIST

GEATAR will probably be the TASERFACE OF GUARDIANS 3

NO-NAME OF BROOD was a CREATIVE and AWESOME ADDITION

BLOB doesn't like being called BUB

TOAD is a JANITOR

PLANTMAN throws COCONUTS

OVERMIND pretended to be NIGHTHAWK'S EX-GIRLFRIEND

THANOS BOTTOM TEXT

NITRO shouldn't have KILLED THOSE KIDS

LUNATIK is ONE-SIXTH OF A FILM PROFESSOR

[afteriwake]

What I’ll Write/Requests

(as of 9/20/19)

Since this is currently on my commission page and I’m no longer doing fic commissions, I figured I should copy it & update it with the new fandoms I do? So here it is.

Requests are currently CLOSED until I catch up on the hundreds of prompts I have at both my blogs. The only exception is if I reblog a prompt/prompt list here.

The following is a list of fandoms I write and characters/ships I feel most comfortable writing:

Sherlock I’ll write just about any ship you can throw at me. I write F/F fic (with the exception of NC-17 fic), M/M fic (with the exceptions of NC-17 fic and anything other than Mystrade, Sheriarty and MorMor, and Johnlock for special friends), M/F fic (almost any ship, NC-17 rating only for Sherlock Holmes/Female Character pairing fics) and select OT3s (Sherlock/Mary/John, Sherlock/Molly/Irene, Lestrade/Mycroft/Anthea and Molly/Moriarty/Moran). No Mrs. Hudson pairing fics except the canon one and Wilf from DW; no Magnussen or other bad guys not already mentioned above.

Doctor Who Generally I only write Eleventh Doctor era and some of Twelfth Doctor era (I am not current with Rose, Martha, Donna, Bill and The Fam eras yet, but I have all the box sets by Doctor save Thirteen). At the moment I mostly can write Eleven, River, Amy, Rory, Martha and Mickey, and can kind of write Clara, Vastra, Jenny, Strax, Jack and a few other recurring ones…ship wise I write Rory/Amy, Eleven/River and Vastra/Jenny (though I can possibly be persuaded to write Twelve/Clara, maybe, depending on the prompt). No NC-17 fic.

Elementary I’m much better at Joan, Marcus, Gregson and Alfredo than Sherlock. My only real ship for this show that I’ve written is Marcus/Joan though I’d love to try Jamie and Sherlock/Jamie in a twisted sense or Jamie/Joan. Also, fair warning: I’m mostly familiar with season 1 and the Kitty arc in season 3, but I have access to all the season save the last one via my library..

Star Trek: Alternate Original Series I do not do a whole lot of ships for this verse aside from Spock/Uhura, Sulu/Ben and a kind of biased Kirk/Uhura (I RP that ship in one of my games) personally but I am willing to write any ship except Bones/Carol (I have issues with that one). I do write slash ships for this series; just ask and I’ll see what I can do. I do not really write Scotty or Chekov with their accents often though I will through in Chekov using Russian occasionally. I will also acknowledge aspects of the Discovery verse (ie, usually Michael Burnham on her own, but occasionally Tilly and other Discovery characters as they might be in the AOS series). No NC-17 for any ship except Kirk/Uhura, and then only in my RP verse fics.

Marvel Cinematic Universe Ship wise I’m pretty open amongst Captain America characters, as well my personal OT5 is any combination of Steve/Sam/Bucky/Nat/Clint with a dash of either Peggy or Sharon given the situation. AoS I’m pretty much either Coulson/May or Daisy/Jemma at the moment (though I will write a few other ships for both, like Jemma/Fitz, but NOT Skyward). I am familiar with Thor characters, Peter Parker, Iron Man characters, Stephen Strange, Wong, and Shuri. Anything else, please ask and I’ll see what I can do. I do have access to the entire MCU to watch, but prefer to avoid certain movies. Will write NC-17, but it depends on the characters/ships.

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries I’m pretty much primarily a Jack/Phryne writer in this fandom. I can do a decent Dot and Hugh but I haven’t attempted anyone else. Also, shorter stories are best. Will not write NC-17 for this fandom. Am planning to add “Crypt of Tears” to the list of what I’m familiar with when it comes out.

Star Wars Movieverse I’m still refamiliarizing myself with this series (so far I’m current/mostly current on the original trilogy sequel trilogy so far and “Rogue One”) but I’m pretty fair game as to characters and ships I will write for those three sections of it. However, I will only write brother/sister Luke & Leia stories, and when it comes to Rogue One I’m iffy on just who I can write since all I’ve written so far is a Jyn POV piece. Other than that, feel free to toss an idea at me prior to requesting and I’ll give a more resolute yes or no answer. No NC-17 for this fandom

NEW FANDOM - Good Omens So I am vastly more familiar with the book than the miniseries, but I do have access to the miniseries and plan on watching it soon. I will probably end up writing Aziraphale/Crowley and Gabriel/Beelzebub because that’s what my enabler writes, but feel free to toss other ideas at me. No NC-17 for this fandom, and would actually prefer a ton of gen prompts if given prompts for this fandom.

NEW FANDOM - DCCU So I’m limited in this one, as the only one I’ve attempted is Wondertrev fic, but I’ve seen “Batman vs Superman” and “Wonder Woman” and am planning on watching the rest at some point. Would probably feel most comfortable with Wondertrev, Clois and Wonderbat. No NC-17 for now.

NEW FANDOM - Legends Of Tomorrow I am much much more familiar with this show than the rest of the DCTV shows, having seen the first season and following various developments since here on Tumblr. As I am still in Series 1, will probably focus on Captain Canary for a while until I get used to the newer characters. Potentially will write Avalance, Constagreen, Zari/Amaya and Constantine/Sara as I get more into the show. No NC-17 so far.

NEW FANDOM - DCAU Very very familiar with the random DCAU shows (minus Superman: TAS and The Zeta Project). Big Harley/Ivy fan, big Wonderbat fan, Big Question/Huntress fan, big Green Arrow/Black Canary fan, big Batcat fan, big Terry/Dana fan. Don’t know how well I can write all of the above except I know I can write Harley/Ivy, as I already have. No NC-17. For other characters in DCAU (excluding The Zeta Project, Superman: TAS and Static Shock for the moment) ask and we’ll see what I can do.

NEW FANDOM - Midsomer Murders So this one…I’ve watched pretty much every episode up to Winters at least once, if not more? I’m willing to give any character and implied/hinted at/”will they or won’t they?” ship a chance. Send me Jones prompts and I may give you a longer fic (he’s my fave). No NC-17 for now, nothing probably over 500 words for most fics until I get more comfortable in this fandom.

CROSSOVER SHIPS I do write crossover ships as well! Most of them are Sherlock oriented, but I ship McCoy/Molly (Star Trek AOS/Sherlock), Khan/Molly (Star Trek AOS/Sherlock), Sherlock/Amy (Sherlock/Doctor Who), Lestrade/Donna (Sherlock/Doctor Who), Eleven/Molly (Doctor Who/Sherlock), Rory/Molly (Doctor Who/Sherlock), Martin/Molly (Cabin Pressure/Sherlock), Bucky/Clara (MCU/Doctor Who) and McCoy/Donna (Star Trek AOS/Doctor Who). Other potential crossovers are welcome, just run the ship and a prompt by me and we’ll see if I can make it work.

Also old fandoms I could be persuaded to do again (but under very limited and probably non-shippy circumstances, and not for anything long unless it’s for a special present) would include Bleach, St. Trinians movies, CSIverse and early season Supernatural.

[thatdarnblogagain]

Captain Marvel Review

This...this is awkward. *Ahem* How does one put this gently? The Captain Marvel movie, kind of sucks. Like “oh my gosh this is bad” sucks. That sentiment comes from an objective viewpoint; well as objective a viewpoint one can have after watching whatever Marvel’s, Captain Marvel was.

I paid little attention to the calls for the film to be boycotted or whatever controversy surrounded the lead of the film, Brie Larson. All I wanted was a good film as Marvel is accustomed to delivering. Sadly, I was let down. Why you ask?

.Carol: A tale of Two Leads - One of the biggest problems for me is not the character of Captain Marvel but what Marvel is trying to do with her. It is in some way similar to what happened with Iron Man in his first live action film.

Robert Downy Jr took a C to B list character at best and gave a performance that shot him into the upper echelons of comics. However that was more of an unintentional thing. There was no one saying how great Tony Stark was. We saw this with his ingenuity throughout the film but more than that we saw it by how vulnerable he was by being captured, and left for dead more than once, thus having to learn or rely on others. Why? Because Tony is a genius and he is genius enough to know he needed others to help him in his plight. Yes he has an ego but that falls away when he knows his or others’ lives depend on it. He makes mistakes and comes out of the other side stronger for it. That’s relatable.

In Captain Marvel from the first exchange of dialogue in the movie, we are told how strong Carol is though she is “emotional” (Something we see little of). We have constant scenarios of the character being lauded by others for how brilliant she is, whether as a pilot, warrior or hero. There is no fall for her beyond brief moments of being captured...twice. In each scenario she manages to get away with ease and gain little from either. Yes she “falls” in the movie during montages as Marvel tries to hamfist the idea of rising up into the plot line but Steve Rogers did that already and without needing to hammer it home that this was a Psuedo-motivational moment.

Again let’s look at Tony. In his workshop Tony goes through countless tests to get his suit to fly or do what he wishes and we see him fail before he succeeds. But Tony does not give up! He keeps going till he gets it done and even then, he keeps upgrading his suits for any possible situation because he knows he is not invincible. Anything is possible and he needs to be prepared. Whether this is caution or his need for control it shows us Tony’s mindset which almost seems neurotic at its worst.

Carol...falls from space, closes her eyes and decides to fly. That is a scene meant to be empowering but I instead just groaned. Marvel seems to want us to buy into Carol being the cornerstone of the Marvel Cinematic Universe but I think it can be argued while not nearly as strong as Carol, Black Widow deserves that spot.

(This picture has more charisma than the cast)

.The Attitude - Carol is cocky. Not quite Tony Stark or Namor cocky but she has an ego of sorts. She is a woman who knows she is powerful, knows she has the means to take control and is not afraid of doing so. However she has an attitude of no nonsense but also of being able to empathize with others, such as when Scarlet Witch returned to her senses after the House of M storyline. Carol in her Ms.Marvel guise along with Spider-Woman come to her aid before taking Wanda to the Avengers’ Mansion and in those few pages we see a range of emotions. Joy at seeing her friend. The jubilant yet skilled approach Carol takes to fighting the threats facing them. The pain on her face when Vision turns Wanda, his wife at the time, away.

Those are organic expressions and it hurts to say those pages carry more emotion in them than Brie’s portrayal. It is wooden and has no real character behind it. Yes she is soldier but so is Captain America, Bucky, Falcon and Black Widow. Yes she has amnesia, so did Bucky and in Civil War he still showed the emotion of someone who felt like they could not even trust themselves, worry, fear, wariness of all around him besides Steve. Brie really only has one emotion throughout. Stoic. Stoic in happiness, sadness and anger.

She does stoic well but nothing else. For example, upon realizing all she knows is false, Carol in the movie has no moment of breaking down that others face. T’challa upon seeing his father’s transgression confronts him and completely changes his mindset about aiding the outside.  Charlize Theron as Furiosa in Mad Max - Fury Road upon realizing what she was fighting for all along no longer exists, this bastion of strength walks into the desert, takes off her prosthetic arm and screams into the distance. Carol has none of that besides saying, “I don’t know who I am!!!” which is quickly countered by her friend saying, “You are Carol Danvers....”. And...that’s it. She has a moment at the end where she echoes this and ordeal over. Yup.

.Missed Opportunities - Yon Rogg, Korath, Ronan, Agent Coulson, Mar-Vell and even the Skrulls feel like they were wasted in this movie. Some are glorified cameos and that sucks. Korath especially feels like he could have had backstory to show how he became what he was in Guardians of the Galaxy. Oh and Mar-Vell...what did they do to Mar-Vell!?!? Moving on!

Nick Fury feels like he got some of the worst of it all. Many wanted to see how he got those Scars but the pay off is so bad you wish it was instead a moment better left to our imagination. While it is fun seeing a younger Nick Fury at work with a different attitude to his older self, there seems like he deserved a subplot that paid off the speculation of him losing his eye.

Skrulls + He trusted someone he should not have + Lost an eye = Easy Subplot. Imagine going through a movie with Nick having faith in a character only to see that is not who he thought it was and pays a huge price before painfully having to take that person out? That would have explained the Nick Fury who we know so well.

(Annnnnnnd...lack of common sense starts now)

.Plot Twists - NO! That’s all I will say! NO! I understand trying to subvert expectations but there are some things in the Marvel Universe that should stay as such. This is not like changing, M’Baku to a anti-hero/hero or the Mandarin into an Actor (Who was not even the real Mandarin). This is like taking the Red Skull and making him a hero. It  just does not work. That is all I will say to avoid spoilers.

.What Genre am I? - You know something? Winter Soldier is a Spy Thriller movie. Ant Man, a crime comedy. Thor-Raganarok a Sci-Fi Comedy. None of them are really the same despite being hero flicks. Each has its identity. Each understands what it wants to do. Captain Marvel does not.

It shifts from bad action movie, to bad drama to bad comedy. It is jack of nothing and the ace of nothing. Captain America understood it was a period piece and played up the aspects of this. It was essential but Captain Marvel only has this is spots before the film does away with them.

It is no rite of passage tale like Homecoming was or even Shazam. In those films the heroes fall due to their own errors and must dig themselves out of it, in one case literally. Captain Marvel has none of that. Brie is powerful at the start and becomes more powerful at the end. It has the spy of spies in the MCU, Nick Fury but fails to use him nearly enough.

A depowered Carol, (Thanks to a power cancelling chip on her neck) on the run with Fury trying to understand her past sounds like an amazing prospect, making me want to see her regain her powers after gaining better understanding of how to utilize them. But nope, she whoops ass and will make sure you know. Even if you don’t want to.

(I’m the badass female of the MCU...after Black Widow, Okoye, Shuri, Peggy Carter, Valkyrie, Gamora, Frigga, Pepper Pots, Aunt May, *Aunt May Into the Spider-Verse* Nebula, Sif, Sharon Carter, Nakia, The Ancient One...yeah after all of them!)

Rating: 1 out 5

.Boring Screen Play and action

.Bland Lead

.Misguided attempt at a powerful female lead (Wonder Woman & Furiosa did it far better even if they were flawed as well)

.Convoluted plot

.Goose is awesome and so is Nick Fury.

[radioleary-blog]

Hef Tragedy Jam

Hugh Hefner died yesterday. When the news was announced, over fifty women said they were dismayed. No, wait...over fifty women said they were “Miss May”. Fifty more were Miss June, and, well, you get the picture. If you were lucky you got their pictures.

Few of you reading this are old enough to remember that Playboy magazine was about the only place you could see a naked woman, and I say that because there are probably few of you reading this, period. But hey, my column gets more readers than the average suicide note, statistically speaking. Although I’m trying to increase my readership, and the average suicide note is more of a stand-alone project. I bet if George Lucas ever wrote a suicide note, he’d follow it up with three prequel notes. Each successively worse than the last. People would be like, “Why did he have to ruin that original suicide note, which I loved, with those awful prequel-suicide notes? I don’t care why he got depressed, but clearly only a manic depressive could make such a desperate cry for help as introducing Jar-Jar Binks. If I ruined a billion dollar franchise by coming up with an offensive racist caricature like Jar-Jar Binks, I’d probably consider putting a lightsaber in my mouth too.”

I grew up with Playboy magazine, and my early knowledge of female physiology was less from a volume of Grey’s anatomy or sketches by DaVinci, and more from volumes of Playboy magazine. It was like a reference guide, one that you would hold up with one hand. In fact, the first time I had a girlfriend who got naked, I wondered where her staples were. Of course, today, I’m the one who should have his stomach stapled, but that’s another story. Ah, sweet irony!

I’m sure Hugh Hefner went to Heaven, but whatever gleaming Mansion in the sky awaits us, no matter how glorious, for Hugh Hefner it’s going to be a pretty big step down from the Playboy Mansion. It may actually be Seventh Heaven, but Hef has been living on Cloud Nine since 1956. But, hey, he’s already wearing a robe. You know when you see depictions of Heaven, everybody is always wearing white robes? That’s because they were wearing those white robes in the hospital when they died. And they make you wear those awful robes that don’t close in the back because that’s where your wings will come out when you get to Heaven. It’s all part of God’s plan. I bet you’ll still have that plastic wristband on too, St. Peter just scans it at the gate to let you in. <beep> “Cardiac arrest. You’re good. Check in at the registration desk. Have a valid photo ID ready.”

Hugh Hefner was such a consummate pussyhound, I wouldn’t be surprised if he made a deathbed conversion to radical Islam, just to get the 72 virgins in Heaven. God would be like - I mean “Allah” would be like, “Pretty tricky Hef, pretty tricky. But...technically it counts. You old horndog!” Of course, you know what Hugh Hefner calls 72 virgins? A slow Tuesday.

The Playboy Mansion was famous for its out-of-control parties, and the mansion had a natural cave-like grotto on the grounds where everyone would go to snort coke and have sex. I guess Hef was a lot like Bruce Wayne, a millionaire with a mansion and a cave. And didn’t they call Bruce Wayne a millionaire playboy? Hef was a Playboy millionaire. But the difference is, Hef would rather do coke and fuck super-models whereas Batman would rather do-good and fight super-villains. Plus, Batman slides down the Bat-pole, and crazy hot chicks slide down the Hef-pole. In other words, Hef was sane, and Batman was, well, not so much. Batman is basically a billionaire who just wants to hurt people and not get sued for it and pretend he’s a hero. Kind of like Trump.

The grotto cave on the grounds of the Playboy Mansion had a huge, heated Jacuzzi pool, where movie stars, rock and roll gods, and celebrity athletes were eagerly humped by groupies, star-fuckers, and aspiring playmates. Unprotected 1970’s sex was messier than Michael J. Fox eating an ice cream cone, so the pool was probably 60% water, 2% spilled cocaine, and 38% James Caan’s jizz. The lifeguard got syphilis just from giving mouth to mouth resuscitation. At least that was her story. But that was about the same time Grand Funk Railroad was in town, so who can say? I do think ‘grotto’ must be the Italian word for ‘gross’.

I hear some of the more politically correct crowd, or as they’re more commonly known, nitwits, complaining that Playboy exploited women. And I guess it was exploitation, in the same sense that Vogue magazine is exploiting the mostly-naked teenage anorexic girls slash super-models in their magazine. And I say slash because that’s what these girls often try to do to their wrists. Unlike Vogue magazine models, at least the Playboy women didn’t have eating disorders. They’re a lot less likely to stick their fingers down their throats. I’m not saying they’re any less likely to have something down their throats, but not their fingers.

Exploiting women. As if Hugh Hefner was hanging around the Newark bus station looking for a girl down on her luck and fresh off the turnip truck from Topeka. That sounds more like the plot of a 1930���s movie than the way his business empire was run. I think what Hef did was have his photography editors, both men and women, spend endless hours going through duffel bags of mail sent in by thousands of women from all around the country who wanted to pose for Playboy. The staff would narrow it down to probably a few dozen, and then get Hef’s opinion on who was not only the most beautiful, but who had the look that would be right to feature in the magazine. That’s exactly what the editors and publishers do at Elle, and Vogue, and every other magazine that holds up a particular brand of beauty as an ideal.

And I don’t know any women who haven’t worn out the related links on their favorite porn sites jilling off to whatever their particular porn flavor might be, so who exactly are these people that still have a problem with Playboy? Because without Hefner’s decades of battles against governmental and religious censorship, there would be no porn sites. Hef made it possible to look at porn sites without pretending you go there for the articles. Without Playboy, people would still be saying, “Did you read that insightful article on the humanitarian crisis in Darfur? And that recently-found short story by J.D, Salinger?” “Why, yes. I particularly liked the profile of Jazz trumpeters from the post-bop era. And I did notice some delightful porn as well, between the articles, of course.”

The reason Hef could get away with putting in naked chicks is his magazine is because Playboy was a serious, respected literary magazine. The greatest writers of the day were in Playboy:

Ray Bradbury wrote original content for Playboy, and serialized Fahrenheit 451, which was coincidentally the exact temperature of how hot the playmates were.

The Beat writer Jack Kerouac wrote for Playboy, and that cat was cool as hell. Beat, Jack, that is exactly what Playboy readers do.

Ian Fleming published short stories in Playboy, and the James Bond novel “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” was published first in Playboy. We all know James Bond got enormous amounts of pussy. But compared to what Hef was getting, James Bond looks like a bible salesman with erectile disfunction. Or a guy who works in a comic book store. Think about that for a minute; the world’s sexiest pussyhound spy still gets less women than the guy who published the magazine his story is in. And Bond is fictional!

Roald Dahl wrote for them, too. The author of “Willie Wonka” writing for people who wonka their willies, sounds apropo.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote for them all the time, and that dude was cooler than Ice Nine. There’s a reference for ya!

Joseph Heller published a lost chapter of “Catch-22” in Playboy. I think the title Catch-22 might be the number of social diseases you’d get if you had sex in the grotto.

Margaret Atwood, author of “The Handmaid’s Tale” started writing for Playboy in 1991. I would imagine one of her stories was called “The Handmaid’s Tail”.

Hunter S. Thompson. Gabriel García Márquez, John Updike, Joyce Carol Oates, Truman Capote, they all wrote for Playboy. This magazine was the real deal, kids, it was smarter and cooler than absolutely anything you know today. You see, all of these stories were longer than 140 characters. Or even 280.

I actually learned quite a bit about culture from Playboy, between rounds, if you know what I mean. By middle school I could discuss the literary feud between Gore Vidal and Norman Mailer in English class and sound like a friggin’ genius, I just couldn’t tell the teacher where I learned it. “Where did I learn that? Oh, you know. Around. Literary journals, and the like. At that building that has all the books. Yes, exactly, the library! That’s the one! I frequent that establishment, I‘ll have you know.” What was I gonna say? My father’s sock drawer?

The Playboy Interview was legendary, they were deep, involved discussions, frank and uncensored. Here are some of the people they interviewed: Salvador Dali, Patty Hearst, Groucho Marx, Ansel Adams, Stanley Kubrick, The Beatles, Albert Schweitzer, Buckminster Fuller, Orson Welles, Peter Sellers, Abbie Hoffman, Tennessee Williams, Erica Jong, Allen Ginsberg, and Bertrand Russell. Then there are the so famous they’re known by just one name:  Fellini, Castro, Brando, Nehru, Sartre, Bowie, Nabokov, Hoffa, Carson, Antonioni, Mastroianni, Gleason, and Sinatra. And Playboy was woke, they interviewed Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., Alex Haley, Miles Davis, Muhammad Ali,  Eldridge Cleaver, Dick Gregory, and Huey Newton. Holy shit, right?  Who do you see interviewed today? Kardashians? Ryan Gosling? Taylor Swift, but interrupted by Kanye West? This time we live in today has less culture than a petri dish.

Hef lived so long that most people today have no real idea how influential he was, what an important cultural icon he was, and that he somehow talked Marilyn Monroe into posing naked on the cover of the very first issue of his magazine way the hell back in 1956. That’s a dude with the Kavorka, big-time. And nobody was naked back in 1956. Not in this country. In 1956, people showered wearing a suit and tie, and apart from time shampooing, a smart fedora. They say people were more cultured back then because they went to art museums, bullshit, I think they only went to art museums to see the nudes in the oil paintings. You would too, and you know it, don’t even try to deny it. You’d say you were admiring the Titian, but you were really just admiring the Tit.

Nearly every issue, Playboy featured a very prominent celebrity with a well-established career and respected in her field who actually wanted people to see how beautiful she was without any clothes. Starting with Marilyn Monroe. And she was smoking hot, too, an icon in her absolute prime. Future historians will be more grateful for that photo shoot than they are for the discovery of the Nag Hammadi texts. Where do you go from there, Playboy? Well, how about Farrah Fawcett, the biggest sex-symbol of the entire 1970’s! The list of gorgeous, talented, famous, successful women that wanted to pose for Playboy might be hard for you to imagine, as you live in an age where women pose in magazines like Maxim with their clothes on! And men today pay to see that? Wtf? Man, I can see women with their clothes on just about anywhere I go. I can see that in line at the deli counter, I don’t need to pay for it.

Here are just a few, a very few, of the already-famous women who chose to pose with no clothes:

Daryl Hannah. Olivia Munn. Kim Basinger. Charlize Theron. Drew Barrymore. Denise Richards (she had kids with Charlie Sheen, so posing for Playboy was comparatively a relatively sound decision). Shannen Doherty. Belinda Carlisle. Jayne Mansfield. Mariel Hemingway. Margaux Hemingway. Nastassja Kinski. Sharon Stone. Rosanna Arquette. Vanna White. Elle MacPherson. Brigitte Bardot. Uma Thurman. Kate Moss. The list is almost endless. I almost said bottomless, but being Playboy, “bottomless”  goes without saying.

Sure, the last decade and a half weren’t great for Hef, but who stays cool past the age of 75? Only Bob Dylan and Picasso. Hef couldn’t let it all go, and at the end it was pretty sad. It was like Sunset Boulevard with viagra. But I’ll miss the Hef of fifty years ago, that man was at the forefront of political movements, cultural progress, gay rights, equal rights, reproductive rights, and the right to take your goddamn clothes off if you feel like it.

This may be the first funeral where you should bring condoms. In lieu of flowers, please give blowjobs. So long, Hef. Thanks for the mammaries.