#coach Susan maybe??

[sha-shwam]

I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about this hermitgal volleyball au

False

5’10”

Outside hitter

Plays wearing sports goggles

Great hitter but more effective in the back row because she’s very vocal on defense and has a strong back row attack

Pouts when she makes an error

Pearl

Middle blocker

6’1”

Standing float serve

When the team is ahead by a lot, the teammates goad her into doing her topspin jump serve, which is really strong but only goes over the net 30% of the time

Cleo

Right side hitter

5’11”

Left-handed

Does not play back row. Bad at defense and is offended you would expect them to play any

High ponytail and scrunchie

Talks shit to the players across the net

Gem

Setter

5’8” but jumps high enough to play front row

Takes a lot of pride in tricking the blockers. She’ll pretend to dump then set pearl or notice the blocker cheat in one direction and set the opposite side.

Jump floater serve, frequently gets aces because she aims for the sideline or end line and passers think it’s going out

Stress

5’2” but the team always jokes that she’s <5’

Libero

Every time she subs in for pearl, pearl stands on her toes and raises her hands as high as she can so stress jumps to high five her

She has short hair so her ponytail is a little nub

Great at motivating the team, cheers the loudest after a point

[heliads]

Hello!! So excited that your requests are open! Would you do a Peter Pevensie X reader where they get trapped after battle (maybe in a cave waiting for the other pevensies to reach them) and the reader is injured so Peter has to care for her and some fluff and comfort?? Thank you! 💗💗💗 If you don't choose to write it thats ok!

masterlist

There are two soldiers in a cave, waiting for rescue. One is a king; the other, one of his subjects. He is sitting upright, alternating between anxiously scanning the mouth of the cave for intruders and staring back down at the girl. She is less active, but that is due in part to the ever growing pool of blood underneath her ribs. 

They have been here for quite some time already, and although the king will not admit it, he fears that it will be quite some time again before they are rescued. He must have faith, though, for both of them. It is hard not to worry. Not when Peter Pevensie can picture so plainly how they got here, and why they were forced into the cave to begin with. 

They were not supposed to be attacked, but it happened anyway. Narnia is a kingdom, and kingdoms fall. Rival kings lust for power that isn’t theirs, and peaceful homelands must rally to protect themselves. Soldiers turn to bitter struggles, cowards turn to run. You had two choices when the banner of war was lifted:  stay and fight, or leave and live.

You chose to stay. Will that be what kills you, wanting to be there for your friends? No one can tell for certain, but your blood is darkening the stones beneath you with a deeper stain than you’d like, and the thought of rescue is quite far off. There is no guarantee that anyone will reach you in time, regardless of what Peter is trying to whisper to you. There is no guarantee that you can hear him at all anymore.

Instead, you can hear him yesterday morning, strangely strong despite the early hour of the morning. Narnian spies had come back around dawn bearing news of an approaching army, one that didn’t look friendly. The Pevensies had been carefully monitoring threats to their kingdom for years, but no one could tell for sure that one would attack until they were already on horseback with hands on weapons.

There had been limited time for defense. Peter had rallied his army and their allies, and his siblings frantically evacuated the surrounding townspeople to a safer location, all the while battening down the hatches at home so that Cair Paravel would not be taken. Battle plans were drafted long ago, but it is one thing to write them up in the safety of peace, and something else entirely to have to use them.

The attackers didn’t arrive until midday. They gave an announcement that Narnia was to surrender peacefully or fall violently. Standing on the ramparts of the castle, looking down on the swarms of soldiers, you could feel anger burning in your chest at the insult of it all. As if Narnia would fall to a paltry foe like some neighboring king. As if there was any among your ranks that would not fight to their last breath to defend their kingdom.

Peter had given an answer somewhat along those lines, although, as coached by Susan, with a little more tact. You could tell he was fighting to keep his rage in check, though, if the red crescents imprinted into his palms from where his fingernails had bit into his palms were any sort of warning sign.

After that, the only thing left was to go to war. Before the fighting started, Peter had pulled you aside and asked if you really wanted to do this. You were a soldier of Narnia, a force fighting for good, but more than that, you were his friend, and Peter did not want to lose anyone if he could avoid it.

Tucked into a quiet alcove of Cair Paravel, golden hair rusted over with the shadows of the dark corner, Peter’s hands had tightened around yours as he said, “You can leave now, Y/N. If you want to. I want you to be safe.”

You had shaken your head. “Absolutely not. Narnia is my home, Peter. I can’t leave when she needs me.”

Peter had sighed ruefully, but the spark of pride behind his worried expression had told you what you wanted to know the most:  having you there with him meant more than he could possibly describe. The two of you are friends, just friends, but sometimes, you think that the sort of friendship you have with him has long outstripped any sort of bond of camaraderie either of you have held with anyone else. If you die, you will do it by his side. If he falls, he wants you there to see it.

Thus the battle was waged. You donned your armor as quickly as you could, grabbing your weapons before helping the other soldiers. It was time to defend your homeland. No cause could be more important. No risk could be as worthy.

The sun is setting over the hills; Peter cannot see much of it, tucked into the cave as the two of you are, but the loss of light is enough to cause him significant worry. The attackers, although arrived around noon the previous day, had waited until the dark of night to close their ranks and begin the fight. It had added a deadly edge of danger to an already perilous battle, what with the reduced visibility. 

The battle had been fought well through the night and into the next dawn, but Peter is not sure that another midnight spent in this stone refuge will prove a good idea for either of you. Mainly for you; Peter looks down again, noticing that your eyes flutter closed more than they stay open, and your skin looks dull and tired even without the loss of light. He pulls you closer to him, shuts his eyes, and prays to anyone who will hear, anyone worthwhile listening, that someone will save you. Not even him. It just has to be you.

Night falls and you hear the clang of steel against steel reverberating around you. Your soldiers, though kept in rigorous practice, have not been to war in a while. They do not exercise the cruelty that the enemy fighters seem to have in spades. What you do have is heart, though, and Narnia has taught you that even the most formidable of odds can be overturned in time.

Slowly, surely, light begins to creep over the sky, and the Narnians manage to push their attackers back from Cair Paravel, over the uneven, rocky ground and towards the mountains once more. Smooth ground twists itself with stone outcroppings, making the fight even trickier than it was before. You step over bodies on the ground, unable to tell whether they are friend or foe, but you force yourself to keep your head. It would not do to lose control now.

Dawn is upon you at last, touching rosy fingers over scarlet blood and pearlescent bone. There is no such thing as a good fight, an honorable war, and if you return home, the lingering knowledge of what has been done upon this land will sit with you for a long time to come. When you come home, that is. After all of this, you must survive. Narnia must survive.

A shout, a scream; soldiers pour over the hills again, and you realize with a chill that your enemies had reinforcements in line, waiting for something like this to happen. You managed to get yourself stuck on the outskirts of the battle in an attempt to go after some higher ranking officials in the enemy army, and now you’re lost in the downstream current of dozens of opposing soldiers flooding towards you. 

Too many for you to fight by yourself, that much is certain, but you have no choice now. They encircle you, and even as you manage to take down some, there are too many of them. One raises his sword as you parry another soldier, and when you blink, it has pierced your armor, threading your ribs. It doesn’t hurt and then it does, an agony like lightning rattling through your entire body.

You might scream, you’re not sure of it. You wait for them to kill you, but strangely enough, the death blow does not come. Someone catches you before you fall, and the early morning sun shines on golden curls. Peter. He’s found you, somehow, in the tumult of the battle. You can just hear him shouting to his men that he’s going to take you to cover, and then he’s picked you up, cradling you in his arms like a bride, and running for shelter.

There’s a cave not far from here. Peter stumbles in, twisting past boulders and turns in the tunnel before he gently puts you down behind the cover of a rocky outcropping. There are too many of them out there, running past the mouth of the cave, so Peter does not dare leave you even when you tell him that you’ll be fine. It is a lie. He knows it. He stays.

Peter tells you that, despite the arrival of the enemy reinforcements, he believes the battle will be settled in favor of the Narnians. The enemy fighters were desperate, they knew they were going to lose, which was why they called in more men. They’re still being forced past the Narnian borders, though, even with a king and a soldier pulled out of the fight like this.

Peter won’t risk leaving you, not with the precarious shape you’re in. Besides, the landscape is so messed up with rocks that he is not sure that he could find this particular cave if he steps outside of it to fight again. You can hear the shouts of men, but neither of you can tell whether they’re Narnian or not. To shout back is to risk death.

Instead, the two of you stay there in the cave, feeling the hours tick by, unable to do a thing about it. Peter grows more restless as you grow more still. He tells you that his siblings will look for the two of you, that when they come, you will be safe.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, voice unnaturally slow, like a schoolboy repeating a lesson he’s learned by heart, “We’ll be fine.” You’re not entirely sure if he believes it.

And then it is dark again, and there is still no one here. Peter does not know if you are alive. He is telling himself that you are, because to keep up desperate hope is far better than giving in to the fear that he has lost you like this. There is a chance you have survived; the enemy soldier who hit you had slashed you across the front instead of stabbing you directly, which is what Peter did when he stumbled upon the scene and realized that he was about to lose the only person that matters to him more than anything else. We all have our demons, our secrets.

A scratching sound at the mouth of the cave, somewhat like a mouse but heavier, too, more purposeful. Could an enemy soldier have come back to finish the job? They may not have been able to take Cair Paravel, but they could at least slaughter the High King while they were running away.

Peter feels his entire body tense, his hand resting on his sword. He dares not draw it, too afraid of risking the noise. He’ll fight for both of them if he has to. He’ll keep them alive a little longer. Y/N does not stir by his side.

And then– a voice, just a few meters away. “Peter?”

It’s his sister. It’s Susan. Peter lets out a gasp of relief that could be a sob and calls back as loudly as he dares, “Susan?”

A clattering of footsteps and three siblings descend into the cave. Edmund’s eyes are wide and scared, but the fear starts to go away when Peter carefully gets to his feet and pulls his younger brother into an embrace. Ed starts to say something about how he thought– he thought– but Peter says it’s okay, he is not hurt, but then the words roll back on his tongue because Y/N is not okay, and therefore he cannot be, either.

Lucy has already found her friend lying motionless on the ground and hurriedly rummages through the small red bag on her side, reaching for the healing cordial she received so long ago. She carefully lets a few drops fall onto Y/N’s mouth, and the entirety of several millennia passes before Y/N coughs quietly and starts to sit up.

Peter falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. Distantly, he hears Susan ushering his siblings away, something about wanting to give them space, but he does not care, he does not care because she is alright, Y/N is alright, and that means he is, too, very much alright.

Y/N whispers in his ear, voice still hoarse but healing, slowly. It’s okay, they have time. “You stayed?”

“Yes,” Peter says back, choking on some unnameable emotion, “I did. I would never leave you, Y/N. I– I love you. You know that.”

She does. “I love you too,” she says, and Peter can find it within himself to smile at last, to help her up, to walk back with her to the castle. They have time. It is okay. They will all, somehow, be alright after this, and that means that far fewer worries crown Peter’s head tonight and all nights after that.

requested by @ajwild220, i hope you enjoy!

narnia tag list: empty for now, message me to be added!

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Four

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Four

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, talk of courting and mating, FBI, mentions of murder. Think that’s it.

Word Count: 3.87k

A/N: Here is Chapter Four! A whole lot of setting up what's to come, I think, but hopefully y'all still like it! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

“Are you still feeling alright, honey?” Susan asked you, checking you over. You gave her a small smile as she gave you a once over. Her green scrubs contrasted against her blonde hair, and the wrinkles around her eyes were more pronounced as she frowned at you worriedly. “You’re still taking it easy, right? Remember what Dr. Carson said when he checked you out the other day.”

“I’m fine, Susan. I promise,” you reassured the older nurse. She studied you for a second longer before turning to fix her coffee.

“You know, it’s a real shame about that Morris girl,” she continued. “She was always such a sweet girl. Wasn’t she in your class, Bobby?”

“No, she was a year ahead with Reuben, Nat, and Jake,” he muttered through a mouthful of Cheerios.

“That’s right,” she nodded.

Bob swallowed his mouthful and peered up at his mother. “Are you going to tell us what’s been going on?”

“You know,” she sighed exasperatedly, “I could have sworn I had told you. Or at least I would have if you bothered to answer your phone every once in a while.”

“You could tell me now?” Bob said sarcastically. Susan glared over at him.

“Tone, mister,” she warned before letting out another sigh and leaning against the kitchen counter. “I suppose it’s been a little over two months now since they found the first body. Everyone thought it was just an accident since it looked like a drowning. But then a couple of weeks later another body washed up, and then another one a couple weeks after that. They were all young women about the same age, and they all appeared to have drowned. Maverick was worried that there was a serial killer on the loose, so he called in a favor to Tom. You remember Tom, don’t you, sweetie?”

“Yeah, I remember Mr. Kazansky, Mom,” Bob nodded. “He was only the my baseball coach for most of middle school and high school.”

“Such a sweet man,” Susan nodded with a small smile towards you. “We were all sad to see him leave, but when the FBI offers you a job, what person in their right mind says no?”

“So he and that other guy are here because of this serial killer no one told me about?” Bob asked her, eyebrow raised.

Susan scowled at him, but let out a sigh. “Tom and his partner, Agent Simpson, got here about two weeks ago when the last body was found. I was talking to Tom the other day, actually, and he told me that there were signs of a struggle, which is why they got called in.”

“Should he be telling you that?” Bob frowned. She shrugged, sipping from her coffee mug.

“I think they’re holding a press conference today to discuss everything. He wouldn’t have told me if they weren’t already planning on telling everyone, I’m sure.”

“A serial killer,” you hummed, frowning. “That’s really scary, actually.”

“It is,” she agreed, eyeing you. “Which is why I want you to promise me that you won’t go off on your own at night, alright? You should be fine during the day time, especially with the summer crowds, but I want you to make sure you have somebody with you after the sun goes down.”

“I will, Susan,” you smiled.

Bob peered over at you from over his own coffee mug. “I promised Dad that I’d take the boat out with him today. I don’t suppose you wanted to tag along?”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head. “Nat actually texted me last night and asked me if I wanted to go and hang out at the boardwalk today, and I told her that I did. You’ll be okay without me, yeah?”

“‘Course,” he snorted, moving to take his dishes to the sink. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve ditched me for other friends.”

“If you’re talking about that time in sophomore year when I went with Abby and Rachel to the football game after you insisted that you would be a fourth wheel even though we all told you that you wouldn’t be, then this is not the same situation at all.”

“I beg to differ,” he laughed, heading for the back door.

“You can beg all you want, but it’s the truth,” you giggled. “Oh, wait!”

You got up from your own chair, moving to follow him.

“I think I left my bag on the boat last night,” you told him. “I’m going to grab it before I head out.”

The two of you walked down the stone path until you reached the small strip of sand that led out onto the dock.

“You know I’m not ditching you, right?” You asked him, suddenly worried that your best friend really did think you were trying to leave him behind. Bob snorted and looked over at you with a quirk of his brow.

“Of course I don’t,” he said, making a beeline for the boat that bobbed up and down with the waves. “I don’t expect you to tag along with me everywhere. I’m actually really happy that you and the gang are getting along so well.”

“Okay,” you trailed off. “Good. Because I really like hanging out with them.”

Bob chuckled as he stepped onto the boat, turning to face you. “I know. Stay right there and I’ll grab your bag, yeah?”

You nodded, turning to watch the waves as he disappeared towards the back of the boat. You glanced down when a shine of light danced in the corner of your eye. Sitting on the wood of the dock was a collection of more shells and pearls, and you immediately crouched down to take a better look at them. A couple of sand dollars were added into the mix this time and even more pearls of various shapes, sizes, and colors were mixed in with the lot. You picked each one up gently, inspecting them. Your favorite was the beautiful black pearl that rested in the center of the grouping. The oily colors on its surface danced as you inspected it, and you felt your skin prickle in delight.

Your gaze shifted to the breathtaking conch shell that rested near the edge, and you gingerly lifted it up to get a better look at it. It truly was a marvelous sight. One of the best specimens you had ever had the privilege of seeing.

“How much crap do you carry in this thing?”

You whirled around to see Bob grimacing as he made his way towards you with your simple hobo bag.

“I carry just what I need in it,” you replied to him, reaching an arm out to take the bag.

“What are you doing crouched over here?” Bob asked you, brow furrowing as he handed it off to you. He stopped short when he saw the collection of ocean treasures at your feet. He inspected them before moving his eyes up to meet yours.

“Look at these!” You grinned, gesturing down at them. “These are more spectacular than the last bunch! Have you ever seen such amazing specimens? And these pearls!”

“Yeah,” Bob said uneasily, eyes shifting to look out at the water. “They’re pretty great.”

You stood up suddenly, turning to fix him with a small glare.

“What is up with you?” You demanded, hands on your hips. “You love things like this! You’re the one person I know who gets more excited about this shit than I do, and you’re over here looking like someone just told you they were planning on kidnapping me. You did the same thing yesterday!”

Bob’s eyes widened at your outburst before melting into a sheepish expression as he looked away. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck before letting out a sigh, looking back at you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed. “The shells are great, really. I guess I just have a lot on my mind with the murders and all that.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, replacing the annoyance. Your hands moved to pull him into a hug, one he returned.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?” You told him, squeezing him tight. “I’ll be extra careful to not be by myself at night, so you don’t have to worry about me, yeah?”

Bob didn’t say anything for a moment. He pulled back to look at you, a fond smile on his face as he regarded you.

“I’m always going to worry about you, you know,” he smirked, something serious behind his eyes despite the teasing tone he used. “You’re like the little sister I never had.”

“Bob,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m literally three months older than you.”

He grinned at that.

“Semantics.”

The street was busy as people walked back and forth along the boardwalk, taking in the different rides and stalls as the excitement for summer festival began to grow. Several decorations littered the pathways, all of various sea creatures and more than a few mermaids. You watched the different families, friends, and couples run around to the different events, and you let out a sigh as you checked your phone once again.

Sorry, Skip! Mom needed help with some things at the shop so I’m running late. Give me half an hour!

That had been thirty-five minutes ago, and you hadn’t heard anything. Sighing, you wiped the sweat from your brow, deciding to take a break from the overwhelming heat. You spotted a familiar, little shop and began walking towards it.

The bell above the door rang out as you stepped inside, letting out a breath of relief as the cool air washed over you. The shop hadn’t changed much in the days since you had last been in. There were new novelty items scattered about, but for the most part, Mrs. Cambroni’s shop was still quaint and cheesy.

The old woman appeared from the backroom, giving you a warm smile as she gave you a once over. Her eyes landed on your neck, an eyebrow quirking as she took in the raised skin that still shone in the light.

“My, my, dear,” she hummed, leaning against the counter. “What happened there?”

“Oh this?” You asked, resting your hand over the mark. You suppressed a shiver as a oddly pleasant feeling washed over you. “I had a bit of an accident the other day. I fell of a boat and washed up on shore.”

“Oh, how terrible!”

“Yeah, but I’m okay!” You chirped. “The doctor checked me out and said I was fine, just a little bruised. Said I was really lucky that nothing worse happened.”

“I’m sure you were,” she murmured, eyes still locked on your neck.

“But I guess I must have hit my neck pretty good on some rocks because the bump hasn’t gone away and the algae practically looks like it’s a part of my skin now,” you joked. Mrs. Cambroni blinked at you.

“The…algae?” She asked. You nodded, and she threw her head back in a fit of laughter. You stared at her in confusion until she calmed down, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to laugh,” she said through bouts of giggles. “What brings you by my little shop?”

“Oh!” You cried, moving closer to the counter. “Nothing really, I was just waiting for a friend, but she’s running late. So, I thought I’d pop back in and say hi after I got dragged out of here the other day.”

Mrs. Cambroni gave another hum, a knowing look on her face. She took a sip from the cup of tea she held in her hands.

“Have you found any interesting seashells along the beach since I last saw you?”

“Actually, yes!” You smiled, digging through your bag to pull out the collection you were beginning to compile. “I found these over the last couple of days. It’s strange though, none of these were on the beach. I found a pile of them on our boat and then another pile on the dock this morning. My friend said it must have been the current-”

Mrs. Cambroni’s eyes widened as she coughed up her tea, nearly choking on it as she fought to regain control over her breathing. You reached out a hand to soothe her, and she gave you a grateful smile.

“The current, you say?” She said, barely hiding her amusement. You nodded self consciously, and the old woman shook her head with a chuckle.

“Seems to me like you’ve caught the eye of a sea person, my dear.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to widen. “What?”

“I’m surprised no one’s told you yet,” she mused, setting her cup down and examining the shells and pearls. “It’s part of the courting rituals for their kind, after all. Just like that intention bite on your neck.”

Your blood ran cold, recalling how your first reaction to the raised skin was that it looked like a bite mark.

“But it’s not-”

“Oh, but it is, dear child,” she smiled, no hint of malice to it, just understanding. “I’m not sure why no one is telling you the truth. Perhaps it’s because you aren’t a local, and they don’t know if you can be fully trusted yet. Or perhaps it’s because you were chosen in a moment of frenzy. Choice is such an important piece of the courting ritual, after all.”

“Is that why you’re telling me all of this?” You asked her, brow quirked. “Because you think I should have a choice?”

“Precisely. How can you make an informed decision without all of the pieces?”

“Alright, then,” You started, deciding to amuse the woman before you, “what is it you can tell me?”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Tell me more about the courting rituals. What are they? What does it entail?”

“Well,” she smiled, “that certainly is an interesting first question. It’s simple really. It starts with the bite mark on your neck. What you have right now is called an intention bite. This bite is to let other sea people know that you have been marked as the intended mate for someone. As long as that bite remains on your neck, every sea person who lays eyes on it will know that you are spoken for. If that wasn’t enough of a hint, it changes your scent as well.”

“Are you saying that I smell different?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “But not in an unpleasant way, dear. And as long as that’s the only bite mark that remains on your neck, it’ll fade after a few months along with it. The intention mark is only meant to be a placeholder for the permanent mark.”

“And what is that?” You asked her. Mrs. Cambroni turned her serious gaze to your face.

“That would be the mating mark.”

“And what does that one do?” You murmured, voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why you were entertaining this conversation, to be honest. Maybe it was your longstanding fascination with mermaids that kept you rooted there, listening intently. Or maybe it was because a part of you, one that you were trying your best not to acknowledge in that moment, believed her.

Before Mrs. Cambroni could respond, the bell above the door chimed again, and you both turned to see Nat red faced and out of breath as she looked at you.

“There you are!” She smiled, relaxing as she let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Sorry!” You exclaimed, gathering your seashells and giving Mrs. Cambroni an apologetic smile. “I was getting really hot and I thought I’d stop in here for a few minutes.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Nat said, watching the older woman with a suspicious frown. “I lost track of the time after I texted you.”

You waved to the shop owner as you followed Nat out the door, the sun bathing you in its warm rays. You peered over at your friend, a mischievous smirk on your face as your eyes lowered to her neck.

“Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that huge hickey on your neck, right?”

Nat’s hand flew up to her neck, cheeks flushing as she tried to splutter out an excuse.

“So,” you chirped as your friend continued to recover her speech. “Which of the boys is it?”

“What makes you so sure it was one of them?” She muttered, the red on her cheeks growing more pronounced.

You ignored her. “My money is on Javy.”

“How did you know?” She shrieked, earning a couple of stares from passersby. You laughed at her expression.

“I didn’t until just now.”

Nat let out a long groan, hiding her face in her hands. You rested a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said. “I think the two of you are really cute, and I don’t think the others have figured it out yet. I just see the way you two look at each other when you think no one else is. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

Natasha peeked out from behind her fingers, an oddly thoughtful look on her face as she studied you. Before you could ask, she was straightening up, a smile replacing her embarrassment.

“Do you think you could hold off on saying anything?” She asked you. You nodded, holding out your pinky to her. She wrapped her own around it, and the two of you shook on it.

“Scout’s honor, Nat!”

“Good!” She giggled, peering around the boardwalk. “What do you want to hit first?”

After Nat convinced you to take a ride on the tilt-o-whirl, you were sure you’d never walk straight again. You groaned as you fought to stay upright, nearly crashing into a man as you passed him. Your shoulder bumped his, and you turned around to look at him.

“I am so sorry!” You cried, hands reaching out to steady him, but stopping when you noticed that he was just fine. And staring at you. You gave him a sheepish smile, but the look on his face remained impassive. If the world wasn’t still spinning around you, you might have said that the green in his eyes glowed in the summer light. Natasha laughed beside you, throwing out another apology to the man as she dragged you off.

“Never again, Nat,” you said, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it without hurling!” She cackled, leaning you against the wood railing so you could catch your breath.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” you muttered, leaning over the side.

“Natasha!”

The both of you turned to see the weathered face of the FBI agent and his partner strolling up to you.

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Kazansky!” She called out with a wave. You turned to face them just as they stopped in front of you.

“C’mon now, Nat. It’s Tom, you know that,” the older man chuckled, eyes moving to you. “And who is this?”

“Y/n,” you introduced yourself, reaching out a hand to shake his. “But everyone just calls me Skipper these days.”

“Ah! You must be the young lady Susan was telling me about the other day,” Tom smiled. “It’s good to finally put a face to a name. This is my partner, Agent Beau Simpson.”

“A pleasure,” the other man said as he shook both of your hands.

“So are you two enjoying the festival so far?” Tom asked, smile still on his face. “This small town isn’t too boring for you, is it, Skipper?”

“Not at all!” You assured him, shaking your head. “I think it’s quite a charming little place! And everyone has been so nice since I got here.”

“That’s good to hear,” he chuckled, eyes falling to your neck. “Where’s the lucky boy?”

You gave him a confused look, and Nat cleared her throat, stepping up.

“It’s so embarrassing,” she started, giving Tom a pointed look. “Javy and I have been seeing each other on the sly for a while now, and I didn’t even think he left a mark. I’ll have to tell him to be more careful next time.”

Tom glanced between the two of you, understanding dawning on his face. He gave another smile.

“Young love is such a wonderful thing, don’t you agree Beau?” He asked his partner, who just smiled in agreement. “Don’t keep it a secret for too long, Nat.”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“You two are being careful, aren’t you?” Asked Agent Simpson. Nat’s face could have been mistaken for a tomato from how hard she was blushing. Agent Simpson seemed to have realized what he said and a blush of his own crept onto his face.

“With the murders, I mean,” he explained quickly. Tom let out a chuckle as Nat cleared her throat. “We just got done giving a press conference. No curfew yet, but we’re advising young ladies to not be out at night on their own until we can find whoever is doing this.”

“Oh, of course!” You said, nodding your head in understanding. “We’re being careful! It’s such a shame what happened.”

“You two were there, weren’t you?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, we were,” you trailed off, feeling the nausea return at the memory of the girl’s body as it lay in the sand. You suppressed a shudder. “It was awful.”

“It was,” Beau agreed, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Which is why we don’t want to see anything happen to anyone else.”

“You don’t have to worry about us,” Nat said, a determined smile on her face as she looked at the two older men. Tom chuckled, eyes moving from her to you, still studying the mark on your neck.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose we will.”

You couldn’t help but think back to your conversation with Mrs. Cambroni.

As long as that bite remains on your neck, every sea person who lays eyes on it will know that you are spoken for.

“Well,” Tom started, eyes looking over your shoulder now, “you two ladies have fun! We won’t keep you any longer.”

He made to move, and Agent Simpson made to follow after him. The dark haired man stopped just after he passed you.

“Oh,” he said, “And don’t hesitate to let us know if you see anything suspicious, yeah?”

“We will!” Nat called after him as she started dragging you in the opposite direction. The whole exchange felt weird to you. Why had Tom asked Nat about who the lucky man was when he was looking at your neck? Why did he keep starting at it at all? What had he meant by not having to worry?

You took a deep breath, deciding that you were overthinking the matter and that Mrs. Cambroni’s stories had just gotten in your head. But even as you had made your mind up to ignore your questions, you couldn’t help but feel a pulse come from the base of your neck as if it were begging you to keep questioning.

[bethanydelleman]

I have a very specific question and I hope you know the answer (or where to look 😅): If I remember correctly when Fanny originally was sent to Mansfield she was first accompanied by a servant and joined by Mrs. Norris on the last part. Was this the normal, proper way for children to travel or would a parent / guardian come and pick them up instead of sending a servant?

Let's say it's the beloved child of Lord and Lady X, they're 8 years old and have a long journey ahead of them to go home. Would loving Lady X travel to her child and bring them back herself or was that seen as overbearing and unnecessary when you have trusted servant Y who will keep the child safe and spare you the hassle?

Thank you so much for your work it's always so insightful!

Thank you!

First a caveat, that was the way that Mrs. Norris proposed that Fanny should travel, but it is not what actually happened:

"...I will engage to get the child to Mansfield; you shall have no trouble about it. My own trouble, you know, I never regard. I will send Nanny to London on purpose, and she may have a bed at her cousin the saddler’s, and the child be appointed to meet her there. They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town by the coach, under the care of any creditable person that may chance to be going. I dare say there is always some reputable tradesman’s wife or other going up.” Except to the attack on Nanny’s cousin, Sir Thomas no longer made any objection, and a more respectable, though less economical rendezvous being accordingly substituted

Mrs. Norris's plan is to send Fanny with a stranger from Portsmouth to London and then with her housekeeper. Sir Thomas clearly did not think this was sufficient. Given what he does for Fanny later, I assume he sent a male servant to fetch her, but we aren't told.

Now as for children traveling, I believe they did often go without their parents. Many children in Austen's and other novels go to boarding school and it doesn't seem like their parents accompany them. However, they would almost certainly send a trusted servant with them. In Wives & Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell, Hyacinth sends her daughter Cynthia, who is a teenager, to France to boarding school completely alone and is criticized for it. She does arrange for Cynthia to stay with family along the way.

If we look at how dependent women travel, which I believe would be similar to children, a male servant is sent most of the time (Elizabeth & Jane's journey to London for example). Fanny is sent with a male relative, William and then Edmund. It is implied that it would be fine for Fanny to travel with Henry Crawford, a gentleman friend of the family. Georgiana Darcy is with her companion Mrs. Younge and at least one (maybe two) male servants. The Dashwood sisters travel with Mrs. Jennings, who would count as a chaperone, she likely has servants with them as well.

The less well-off Miss Steeles travel with a reputable gentleman but not a servant because they can't afford one. Catherine Morland's shocking journey home was shocking because she was unaccompanied (female and only 17). Jane Eyre was sent alone with just the coachman (she was 10) and the school found that odd, so usually a child would be accompanied by someone. Frederica is picked up from school by her uncle in Lady Susan, though that was also because he had to consult with the schoolmistress.

As for real humans, I have read that Jane Austen herself always traveled with one of her brothers, even when she was a confirmed spinster.

So I think it's fairly likely that Lady X could send her beloved child to travel with a trusted servant or three or a relative. I don't think it would be crazy for her to go herself, since Edmund travels all the way to Portsmouth to fetch Fanny, but it would probably depend on the length of the journey and the social commitments of the parents.

[czyscieccore]

Why 'White Palace' (1990) is absolutely disgusting movie

So, I really like James Spader, and I wanted to watch White Palace (1990), because I've read that's wonderful movie, about unconventional relationship between a young widower, 27-year old Max, and 43-year old woman, Nora, who lost her son to leukemia. I've read that it's romantic and hot, so I hoped for a pleasurable and emotional watch. You know, young sexy James Spader, mature and sexy Susan Sarandon, age gap, 1990s vintage aesthetic, what can go wrong?

But I was really disgusted with that movie, and I gonna tell you why.

Spoilers ahead, but I also want to WARN YOU, so please, read this.

So in that movie, Max, that young widower, goes to the bar at night to drink some scotch after his friend bachelor's party. Here he met Nora, that waitress in her 40s, whom he met before at the burger place, when he was making a complaint. Nora is drunk, and very attracted to handsome Max (which is totally rel), she tries to flirt with him and tickle him etc. but he is not really into it (which is totally understandable, his wife whom he loved since they were teenagers died in car accident and he is depressed, and there some strange woman tries to seduce him). He even told her about that, and Nora laughed (her reaction is also understandable, because she was drunk and she was shocked by that). She also told him about her son that had leukemia and died. Then Max, also a little bit drunk, leaves the bar.

She also leaves. She missed her bus so he asks Max to drive her home and he agrees to do that, although he hesitates. They arrived at her place (Max hits the mailbox with his car lol) and they go to her home, because she wanted to make him coffee. Her home is terribly messy and covered in big pictures of Marylin Monroe because Nora is obsessed with her.

Nora, surprisingly, has no coffee in her cabinet, Max is irritated, and he is not feeling well so he asks her if he can get some rest at the coach. She agrees and he falls asleep on the coach.

Then comes the dream sequence. Max, obviously, is dreaming about the intimate moment with his deceased wife. Then he wakes up, because his "experience" get a little to "realistic". We see Nora's head on his intimate area, and it's obvious to the watchers what it's happening.

She is giving him a blowjob. WHEN HE IS UNCONCIOUS.

Max realizes what's happening, and then she asks him if he wants more, and he, after the brief moment od hesitation, talks that yeah, he wants more. They have sex, she is riding him, in the middle of her disgusting, messy house.

That was the moment when I stopped the movie and deciced to NOT WATCH THE REST OF IT.

That was RAPE. Literally, he was sleeping, he was uncioncious, and she was so horny she started to sexually abuse him. There was absolutely no consent. He consented to that AFTER she started.

Like, just switch the roles, imagine man on top a woman when she is uncioncious, and it would be obvious to everyone that it's rape. But there it's showed like it's sexy and desirable.

🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

Guys, he was uncioncious and she was giving him bj.

That was fucking rape, and nobody is talking about, people at the internet talk about it like it's sweet, sexy, romantic movie, and Max and Nora's relationship began with the absolutely terrible and nasty sexual abuse that CANNOT be justified.

I don't care about the rest of the movie, I'm just disgusted and angry so much.

WTF is that.

Please, don't watch this fucking movie.

Nora was a sexual abuser and Max was a victim. He agreed to "more" but he was uncioncious when she started fucking him, like PLEASE, you cannot justify her behaviour. She was drunk and horny but that does NOT give her right to the body of the stranger who was sleeping inside her home and at that moment CANNOT CONSENT TO THAT.

Like, please.

That "romance" began with rape, so maybe it was just some kind of the Stockholm syndrome for the Max.

Men can be raped too. Consent is everything, regardless of the gender.

It was just terrible. I was just so pissed and I CANNOT RECOMMEND THAT MOVIE, I WAS SO DISSAPOINTED.

I will not watch it, even for the hottest man I've ever seen in my life, which is obviously James Spader 😭

I'm totally fine with the erotic scenes and even with the beginning the relationship with rough sex in the movies. But not with rape, in any form.

[videogamelover99]

[Gravity Falls] Waking Days Ch. 3: The Master of the Mind

Summary: Bill Cipher is reborn, but not in the way he would have wanted. Stuck as a mortal and relying on those who brought his downfall, he realizes that maybe he didn't lie as hard as he should have. [AO3 Link] Characters: Bill Cipher, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Stanford Pines, Stanley Pines, Jheselbraum the Unswerving, The Axolotl Pairings: past BillFord Rating: T

A/N: Hope you like this new chapter! Thank you to @megxolotl and @nexstage for beta-reading. Enjoy!

---

The mindscape opened up around Bill, casting the Mystery Shack’s living room in fuzzy greyscale. Bill’s human prison lay beneath him, fast asleep on the couch. Human astral projection wasn’t exactly rocket science, but the cute little speck of power he’d retrieved from the rift gave him access to something far better: the squealing minds of others. His projected consciousness could take any form he wished, and it was a blast to have his snazzy three-sided form back, if temporarily.

Ha! Couldn’t have predicted this, Frills?

He had some housekeeping to do. The mindscape let him interact with his mind, and Bill spent the first night eagerly sorting through the scraps of information his memory was trying desperately to hold on to. A human mind was not meant for trillions of years’ worth of memories, and it had a pesky habit of prioritizing things that it deemed “important”, and throwing the rest out with the garbage. Bill had to dig stuff up from a pile of discarded and disintegrating memories and cram it into corners it couldn’t escape from. It was like lying about cleaning your room, only to shove everything under the bed and hope Mom wouldn’t notice.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t lose whatever remains of his infinite knowledge left to him, Bill finally got to the real fun. He poked around the town, invading sleeping heads and only causing minor chaos in his wake. He didn’t want to give himself away that easily. 

Well. Lazy Susan sure liked cats.

Dipper’s nightmare of fighting parents and disintegrating nuclear families took a backseat to one about twelve-headed pigs. 

One peek into Sheriff Blub’s brain: it was a play-by-play of Mabel’s trashy romance novels. 

One peek in Deputy Durland’s brain, and he had to pour caustic soda in his eye. Humans were such freaks.

There were two minds Bill had to keep from, if only for now. Sixer was too likely to recognize his presence. As for Stanley…

He didn’t want to see Stanley’s mind ever again. 

Bill kept searching. One of these small-town hicks was bound to find another rift, another crumb of his power. All he had to do was play nice.

It was only a matter of time. 

—

Learning to play nice, however, was harder than it looked.

"So, anyway, this is why-" Mabel Pines' cheerful voice grated on him as she prattled about something one of her little friends did. They sat on the floor in the attic, surrounded by a pillow fort the twins had constructed, and Bill attempted to look like he was listening. He noticed the stained-glass window that used to hold his face had been replaced by some boring plexiglass. Boo. 

"Hey, Billy-"

"I told you not to call me that," he snapped. "What?"

“I’ve decided,” she said it like it was a monumental announcement. “I’m going to help you!”

Well, that was easier than expected. “Finally got a taste for world domination?”

“Nope, try again!”

“You’ve come to your senses and realized replacing all the eggs in the fridge with baby heads is the most hilarious thing ever?”

“Wrong again! I’m gonna help you…” Mabel stood up on her bed and struck a dramatic pose. “Be a better person!”

That sent him into sudden fits of hysterical laughter.

“You might not believe it now, but I do!” she jumped off the bed, her face deathly serious. “Being a good person is like sports, you get better at it if you practice. All you need is the right coach!”

“You lost me at ‘person’.”

“You’re a person, silly!”

“That’s the problem.”

“No, it isn’t!” She flung open one of the drawers and took out a sketchbook. “Here.” She flipped to the right page and pointed at a drawing of a triangle with an eye and a big angry eyebrow. Pretty good. The flames were a nice touch. “This is you, and this…” She drew a line through his face and colored everything below in red. “Is your badness level.”

“I’m not a fluffy marketable blue alien created by a gaslighting, monopolistic entertainment company.”

Mabel learned to ignore his asides. She looked him up and down and pursed her lips like she was conspiring something. It was kind of adorable, but Bill was pretty sure that whatever it was would occupy the rest of the day with pointless side quests, and he needed to get a move on if he wanted to find more rifts. 

“Oh wow, would you look at the time! Catch ya on the flip side, kid-” He made it to the door before Mabel appeared before him, blocking his only escape. 

“Not so fast, mister. Hey!” He picked her up and deposited her out of the way. Weight was still an annoying concept, and she was heavy for her size. 

He was halfway down the stairs when she said: “I’ll get Grunkle Stan to drop that grudge he’s been carrying!”

That made him pause. Walking around the shack without worrying about the old geezer’s retaliation for those pranks would be nice.

He climbed back up and plopped down on the pillow fort. Mabel looked way too smug for someone who was just picked up like a delivery package, so he flipped her hair over her face. “You’ve got one hour,” he said as she sputtered and coughed up hair.

—

Lesson 1: Apologies. Know how to admit you’re wrong!

“Hey, Fez.”

“What do you want?”

“My bad about the glue shoes.”

“Is this some kinda trick?”

“Me? No way, never. By the way, you might wanna check your bed for blood-sucking gnomes. Not for any particular reason.”

He got away before the rolling pin Stan tossed could hit him. Mabel facepalmed.

—

Lesson 2: Good Deeds. Do something without expecting anything in return.

“Why, thank you. Such a nice young man. My sight had been bad ever since my cataracts set in.”

“Sure. Woah, this weighs a ton!”

“Oh! I brought cookies, my secret recipe. I can only bake them once a year, and I wanted to give something to the grandkids.”

…

“My, this bag weighs a lot less than I remember.”

“Look at you, so strong from all that heavy lifting!”

“Oh, I suppose so!”

The old lady left, and Bill held out his armful of cookies. “Want one?”

Mabel angrily munched on the stolen treat.

��

Lesson 3: Compliments! Say something nice about someone else!

“Hey, what a haircut!”

“Oh, thank you!”

“Reminds me of this one guy I met from Dimension 323. Had tentacles for teeth and teeth for eyes. Great guy, he’d make this crazy cocktail out of pineapple juice, vodka, and fingernails…”

They watched as the man shuddered and scrambled away, his face turning green by the second.

“Can’t handle a compliment. This guy’s got issues.”

Mabel groaned into her notepad.

—

“So, how’s it going?” Dipper trailed off when his sister let out a moan of pure anguish. “I’m guessing not good.”

“This was awful, Dipper!” Mabel leaped to her feet from her sad curl on the pavement and paced back and forth. “I’ve tried everything! Compliments, apologies, acts of kindness, it’s like he can’t do anything unless he gets something out of it or makes someone miserable because he thinks it’s funny! Who lives like that?!”

“Bill.” 

“Aaaagh!” Mabel tugged on her hair in frustration.

“Hey, maybe it’s time for a change of plans,” Dipper offered. “I mean, I told you. The guy is the worst. Maybe you have to accept that he’s terrible, with or without your help, and move on.”

“I can’t."

“Why?”

“Because I brought him back!”

Dipper frowned. “Mabel…”

“I shook his hand, right? So I’m responsible for him.” Mabel stopped pacing and scowled at the ground. “I don’t want him to end up hurting anyone because of me.” She looked at the bench some twenty feet away, where Bill lay sprawled on the seat, fast asleep. “And now he’s napping.” She said, a little bitterly.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately.” Dipper sent the ex-demon a suspicious glance. 

“Yeah,” Mabel went quiet. 

“Let’s go wake him up and give him a piece of our mind.”

Mabel yanked him back by the arm. “Dipper, wait! Just…just let him sleep, okay? He probably needs it.”

Confusion, exasperation, and a fond sort of pride all fought inside Dipper. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy, Mabel.”

“Well, I’m giving it anyway,” she huffed. “Because I’m a good person!”

—

He didn’t have a lot of time, out in the open like this, but hey, he worked with what he got. Bill peeked through a dozen minds or so, no sign of a rift or anything like it. The guy with the haircut was still crying in the bathroom. Nice.

“Come on, give me something.”

He knew there was more than one rift. He knew, because this town had a habit of attracting chaos and entropy and because a calamity of this size wouldn’t stop at one little crack.

A calamity of this size would destroy you, too.

Ugh, not him. 

You invoked me. I am always here.

Oh yeah? Ever heard of privacy? Boundaries? Not being a creep?

This is coming from someone whose main occupation was watching everyone and everything.

…Touché. 

Even you cannot escape what’s to come.

They’ll see about that, won’t they? Once he had his powers back, some multidimensional rip in the fabric of the universe wouldn’t be much of a problem.

You are a fool.

“And you’re an irritating, holier-than-thou waste of space!”

He didn’t realize that he’d yelled it out loud, into the mindscape. But he had, and the Axolotl was silent for a moment before he once again spoke: Pursue this for as long as you wish. It is fruitless. You cannot escape your vow to me. 

“Yeah yeah. Get lost.”

And he did. Not really, Bill could still feel the Axolotl’s presence hovering somewhere nearby, and it drove him crazy to know everything he did was being scrutinized by some huge, ugly, annoying- 

Huh, that was weird. 

The mind he found nearby, well, there was something off about it. It was hard to notice, like a hiccup in space-time, but Bill has done this song and dance for eons. The girl herself was fast asleep, her head on the storefront counter. Bill vaguely recognized her as that enthusiastic cashier girl who vowed to destroy all clothing without pockets. Heh, fun times.

He floated up next to her and poked the distortion with a finger. 

There it was again. Sparks, glitching for a split second before fading out. It was a lot like the static aura surrounding Mabel’s pet pig.  

Bill stared at it for a few moments. Then he laughed. Weeks of mind-numbing human boredom and now finally, something interesting.

He hesitated, for a moment, on whether or not to enter the cashier girl’s mind. It wasn’t like anything could happen to him in the mindscape, not really, but-

Scoffing at the idea, Bill let himself right in.

“Woah!”

Cashier Girl’s exterior sure matched her interior. A dark hallway of a nightclub filled with punk rock posters by groups from the 90s, complete with DOWN WITH THE SYSTEM graffiti was about what Bill had expected. And hey, he could respect consistency and vision, if anything. Anarchy was still his wheelhouse, even if it was packaged in outdated punk rock aesthetics. 

What he was pretty sure didn’t belong there were the tendrils of white static, crawling around corners like a glitched-out video game screen. 

A sharp, colorful tendril reached out toward him. Bill swatted it away. “Back off, pal. You’re picking a fight you can’t win.”

The tendril quickly retreated, cowering in the corner. Man, it felt good to be back.

“What are you supposed to be?”

Bill didn’t jump. He definitely didn’t screech, and summon a handful of flames he quickly snuffed out. Because he wasn’t startled, Bill couldn’t startle, he was the All-Seeing-Eye!

“Hey, man, you ok?”

That was when he realized the posters weren’t rock bands, but memories. On the poster behind him, Cashier Girl was looking at him as she sat under a large willow tree, on top of a black and white colored picnic blanket. 

So maybe spending so much time trapped in an awkward meat sack made him rusty. Bill straightened his tie and pretended none of that had happened. Because it didn’t. “Heya. Nice digs. Great decor. The fluorescent lighting really brings the whole eye-sore together.”

“You’re a triangle,” said the girl.

“Yup,” said Bill.

“How does that, like, work?”

It was awkward, having a conversation through the metaphysical representation of the border between someone’s memory and their mind, so Bill let himself in, settling on the other corner of the picnic blanket, one leg crossed over the other. “Hey, not my fault humanity’s dimensional awareness started and ended at the number three! You think your pencil drawings don’t watch you while you sleep?”

Cashier Girl reached out a finger toward his side, which Bill slapped away lightly. “Yeesh, what’s with all the unwarranted touching in here? You got a problem or something?”

“Sorry, it’s just-” She angled her neck around him as if checking if he was actually flat.

“Hey, kid, my eye’s up here.”

“Uh-huh.” She looked at him up and down again, “Are you like, the Hat Man or something?”

“Did you seriously compare me to that miserable gangly hack?” Bill rolled his eye. “He can’t even manifest without allergy pills! Nah, kid, I’m the dream demon real deal,  your good old pal Bill-”

Wait. 

“Demon, huh? Cool,” the girl frowned. “You kinda look like all that graffiti in the town I work in. Gravity Falls?”

“Wow, what a crazy coincidence. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!”

He took in his surroundings a bit more. It was pitch black, with a small, cool breeze blowing through the grass underneath the blanket and shifting the strands of willow above them. Behind the tree was a small clearing filled with gravestones, green and mossy with age. A plaque on the rusted-up wire fence read FAIRVIEW CEMETERY.

Fairview wasn’t far from Gravity Falls. So this kid was an out-of-towner. Luckily, she didn’t recognize him.

Cashier Girl shrugged. “I come here all the time.” 

Ding! Another point for manic pixie dream girl! Three more and we might even find a sad, mediocre boy to attach!

He didn’t say that out loud, obviously. “Gotta respect your gusto, kid! Say, how’s about you tell your old pal Bill about whatever’s going on there.” He pointed at the window to the rest of the mindscape. From this side of things, it looked like there was a poster floating in the air.

“Oh, that,” Cashier Girl frowned. “That started a while ago. Ever since I got that job at the mall.”

“And did you see anything… weird?”

“Yeah, I mean…” She shook her head, looking frustrated. “There was this like, multicolored light?”

Now they were getting somewhere. Lemme guess, a tear in space-time did some damage to your psyche. Bill extended his arm until it was three times as long, looping it around the girl’s shoulders. “Lay it on me! Consider it a free consultation: you’re talking to the Master of the Mind, you know,” he winked and manifested two cups of tea in front of them. 

The girl tentatively reached for hers. “Well, there was this like, tear. I think? In a wall. Inside it were these oil-spill lights?”

She was gonna lead him straight to the jackpot. After days of frustration and nothing, Bill felt like cackling. “And lemme guess, you touched it, and it backfired?”

She shrugged. She looked down at the tea and made a face.

Bill floated toward her until his eye was inches away from hers. “Where did you see it?”

“Oh, um,” she put her finger to her chin, frowning. “I don’t remember.”

“Ha! Obviously, I should’ve-” Bill’s excited speech stopped short. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?”

She shrugged again. “Sorry. It’s like there’s this static.” She pointed to her head.

Bill rubbed his eye in frustration. “Do you remember anything? At all?”

“Well, it was dark.”

“ And?”

“And…I think my boss was there.” Cashier Girl frowned in thought. “Wait, why would she be there?”

“...Great!” He threw his hands up. The teacup fell onto the blanket, tea spilling and staining the cloth. “Okay! Sure! I can work with this! Who’s your boss, kid?”

“So how do I get rid of it?”

“What?”

“You said it’s a ‘free consultation’,” said Cashier Girl. “So how do I get rid of the gross staticky stuff?”

Bill looked back through the poster at the rest of the mindscape. The Cashier Girls in the other memories were watching them curiously. The spiderweb, static-like tendrils wiggled around like maggots. “How’s about this: I’ll know how to get rid of it if you tell me where I can find your boss.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” He floated up to her eye level. “See, this kinda stuff is hard to get rid of. It’s like a curse, it eats away at you, body and mind and all until you’re nothing but a big sad pile of madness in a white-padded cell!”

“Oh.”

“So, the only way to clear the gunk: find the origin point. Capiche?” He waved his hand in the air. “We’ll do a little cleansing ritual, you know, nothing fancy, get all the tough stains out, and voila! Brand new mindscape! Madness-free! How’s that sound?”

“Yes?”

“Great! It’s a deal!” He reached out a hand, expecting the familiar crackle of blue flame to appear. But it was just his hand, and for a moment Bill simply stared at it, momentarily forgetting the last few weeks. Right. Can’t make binding deals anymore. That frilly bastard took that, too.

The girl hesitantly shook his hand. “Deal.” She paused. “I’m not, like, gonna find out I owe my firstborn to you, right?”

“Psh, why would I want your firstborn? Babies are smelly tyrants with too much time on their hands. Just help me find that rift, kid. The rest’s on the house.”

“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “By the way, is there an eyeball in this tea?”

—

“Look at you,” said Jheselbraum as she knelt by the translucent barrier that held Waddles. The monstrous, corrupted pig oinked in several different voices.

“Mabel is convinced that’s him demanding treats,” Ford said.

“Of course, it is. I speak pig.”

“You do?”

Jheselbraum held his gaze for a good moment before laughing. “No.  But I’m flattered you would think so.” She took a carrot from a nearby bucket of treats Mabel started keeping in Ford’s study and pressed a button to lower the barrier enough to toss it in. The carrot landed between three hungry, gaping pig mouths, and they fought each other as they devoured it. 

“Is there a way to fix him?” Ford asked.

“Maybe. The energy that did this to him came from Bill’s dimension, but it’s more than that. It’s the same energy that’s feeding those cracks.”

“So if we find a cure for Waddles….” 

“We will find a cure for the rift.” 

Stanford watched the pig blink at him as if expecting more treats. For the first time in a long while, he felt the glimmer of optimism rear its head in his heart. “Let’s get to work, then.”

—

Stan walked past Greasy’s, noticing the unusual crowd at the door. That ratty little diner never got this much traction, even during tourist season.

He was tempted to snoop around, if only to find out what they were doing and how to steal whatever new gimmick got those people through the doors. Shrugging off the mantle of Mr. Mystery was harder than he realized. 

Maybe later. As he reached the general store, he tried the handle. It didn't budge. 

Huh. The store had pretty damn consistent working hours for 30 straight years. He peered through the window. 

“They’re not in,” said a voice. Stan turned and saw one of Wendy’s teen friends. She didn’t look up from her phone as she said: “Everyone’s been holed up at Greasy’s.”

“Oh yeah? What’s at Greasy’s?”

“Beats me, some kinda town meeting. It’s been crowded all afternoon.”

Stan swallowed nervously and looked back down Main Street at the bustling diner. His first worry was that their attempt at hiding Bill had turned out pretty lousy, and the thought of a parade of justifiably scared town citizens filling their yard, carrying pitchforks and torches, did not make him any less nervous.

“Guess I should check it out,” he said.

“I literally don’t care,” said the teen.

—

“There are a few materials we could try,” Jheselbraum stood in front of the chalkboard and scribbled out a formula while Stanford watched from his desk chair. He hadn’t slept well, but that hadn’t been unusual for the past few weeks. He did his best to focus as his interdimensional friend dropped the chalk and picked up something she’d brought with her: a purple, semi-translucent scarf. “Imagine the fabric of existence as a tightly interwoven net. It’s hard to break, but with enough torn strings it can come apart easily. And strings are most easily torn at the seams,” With that, Ford watched, surprised, as she tore the scarf in half with her hands.

“Er, that wasn’t anything valuable, I hope?”

Jheselbraum stared at the torn pieces in her hands, realizing what she’d just done. “...I’ll make a new one.” She tossed the pieces aside. “The rift is a tear in space-time, most likely to be found at the seams of a dimension, where reality is the weakest. And the more they appear, the more likely it is for the entire fabric to come undone.” She gestured to the chalkboard. “The fabric of reality is made of logic and systems, not cloth, but the principle is the same.”

“And the tear was made by a high concentration of weirdness?”

“Yes. Weirdness, chaos, entropy, whatever you wish to call it.” Jheselbraum pointed at the first half of the formula. “Chaos is an imbalance, a surplus of energy. Without Bill Cipher as an agent to channel it, the Nightmare Realm is overflowing with that energy. Your dimension will be the most affected, having been the one directly in contact with the Nightmare Realm a year ago. But there are ways to channel that energy, ground it, using magically made materials. If we create some of them, and test them-”

“We can sew the hole in reality back together.”

“You’re catching on.” The Oracle smiled. 

But Ford was busy thinking of something she’d said. “‘Without Bill Cipher’. You mean he’s been preventing this?”

Jheselbraum’s smile instantly vanished, replaced by mild annoyance. “Yes and no. Technically, he caused this a year ago when he tried to take over your dimension. But he was made of that energy, and energy doesn’t just go away. When he died, all the power that he wielded got stuck in between this world and his.” 

“It’s either Bill or the universe ending?” Stanford swallowed. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

Jheselbraum just shrugged. “The universe doesn’t exactly care about fair.” She stared at the chalkboard for a moment, brow furrowed. It was much easier to read her expressions now that she had a human face. “There’s something that’s been bothering me.”

“What is it?”

She tapped the numbers she’d scribbled down. “Even with the surplus of energy, it shouldn’t be… altering matter. Not at such a rate anyway. It takes millions of years for a lifeform to be corrupted like that. But with Waddles, it seemed to happen within minutes, if not seconds.” She shook her head. “Entropy is inevitable, but it’s not instantaneous. It’s almost as if whatever corrupted Waddles pushed it forward.”

Ford shuddered. “You’re implying it was done deliberately? By someone?”

“…I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion just yet.”

“Bill,” Ford said immediately. “If it was anyone-”

“It wasn’t him,” she said calmly. “He’s powerless.”

“Or he wants us to think that!” Ford ran a hand through his hair, thinking of all the worst possible scenarios. Had Bill been playing them all for fools? Had he really been at their mercy this whole time? Or had he just been waiting for the right moment?

The Oracle regarded him with an unwavering gaze, almost like she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Ford, he’s a drama queen. And horribly impatient. Do you really think he’s spent so long pretending and putting himself in humiliating situations on purpose?”

Ford breathed out slowly. “Alright, I see your point. But J-…” he suddenly remembered that she’d gone by a different name at some point, and felt a rush of shame that he’d forgotten it. “Nora? Forgive me, I’m not sure what you prefer.”

Her gaze softened momentarily. “I’ve gone by many names. The one you know me by is just the latest. The other one…is very old.” She looked past him. “Call me whatever you like.”

“Nora,” he amended. He felt a little thrill at addressing such a renowned creature by a name he assumed not many knew. “If it’s not Bill…”

Then what could have done this?

---

[next]

[prev]

[first]

[braveclementine]

Five Years Later

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book.

Copyright: My OCs are Coach Yonce, Emma, Ila, Tempus, and Itty Bitty. I own these characters. I do not condone any copying of this.

"Morning sweetheart." Sebastian said softly as I woke to the feeling of him running his fingers up and down the dip in my hip.

I rolled over, pressing my face into his chest. I wasn't ready to get up. I was tired.

Sebastian chuckled, pulling me back a little to pepper my face with kisses. "You slept well last night."

I cracked a smile though I didn't open my eyes. "I always sleep well after we have fun in bed."

Sebastian laughed lowly, a sound that sent shivers straight to my core. "Is that so? Hmm, would never have guessed."

I finally opened my eyes, glaring at him playfully. "I'm trying to go back to sleep here."

"Well, you can't. It's Ila's birthday, now wake up." He said softly, kissing me again.

If it had been anyone but our daughters birthday. . .

I groaned as I sat up, stumbling out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Sebastian joined me, waking me up more completely with a lovely morning sex session. It wasn't just hot water that steamed the mirrors this morning.

When we finally managed to pull apart from each other, my legs wobbly and unsure, Sebastian chuckling, we got out of the shower and got dressed.

I headed downstairs first to make pancakes for our little girls' birthday. She was three years old, with Sebastian's blue eyes and my H/C colour hair.

Emma, our five year old, honeymoon child, was already sitting up at the kitchen table, colouring in her colour book.

"Morning mommy." She said, brushing back black curls from her forehead.

"Morning sweetheart, what are you colouring this morning?"

"Thanos!" She cheered, "Look!"

It mostly looked like a purple crayon mess, but I just smiled and said, "Looks just like him sweetheart."

"What are we doing for Ila's birthday?" Emma asked, turning the page and started to scribble red all over the Hulk.

"Well, some friends are going to come over. We're going to use the pool, maybe a pinata, a lot of unhealthy food-"

"Are Uncle Robert and Uncle Donald going to come over? What about Aunt Itty?" Emma asked excitedly.

"Yes Uncle Robert, Aunt Susan, your cousins Avri and Exton, Aunt Itty, and Aunt Page are all coming over." I said calmly as I fried up the cakes. "Uncle Donald and Aunt Melania on the other hand, I don't know. Your Uncle is very busy trying to run a country."

"But I'm his niece." She pouted.

"It's not your birthday." You smiled. "It's Ila's. Besides, we're already going to the White House for Christmas."

She still pouted.

"Grandma and Grandpa are coming too." I said to cheer her up- which worked.

Eventually the pancakes were done and Sebastian came downstairs with our lovely daughter, who was clutching her Otter stuffed animal in one hand.

"Hey Ila." I murmured, putting her pancakes down in front of her. Sebastian took a seat next to her to help her cut them up. "Happy birthday sweetheart."

Once the girls were finished, they both ran off together to the living room where her presents were.

"Don't open them yet girls!" Sebastian yelled after them. "You need to wait until at least Grandma and Grandpa get here!"

He picked up my left hand, kissing the new, metal pinky there. "How's it feeling sweetheart?"

"Like a real finger." I murmured, smiling back at him.

Sebastian had been incredibly worried about how the prosthetic would turn out. He was probably even more worried than I had been. Every day since I'd gotten it, he'd asked how it felt to make sure I wasn't in any pain.

"Good." He said, flipping my hand over to place a kiss on my palm.

I giggled, bending down to kiss him.

The door bell rang and I hopped up, racing to get, Sebastian close behind me.

I was always afraid that one of the kids would answer the door and it would be a bad guy, so I always made sure to answer it. Even though I knew several relatives and friends were showing up today, I still couldn't help the fear that came along with the ringing or the knocking of the door.

"Hey Y/N!" Robert said, pulling me into a hug.

"Hi Robert!" I exclaimed, hugging him back tightly. "Hi Susan."

I ruffled their son and daughters heads before those two scampered into the house to go and find Emma and Ila.

"How are you two?" I asked, eyeing the huge present that Robert was carrying into the house, "What is that?"

"A present." Robert replied sardonically while Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"I can see that." I replied, rolling my eyes as well. "It's wrapped. What the heck did you get her? It's huge!"

"Well, she's three. She needs this." Robert said and I glanced up at Susan. She just smiled because he was being Robert.

Sebastian got the door again and Uncle Chris came in with Uncle Tom and Uncle Benedict. Emma ran over to greet her favorite Uncles, climbing up Benedicts leg- or trying to.

"Hey monkey." Benedict said, bending down and lifting her into his arms.

"Uncle Strange!" Emma squealed, hugging him tightly around the neck.

Sebastian laughed, as he always did.

"Emma, that's Ben." I said with a smile. "Dr. Strange is just a character."

"Which he plays." Emma said with a serious face. "Therefore, he is also Strange."

"I agree." Tom said. "He is strange, isn't he?"

"Exactly!" Emma squealed and I gave up, giggling.

"It's fine." Benedict assured me, laughing as well.

"Uncwle Chwiss." Ila said, toddling over to Chris and he bent down to hug her.

My parents were next, quickly mingling with the group, greeting their grandchildren.

Everything was moved outside and the kids jumped on the bouncy house while the adults relaxed in the large pool that Sebastian had put into the house long before I had married him. With the settlement money that we'd won in the Russo lawsuits, we were set for a long time before either of us had to get a job. And of course, Sebastian was still acting so he was getting large paychecks on that.

I looked over when I saw some people coming into the yard, not having expected any guests. I hopped out of the pool when I saw who it was.

"Uncle Duck!" Ila shouted, waddling over to the older man who was still wearing a suit and red tie despite the relaxed occasion.

"Hey pumpkin." Donald said, lifting her up into his arms. "Hello Y/N."

"Hey Don. I didn't think you were able to come over today." I said with a smile. "You know, being the President and all."

"Well I've got all the time in the world for my nieces." He said, clapping his hands together once.

"How's Melania?" I asked, not seeing anyone but him here.

"She's great! She's got another photo shoot today but she sends all of her love to this little lovebug." He said, holding one hand out to little Ila. She gave him the high five with a giggle. "Okay down!"

He put her down on the grass and she tumbled over to where the bouncy house was. Emma was laying dramatically on the ground after being hit by one of the plastic balls they were playing with.

When she popped up and saw who was here, she shrieked, racing towards him.

"Hey Em." Donald said she ran smack dab into his chest.

"Uncle Donald you came!" She laughed and then tried pulling him over to the bouncy house. "Come play with us."

"How long can you stay?" I asked.

"At least till the cake." He said with a grin.

I laughed and headed back to the pool, though most everyone was getting out around this time, sitting around the unlit firepit and popping open beers.

I sat down next to Sebastian, who wrapped an arm around my waist. "I didn't know he was going to show up."

"Yep!" I beamed. "A surprise present."

Things evened out and as it grew later and the kids grew tired, we pulled out the cake and presents.

Turned out that Robert had gotten her one of those foldable princess tents. It was massive and pink and I knew she was going to want it in her bedroom and she was totally going to get it in her bedroom.

She received a variety of other things, mostly barbie or princess dolls, a couple of Littlest Pet Shop toys and sets, and also a couple of the Marvel Lego sets which I rolled my eyes at. Scarlett had gotten her one of those playdough sets where you're supposed to make kitchen creations, while Elizabeth Olsen had gotten her the ice-cream set.

Anthony had gotten her one of the drawing mats which would help her learn to draw, while also teaching her ABCs and 123s, along with some shapes and some animals.

Tom had gotten her some of those CDs with the little kid nursery rhymes on them, which were some of her favorites right now.

Benedict smothered her with Disney stuffed animals including Stitch, Dumbo, Baby Yoda, and Simba. She declared that they were all her new favorite stuffed animals.

Chris had gotten her an American girl doll, which she also loved.

Really, she just loved everything she'd gotten.

Donald won the competition though. He gave her a dollhouse. But not like, a normal dollhouse. He gave her a life sized dollhouse.

"Don't worry." He assured me, handing me a panel with a screen on it. "It's got cameras and you can lock it so no one can hide in the house or anything."

"Thank you." I murmured, glad he'd taken that safety precaution into mind. I had just been thinking about how a bad guy could hide in there and attack her before she went inside to play.

It was a nice dollhouse too. You could fit inside, although Sebastian had to stoop pretty low. It was like a cottage, more like, with a tower in the front and even a small balcony- although it wasn't that high up.

It was decent sized of course- although you couldn't go to the second floor as you were not small enough and the upstairs wasn't really much more than five feet apart second floor to roof. There was some small furniture- though no bed which you were happy about.

"Thank you!" Ila squealed, wanting to go into it right now while Emma stared at it with wide eyes and a dropped mouth.

"Don't worry." Donald winked at her. "You'll get one for Christmas."

Sebastian laughed. "Then you two will never have to buy a house in the future. You're all set."

Emma giggled, "Can mine be pink please?"

"Emma!" I scolded. "You can't ask for that. It's a gift."

Donald just laughed.

Emma's future Christmas present:

Everyone later departed with high spirits, the two girls of yours already fast asleep. Benedict had to carry his kids back to the car.

"Well that was exciting." Sebastian said once the two of you had cleaned up and were now settled in bed.

"I hope they were really happy with everything." I fretted. "I don't want them spoiled- but that happened anyways. But I don't want them to grow up ungrateful either. You know? Taking everything for granted?"

"We'll teach them, don't worry." Sebastian said. "You know the only time they get presents is their birthdays and Christmas anyways. And maybe small things on like Easter or the Fourth, but that's it. You and I both say no to them about everything else on normal days. And they're young so we don't have to worry about it till they're a little older."

"I know." I said. "I just want to be a good mother."

Sebastian pulled me into a tight hug, my back against his chest. "You. Are already an amazing mother Y/N. And." He rolled over pressing me down into the pillows. "I think that you would make an amazing mother to a third or fourth or maybe even a fifth child."

I giggled, taking Sebastian's hand. "Oh? But didn't you know?" I moved his hand down to my stomach. "I already am."

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓷𝓭

⬅️

[blueboyluca]

Thought I would do a round-up of podcast episodes I've enjoyed lately.

Animal Training Academy Podcast: [Episode 231] Susan Friedman & Rick Hester – Exploring the LIMA model

I could listen to Dr Susan Friedman all day. This episode is all about LIMA, its origins as well as its current and future use. Choice quote:

My latest rant when I'm workingI with people I'm coaching is that they're not even coming to the debriefs with a pencil! It really hurts me! I can’t care more about this more than you do. I can’t care more about training your rhino with the least intrusive principle than you do. Got a pencil, you know? I say, "Well, what did you learn from this meeting?" "Oh, um, I’m overwhelmed." Well, if you had a pencil, you might be less overwhelmed!

I love her sass so much. She reminds me of the women I gravitate to the most. People like my mum, my boss, teachers I've admired in the past. Courageous, assertive, forceful women with great empathy and understanding.

Research Bites: #23 – Dr. Patricia McConnell on intrinsic reinforcement, flow, and agency

This was such an interesting conversation about flow between host Dr Kristina Spaulding and Dr Patricia McConnell. It was fun to listen to two very clever scientists discuss something outside current research. Choice quote:

Here’s an example of I think where a dog might be in absolute flow: when they’re chewing on something. When they’re ripping up a cardboard box. Right? Why would they be thinking about anything else? There’s no stress there – assuming they are allowed to do it. When Maggie is ripping up a little stuffed toy, I don’t know why she wouldn’t be in what we call “flow”.

This quote led into a discussion about enrichment and I thought it was a really beneficial way to think about enrichment and flow and meeting your dog's needs.

The Q Coach Pod: #167 She's singing our mindset song! (Interview with Cynthia Horner!)

I really enjoyed this interview with recent Westminster Agility Champion Cynthia Horner. She has a really interesting attitude toward competition and I got a lot out of it. Choice quote:

You’re going to have great weekends, you’re going to have great runs, and you’re going to have runs that look like you started agility 24 hours ago. And everything in between. You’re not going to be able to be perfect every time you step to the line. And I think that makes you realise that as long as you’re trying your best – and again I go back to the process. I cue my dog to the best of my ability and things should work out in the end if I do my job and I’ve trained my dog to do her job.

Barkology: Agility Fitness and Injuries with Dr Leslie Eide

This podcast isn't that good, but now and then it has quality guests on it. I really liked this episode with Dr Leslie Eide because she talked about agility from her different perspective and made me think about different things. Choice quote:

I’ve seen problems with dogs who maybe started younger doing courses with the bar very low and then going really, really slow to increase height. I think a lot of those dogs actually end up not knowing where they’re supposed to take off. And it can be both ways because if the bar’s really low, they can leap from very far away and still clear it, but they can also go, "Oh, I don’t even need to jump this" and just run up to it and stride over it. So I get both problems, I get dogs who jump late and knock the bar and I get dogs who jump early because they’re like, "This worked when it was little!" And we have to retrain finding the appropriate take-off spot.

This is relevant because I've got dogs in my classes jumping 600 that keep bar knocking and while some of my advice (in relation to handling) is helping, I am now considering that perhaps the problem is going to need retraining with some jump grids. This is where my lack of experience is a real detriment because I've only run with small dogs and when the handling seems OK but the bar is still getting knocked, I've got to find other things to try.

[opera-ghosts]

From Divas : Mathilde Marchesi and her pupils by Neill, Roger:

[...] Suzanne Adams asserted her rights in true Yankee spirit. Miss Adams, like many others, labored under the idea that a course with Marchesi would be of invaluable aid to her future … It is said that Marchesi does not love Americans over much, and that the intense favouritism shown by her causes much jealousy to exist among her pupils; but her most exasperating fault, to the serious and ambitious pupil, is the un-businesslike way she has of curtailing a lesson and dismissing her class, for this, that, or other pretex.

According to Adams, nobody had ever challenged Marchesi on these points, and when ‘our handsome, young American singer did this’, proceeding to ‘claim her money’s worth’, Marchesi refused point blank, and Suzanne ‘coolly walked out of her presence for good, followed by the entire class’. Other reports narrow down the list of absconders to her fellow-Americans. It seems unlikely that the Australians followed suit — Mathilde was consistently warm about them, in particular Frances Saville, Lilian Devlin and Nellie Rowe.

The voice of Susan Adams was not quite of the same quality as Melba’s, but it was similar in a certain way. She was one of those who grieved my mother deeply, and I hope she never realised how profoundly hurt her loving teacher was, who had even quite acted as a mother towards her, as she had no mother.

At the same time, Mathilde made it clear that, because of the problems with her health, Suzanne should delay her debut at the Opéra, maybe for several years, until she was much stronger and better equipped to deal with a professional career, and that she would be well-advised to make her debut in the less pressured atmosphere of the Opéra-Comique. ‘Miss Adams took this wise advice as an insult, turned entirely against her, left her in the most cold-blooded manner and really kindled a strike in my mother’s opera class’, wrote Blanche.

Growing up without parents, forced to fend for herself, and unhappy dealing with Mathilde’s autocratic style, Suzanne not only revolted, but also set herself up as ringleader. Over time, Blanche (and presumably her mother too) felt vindicated in their view of the situation. Although she had successful periods at the Opéra, at Covent Garden and at the Metropolitan Opera, Suzanne’s career was constantly interrupted by vocal problems, and by around the mid-1900s her voice had declined sufficiently to force a halt to her career. Of course, having abandoned Marchesi, Suzanne had to find another teacher, and she returned to her previous one, Bouhy. ‘Oh yes, I was very penitend she said.

In the event, Suzanne did not make her debut at the Opéra until 9 January 1895, some two-and-a-half years after her separation from Marchesi. Perhaps Bouhy agreed with Mathilde’s assessment that she needed more time. It may be that Gaillard wanted her to make her debut as Juliette, a role at that time occupied in that house by another American Marchesi pupil, Sibyl Sanderson. Eventually Sanderson decamped from Paris, returning to tour America, and Suzanne’s opportunity arrived. Sanderson’s biographer, Jack Winsor Hansen, offers a third interpretation of the Marchesi walkout, suggesting that Mathilde was spending too much time coaching Sanderson for her imminent debut as Massenet’s Thais.

The debut of Suzanne Adams as Juliette in January 1895 was greeted generally with applause from the Parisian press. Noting her lack of experience, but also her period as a Marchesi pupil, Le Ménestrel admired her performance, her voice and her ‘rare aplomb’, while observing that she had a certain coldness of manner, characteristic of ‘all the American women’.

Following her debut at the Opéra, Suzanne may have encountered vocal problems, and was given mostly secondary roles at the house. “We never saw her name on the bill in a principal role’, wrote Blanche Marchesi, ‘only from time to time was she cast for a small part’. Blanche ignored the fact that in 1898 Suzanne arrived as a prima donna at both Covent Garden and the Met and was consistently given starring roles. Her debut on 10 May at Covent Garden was again as Juliette, The Era introducing her as ‘a young American of Irish extraction, who has had the advantage of studying under Madame Marchesi’, continuing:

It may be said at once that Miss Adams is quite mistress of her art, and her singing of brilliant and exacting music is sweet, silvery and effective. Her acting is graceful and natural, and altogether her debut was entirely successful.

The Graphic noted that she ‘is young and pretty, with a light and bird-like voice and the true Marchesi method’. Aside from Juliette, that season she also sang Donna Elvira in Don Giovanni, Marguérite in Faust (alternating with Eames and Calvé), Euridice in Gluck’s Orfeo, and Micaéla in Carmen (Calvé her Carmen). That summer in London, she married the cellist Leo Stern (remembered as the soloist in the premiére of Dvorak’s Cello Concert in 1896). By 8 November she was making her debut at the Met — as Juliette once more — initially in Chicago and arriving at New York on 4 January (Jean de Reszke her Roméo). That season in New York she also sang the Queen in Les Huguenots, Marguérite, Micaéla, Cherubino in Le nozze di Figaro and Donna Elvira. Of her debut, the critic of the New York Times, WJ Henderson, gave her a mixed reception:

Miss Adams has a slight figure and a juvenile appearance, which are well suited to such parts as Juliet. Her voice is a very light and sweet-toned soprano. As far as could be judged last night, when the young lady was decidedly nervous, the voice is well placed; but in its emission she was uncertain owing to her lack of confidence ... She was occasionally a trifle flat ... and she has a geat deal to learn.

By the end of the 1898-99 season at the Met, Suzanne Adams’s rather narrow core repertoire was in place, to be repeated both there and at Covent Garden in future years, with occasional detours (as Nedda in Pagliacci, Hero in Stanford’s Much Ado About Nothing and Rozann in Lalo’s Le roi d’Ys). Her career at Covent Garden extended over eight seasons, the last in 1906, but at the Met she sang only four. In 1907 she returned to New York from London to sing in vaudeville, ‘not in her best voice’, reported the New York Times. Her singing career over, little is known about her subsequent life, based in London. Her husband Leo Stern died in 1904 and she remarried in 1915 a ‘gentleman of independent means’, John Lumsden Mackay. It was rumoured that she ran a laundry after her retirement (and that she taught).

As with others, she made half a dozen cylinders for Bettini in New York around 1900-01, none of which are known to have survived. A little later (1901-03), she was recorded live by Henry Mapleson on his Edison cylinder phonograph at the Met — brief extracts from Les Huguenots, Massenet’s Le Cid, Faust and a song by her husband Leo Stern. In London in 1902 Suzanne made six sides (i.e. discs) for G & T and then a further eleven sides were made for Columbia in New York. Opinion has always been divided on the merits of her disc recordings. On the positive side was PG Hurst, a supporter of her work at Covent Garden and on record:

.. for her voice and style perfectly reproduced the Marchesi method, having that delicious limpidity and bird-like ease so much appreciated by London audiences. She gave dignity and disdain to Donna Elvira, an ingénue charm to Marguerite, Nedda and Micaéla, and was the ideal Gilda ...!?

Hurst advised strongly against collecting her recordings for Columbia, suggesting that if one were to come across them, ‘these records are best destroyed, when found’.’ On the other hand, reviewing her G & T Red Label output in The Record Collector, Laurie Hevingham-Root confessed that he approached her work ‘with a great deal of trepidation, because I do not see eye-to-eye with certain collectors as to her artistic stature’.

Returning to the Mapleson cylinders, and in particular to his recording of the cabaletta from Act 2 of Les Huguenots, ‘A ce mot tout sanime’, this had always been assumed to be sung by Nellie Melba, but in 1968 John Stratton questioned this, making the case that Suzanne Adams was more likely the singer involved. Before 1960, Stratton himself wholeheartedly shared the attribution to Melba:

Melba was, in those days, dazzling and even electrifying ... There is little doubt that a more spectacular piece of singing has never been recorded. The facility of her scale work, the full-voiced brilliance of her attacks even up to the D-flat, the wonderfully light upward skips, and finally the marvellous full trill held to what seems to be the end of her breath before ascending undaunted to the D-flat again — such singing is not often to be heard.

Yet eight years later, Stratton changed his opinion entirely, not about the superlative nature of the singing, but about who was doing it — nailing his colours to Suzanne Adams. In doing so, he offered various pieces of evidence, the most telling of which is that the recording is sung in French. On the two occasions within the time-frame that Melba performed that opera at the Met, both were given in Italian, whereas the performances with Adams were in French. However, as Stanley Henig has noted:

This ‘evidence’ ignores the fact that in this so-called golden age different languages might be used in the same performance. Mapleson himself, in The Strand Musical Magazine states that, “The suggeritore [prompter] has a very responsible post ... several of the operas have been published with different librettos, especially the works of Meyerbeer, and it is quite a usual matter for the suggeritore to have three different editions of Les Huguenots ... before him ... It is quite an ordinary matter to hear Faust, Marguerite and Mephistopheles sing the French version, whilst Valentino and Siebel are only acquainted with the Italian libretto.” -

In spite of this clear participant evidence, many have now concluded that Adams is the singer in question, whereas both Henig and this writer remain committed to Melba, mostly on the basis of what is heard. While Adams was evidently a good Marchesi-styled bel canto singer, there is no evidence from her other recordings that she had the brillance and facility of Melba.

[thefisherqueen]

Watching The good soldier (1981) with Jeremy Brett

I've been meaning to watch more older movies, and since I always tend to not get started at all if I'm lost where to start, I decided that I might as well watch another movie starring Jeremy Brett. I stumbled upon The good soldier, made in 1981, on youtube.

This movie is an adoptation of an early 20th century book and classified as a drama or even tragedy, so it's not exactly a fun watch, but I found it intriguing. Much of the appeal lies in what everyone says or - rather, says but does not mean, or does not say at all, instead of in action. It tells the story of two upper class married couples, one American, one British, who meet up each summer at a German spa treatment resort. They try the hardest to keep up an outward performance of perfection - manners, apperance, conversation - yet as the movie goes on, it becomes clearer and clearer that not all is at it seems, that the lives of these people are rife with personal problems and barely-contained scandals, and that the social structures of the old elite class are but a fast crumbling shell that they nonethess desperately cling to. It's almost funny to watch their sad, arrogant, world-strange antics that in the end do not even save them.

Besides this critical gaze at class, there are also some other layers touched upon - powerful wealthy men who have so much yet do not appreciate it and hunt after whatever they do not have mindless of consequense, constructions of masculinity and virtue and modesty, the institution of marriage, how well we truly know the people we think we know, desire verses other people's wishes, at what point not knowing turns to ignorance or even self-deceit.

Robin Ellis is sadly the only one of the actors portraying the four main characters who is still alive. He tells something about the filming of this movie in this blog of his I found. Apperently, it took a frustratingly long time to shoot because the director wanted to have each scene filmed from many different angles. Also, Robin Ellis at one point jumped out of their horse drawn coach in protest because he did not trust Jeremy Brett to drive them safely down a steep decend, which - very valid of him.

This movie looks stunning, the possibly-not-quite-truthful narration is compelling, and its pace suitably slow. Funnily enough, it was not Jeremy Brett who I ended up staring at the most. He portrays the title character of this movie, the soldier Edward Ashburnham, a serious, mysterious, heartbreaking type the ladies (and even the narrator, the American John "God I loved that man" Dowell) find irresistable. Despite my recent near-infatuation with Jeremy Brett, it took a while (maybe it was the character's mustache and self-restraint ways, maybe it was me being aroace and quite faceblind), but eventually he got a little more screentime and dialogue and I better understood the appeal to him. His singing helped! What a beautiful voice that man had. Interestingly enough, it's actually his character that I ended up feeling the most sympathy for - in all his selfishness, he's at least sincere in a way that the others aren't. That doesn't mean that the last part of the movie wasn't profoundly uncomfortable to watch (you'll understand why if you see it).

But in this movie I was most fascinated by Susan Fleetwood, a tall, imposing, gorgeous actress who portrays the soldier's wife with much nuance as she works tirelessly to cover up his mishap after mishap, yearning to for once be the one loved by her husband and meanwhile perfectly willing to shame and ruin each victim of his conquests, "It's sinful to be as good as you are and make men love you. You must pay the price". Robin Ellis and Vickery Turner both also did excellent work in their portrayal of the American couple with all their insincere, willfully ignorant ways - I loved to hate them.

There were some weaker points to this movie - pretty much any of the tragedies did not make any sense to me, but the book with its Edwardian plot points and my modern gaze are probably to blame here. We're just not used anymore to narratives with persons dying or going mad from heartbreak alone - it takes more than that to kill characters these days! Yet these were such common tropes back then, certainly in this genre. Nevertheless, this was a surprisingly good movie to watch on a winter afternoon.

[nataliesscatorccio]

Hello!

Why do think every watcher of Yellowjackets got one girl (or coach ben/travis/javi) that they are the most drawn to and it's their favorite character?

This has got me thinking and you know what, I'm not sure I can answer this satisfactorily because I don't think this is my experience of the show! I've actually found that Yellowjackets is one of the only stories I've watched (maybe ever) that I've felt So Strongly about and connected to every single character. I may have more of a draw to one at any given time, but it's like a lazy-susan of delicious treats for me and there isn't any character I don't want to take a (figurative) bite out of. (Unfortunately there is just not enough time in the day).

They've truly done an amazing job of creating complex characters, and they do it in such subtle but detailed ways you can't help but want to know more about them or love them for who they are and what they've gone through collectively, what they've had to do because of that. In many ways I feel just as strongly about Natalie or Laura Lee (who, gun to my head, I would likely SAY are my favorites) as I do... Callie. Mari. Crystal. Dare I say it, even Kevyn Tan who I don't like but am fascinated by, and by extension drawn to.

I'd say part of Yellowjackets' popularity (and why the fandom continues to flourish even weeks/months into hiatus while most things die off pretty quickly without new material) is because every character is deep enough to swim in. Every character is the favorite. Every character is well-rounded and rich enough TO be someone's favorite, even if they aren't yours. There is no hierarchy to which characters are allowed to be nuanced and which characters exist only to move plot. They're all... well, real. For lack of a better word. Human.

If I had to guess, I would say people tend to love either what they lack, or what they see themselves in. You love This Girl because she shows you externally an internal feeling you've always carried around. It feels good to see it on screen, it feels relatable even in a scenario none of us have ever and hopefully won't ever experience. You like That Girl because she is strong or real or soft or brave or mean in ways you wish you were allowed to be. It's both cathartic and inspiring to watch them behave in a way you may desire to behave even if you never would. But that's just a guess.

Thanks for the ask and for making me think about this. I'll admit now at the end I lied: Saracusa should be pig roasted and I do like Walter but to me his worth is tied to his usefulness as Misty's accessory (though I'd be happy in season three for that love to grow, the way I expect it will with characters like Melissa and Gen who are coming more into the story).

[saleintothe90s]

492. Ed's Party in Lockerbie (June 2, 1989)

Sometimes kids have ideas, and they should just stay ideas, you know? Sometimes we shouldn't listen to the kids--but Pan American Airlines did.

Shortly after the December 21st, 1988 bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, 14 year old Ed Blaus of New Jersey sent a request to Pan Am to send the children of Lockerbie Christmas presents. Seems weird that a 14 year old would ask an airline to do this, but ok. A small child, maybe, but a fourteen year old?

I'm sure he meant something like a gift drive for the kids in town who lost everything that Christmas. Pan Am would give presents to the kids that following Christmas, right?

No, there was going to be a party for all of Lockerbie, and boy when the victims families found out, they were pissed and were assaulting the airline in the press:

Susan Cohen, of Port Jarvis, N.Y., who lost her 20-year-old daughter Theodora in the bombing, said the party was 'tasteless' and charged it was a publicty stunt by Pan Am 'to polish their tarnished image.'

'We're appalled by it,' Theodora Cohen's father Dan Cohen said of the party. 'Right now the rock band should be playing on the soccer field about a block and a half from where 75 bodies were found -- which is obscene. They should end their mourning but this is ridiculous.' 3

[...]

"I'm outraged," said a tearful Florence Bissett, whose 21-year-old son, Kenneth, was killed in the bombing. "How can they do something like that - picnic where bodies were found?"

Susan Cohen of Port Jervis, N.Y., said, "We feel Pan Am should be putting its money into security, not parties."

Joe Horgan of West Point, Pa., a member of the Victims of Pan Am 103 group, was quoted by the Dumfries and Galloway Standard as saying, "It is good for them to have a party, but Pan Am's involvement is despicable. We see this purely as a public relations exercise on their part." 4

"Having this picnic is cruel . . ." said Lynne Fraidowitz of Staten Island, whose 20-year-old son, Daniel Rosenthal, was killed. "It would have been easier on me if they had just ripped my heart out." 5

From what I've read in the scant articles I've found, Pan Am played a "he said, she said" with Ed and his idea. In one article, the airline stated that Ed conceived and raised money for the party, but also wrote the airline for help. The airline stated that they simply flew Ed and his family to Scotland. 1 However, a resident of Lockerbie said that PanAm had the idea of a "Summer Christmas", but townspeople suggested it be a party instead.2 Originally, Disney was going to send some costumed characters to Scotland, but due to outrage from the families, this was redacted. Hebrew National who was to supply food for the party also backed out. 3 

(Business Insider)

While families picketed outside of the PanAm headquarters in New York City, in Scotland the party went on with a concerts, bagpipes and food. 2 A football coach from Syracuse University (which lost 37 students in the bombing) came to give kids football lessons, which was a peculiar choice. Apparently there was no representation from Pan Am at the actual party.3

I found a Facebook post from the Annandale Herald and Moffat News on the 30th anniversary of the party. Most partygoers who were probably kids at the time, mostly remembered eating pizza.

Kinsey Wilson. 1989. "Kin of Jet Crash Victims Assail Plans for Party in Lockerbie: [NASSAU AND SUFFOLK Edition]." Newsday, May 21, 38. 

Daily Press. “Reaction to Lockerbie Party Mixed.” June 4, 1989.

Deseret News. “CONTROVERSY DIDN’T DASH LOCKERBIE BASH,” June 4, 1989. https://www.deseret.com/1989/6/4/18809762/controversy-didn-t-dash-lockerbie-bash.

"Lockerbie Party Outrages Bereaved: [Final Edition]." Edmonton Journal, Jun 04, 1989.

Joseph W. Queen. "Party in Lockerbie, Outrage in NY: [NASSAU AND SUFFOLK Edition]." Newsday, Jun 04, 1989, Combined editions.

[transjlawrence]

It's hockey season again which means my brain is imagining an alisusan hockey au where Susan is the first girl player in the NHL until Ali gets called up and then reporters are like, "Omg rivalry??" and make stupid headlines.

And Susan's like, "Wtf?? We're not going to have a rivalry." and Ali feels the same until Susan gets some stupid penalty against Ali and then Ali's like, "Oh, it is on. Clearly she believes in this rivalry thing." while Susan is like, "Damn it, I do not want a rivalry-"

Anyways, they clearly do have a rivalry because bsf to lovers alisusan is great but so is enemies to lovers alisusan.

Honestly, my various ideas for this include:

Susan on a team with all the og cobras and they're all besties. Johnny, Tommy, and Dutch are the biggest alisusan rivalry fans while Bobby and Jimmy are like hey maybe not-

(Obviously Bobby and Jimmy are just as invested bc they are in support of women's rights and women's wrongs.)

Chozen and Daniel play with Ali. They're both alisusan rivalry haters and alisusan rivalry lovers. Daniel's like, "You should talk!!" but the minute Susan gets like a high sticking penalty against Ali he's like, "BEAT HER ASS ALI!!! BEAT HER ASS!!!" Chozen is like, "You know, fighting isn't always the answer." but is tapping his stick and yelling the minute Ali and Susan start fighting.

Kreese and Silver don't actually know what to think of the alisusan rivalry. Silver's like, "A rivalry will be good for the franchise." while Kreese is like, "No, she'll get distracted and ruin her career and-" "Remember our rivalry?" "We are not doing this ag-" "It was October of 1976-"

(Lucille is the GM of Ali's team and Miyagi is the head coach and Lucille is all for it while Miyagi is like hey don't do that.)

Susan's PIMs are off the chart by the time the All Star break comes around. So are Ali's, but Ali has way more instigating penalties than Susan does.

They actually share a room during the All Star break, because the organizers were like, "Guys surprise!! It's a room for the girlies!!!" and alisusan are like haha yeahhh. Cue the mutual death stares.

They actually start to get along because they both agree they hate the way the media treats them. Like hey, why is every interview question about you and not about how I scored that awesome shorty off of Lawrence's sick pass?? Or why did they ask me about your shorthanded shot off of Lawrence's pass when I literally scored two goals the other night unassisted??

They leave New Jersey (I did have to look up where this was hosted the year tkk came out) with a better understanding of one another and also each other's numbers

They also slowly start to fall in love after they better understand each other and are like, "I should tell her...right? Shit, wait, maybe not-"

The og cobras are totally cheering for Susan to tell Ali. They have seen Susan fight Ali and they have seen Susan look all in love while on the phone with her. They want them to get together.

Chozen and Daniel try to coach Ali through telling Susan. They're like, "Just ask her if she wants to meet up the next time we play them. Offer to get ice cream with her. No one hates ice cream."

Long story short they do meet up and tell each other and it goes well and yay they're in love!!

Also my favorite part is imagining the nicknames the teams would have for each other. I feel like Susan would just be abbreviated to Suze and Ali would either get called Ali or Milly.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Familiar Faces - Whumptober2023

I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself

“She’s got stage four terminal lung cancer, it spread to her liver and she just finished chemotherapy.”

For a moment, they didn’t say anything. Not for long, you couldn’t stop for long in cases like this. The kid gulped, his eyes shiny with tears. He didn’t look defensive anymore, he looked like a scared kid, like he’d lost his mum in a grocery store. 

“See you did need me,” he said with a sniff. “She’s not allergic to anything and her blood type is B positive.”

---

After a rumble at a baseball game, the Bradshaws end up in County Hospital, Chicago

For day 15 of @whumptober . Also on AO3. Set in S3 of ER after Susan Lewis leaves

Words: 2651

Doug placed the chart in the rack and sighed. Mark looked up, pen in hand as he scribbled something onto the bottom quickly. 

"If I have to see another baseball this year, I think I'll lose it." He said.

Doug turned to look at the two teams, and their parents, loitering around the ER. From minor cuts, to broken arms and concussions, he didn’t know a high school baseball game could go so wrong. Maybe it's because one was from Texas. They were all cowboys.

"Don’t let anyone else hear you say that, you'll make us lose the game against radiology this year," Mark said with a laugh.

"That's impossible and you know it, a three year streak's hard to beat."

"Don’t say that," he said. "You'll jinx us."

He looked back down at his chart. Doug would never say it was quiet, he wasn't an intern, but he was surprised that despite how many people were around, it wasn’t busy or hectic like usual. He could hear himself think for once.

"Whatcha working on?" Doug asked, peaking at the chart in his hands.

"Sixteen year old with bruised knuckles and a mild concussion,"

He pointed to a medium sized teen with a shaved head in Curtain Two. The coach was giving him a lecture and from what he was reading from his body language, he was annoyed. Doug would be too, you get the opportunity to represent your state in a baseball game and ruin it when the two teams end up fighting? He understood exactly where he was coming from.

"Was he the instigator?" He asked.

"No idea." Mark shrugged.

He waved at Carol as she walked over to them, chart in hand. She shoved the chart in Doug's hands and smiled.

"While you two are standing around talking-"

"We were discussing a patient actually-" Doug started.

"While you were standing around talking-" Carol said louder again. "You forgot a minor case."

She pointed to a lanky looking kid in Curtain 1. He had slightly curly brown hair, long like those boy bands all over the TV. His mother was next to him, a scarf on her head and a smile on her face as she fussed over him. He seemed to still be at the age where any overt attention from his mother in public was a death sentence socially. But if he looked close enough, he could see he was loving every minute of it.

"What's the kid's name?"

"Bradley Bradshaw."

Mark stopped writing. He met eyes with Doug as they tried not to laugh.

"What cruel parents," was all Mark said.

"Can you call child protective services for a name?" Doug joked.

Carol, laughing behind her hand, swotted him with her hands until he got moving. Doug sighed and waved goodbye to them, the kid's mother looked up from fussing.

"Mrs Bradshaw I assume?" He said, clicking his pen and scanning the chart. "And you're Bradley."

"Yeah," he said. "Look, you really don’t need to do this, I'm fine!"

Mrs Bradshaw tutted at him and stroked his cheek. "You are not, now let the man do his job and just give you a once over?"

The kid tensed for a second before rolling his eyes and sighing. Doug took that as permission to start. He lent forward, about to see if the cut was any deeper than just a scrape, when Mrs Bradshaw jolted next to him.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

She waved her hand and nodded at him. He went back to the kid but saw his face pale. There was a look in his eye, one he was familiar with as a paediatrician, that didn’t sit right with him. 

"Mom-" he started.

"Chick, I'm fine." She said, a little out of breath as her hands gripped the sides of the bed. 

"Are you sure, Mrs Bradshaw?" Doug let go of the kid's head. "How about you sit down? I can check you both over?"

His words were a little too late. Her hands let go of the side of the bed. All the blood rushed from her face. Her eyes rolled back and closed as her body hit the floor with a thunk.

"Mom!" 

The kid jumped off the bed and was by her side in an instant. He knew where to check for her pulse, checked her breathing too like it was second nature. There might be a future in medicine for this kid.

Mark and Carol stepped in with a board. She wasn't breathing, her body was limp as they moved her onto it in one go and rushed to Trauma One. The kid stayed at their sides as Mark said his usual "gently in 3, 2, 1" as they shifted her onto the bed. 

The kid was still there as they intubated her. He was right there trying to hold her hand as they stuck an IV in her arm and took samples for her blood type. 

"Look, kid, you need to move out of the way while we work," Mark said, placing his stethoscope on her chest and moving it around as he tried to listen. 

"But she's my mom!"

"We know and you don’t have to leave but you can't stand this close," Carol said

She moved him out of the way but the kid just moved back. He wasn’t being defensive but still insisted on being by her side no matter who moved him out of the way.

"Look, if you don't move out of the way, we'll have to take you to the waiting area because we have to work!" Carol tried to get him to move but he just wouldn't.

Doug looked at Mark, who just nodded. He stepped back and took the kid by the arms as he tried to get him to move toward the exit of the trauma room. The kid resisted, holding onto his arm as he tried to push him back again and again.

"Come on, let's get that head looked at okay?"

"My head can wait! I need to be with my mom."

"She'll just be in the other room, okay?" He tried to push him toward the door again.

The kid shoved his arms off but luckily didn't force his way back in again.

"She needs me here." 

"She needs the doctors and the nurses to help her, now they can't do their jobs if you're getting in their way."

He was starting to get annoyed now. His short breaths were making his nostrils flare as he made himself an immovable object that would not leave.

“Everything’s already separating us so you can’t blame me for wanting to stay with her.”

Doug immediately thought of a custody battle. His dad wasn’t here. He hadn’t even mentioned him yet she was Mrs Bradshaw. He didn’t want to assume but baseball and sports things were usually dad things to do. Not that he’d know. 

“What?” Mark looked up from where he was preparing a needle. 

“She’s dying!”

The room stopped. Carol looked down at Mrs Bradshaw then up at the kid. She knew something about losing a parent, even if she didn’t get a chance to be there when she did. Mark stopped, his hands were resting on her chest, he was taking a Pleural Fluid Sample. They’d usually get a phlegm sample but that was kind of hard when your patient was unconscious and had an intubation tube in her mouth. He must suspect pneumonia.

“She’s got stage four terminal lung cancer, it spread to her liver and she just finished chemotherapy.”

For a moment, they didn’t say anything. Not for long, you couldn’t stop for long in cases like this. The kid gulped, his eyes shiny with tears. He didn’t look defensive anymore, he looked like a scared kid, like he’d lost his mum in a grocery store. 

“See you did need me,” he said with a sniff. “She’s not allergic to anything and her blood type is B positive.”

He sniffed again as a nurse came back with a sheet of paper. 

“Thank you, but we still need room to work.”

The kid sighed and stepped back a bit. “I guess my mom wouldn’t want me to still be hurt when I wake up.”

“That’s the spirit,” Doug said, he then turned to Mark as he left the room. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, just get Kerry for me.”

Doug nodded as he left the room. Luckily Kerry was walking his way anyway, he navigated her to Trauma One and pulled the kid along a free bed.

He’d gone from argumentative and resistant to still and quiet. There was something else about him, a hurt deeper than his mum dying. There was a desperation in how he was losing her that was different from other kids he'd seen lose their parents. He wanted to know why.

— — —

After Dr Ross has cleaned the scrape on his head and applied some skin closure strips to it, he let him get up. He hadn’t said anything while he worked. All he could focus on was his mum. She’d seemed fine, well, as fine as she had been for months. He'd told her not to come, that he'd get Mav to come but she kept on saying that she'd missed enough baseball games, she wasn't going to miss this one.

He was really starting to feel guilty now. If she'd have stayed at home then she would be fine. She wouldn't have collapsed in a strange hospital and he wouldn't have been forcibly ripped from her. He knew they were just doing their jobs but he barely liked going to school out of fear that she’d be dead when he got home, let alone let doctors push him away while she wasn’t breathing on a table.

"Can I see her now?" He asked.

Dr Ross looked up from the chart in his hands, "We'll see, shall we?"

He walked him to that room, Trauma One he thought they called it. He was partially glad that he was being led because he wouldn't know where to go otherwise. This place was like a Maze. What made Curtain one any different from curtains two or three?

"You done?" Dr Ross said to the balding one in glasses. 

Glasses guy shared a look with another woman with glasses, and a crutch, and the nurse with curly black hair and nodded. There were gloves and gowns strewn over the floor. A machine was beeping behind his mum and he almost collapsed when he saw her.

He didn’t like to see her like this. Her scarf had been pulled off so he could see her bald head. There was a tube in her arm, one in her mouth and a IV pumping something into her body. 

Glasses guy pulled off his gloves and held out a hand. "I'm Dr Greene, this is Dr Weaver-" he pointed to the woman with the crutch. "And this is Nurse Hathway."

The woman with the curly hair waved at him and smiled. "Sorry about earlier, thank you for telling us but if you'd just moved out the way-"

Bradley didn’t want to hear it. He just shrugged. "What's wrong with her?" He then added. "Okay, what else is wrong with her?"

"She's got pneumonia," Dr Greene said. "You said she just finished chemotherapy?"

He nodded. He'd started skipping school when she had her sessions at first. She'd gone nuts but he didn’t want her to face it alone. He was terrified at the idea so she had to be too, right?

"Well, her immune system would be weakened and with the travel here, a lot of other kids and parents, and then coming to Chicago, with a lot of other people, it could easily have let her to be infected." He said. "We've just done some tests and are waiting to see what kind she's got so we know how to treat it."

"What kind?" Bradley scratched his head. "There's more than one type of pneumonia?"

"There's five: Viral, caused by a viral infection, bacterial, caused by bacteria, walking, caused by a specific bacteria, fungal, caused by a fungus, and aspiration, caused by breathing in dust or toxic fumes." He gestured towards his mum. "When you saw me with the needle, I was trying to get a sample of the fluid in her lungs so we could see the type of infection, we took an X-Ray and it showed signs of pneumonia so now we're just waiting for confirmation to start treatment."

Dr Weaver, who'd kept quiet up until now, turned to face him. "Can I ask why your mom came? If she's just finished chemotherapy?"

He didn’t want to answer that question. His mum didn’t want anything to stop her, even though she was sick. She’d stormed into his school when she'd found out kids were picking on him for her being sick despite her still vomiting from her chemotherapy. She was wonder woman really.

"She used to come to every baseball game I played, then she got sick and couldn’t, so she wanted to see me play maybe for the last time." He rubbed the back of his neck. 

The atmosphere dampened a little. They were doctors, they dealt with death all the time. He was only realising now that just because they saw it, didn’t mean they were always okay with it.

"Is there anyone we can call? Your dad maybe?" She said.

He chuckled. Dr Ross' face sparked something familiar. He didn’t know exactly what.

"You guys really can work miracles,"

"What?" Dr Greene asked.

"You've got a phone that goes to heaven?"

Yet again, the mood dampened. Dr Ross' face fell, it looked like he'd got an answer to something but didn't like the response.

"Your dad's dead?" Nurse Hathway said.

"Yeah, he died when I was four, he was in the Navy, he was the backseater in a jet and broke his neck in a training accident. Died instantly."

He said it with practice. It was a straight up fact, he didn’t remember his dad too much and hated that he didn’t.  He had vague memories, soft and warm, something he held onto like a comfort blanket when he was a kid but nothing concrete.

"Was he a flight officer? A RIO?" Dr Greene said.

Bradley stood up straighter, paying more attention. "Yeah, why, do you know the Navy?"

"My dad's a Captain, he worked on aircraft carriers when I was a kid," he shrugged.

"Huh, Captain Greene? I'll have to ask my Uncle Mav if he's heard of him."

"You got a picture?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled out the faded, folded picture of his dad. It was his Naval Academy graduation photo. His mum gave it to him at his funeral and he'd never let it go since. 

"Here." 

He handed it to him, Nurse Hathaway peaked over his shoulder and tried not to laugh. Dr Ross joined in too and got the same look on his face, even Dr Weaver seemed shocked.

"Mark, I think you had a long lost brother somewhere," Dr Ross whispered.

"What?"

"He's a spitting image of you! Just give you a moustache or get rid of his hair and you'd be twins!" Nurse Hathaway joked. 

"Alright, alright, that's enough give the kid his photo back," Dr Greene, Mark, said. 

Nurse Hathaway gave it back with a smile. He folded it up and placed it comfortably in his pocket. 

"What was his name?" Dr Greene asked.

"Nick, but his callsign was Goose, so everyone called him that," 

He nodded, "And your mom's name? I just realised we don't actually know it."

"Carole."

"Yeah?" Nurse Hathaway said. 

"No, that's her name, Carole, with an -e on the end."

She tilted her head and looked at Dr Greene. "I guess today's full of coincidences, huh?"

---

I've been mentally planning crossovers for er and top gun since I started watching it. Anthony Edwards (goose) is Mark Greene in ER, and his dad was a Captain in the Navy on aircraft carriers so the top gun guys could've worked under him before he retired! Also Carole Bradshaw, Carol Hathaway, a lot of similarities. Also Rick Rossovich (slider) and Michael Ironside (Jester) are both in season 1 so early ER is just a top gun reunion honestly. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

[thepropertylovers]

9 Readers Share Tips for Teaching Your Child to Become a Better Reader

We’ve been trying to get our oldest into reading more. Right now, he doesn’t enjoy reading, but I think that’s mostly because he hasn’t really learned how to read well yet. He can read almost all words, but he’s struggling to comprehend and really get into the story, and a lot of that is a lack of interest.

We read to him almost daily, we have him read aloud to us, and we ask him what the story he’s reading is about. We’ll get there, I just know it.

In an effort to get him caught up, I asked you for tips on how to help your child become a better reader, and you gave us so much good advice that I wanted to share (thank you!). If you’re looking for some advice in this area, below are a few of your responses, and if you want to see the rest, you can click here.

“Get them books about what they are interested in. For example, if you plan a vacation, find books about what you can see and do there. If you are going to a movie, find books about the topic ahead of time. Get some books about the baby animals on the farm or sports they like.

Read aloud to them. Pick a book as a family and read a chapter every night (or day). 3. Let them see you read. They need to see that reading is a fun and pleasurable experience, not just a subject in school. Maybe the entire family puts aside electronics for 30-60 minutes every night and reads. Then, share something about what was read.

This is important and is often skipped, but TALK to them about what they are reading. Not only can you check their comprehension but you are sending the message that what they are reading is important to you.” -Sue

“Go to the public library together, let the kids pick out books, and read to them as a family. Ask questions about the stories. Another wonderful option is to listen to audio books.'“ -Patrick

“In my experience a series that draws their interest and will make them want to read. For me it was Harry Potter my aunt read and recorded the first 10 chapters for me to follow along then when I wanted to know what happened I had to start reading the book so I could find out.” -Andrew

“This sounds ridiculous but we taught [our child] how to read by putting subtitles on her favorite shows. She started associating the words with the pictures.” -Jill

“Phonics... if you/kids can "sound out" a word, they can pretty much read anything. "Hooked On Phonics" seems to be most widely used but there are 100's of books available here.” -Steve

“7 Keys to Comprehension How to Help Your Kids Read It and Get It by Susan Zimmerman and Chryselephantine Hutchins. You can get it on Amazon for $12. I used this book when I was a teacher and when I was literacy coach. I had amazing results using this book as a guide.” -David

“Make it a game, be consistent with time of day. Play the characters . Reread the same material. Switch between you reading to the child and the child reading to you. Age appropriate with pics to give clues. Dr Seuss is your friend.” -Steven

“Phonics! If your child cannot hear the parts of a word then they cannot read the parts of a word. You have to start with learning by sound before you ever look at the print word. Best skills for this: rhyming, give them 2 words that rhyme and one that doesn’t have them pick out the incorrect one. Syllables. Have them clap ( or my favorite hum) a word and tell you how many parts are in the word. Give them a word such as fan. Say if you take out the “f” sound in fan and replace it with the “p” sound what word do you have? These make great games for car rides, while your cooking dinner and they are helping, or really anytime.

Also, any and all Jack Hartman videos on YouTube. They are fun and really help with learning letter sounds/blends/ and he even has topics for other subjects!

All of these will really help learning the basics of the word and lead to a better more confident reader!” -Kate

“I’m an English teacher and Mom. This is what I do with my kids.

Get their Lexile level from their iReady report.

Then choose a book they are very interested in, that is just a little above their lexile (which is their independent reading level). Have them read to you, but when they get stuck on a difficult word, model how you work through or sound out that word (I often cover half of the word, to make it more approachable).

If they are in chapter books and get fatigued, finish the chapter for them.” -Samantha

[leiloveslit]

#123

What If I Knew You - Susan Renee Series: Anaheim Stars Hockey (#3) 329 pages January 17th, 2025

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, I slept with your daughter but I had no clue.

I swear, it was an innocent mistake! Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t so innocent…nor was it really a mistake, but I can explain!

You see, I didn’t plan on responding to the wrong-number text I received, but as a professional athlete, when someone calls me “Daddy” and I know that I’ve never fathered any children, I’m inclined to say something.

My response leads to a purely textual relationship with a total stranger. Her name is Corri. She’s friendly, kind, and has a great sense of humor. We can tell each other anything. In fact, when I reveal my biggest personal secret she doesn’t laugh at me or tell me to lose her number. Even when I accidentally ask her for intimacy lessons one night – stupid thumbs - she still doesn’t turn me away. She says yes!

Her body is fire and her kiss is electric. Our time together is my new favorite thing.

But imagine my shock when I see her in public, alongside our coach, who introduces her as his daughter, Corrigan Hicks.

Yep. That’s right. I slept with the coach’s daughter and I didn’t even know it. Make it make sense. And tell me what the heck I’m supposed to do now!