#duncan is bench shaped

[starlight-shades]

Called Home to the Depths of the Forest Ch 2

• summary – Ghost, retired from the military, finds a pair of orphaned werewolf pups. He calls the only werewolf he knows for help. Soap and Ghost become (not so) reluctant dads.

• rating – M

• wordcount – 3.3k

• warnings – references to Ghost's backstory, mentions of previous character deaths

• This is my first fanfic, so please let me know if there's anything I forgot to tag. Feedback is welcome and encouraged

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

There was some sort of feeling in his chest that Simon struggled to describe. He and Johnny sat on the bench he had on his porch as Ailsa and Duncan explored the area around his cabin. 

 After their bath, it became evident that they had to relieve themselves when Duncan pissed all over himself in the tub. After cleaning him off again, Simon and Johnny took them outside since they were in no state to be using his bathroom. 

They were just spending time in the sun now, getting some much needed fresh air.

 “Why won’t they shift back?” he asked, his voice low. 

 “Probably feel safer like this. They’ve got a way to defend themselves if they need it where they don’t in their human shape. I suspect it’s all instinct for wee ones like this after what they went through,” Johnny explained.

   Outwardly, they seemed fine enough, Ailsa chasing her brother in a friendly game of tag, weaving through the rocks and bushes around them, but Simon knew, perhaps better than most, that these sorts of things left lasting scars, even if no one else could see them. They still startled at every unexpected noise, no matter how small.

 “What are we going to do, Johnny?” He sounded lost even to his own ears.

 Johnny let out an exhausted breath. He still hadn’t had a chance to get some sleep. 

 “Fuck if I know, Si…” 

 “I had hoped you would,” Simon laughed mirthlessly. “That’s why I called you.”

 Johnny chuckled, dragging his hands down his face. “Unfortunately, I ken shit-all about kids. There’s not really a possibility for them in my pack, so I haven’t had to think about it.” 

 “The fuck does that mean?”

 “Oh, uh…” Johnny looked a bit sheepish. “It’s just the three of us, me, ’n Price, n’ Gaz. And none of us can get pregnant as far as I know so…”

 “No kids,” Simon finished for him. 

 “Yeah no kids.”

 Silence fell between them. It was uncomfortable in a way that had not happened in their relationship before. To be fair, Simon had mostly been a reluctant participant, but Johnny had somehow managed to keep any potential awkwardness at bay. Now that they were getting more personal than he had ever anticipated, Simon found himself lost for words. 

 “I mean, could you take them?”

 He shot Johnny a wildly incredulous look, coughing as he choked on his own spit.

 “Hear me out! Hear me out!” he started, hands up to placate Simon. “They’ve already gotten attached to you, and you seem to have done alright so far…”

 Dragging his gaze away from Johnny, Simon stared out at Ailsa and Duncan as he caught his breath. 

 They had moved on from their earlier romping and had begun investigating one of his dormant garden beds. Ailsa looked up at him and they just stared at each other for a moment. Her brother chose that moment to trot over to them with a stick in his mouth. He proceeded to stop in front of Simon, his eyes darting up to look at his face then moving away again. 

 A soft smile on his face, Simon gently reached out to take the stick, not quite sure what Duncan wanted from him. His smile faded to a perplexed look when Duncan backed away from him, taking the stick out of reach before he could grab it.

 “Si, look,” Johnny said gently, so he did. 

 On the very tip of the stick was a ladybird. A little red jewel crawling about without a care in the world. 

 “Oh…” he breathed. “That’s lovely, Duncan, thank you.” 

 Apparently, he just wanted to show them the bug as he turned and bounced his way back to his sister, tail wagging. 

 The two men lapsed back into silence as they watched the children together. Simon clasped his hands together.

 He could get used to this. It wasn’t anything like the life he had imagined for himself; Simon had quickly let go of any imaginings he had of being a father when he was still a child himself. But in this quiet moment, with the sun streaming through the trees, and a gentle breeze passing through, with the pups playing together in the dirt, and Johnny by his side, Simon found that he was content. 

 His life had been bloody and dangerous for so long. He had been broken beyond repair and put back together to become a new creature several times over. Could he do it again? This time not through violence, but through a more radical act. Could he choose to take in Ailsa and Duncan in all their innocence? His hands, stained in every way imaginable, would be the ones to guide them through life if he decided to do this. Was he even capable?

 Images from another life flashed through his mind. Laughter from another child, abruptly silenced. Warm smiles and family photos and the happy ending that didn’t last nearly long enough. The smell of copper, oppressive in the air. 

 Was he truly a different man now? Was it enough? 

 He looked at Johnny.

 Maybe he wasn’t enough on his own, but if he had a partner in all this…

 “Okay.”

 Johnny startled, looking back at Simon. 

 “What?”

 “I’ll take them… if you help me.” He had to chew through his ingrained reluctance to ask for assistance. 

 Johnny’s whole expression softened. “Of course I’ll help you Si. Anything you need.”

 “I—I need you to be in this with me, Johnny. I can’t do it by myself.”

 He absolutely melted at that, reaching out to place his hand over Simon’s, still clasped tightly together. 

 “Okay,” he whispered. “You and me.”

 His eyes were so impossibly blue. Simon could get lost in them if he let himself. He could feel the warmth from Johnny seeping into his hands, feeling like it was life creeping back into his soul. 

 The moment was broken by the loud call of a crow. It startled the pups who immediately bolted to Simon. 

 Johnny burst into laughter at the look on his face as he was suddenly swarmed by a combined 45 kilograms of werewolf pup moving at speed. 

 The rest of the day passed in a blur after he had finally voiced his decision to look after Ailsa and Duncan. He and Johnny discussed logistics while the pups wrestled in front of the fireplace that they had lit to chase away the chill of an early spring evening. They would all live together, in Simon’s little cabin, at least for a little while. Johnny would move in with them. At least as long as it took for the pups to get comfortable with them as their guardians and shift.

 “We can reevaluate then,” Johnny proclaimed with a grunt of affirmation from Simon. 

 They lapsed back into a comfortable silence as they stood in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the four of them. Simon bit back a smile as he watched Johnny with his own knife and cutting board that he had brought from the place he lived with the rest of his pack. The pups had needed an afternoon nap and he ran back for supplies. Now they had enough plates and silverware and glasses for all of them. Simon wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

 He had also brought some of his own things, and had fully dressed in his own clothes upon his return. Simon really didn’t want to examine his feelings about that.

 “I’ll need to go into town again tomorrow,” he announced, abruptly changing the subject. It had been weighing on him.

 “Okay. I’ll stay and watch them?” Johnny asked, a little unsure what Simon wanted from him. 

 He nodded. “I don’t have enough to keep up with four people. And they’ll need things of their own.”

 Johnny gave him that cocksure smile he had grown familiar with. “Of course.”

 Simon’s brow furrowed as he thought out loud. “And we should probably let them know what’s going on. I don’t want them to feel like I’m leaving them here and not coming back.”

 “Oh Si,” Johnny murmured. 

 There was far too much of something in the way he looked at him. 

 Turning abruptly, Simon turned the stove on. They lapsed into silence. Taking a chance, he stole a quick glance at Johnny, and the way he moved around the kitchen with ease made him realize that he had no need to feel awkward. Johnny had let it go. He wasn’t going to push him. Simon felt a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn’t noticed was there. 

 “What’s a wolf’s favorite time of the year?”

 Confused, he looked up at Johnny only to find him smirking like he had a secret.

 “What are you on about?”

 “The howl-o-days.” 

 Simon’s blank face was not enough to keep the shit-eating grin off Johnny’s face. 

 “Two goldfish are in a tank.”

 It was Johnny’s turn to look confused. Maybe it was his deadpan delivery, but it was not immediately obvious he was telling a joke of his own.

 Simon continued, unbothered. “One turns to the other and says ‘You know how to drive this thing?”

 Johnny’s grin returned.

 With a small smile of his own, Simon said “Little army humor.”

 “Very little.”

 They finished cooking in that comfortable silence, plating up four servings and setting two of them at the table while setting the other two on the floor where Ailsa and Duncan could reach. The sound of the ceramic hitting the hardwood was enough to have the two of them come running, without the need for Simon or Johnny to call them.

 Simon sat perched on a stool he had had tucked away somewhere while Johnny sat on his only chair at the table. They sat opposite one another, but where they could still see where the two pups were happily munching away at their supper. 

 “Ailsa, Duncan,” Simon started, making his voice as soft as he could. He set his fork down and made eye contact with the both of them. They stopped eating. “Tomorrow, I’m going into town for supplies. You will stay here with Johnny. He’ll be looking after you with me from now on, alright?”

 Duncan darted a look at Johnny and quickly dropped his gaze back to his plate, but not going back to his food. Ailsa stared at Simon and cocked her head.

 “Can you nod so we know you understand?”  Johnny asked gently.

 Slowly Ailsa nodded her head a few times. Duncan gave one that was almost imperceptible. 

 “Is that okay, Duncan? That Johnny will watch you tomorrow?” Simon asked him directly. Something was bothering the boy, and he wasn’t sure how to get to the root of it.

 The pup gave another nod, still not looking at either of them. 

 “Is something else worrying you?”

 A quick shake of his head. Simon glanced at Ailsa as she shifted towards her brother, nosing at his face. She licked at his muzzle and nudged him with her paw. 

 “It’s okay if you’re sad,” Johnny told them. “You’re safe here, and Simon and I will do our best to take care of you, but we know we can’t replace your mum and dad.”

 Simon slipped off his stool to sit on the floor with them, only hesitating a moment before gathering Duncan into his lap. The little wolf sunk into his arms, whining softly. He imagined he would be crying if he was in his human shape.

 “It’s going to be alright,” he murmured into his fur, stroking him softly on the back of his head.

 Ailsa started whining as well, pushing into Simon’s lap alongside her brother. He didn’t exactly have enough room and had to shift a bit before he wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them as solidly as he could. 

 Echoes of his own grief flashed through his mind before he pushed them away. He had dealt with it. It was time to dedicate his energy elsewhere. 

 Simon startled when he felt the heat of Johnny’s arms around him. Wordlessly, he gathered him into the embrace as well. They were together, the four of them, and they’d get through it… somehow…

 Dinner was a subdued event after that. Ailsa and Duncan weren’t up for much after the reminder of their parents’ deaths, eventually falling asleep in the combined warmth of their bodies. 

 Simon prepared to take the exhausted pups down the hall to his bedroom, accidentally waking them as he moved to get up from the floor. He wasn't sure how to hold both of them comfortably in his arms. Luckily, he was rescued.

 “Och little one,” Johnny cooed softly, scooping Ailsa into his arms.

 Rising with Duncan, he padded down the hallway on soft feet, Johnny behind him. It was far too domestic, and yet some fragile part of him fluttered. Could he grow used to this?

 Maybe he actually wanted to…

 He pushed into the bedroom, the bed still made with military precision. There was a single window with the curtains drawn, letting in the light from the moon. His rather spartan furnishings had never been an issue before when it was just him, but he found that they looked inadequate now. 

 With one hand, he pulled back the comforter and settled Duncan in the depression where his body would normally settle, leaving enough room for Johnny to slide in beside him, tucking Ailsa next to her brother. They almost immediately began crying again until Simon settled into the bed with them. It took him a minute before he began stroking down their backs, hoping that this was what they needed. 

 Their fur was thick between his fingers. Not as coarse as he expected. After their bath, he could see that Ailsa had the typically grey-wolf coloring. Her fur was a warm grey on her back, fading to a soft tan, almost white in some spots. She blinked up at him sleepily. Duncan was darker, the grey of his darker spots was almost charcoal. His underbelly was a sandy brown. As Simon stroked through his fur, some strands of red glinted subtly in the light.

 “I’ll, uh, be out in the living room…” Johnny whispered to him, with a thumb hooked over his shoulder. There was a soft, knowing smirk on his face that Simon decided not to interrogate in front of the little ones.

 On his way out, Johnny flicked off the big light, leaving only the moon to illuminate the room. A cry from Ailsa had Simon turning on his bedside lamp, casting a warm glow through the space.

 He was a different man than the one who used to be a child. Simon felt so far removed from his youth. It was like he had been born when he clawed his way from the depths like a Lazarus risen from his own Hell. How could he have any idea what a child would find comforting? 

 But this? Their pain? Their grief? This was something he understood. He wished they didn’t know what the blood of their parents looked like, but they did. And their parents were gone. It was just him and Johnny. 

 Flashes of the brittle fear he saw in their mother’s eyes haunted him. Ghost had been the reason for fear like that before. He was just as much a monster as the hunters he had killed. 

 Duncan nosed his way closer into Simon’s side, startling him from the dark turn of his thoughts. Big brown eyes framed by the most delicate-looking lashes gazed up at him. The boy gave him a soft yip, as if expecting something. 

 “I don’t understand…” he whispered, all his concerns about his capabilities as a guardian racing back to the forefront of his mind from the shallow spot they had sunk to.

 Duncan just flopped further on top of him, now laying half of his body across his lap as Simon leaned back against the headboard. Ailsa once again came to his rescue, nabbing the dog-eared copy of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” from the table at his bedside. With new, baby-tooth shaped indents, she plopped it into his lap and settled down, mirroring her brother on his other side. 

 Smiling softly, he rubbed her ears in a silent thanks.

   He began reading, starting at the beginning rather than the spot where he had left off. Simon had reread it enough times that he could probably recite certain passages from memory. 

 The low cadence of his narration was enough to begin to lull both the pups to sleep. 

 When he was sure that the woes of Victor Frankenstein and sent them off to the warm embrace of dreams, Simon dog-eared the page he was on and set to extracting himself. Before long, his movements had woken them up and set them crying again. 

 Johnny ducked his head into the door at the sound, but chuckled at the scene before him. “Don’t think you’ll be sleeping anywhere else, Si.”

 “Oh piss off,” he retorted before remembering the young ears. Shit. He was going to have to get better about that.

 “Sweet dreams,” he sang, leaving them once again. 

 When they saw he was settling into bed for the night as well, Duncan and Ailsa quickly went back to sleep. Exhausted, he joined them.

A howl woke him. It resonated deep in his bones, leaving him shaken and reaching for the gun he kept in his bedside drawer. 

 Ghost quickly cleared the room, finding no threat, but before he could put the pistol away, Johnny burst into the room. 

 “Put that away!” he snapped, moving to the crying pup in the bed. 

 Simon wiped a hand down his face, flicking on the safety and returning the firearm to it’s spot in the drawer. He turned to investigate the writhing mass of distressed puppies.

 Johnny was softly cooing at them, stroking Duncan whom he held in his lap.

 “Oh it’s alright, darling. You’re going to be okay.”

 When he realized he has Simon’s attention as well, he crawled out of Johnny’s lap and into his own, pushing past his sister who was whining softly as well. Already wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, his mind caught up. 

 “Did you have a nightmare, love?” he whispered, pulling away only enough to look him in the face. 

 He refused to put distance between them, chasing after him as he nodded. Simon held him close again, moving up and out of the bed to pace along the bed, gently bouncing him the way he used to do with Joseph.

Glancing back at the bed, he noticed Johnny had gotten under the covers, crawling in to curl around Ailsa as she watched them, her expression worried.

 “I’m going to go out into the living room. Get some sleep,” he murmured to them. As he stepped out of the bedroom, he heard Ailsa’s soft whine and Johnny’s quick reassurance. 

 Duncan still hadn’t settled, so he continued, walking back and forth along the length of the living room. 

 Evidence of Johnny’s presence was everywhere, from the blanket strewn along the couch where he had been sleeping, to the duffel bag in the corner, to the leather-bound sketchbook on the side table. 

 “It’s going to be alright,” Simon spoke quietly into the fur on Duncan’s head. His ears twitched, brushing the velvet-soft fur against his lips. 

 Another cry, quieter this time, was his response. 

 It took about another forty minutes before Duncan fell back asleep in Simon’s arms. They had eventually made it onto the sofa, but he carefully stood up, returning to the bedroom. His mind was utterly blank beyond the need to get back to sleep, so it didn’t faze him when he returned to find Ailsa and a shifted Johnny curled up together in his bed. Simon just pushed Johnny further over, and crawled in with Duncan. 

 His last thought before he fell into a dreamless sleep was that he ought to get a bigger bed. 

[ellasccdblog]

Exhibitions to visit:

The buildings notice me - Adam Art Gallery

Notes on each work:

1. The Round - John Harris & Steven Junil Park

This work is immediately entrancing from all angles, a circular curtain containing wooden half cylinder benches, and a structure comprised of a pile of led lights surrounded by a spinning metal fence, allowing light to pass through the gaps filling the whole room with rotating columns of light, connected to a wooden and plastic base, large needles scrape against the plastic producing a low mechanical sounding whirr.

2. Uku-Paka - Doreen Blumhardt & Students

A three dimensional mosaic sculpture representing a student’s journey.

3. To learn, by leaning into the wind - Megan Brady

Two adjacent staircase like wooden beams, supporting large sheets of hanging cloth with threads selectively removed to create a grid like pattern. One half of the cloth is light gray, the other is dark gray. There is a small rock placed on the end of each beam.

This work also has an additional section in another room of the gallery, in addition to a poem written by the artist.

4. Tūrangahakoa - Brook Konia

A wall sculpture comprised of twelve ascending chevrons made of wooden planks, with a zig zag gap left in the centre. The circular joinery is also visible along the centre.

5. Machine song: Gesture 2 - Jim Murphy

Fours pairs of metal rods sat above each other, slowly rising and falling at one end due to a rotating mechanism. On each pair, rests a silver ball, which rolls along the rods with the rise and fall, making a small clang when it hits the end. This piece feels like watching a tv screen saver and waiting for it to hit the corner.

6. Machine Song: Gesture 3 - Jim Murphy

A three by three grid of metal boxes, in the centre of each is a slowly rotating saw blade shaped disc, with a metal piece touching the top, striking the disc as it passes each blade, making a metallic dinging noise.

7. Architectural photographs - Duncan Winder

A series of black and white photographs displayed in six cases made of white wood and glass, each case containing photographs of a different theme/location in nz, with a photograph on the wall above each case. There is also a large photograph printed on the wall at the ends of the room, depicting an oddly shaped building and a tree with no leaves.

8. Te Whare Pora - Mataaho Collective

A large textile work stitched together from twenty black faux mink blankets into a zig zag like pattern, big enough to fill an entire room.

[saskiamcc]

Producer's script breakdown and locations meeting

15/02/2024

I wanted to fully break down the latest script that we had for myself as I knew there was a lot of locations and characters that I had to consider for this film.

Firstly, I went through all scenes and determined the locations that we need. It looked as if we needed a total of 7/8 locations:

Flat interior

Hardware store

Bench overlooking Edinburgh

Edinburgh streets x2/3

Bus

Next I went through and highlighted all the characters we needed. This came to 2 main characters:

Mr Balloonhead Man

Gary, the hardware store owner

And 5/6 extras:

the voice of Sarah, Mr Balloonhead Man's boss

the bams in the street x2

the person on the bike

the people glaring at him on the street x2

I had a zoom meeting with Duncan to discuss the locations and what we can do where.

Locations

Interior flat

Initially, for the interior location, we wanted to use Lili's flat since it had red walls and interesting shapes, however due to availability, we cannot use it. As an alternative, we have decided to use Duncan's flat, which is also beneficial because he has a living room which is quite close to the kitchen so set ups won't be too difficult. Additionally, Duncan knows the space really well and it helps that he can block and plan in his own time. We also have this space planned to use for the creative exercise, meaning that we can practice movement and lighting before the shoot.

Duncan and I discussed that while the space doesn't have the coloured walls we were looking for to make the space look visually interesting, it's great for accessibility and planning. We're hoping that we can make up for this through production design.

Hardware store

For the hardware store, we have already scouted a few around Edinburgh, including one in Marchmont, and one in Morningside. I particularly like the one in Morningside because it is a big space with walls filled with products. This is so important for the script as we want to make this space as intimidating as possible and as an added benefit, we have two potential unit bases less than 10 minutes away for actors to use as a green room.

Duncan and I have already been to the store in Marchmont, so in this meeting we discussed doing a recce to the Morningside shop in the next few days. There are some limitations here to consider however. The shop is on a main road, meaning that there could be quite a lot of foot traffic, however after last semester when I filmed in a corner shop, I am confident that this will not be a problem since I am experienced working around the general public.

Exterior bench

For the final scene on the bench, Duncan, Gus and I discussed using a particular bench on Queen's Drive, just on the base of Arthur's seat. I knew that this is quite an ambitious location as Arthur's seat is a key landmark in Edinburgh, so I emailed around to some lecturers to see if this would be a good idea. The general response I received was maybe to try somewhere else as getting this location may require a hefty fee, however I am really determined to get this location due to the beautiful view. On my call with Duncan, I did extensive research and found the website Historic Environment Scotland, which provided me with information about filming at historical sites.

I was pleased to see that for student films, the fees don't apply, so I applied for a permission on the website, detailing the requirements for the shoot, the crew and cast numbers. Duncan and I agreed that we could do this scene with a skeleton crew if needed. After our call, Duncan walked over to the bench since he lives quite close, to scout out if it was appropriate to film on and sent me the coordinates and any possible issues. The only possible issues that he found was the sound may be an issue due to the fact it is quite a busy road. However he did go at around 6pm and after doing some research, I found that Historic Environment Scotland actually close the road from 08:15 to 15:45, which is perfect for us.

Run and Gun locations

After extensive discussion about the street scenes, we decided that we were going to do some run and gun filming to capture the stress that Balloonhead Man feels in the outside world. We agreed that there were quite a few nice quiet streets around Duncan's flat just off the Royal Mile, which could work quite nicely, as it is a mix of new and old buildings. This means that we could film in locations quite close together while making it seem like its all around the city. We agreed that Duncan was going to decide which places he wanted to film in for each shot and get back to me so we could scout them out.

Casting choices

Mr Balloonhead Man

Our next discussion in this meeting was who we were going to cast. For the body of Mr Balloonhead Man, I messaged an actor on the MA acting course who some of our course mates have worked with before. Lev has done puppeteering in the fringe before, and I have been told that she is incredibly skilled in movement acting, so I knew that she was someone I wanted to consider. She agreed to taking the role almost immediately, so I went ahead and started organising a meeting with her and Duncan so they could discuss the project further.

For the voice, I already had someone in mind since I have worked with them before, however Duncan and I also thought it would be a good idea to send out casting calls and broaden our options. I contacted David Clarkson, who I worked with on A Tight Spot last semester and he immediately showed interest, so I was pretty certain that we were going to cast him, as I know that he is brilliant at conveying anxiety through his voice.

Having two different actors playing different parts of one character can be extremely difficult, but I am confident that this will work. I know that Lev and David have worked together before, which means that they know eachothers' style of acting well and I think this could be really helpful in getting the mannerisms of Mr Balloonhead Man just right.

Gary

For Gary, we needed an older actor, so I wrote up casting calls to send to India to format them onto the template design. The key information we needed to put across is:

Male presenting actor

Any ethnicity

Aged 45-65

Must be available 14th-17th March

I asked Fionntán and Duncan to send me some character inspiration for Gary and they sent me three options:

Jackie Elliot (Billy Elliot)

Begbie (Trainspotting 2)

Malcom Tucker (The Thick of It)

Sarah (the boss)

For Sarah, we needed a voice actor who was available after the shoot. I wrote up some information to put on a casting call to send out:

Any ethnicity

Aged 25-40

Must be avaliable in late March/April for voice recording (dates TBC)

Duncan and I felt so much more confident about the shoot after this meeting, it is really starting to come together. My next tasks are sending out the casting calls, securing locations and figuring out which days we should shoot which locations.

[antiquecritique]

Duncan motioned with a very polite gesture of his hand when the napkin was offered back to him, refusing it and allowing Min-Ji to keep it. “A painting.” Duncan revealed finally, turning back to the stairs that lead up to the last level of the house - the attic. “Of a man whose pursuit of eternal beauty had cost him his soul.” As he spoke, he ascended the stairs, opening the widened trap door to let himself pass through. He did give Min-Ji a glance and extended a hand for her to hold onto, should the young fae woman need any help going up. The stairs were pretty stable and converted to an actual staircase instead of the usual pull down stairs. But the faerie had her wings out which might influence her balance. Duncan had always been a gentleman enough to mind these details, even for a stranger, and she’d given him no reason so far to become intentionally neglectful of this. 

Once up, should Min-Ji choose to go through with it with or without Duncan’s help, she’d find herself in a much more spacious than otherwise suspected place under the house’s roof, illuminated by a large round skylight that appeared perfectly plain from the outside but on the inside was painted into a colorful but faded vitrage. Had the colors been more vibrant, they would likely paint the whole space in luminous patterns. The loft was very obviously converted into an artist’s studio and storage, most items were stacked crates and boxes but there was also few pieces of furniture covered in flowing white cloth. Some were quite oddly shaped under their eerie veils of fabric, indicating that the item underneath was something extraordinary. The rest was scattered art supplies, work benches, professional craft tools and many easels either with a finished piece drying on it or work in progress. To explore every nook and cranny of the space would likely take half a day. 

|| Min-Ji & Duncan ||

[xtruss]

— The Economist

America Is Becoming Less Racist But More Divided By Racism

How it confronts ethnic divisions matters to multiracial democracies everywhere

Editor’s note: Twelve months on from the killing of George Floyd, The Economist is publishing a series of articles, films, podcasts, data visualisations and guest contributions on the theme of race in America. We begin our coverage with the publication of a special report by our US editor.

When derek chauvin knelt on George Floyd’s neck at the corner of 38th and Chicago on a warm, cloudy night in Minneapolis a year ago, there was little unusual about the scene. Not for Mr Floyd, who had been arrested before. Not for Mr Chauvin, who had been disciplined twice for misconduct and had 17 complaints against him. And not for America, where police kill over 1,000 people a year—three-quarters of them, unlike Mr Floyd, armed. Sorted by race, more whites die like this than any other group. But black Americans (13% of the population) are over twice as likely to be killed by the police. In this, as in many other ways, African-American men who are poor are at the bottom of the heap. To find someone else’s knee on their throat is, sadly, unsurprising.

The reaction to this murder was a shock, though. Mr Floyd’s death, which was filmed by a bystander, sparked the biggest civil-rights protests in America’s history. Some 20m Americans took part, flouting covid-19 restrictions. There were 7,750 protests in over 2,440 places, in every state. Beyond America, Black Lives Matter protests were staged in Brazil, France, Japan and New Zealand, among others. Companies around the world have been busily examining whether, through their hiring, buying and selling, they play a part in perpetuating racism. A year on, footballers in England’s Premier League, who play in a country where just 3% of the population is black, still take a knee before games, a gesture that is broadcast to 188 countries. Thus America’s struggle to defeat racism shapes other societies too.

The image of a white-skinned man, wearing a uniform that reads “To Protect With Courage, To Serve With Compassion”, kneeling on the neck of a dark-skinned man evokes the worst of America’s past so strongly that there seems little doubt what killed Mr Floyd. Police violence was part of it, as was poverty. But the real culprit was racism. The jury that on April 21st, after a short deliberation, convicted Mr Chauvin of murder seemed to agree.

For many African-Americans, watching a constant stream of death videos, combined with the country’s still racialised politics, feels like “drowning in the news”, according to Eddie Glaude of Princeton University. “I never really had faith in the United States in the strongest sense of the word,” he writes in “Begin Again”, a book about James Baldwin published after the protests. “I hoped that one day white people here would finally leave behind the belief that they mattered more. But what do you do when this glimmer of hope fades, and you are left with the belief that white people will never change—that the country, no matter what we do, will remain basically the same?”

Drowning in the news makes it easy to miss the profound improvements in racial attitudes in America that have taken place just in the past generation, a change reflected in the scale of outrage about Mr Floyd’s murder (and the rare conviction of a police officer for it). When Bill Clinton became president, a majority of Americans disapproved of interracial marriages. Cynthia Duncan, a sociologist who worked in the Mississippi Delta during the 1990s, observed that “when blacks describe a white who does not seem racist, they say, ‘she treated me like a person’, repeating the phrase to emphasise how rare and remarkable the encounter had been.” And this was 30 years after the passage of the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act.

Now another 30 years have passed, 90% of Americans approve of mixed-race marriage. Measuring changes in racial attitudes is fraught, because as people become more conscious that prejudices they hold are no longer widely accepted, they may become more reluctant to admit them. Yet changes in behaviour suggest the shift is real, not just what people believe they should say to pollsters. More than 10% of babies born in America are now mixed-race. Research drawing on data from dating apps suggests that one in three couples who meet online are too. This is part of a demographic transformation. Since 2019, white, non-Hispanic children have been in a minority in America.

African-Americans, whose opinion on the matter ought to count, think there is less racial discrimination than there was. In 1985 three-quarters of African-Americans thought that the fact that whites had better jobs, better wages and better houses was mainly down to discrimination. By 2012, less than half thought this was the case (a share that rose after Donald Trump was elected). And yet among the general population, racism is rated a more important issue in Gallup’s polling than health care, poverty, crime, the environment or national security.

How can the country have become both less racist and yet more worried that the prevalence of racism is growing? And if racism is indeed declining, why do so many African-Americans still seem to be so stuck?

Racism and awareness of racism are related but distinct. Sometimes they move in opposite directions. In the old South, where people were denied the right to vote for a century after the abolition of slavery because of the colour of their skin, it was a cliché for whites to claim not only that they were not racist but also that they understood African-Americans better than did those progressives in northern cities. Similarly, many whites who may have been unaware of racism when it was far more prevalent are more conscious of it now, as the protests after Mr Floyd’s murder showed.

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Since Barack Obama’s election in 2008, left-leaning white Americans have undergone what Matt Yglesias, a journalist, dubbed a Great Awokening on race. R.T. Rybak, a former mayor of Minneapolis, calls it “reality therapy”. The Trump-powered birther movement, which asserted that the country’s first black president was a foreigner, the well-publicised killings by police of Freddie Gray in Baltimore and Eric Garner in New York, a mass-shooting at a black church in South Carolina: all these made people realise that racism was more widespread than they had thought. And then Mr Trump was elected president.

The share of whites who thought black Americans had worse jobs, lower incomes and crummier houses because of discrimination shot up. The share of whites who thought government should give no special treatment to black Americans shrank by a third in six years. In the year Mr Obama was elected, half of white Americans thought racial differences in incomes and wealth were caused mainly by lack of will. By 2018 that share had fallen by 15 points. Now black respondents are slightly more likely to blame African-Americans for their circumstances than whites are.

Understanding race and racism in American means grasping a set of contradictions. Despair at the slowness of improvement can be a sign of progress. Racial attitudes have changed, but black and white Americans are as segregated as they were in the era of James Brown and John Denver. As a true multiracial democracy, America has existed for less than the span of a lifetime. It is home to the biggest black middle class in the world, but also to a large black underclass that has made little economic progress since the 1960s. Writing about race is normally shorthand for writing about African-Americans, Hispanics or Asians. But as they are becoming more aware, whites are a race too.

In a multiracial democracy, emphasising race can be a recipe for zero-sum competition for public resources. Partly for this reason, the French government largely bans collection of data on race. But ducking the issue can mean that racial inequality persists. In 1967, another time of despair at racist violence, James Baldwin wrote that he wanted black Americans “to do something unprecedented: to create ourselves without finding it necessary to create an enemy.” America’s task now is to make multiracial politics work without setting groups against each other. No other big, rich democracy is as multiracial, but plenty will be one day. So America is once again a testing-ground for a great democratic experiment. For it to work, the first thing to understand is why it was Mr Chauvin’s knee that was on Mr Floyd’s throat, and not the other way around.■

Reparations Alone Will Not Heal America’s Racial Divides

And practical questions over how they would work remain formidable

Editor’s note: Twelve months on from the killing of George Floyd, The Economist is publishing a series of articles, films, podcasts, data visualisations and guest contributions on the theme of race in America. Among them is a piece offering a different view on reparations.

Drive south-east from Minneapolis for an hour and you come to the Prairie Island Indian reservation, home to one of Minnesota’s 11 federally recognised Native American tribes. The federal government built a dam in the 1930s, flooding the place. In the 1970s it allowed the construction of a nuclear-power plant. Despite these blots, on a rainy Wednesday afternoon Prairie Island is full of visitors. People have come from Minnesota and Wisconsin to play the slot machines and blackjack and poker tables at the Treasure Island casino, operated by the tribe.

The Native American story runs through Minnesota. The largest mass-execution in American history took place at Mankato, south-west of Minneapolis, when 38 Dakota tribesmen were hanged in 1862. Today a small memorial garden in Mankato has a bench inscribed “forgive everyone everything”. Native Americans also receive reparations. In most states they take the form of land, though it is often useless for farming or property development. But federally recognised tribes are not subject to state laws against casino gambling. So Native Americans with reservations near cities have a near monopoly over a lucrative industry. Yet gambling has been only a partial success. Native Americans still have lower life expectancy and educational attainment than any other group.

The federal government has made some attempts similarly to recompense African-Americans, but these efforts were either ineffective or withdrawn after meeting too much opposition. The unpopular attempt to redistribute land in the South after the abolition of slavery was soon suspended. From the 1960s, various schemes were tried to favour minority-owned businesses in government contracting. They have not made much difference. For private businesses, reserving jobs for people of one race is illegal. Affirmative action, which gives African-Americans favourable treatment in university admissions and federal contracting, is being litigated away, mainly because it tends to discriminate against Asian-Americans.

Yet the idea of paying reparations for slavery has moved from the fringe since 1989, when John Conyers, a Michigan congressman, first introduced a reparations bill in Congress. Mr Conyers persisted in every Congress until he retired. It was not until Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote an article in the Atlantic in 2014 that the idea became more mainstream among Democrats. In the party’s 2020 primary the leading contenders all supported reparations. Since he moved into the White House, Joe Biden has announced his support for studying the issue, which looks like a case of a politician signalling support for an idea without actually having to do anything to advance it.

Even if a reparations bill passed the House, which is unlikely, it would have no chance in the Senate. The idea, which is popular among upscale Democrats, has the support of only half of African-Americans. Practical questions, such as who should receive any payment and who should be obliged to contribute, remain formidable. The political backlash against a party that made a determined push for reparations from the federal government would be fierce. This has not stopped some towns and institutions from trying. Asheville in North Carolina, Evanston in Illinois and Georgetown University have all taken steps in this direction by acknowledging a moral responsibility for slavery and segregation.

Initiatives like this may be worthy, but they will not deal with disparities in income, wealth, education and housing. The reparations movement is driven by arguments about justice, but the economic arguments for it are weak. The bulk of the black-white wealth gap is accounted for not because white Americans have inherited far more than black Americans. It is caused by African-Americans having lower incomes which, compounded over time, lead to less wealth. A one-off reparations payment would not fix that.

Race in America

A year ago George Floyd’s murder gave rise to a movement to end racial disparities. How can that be done?

Editor’s note: Twelve months on from the killing of George Floyd, The Economist is publishing a series of articles, films, podcasts, data visualisations and guest contributions on the theme of race in America. To see them visit our hub.

When george floyd was killed by Derek Chauvin a year ago, the sense of injustice was tinged with despair. Why, many Americans asked, is this still happening in our country? Why, many foreigners asked, does the story of race in America never seem to change? Except this time was different. Mr Floyd’s death prompted the biggest civil-rights protests in American history. Mr Chauvin, unusually, was convicted of murder. And institutions in America and beyond looked at themselves in a different light. Something needed to change. But what exactly?

The Biden administration and the Democratic Party have made reducing racial disparities an organising principle of government. That sounds straightforward, but it is not. Despite the gains in legal and political rights made by African-Americans since the civil-rights era, measures of relative poverty and black-white segregation have barely moved for half a century. Tackling enduring injustices requires clear thinking about their causes.

Most racial disparities come about when three things collide: secular economic trends, the aftershocks of slavery and segregation and present-day bigotry and racism. The first two are usually the biggest causes of bad outcomes for African-Americans, but the third—racism today—gets most of the attention.

This is backwards. Covid-19 has killed African-Americans at higher rates than whites or Asian-Americans. The causes are still unclear, but the blame is unlikely to lie with racist doctors, nurses and insurers. Instead, for reasons that include past racism and present-day poverty, African-Americans are more likely to suffer from pre-existing conditions and to have to work outside the safety of their homes, and less likely to have health insurance.

Racism remains a curse in America, though it is less widespread than 30 years ago, let alone in the civil-rights era. But, since it is lodged in bigoted minds, rooting it out is largely beyond the power of any government. Poverty and the structural legacy of racism in institutions are different. Take the Biden administration’s new child tax credit, which looks likely to reduce child poverty by 40%. Because African-Americans are disproportionately poor, this race-neutral policy should halve the number of poor black children.

Given that the problem is racial disparities, why not target help directly at African-Americans instead? One reason is practical. People are more likely to support measures that they themselves might benefit from. The child tax credit enjoys broad backing. Were it designed to benefit only one group, support for it would plummet. Any administration that targeted policies on African-Americans alone—using, say, reparations and more affirmative action—would soon be out of power.

By contrast, policies that help all poor Americans are popular and effective. Since the Affordable Care Act in 2010, 39 states have expanded the availability of Medicaid, the health-insurance programme for low-income Americans. As a result, the share of uninsured African-Americans has fallen by 40% over a decade. A government that wanted to spend more could provide baby bonds for poor Americans and vouchers to move out of areas of concentrated poverty. A government less inclined to spend could relax zoning rules, making it easier to build apartments near good schools. None of these policies is race-based, but all of them would greatly reduce the disparity of outcomes.

These broad-based policies are not just practical, but moral too. Racial injustice is particularly searing in America because of the horrors of slavery, the violence of Reconstruction and the institutionalised racism of Jim Crow. African-Americans have had legal rights to vote, to marry whom they want and to live where they choose for just the span of a single lifetime.

Yet not all African-Americans need help. Despite the disadvantages they face, the country’s large, thriving black middle class is often overlooked in talk of race in America. Moreover, people who are not black also face prejudice and inherited disadvantages. How much better if government policy lessens Latino, Native American, Asian and white poverty, too. To deny aid to people in the name of racial justice would be perverse.

What is true of poverty is also true of police reform. Here there have been notable advances in the past year, as cities and states have trimmed “qualified immunity”, a broad defence available to police officers who kill civilians. Police killings of unarmed young men are often presented as overwhelmingly a racial issue, because police officers kill a disproportionate number of African-Americans. Even before Mr Floyd’s murder, the killings of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Freddie Gray in Baltimore, Eric Garner in New York and Breonna Taylor in Louisville rightly brought attention to this fact.

Yet police officers kill Americans of all races more often than they should. Separating the many police shootings that are justified from those that should never have happened ought to be a national priority. This would be easier if policing was understood as a civil-rights issue affecting all Americans.

A race-neutral approach will not always work. To create more diverse organisations, companies, all too often run by white people, need to pay more attention to race in hiring. Unless elite universities take positive steps, their intake will not be representative of the country. But where practical, a race-neutral approach to opening up opportunities is more likely to help America—and especially its African-American citizens.

One year on from a terrible injustice, the United States is confronting not just its past but its future, too. In the next 50 years it will be the first big, rich country where no single racial group, ethnicity or religious denomination will be in the majority. The more politicians exploit the tribal fears of some voters, the more turbulent this transition will be. The Republican Party’s enthusiasm for rewriting voting rules in states such as Arizona and Georgia shows how democracy could suffer.

Yet America also has the chance to set an example to other countries. A smooth transition is more likely if politics is not set up as a fight for resources between groups that people are born into and cannot leave. Instead, the country can make common cause to shrink enduring racial disparities while helping all Americans leave injustices behind. That must be the aim. ■

[leahdavidsonphoto]

10 Photographer Research

Tom Manley 

Tom Manley is a Glasgow and Edinburgh based fine art architectural photographer who has been shooting architectural firms for over ten years. Tom’s work focuses on the structure, built environment, social landscape and cultural fabric of cities. 

This image created my Tom Manley inspires me because of its sense of photographic visual elements. It has been shot at a low angle looking up the building, this has great impact on the lines. The line which cuts down the middle creates a sort of divide between the image. The shapes and different textures of the building have been shown very well as you can see on the right side. I like how the sky is quite bright, this brings the eye straight to the building and makes it pop. The lighting is quite subtle in this shot, to me it seems the light is coming from somewhere on the left side of the image. 

https://tommanleyphotography.com

Lesley MacGregor

Lesley MacGregor is a Landscape and Architecture Photographer from Canada. Her interest in photography stated to grow in the early 2000’s. She has been taking photographs professionally for 7 years. 

This image inspires me because of its simplicity and also its sophistication. I really like the pale colours in this image, everything looks so clean as if its not even a real structure somewhere. This building Lesley chose to shoot is very modern and has great patterns across it. What I like the most about this image is the lighting on the small rectangles. The light seems to be strong at the top and the further down it goes the darker the colour becomes. This is really nice to look at because it’s so smooth. The head which is on the stairs shows a sense of scale of how large the structure actually is.

https://www.lesleymacgregor.com

Ben Harvey 

Ben Harvey is a qualified architect and photographer who specialises in architectural and landscape photography. Ben also has Infrared, Macro and Abstract work on his website. 

This image inspires me the most out of all, because I am shooting the Riverside Museum for my own structure. This image has really nice tones which show off not only the structure itself but the environment that surrounds it. There are a variety of different lines in this image, I like how there is a point in the middle foreground which leads the eye to the building. The concrete benches which are in front of the huge glass windows helps create a sense of scale in the image. It seems to me that a long exposure has even used here, as the sky is blurred and there is motion around the tree on the left. This creates a different mood to the photo. This is the back of the building which faces South, The light is South and has created nice lighting on the zig-zag roof.

http://www.benharveyphotography.co.uk

Arnaud Bertrande 

Arnaud Bertrande is a self taught photographer who's passion for photography started in 2007.

This image is of the same structure that Lesley MacGregor used in her image above. This is a completely different shot of the same structure and that's why it inspires me. I had to take a second look before actually realising its the same building because both images are so different to each other. This image has been shot at sunset, which creates really nice colours in the sky which reflects onto the water. The warm sky also compliments the artificial lighting across the building. I like how this is a wide shot, showing the entire building front and what surrounds it. 

https://www.abertrande.com

Tim Cornbill

Tim Cornbill is a part time photographer and qualified architect based in Birmingham. Tim likes to explore new cities, wander through streets and discovery its architecture through photography. Tim has over a decade of experience in the architecture industry alongside work as a freelance photographer. He has worked with a wide range of high profile clients, including Canon, LG and the BBC.

This building, commonly known as “The Washing Machine” is in Berlin. I find this image inspiring because of its colours and use of human interaction. The pedestrians coming by add to this image by showing scale in the structure. I like how the colours are all similar, even the clothing worn by the humans. The lighting in this image is quite subtle, you can see there is a slight change in colour at the top of the circle. 

https://timcornbillphotography.com

McAteer Photo

McAteer Photo are a Glasgow based company that creates high-end commercial and advertising photos as well as film, time-lapse and aerial drone images. 

This interior shot of the Sir Duncan Rice Library in Aberdeen inspires me because of the angle it was shot at. The photographer has shot from above, looking below which has been intentional to show the spiralling banister that goes down. This leads the eye right down to the ground floor. This looks like it was taken with natural light on a particularly nice, bright day. This helps with the colours and makes them pop more. 

https://mcateerphoto.com

Tekla Evelina Severin 

Swedish photographer and set designer Tekla Evelina originally trained as an interior architect but changed career after joining Instagram in 2012, where she has been demonstrating her eye for beautifully composed shots of vibrant exteriors and interiors. 

I find this image inspiring due to its simplicity. The solid colours in this image are very vibrant and go well with each other, I find this aesthetically pleasing. This was shot on a nice sunny day, this created nice strong shadows across the structure. A lot of images made by Tekla Evelina Severin are very nice and I recommend people check out her work if they like simplistic images with bold colours. 

http://www.teklaevelinaseverin.com

Andres Gallardo 

Self-taught photographer, Andres Gallardo has fallen in love with photography since 2012 and has become a well-known name in the architectural photography profession since. He has also worked with many famous architects.

This image reminds me of the work that Tekla Evelina Severin makes, with the bold colours and solid skies. This image has been shot from underneath the structure, this shows the different angles for each window. This image also looks like it was shot on a very sunny day, making the colours pop out. I like the colour of the sky and how it matches with the yellow building. 

https://andresgallardo.photography/home

Roland Halbe 

Roland Halbe studied photography at IED in Cagliari, and he has been a freelance architectural photographer since 1988. He was the cofounder of Artur Images library in 1995. His work has been shown internationally in group exhibitions at prominent galleries in Germany and Spain.

This image is inspiring to me because of how aesthetically pleasing it is to look at. Roland Halbe has shot this during Autumn, which seems to have worked out great as the bright orange leaves really make this image strong even when the sky looks overcast. It looks like this image was taken from eye level. This was a good idea because it shows how low to the ground the structure is. 

https://rolandhalbe.eu

Paul Eis 

Paul Eis is an architectural photographer, he gathers images of buildings from mainly Berlin, Hamburg and some other cities, which are cut of their original context and reworked with bright colours.

I like how this image was shot at the corner of the structure. This shows how the windows and balconies wrap around this modern building. The bright colours make this image stand out and the colour of the sky compliments the white on the building. 

https://www.paul-eis.com

[kaetastic]

ISLAND BOYS

pairing: Duncan Shepherd X Jim Mason X Michael Langdon X Reader

summary: flowers, fishes, boats.

warning: soft kisses, fluff :D

word count: 1.6k+

note: i took all those three words from a children’s books for learning colors and ended up getting those lol, i wanted something with the foursome yay ❤️

“Wooohooo!” An echo of a voice rung through her ears, her nose scrunched at the disturbance. Rays of light caress her cheeks with soft brushing, breezes of the wind welcomed itself- taking the open door that stood ajar as a sign of a free entrance. It whispers and sings into her ear, hairs bulged up. She shivered. Tugging the thin blanket closer to her, snuggling her face into the sheer fabric in hopes of finding warmth. The enticing fragrance of her lovers lingered on the blanket. She let out a whine as the persistent light bugged her slumber, prodding her eyelids with pinches.

Her feet shuffled to get to a warmer side to proceed with her sleep, but it was one of those things- once you wake up, you can’t go back to sleep. She groaned in her head, rolling her eyes at the out of sync co-operation of her body. Rolling to her back, the pain that stabbed her was agonizing. Memories of last night playing in her head like a movie. The corners of her lips quirked up. The birch wooden ceiling stared down at her, the canopy of the bed draped over to cover the sides. She lolled her head to take a quick glimpse at the time. A smile playing on her lips when the small clock that rested on the end table ticked, the other items around it scattered messily.

The obvious lavish watch twinkled towards her eyes, the diamonds that were embedded into the expensive watch gleamed with content; belonging to Duncan. She remembered the day he bought it. And it wasn’t good. His reason for purchasing it was- “Because it was cheap!” And how could she forget her callback that she would think about every so often. “Couple of hundred thousand dollars is cheap?!”

And besides it was a glass jar of uniquely shaped seashells, a quick hobby Jim found himself indulging in. Resting behind all of them was Michael’s little book he would carry everywhere and anywhere, it would be an understatement to say it was important- the right word would be, an essential. She would always see him jotting down notes and scribbling on the pages; all she knew was it was for his company. 

She pushed her body with all the energy she had in her, a small sigh leaving her lips at the thought of having to stand up. Her arms stretched to the air, she twisted her shoulder- heaving another heavy sigh as she plopped her hand, eyes batting to adjust to the beaming light, “MICHAEL LOOK AT THIS!” She snapped her head to the direction of the voice. She smiled at the sound of one of her lover.

Glancing down, the thin blanket puddled around her, displaying her bare chest, the stamps and smearing of purple marks of love painted on her skin, it created a pathway as it all interlocked with one another. She remembered the pleasure of waves from the night before, tracing her finger over the hickies. Each lover has their own techniques. The most prominent ones were made by Michael. He would always be the one to mark her, loving the way it would display on her skin.

Tugging on the blanket, she pulled it with ease. She wrapped it around her body  The wooden floors creaked as she applies pressure, the light movements causing an echo of sound; the dragging of muffled fabric trailed on the floor. 

Halting in her walk, her eyes glazed over the breathtaking view; gradients of yellows and oranges printed onto the sky, tall-standing yet crooked trees added colour to the sandy island. 

She hugged herself tighter, the breezy wind blowing onto her as it whispers secrets into her ears as it overlaps melodies with the brushing of leaves and crashing of the soft waves. The air smells like salty tears, filling the ocean. A genuine and content grin running from one ear to the other as she watched the scene. A sight she would always cherish and hold close to her heart. Duncan who seemed to be originally submerged in water was dripping wet, in his hands- he held a couple of fish on a string. The swimming shorts were exotic, orange with blue rope-like string to hold it in place. Michael sat on the bench, humming as he shakes his legs in concentration; he twists and curls flowers, his tongue poking out in concentration. He already succeeded in making a flower crown, he wishes to make one for each of his lovers. The only one who seemed to be louder than the ocean was Jim. His smooth and fluent movements on the boat definitely impressed her, he was a quick learner.

Jim tilted the boat, paddling as he screamed at the top of his lungs, happy as water splashes onto his face. His grin was the replica of a kid getting his present for Christmas. Her fingers curled, leaning her head to rest on the doorframe as she watches her lovers.

Duncan huffed, throwing the fishes on the wooden table with a splat, sweat dripped from his forehead- Michael’s head snapped up with furrowed eyebrows, before looking back down to glance at the dead fish, Michael poked it, frowning.  He nudged the fish away, its mouth nearly touching his perfectly made crowns. Duncan shrugged his shoulders, craning his head to face the settling sun- who painted the sky with smears of hues of orange and yellows; he raised his arm, stretching it at the strains. Duncan’s eyes landed on the figure that stood at the front door.

Michael noted the charming grin, he followed the line of his view, another smile beaming to Y/N as they spotted their lover. The sight of her in their blankets caused an explosion of an irresistible feeling. Pacing towards her, Duncan grabbed her cheeks in his hands, “Good morning sleepyhead.” He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, his eyes shut tight as he lets the moment linger before pulling away to stare at her; admiring her eye that he loved so much.

“I don’t think its morning anymore.” He chuckled at her true statement, he shook his head as he pulled her into a tight hug. Inhaling deeply, he shoved his head in the crook of her neck, taking in the scent that embedded the blanket.

“Come.” Holding the blanket with one arm, Duncan pulled her as their fingers interlaced. Walking down a handful of stairs, Y/N’s feet were comforted by the warm sand. Applying littlest of pressure caused her feet to sink in, before stopping in front of Michael.

“Last night tired you out?” Michael smirked as she took a seat on the bench, watching him as he twirled the flowers; trying her best to ignore the smell of the fish.

She tilted her head in disbelief, not knowing if the question was rhetorical or sarcastic, “It was eight rounds.” The two men let out a boisterous laugh. Jim jumped out of the boat as soon as it rested on the land, the strings of laughter rang through his ears, catching his attention.

“Hey babes.” Y/N’s head snapped to face the owner of the voice.

“Jimmy!” Realizing he was heading her way, arms wide open for a hug, the smirk he wore gave away his plans he thought was hidden. Beads of water cascading down his hair that flopped to one side dripped beads of water. “Oh no you don’t,”

A shriek left her lips as the cold freezing water sip through the thin blanket, the icy touch definitely woke her up. Jim let out a mischievous laugh at her perfect reaction he wanted; her attempt to run away was hilarious. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her up- twirling around in the air. She slapped his hands, trying her best to not laugh- it was amusing but the water felt a whole lot like revenge for the prank she committed. But it failed, she lets go of the suppressed laughter, joining with him. A frown clashing with the happiness that zapped through her once she realized he was leading her away from her two lovers, and to the water. “JIM!”

Her head rested on Duncan’s shoulders, hugging his arms; she wore a smile at the warmth that radiated from the campfire. The cosiness and comfort created a bubble around them, they only hoped no one poked it. The frigid air of the freezing night flew around, heat from the fire reflected from their glossy eyes; orange flames lighting the dark night. It crackled as it danced, in a broken rhythm like a broken record. Jim crouched close to the campfire, poking it with sticks. Somehow entertained by the sight as it diminishes before roaring with anger once again. No matter how many times Michael warned him and scolded him, it was useless as he would never listen- Jim was naturally stubborn. He threw the wooden stick, one end already charcoal dark. With tied hair in a ponytail, Michael shakes his head- threads of hair brushing his face. He huffed, annoyed at the disturbance even though he was just trying to enjoy the moment.  

Jim’s head snapped up to take a glance at each of his lovers, a genuine grin smeared on his lips. Warmth sizzled in his stomach. Was this a dream? Before he knew it, the words fell off his lips, “You’re my world.” Everyone’s eyes watched as Jim played a smile, his eyes not wavering away from the fire. They glanced at one another, smiling as if the world had nothing against them. If only they could stay at the same moment… a bit longer.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

All Those Things They Couldn’t Say - A Runaway Baudelaires AU

{ao3} {tumblr} {masterlist}

Chapter Thirty-Four - An Unexpected Visitor arrives in VFD

The bus finally stopped again, and as they got off, Violet told the driver, “Thank you, much better. Good luck getting away.” 

The driver nodded at her, as Klaus descended the steps and said, “Yep, crowd’s coming. Look pissed. Violet?” 

Violet jumped down beside him, as he shouldered Sunny and absent-mindedly fiddled with her jacket. “I’m not great with crowds.” 

“I’ll handle it.” Isadora said, sliding down with Duncan at her heels; once they were off, the bus practically flew into the distance. 

“She’s real good at this.” Duncan nodded. “When we were at the skate park-” 

“Not the time, Duncan.” 

“Okay!” 

Violet glanced over her shoulder as the bus tore off, then turned back to look at the crowd of villagers, muttering to themselves. Finally, a group pushed themselves to the front- and Sunny immediately started laughing at their hats, shaped like crows. 

“How dare you bring a mechanical device into our town?” one of them said; they noticed pretty quickly that they were all very old- probably that Council of Elders the driver had mentioned. 

“Yo, is this VFD?” Isadora asked, pushing herself to the front. “What’s it stand for?” 

One of the elders blinked in confusion. “We’re the Village of Fowl Devotees. What else could VFD stand for?” 

“Cool, it’s a coincidence, we’re free.” Duncan said. 

“Right.” Isadora smiled, then said, “We’re going to need your most abandoned building, and free reign over it. We’ll be gone in a few days if all goes well.” 

“Now, wait a moment!” an Elder said. 

“You had a mechanical device, that’s against the rules!” 

“Rulebreakers need to be burned at the stake!” 

“Are those the rules for the citizens of the town?” Duncan asked carefully. 

“Why, yes, and Rule-” 

“We’re not citizens, we’re passersby.” Isadora said. “So the rules don’t apply to us.” 

She smiled back at Violet, who grinned back at her. The Quagmires were good at dealing with crowds. 

The Council muttered amongst themselves, while some villagers peered curiously at them. “Well,” an Elder finally said, turning back with a smug look on his face, “If you wish to stay, you’ll have to abide by our rules. And you should do something in return for us-” 

“Klaus,” Isadora sighed, “Hit the eye on his hat.” 

Within a flash, there was a throwing knife, directly in the center of the crow’s eye on the Councilman’s hat. He froze, while everyone else leapt back in shock. 

Klaus strode forwards, unconcernedly reaching up on his tiptoes and taking his knife back. Once it was in his hands, everyone moved back even farther. 

“Well, I can see we definitely made a first impression.” Violet said, while Sunny giggled. 

“Now,” Isadora said, crossing her arms, “Your most abandoned building. If you have multiple, biggest should be best, right Vi?” 

Violet nodded. The villagers continued muttering, and finally one of them said, “Um… since we banned alcohol, the bar has been free.” 

“Great.” Isadora smiled. “Point us there, and you will have absolutely no trouble from us.” 

One they reached the inside of the bar, Klaus shut the door and said, “This place could use some dusting, but it’ll work.” 

Violet walked over to the counter, and hoisted herself up to lean over it, her hair falling as she scanned the underside upside-down. “There’s still alcohol here. Does alcohol go bad?” 

“Is that the kind of alcohol we could use for medication?” 

“I don’t know shit about alcohol, to be honest, that was Mom’s domain.” 

Klaus smirked. “Remember that time she went out to do a routine check and ended up in a bar-” 

“And she ended up in the fountain.” Violet giggled, flipping herself rightside up and sitting on the edge of the counter. “Yeah.” 

Duncan moved to a firepole, running his hand across it. “Why do they need a firepole in a bar?” 

“Might’ve been a double firehouse-bar.” Isadora said, looking at a painting of a fireman. “Or maybe VFD isn’t a coincidence but they’ve already vacated this puritan bullshit.” 

“Omod.” Sunny sighed. “Good idea.” 

“Yeah, they’ll probably try to set us on fire.” Violet shrugged. “We’ll have to set a watch, no biggie.” 

“Firehouse and bar sounds like a horrible combination.” Klaus remarked, flopping back onto the bench. “What do you do if drunk firefighters show up at your house?” 

“Lisnla,” Sunny said, meaning, “You let them kidnap your kids, obviously.” 

“Oh, we are on fire today.” Duncan remarked. “Now, let’s use that energy to get our plans laid out.” 

Violet nodded, and Isadora pulled a sheet of paper they’d snagged from her bag. She and Duncan rolled it out, weighing it down with their commonplace books. Violet took a pencil and started sketching the outline of the building, and when she was done, she skidded up the firepole, looking at the upper layers, while Klaus muttered to himself and drew lines on the building’s exterior, trying to figure out how to weigh something over the door. 

“We could do a flamethrower.” Duncan suggested. 

“Could burn the whole place down.” Isadora shook her head. 

“Tripwire.” Klaus said. “When the door opens-” 

“I bet we could find a large rock to drop on his head.” Duncan giggled. 

“Axe.” Sunny suggested. 

“We don’t have an axe.” Klaus informed her. 

“Saw?” 

“No.” 

“Maybe a heavy book.” Isadora suggested. “It won’t kill him, but it’ll be a lot of pain and a good distraction.” 

Violet slid down the firepole. “Did I hear ‘heavy book’? There’s a lawbook up there bigger than Sunny.” 

“Good, we’ll use that.” Klaus said. “You got a lay of the place?” 

“Not much to get a lay of, but yes.” Violet said. She knelt by Isadora’s side and sketched out an inner layout, just to the right of the outer. “We’ve got two floors, second floor only has two rooms- not including the bathroom. All mostly empty, though there’s a couple bookshelves, only the rulebook on them, and a rug or two.” 

“We can use the rugs.” Klaus said. “What about the layout?” 

“Not many places to hide.” Violet said. “We’ll either have to make some or stay in the open most of the time.” 

“Considering we’re all the bait,” Isadora said, “Probably the latter.” 

“But we’re going to need somewhere to duck if he throws something at us.” Duncan pointed out. 

“Bar.” Sunny pointed at the counter. 

“We’re gonna need something on the top.” 

“If we can get a wooden board in-” 

“Where are we gonna get a wooden board?” 

“Rip up that fence outside.” Isadora suggested. “By the firetruck.” 

“Fuck, that reminds me, we need to check if that still works.” Violet said. “Come out with me, Sunny and I’ll check it. Klaus, you and the Quagmires check the fence stability. If we can get a board or two off, we’ll be able to use that.” 

Klaus nodded, and they left their paper on the ground, leaping over it as they raced to the backdoor. Violet held it open for everyone, and then picked up Sunny and ran to the nearby firetruck; against the sun, which was beginning to set, the red metal looked quite beautiful, even though it was no longer shiny and new and in fact may be a little rusted. Violet opened the door and pushed Sunny in. To the toddler’s endless disappointment, Violet made her get in the shotgun seat instead of the drivers, while Violet shut the door and found the spare key under the seat. She turned the ignition, smiling as it started. 

“Well, the thing runs.” she said. “We can’t really test if it drives without breaking down the fence, but I can test other things- windshield wipers.” She hit the switch, and smiled as the wipers danced across the dusty glass. “Check. Headlights…” she spun the dial, then peered out to look. “Check. Radio?” 

Sunny pressed a button, and while a small screen flickered to life, an old, clanky song began to play, from some classical station or another. “Che!” the toddler shot her a thumbs-up. 

“Good.” Violet did a few more quick scans, and then turned the truck off and lifted Sunny out and back to the ground. “Wanna take a few steps?” 

“Ye!” 

Violet held Sunny’s hand as the toddler stumbled beside her, and she looked around for Klaus, Isadora and Duncan. She saw a loose board on the ground, already pulled from the fence, and smiled a little, but… no, she still didn’t see her friends. “Guys? Hey, where the hell-” 

“Shh!” 

Violet jumped and immediately swiveled, to see that Klaus was crouching by the edge of the fence, eyes wide. Duncan and Isadora were behind him, with Isadora already holding a throwing knife in her palm and placing herself above her brother. Violet ducked down, kneeling over Sunny, who just curiously looked over at Klaus. 

“What?” 

Klaus gestured up, and Violet strained her ears, putting her hands on Sunny’s shoulders. There, yes- distant footsteps, moving a bit quickly. Fuck, someone had probably seen the firetruck moving and making noise. 

It’s okay, the villagers know you’re here, there’s not much they can do to you, we can defend ourselves… 

Violet tapped Sunny on the back, and Sunny nodded, and started waddling closer to Klaus, while Violet crept behind her, still holding her upright. When they made it to their brother, Violet lifted Sunny and passed her to him, and then swiveled her bag from her back to her front, flipping it up to look for weapons. 

She had just started to dig her hand in for smokebombs when they saw a man peer over the edge of the fence. 

Isadora screamed and threw her hand back, preparing to toss the knife, while Violet almost lost her balance, her hand shoving deeper into the bag. Klaus grabbed Sunny and pushed himself farther back, glaring up, and Duncan slid out from his sister, hand flying to his pocket. 

“Whoa!” the man held up his hands, lowering himself slightly so they could really only see the top of his head. “Whoa, I’m unarmed.” 

“Sure you are.” Violet hissed. She glanced at Isadora and nodded at her to stay in place, and then said, “There’s a broken board over there, so you could fit through the fence.” she cocked her head to the side. “Nice and slow, move that way so we can see all of you.” 

The man hesitated, and then said, “Well, if it’ll make you kids feel better…” 

Once he lowered himself from the fence, Violet jumped to her feet and pulled her hands from her bag, keeping a dagger in one hand and a smokebomb in the other. Klaus lifted Sunny, who bared her teeth fiercely, and Isadora and Duncan both stood, glancing from each other and then to the broken board, before Duncan leaned over and pushed the hood over Isadora’s head, sliding his own down as well. He looked to Klaus expectantly, who shrugged as if to say we don’t legally exist so he won’t recognize us as missing, will he? 

The man eventually squeezed his way through the broken fence, and held up his hands again once he made his way into the yard. Violet scanned him over once or twice, eventually deciding he didn’t look too familiar. She then said carefully, “Jacket pockets.” 

The man reached in, turning his pockets inside-out. Out fell a thick brown notebook, several pens and pencils, and a spyglass. No weapons. 

Violet and Klaus shared a look, and Klaus pointed to the spyglass. “VFD?” 

The man jumped. “I- wha- we don’t say it out loud.” 

“Alright, he’s in deep.” Violet muttered. She nodded at Isadora and Duncan, who lowered their weapons, and then she stepped forwards. “I didn’t see you in the crowd, and you don’t dress like a villager. State your name and purpose.” 

The man smiled slightly. “Wow, you get right to the point. Jacques Snicket, investigating suspicious activity in Paltryville.” 

Everyone froze over. 

“Jacques who?” Violet said. 

Jacques narrowed his eyes. “Snicket. Who are you?” 

“Classified.” Violet responded sharply. “Now-” 

Klaus stepped forwards, and quickly said, “Are you related to Lemony Snicket?” 

Jacques’s eyes went wide a moment, and his breath caught in his throat. Then he settled back into a blank expression, and said, “Perhaps. Is that important?” 

“It might be!” Klaus said, while Sunny growled. 

“Klaus, get back behind me.” Violet hissed quietly.

“How did you know him?” Jacques asked, his voice lowering. 

Violet bit her lip, while Klaus just glanced to the ground. “He- he was close with our parents.” 

“Klaus, shut up.” 

“Are you related?” Klaus asked again, more insistently. 

Jacques glanced between them, and then nodded. “He was my brother. Now, please, who are you?” 

Violet and Klaus shared another look, and then she glanced back at the Quagmires. Then she turned back to him. 

“We’re his kids.” she said, before pointing. “Violet, Klaus, Sunny Baudelaire.” 

“Baudelaire?” Jacques shook his head. “No. No, Beatrice-” 

“She’s alive.” Violet sighed. “She’s alive and she needs us. She needs us to set her free and kill Olaf.” 

“Kill O-” Jacques shook his head. “What? What are you-” 

“Come on inside, dude.” Duncan said, gesturing towards the firehouse door. “We can-” 

Jacques started, his eyes darting from Isadora to Duncan. “I- I know you, you’re Quagmires.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re missing, we get that.” Isadora waved her hand. “Inside, we’ll explain stuff.” 

“I…” Jacques hesitated, looking between the siblings, and then narrowing his eyes in thought, as if weighing options. Then, he nodded. “Alright. Inside, then.”

[secretkidcolor]

A Good View from the Sidelines

A simple game of basketball with a bunch of sweaty guys in shorts shouldn't be that big of a deal. Naturally, it ends up being a bigger deal once Tyler meets someone from the other team for the first time.

Also posted to fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own under the same title~

Happy Pride Month!

“Bro, you might want to sit this one out.”

Tyler adjusted the sweatband keeping some of his hair out of his face as he heard his friend’s advice. Well, friend was a loose term. He and Geoff weren’t exactly close, but they got along fine. Geoff, who oozed coolness with his fondness for open-chested shirts and cowboy hats, had no reason to invite Tyler to hang out as often as he did. But that was Geoff’s character-defining trait. He was cool in every sense of the word. That included being nice to everyone. So when he advised Tyler to sit out, Tyler knew it probably wasn’t in a way that was meant to be disrespectful.

“No way dude,” Tyler said, “I just got warmed up. Afraid I’m gonna beat you guys?” Tyler and Geoff were at the local park with two other guys, DJ and Duncan, and were supposed to be shooting hoops together. They hadn’t started yet though, which was why Tyler was confused. Usually he’d play a couple rounds, hurt himself, and sit out to watch, but he was in perfect shape still and wanted to take advantage of that for what little time he was able to maintain it.

“Pffft, as if,” Duncan cut in, rolling his eyes. “That new guy, Alejandro, is going to be coming by with some of his buddies to play us in a little game of three on three. And no offense, but we want to win.” Unlike Geoff, Duncan was most likely intending to be disrespectful. With his bright green mohawk, various piercings, and constantly pissed off expression, Duncan scared the crap out of Tyler. Whether it was death threats (followed by an unconvincing “Kidding!”) or just senseless violence against people Duncan deemed uncool, Tyler tried to stay off his radar as much as possible. There had been a brief conflict between them when Tyler had dated Lindsay, and the jock had truly feared for his life for a moment, but that had come to pass.

“Ale…” Tyler’s voice trailed off as he tried to replicate the name. It was clearly Spanish, but Tyler wasn’t the best speaker to begin with. “Alejandro,” he managed to say finally. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “He’s new?’

“Chyeah dude,” Geoff said, dribbling the ball in place. “He just transferred here over the weekend. Bridge said that all the girls were talking about him today. Even Heather.”

“I was getting an icepack from the nurse when I heard him introducing himself to Principal Mclean,” DJ spoke up from his spot on the ground. “That man doesn’t like anybody, but this guy pushed all the right buttons. Mclean even offered to let him skip his first class of the day. He’s smooth as Mama’s gravy.”

“Which is why it’s important that we beat his ass at basketball today,” Duncan said, his eyes narrowing. “Nobody makes our chicks talk but us.” Tyler winced a little at the possessive wording Duncan used. Duncan’s girlfriend Courtney would probably throw a fit if she heard him talk about her like that, and Tyler wouldn’t have ever dared claim ownership over Lindsay.

While Tyler’s relationship with Lindsay was solid, it was certainly an anomaly to everyone at school. At first the idea of a pretty- no, beautiful. Tyler believed she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The idea of a beautiful, blonde cheerleader dating a jock was a given. It was less of a given when it was apparent that Tyler wasn’t very good at any of the many sports he participated in. He was clumsy to a fault and spent more time on the bench than actually playing, and the few times he did play he usually ended up getting hurt. This normally didn’t put a damper on his spirits though. He had won the Team Spirit award every season since freshman year. His teammates had given him flack for it at first, but Lindsay’s immense popularity and their immediate connection had helped with that. By now, most of the other school athletes admired (at least secretly) his perseverance and now that he was a junior, he saw some of his younger teammates actually looking up to him. Rival schools still gave him a hard time, but he had come to rely on his teammates to have his back when that happened.

Tyler wasn’t an overly spiritual man, but he thanked the higher powers for putting Lindsay into his life. She was the perfect girlfriend. Sweet, caring, smar- okay she wasn’t that smart. But that hardly mattered anyway, especially after she had gotten past always getting his name wrong. Their relationship had started as a quick burst of teenage passion and had actually developed into something meaningful. As they got older they began to rely on one another for more than just a physical release. Tyler considered Lindsay to be his best friend and he trusted her with everything, and that bond only seemed to strengthen when they had stopped dating (there was a bad incident with her forgetting his name in front of his parents). He trusted her with everything. Well, almost everything…

“Chill dudes,” Geoff said. “Alejandro’s bringing three friends so it’ll be four guys to a team. Tyler can sub in at some point. Is that cool?” He looked at Tyler as he asked this, and Tyler nodded.

“Yeah, it’ll give me extra time to warm up!” With that, Tyler began to do some push-ups for effect. Soon enough, four guys could be seen walking toward the court as Tyler flopped on the ground after his push-ups. He groaned as Geoff, Duncan, and DJ greeted the approaching four guys. There were a couple of voices he could recognize as the guys talked.

“I’ll be the first one sitting out,” said Justin, a guy who ran a modeling Instagram account. “This is the perfect lighting for some sporty pics. You guys just let me know if you need me, okay?’

“Pfft, whatever,” Duncan said and Tyler could practically feel his eyeroll. “Are we gonna stand around all day or actually play?”

“Lightning’s ready to play!” That was another voice that Tyler definitely recognized. Lightning was the star quarterback and the only student who referred to himself in third person almost constantly. Tyler never really cared for him as he was one of the less kind football players when it came to Tyler’s habit of injuring himself. His dad was a big name in sports broadcasting and donated generously to the football team though, and Tyler did like the new uniforms each year.

“My friend, are you in need of some assistance?” A voice flowed through Tyler’s ears like silk and he looked up to see a tan hand being offered. He grabbed it and was immediately surprised by the firm, but careful grip that pulled him to his feet. Tyler steadied himself and found himself face to face with one of the most attractive men he had ever seen. That…sounded weird, but it was true. This man was jacked, and while Tyler himself was pretty muscular he felt a little self-conscious as he looked at the guy in a totally objective way. He was wearing a dark red shirt, not too much darker than Tyler’s own, which clung to his muscles. There was something tied to a cord around his neck. A skull of some kind. His hair was long, but well-maintained. The closed-mouth smile he gave Tyler seemed to just be polite, but his eyes were…calculating. Not recognizing him, Tyler assumed that this must be Alejandro.

As Alejandro’s eyebrow raised, Tyler realized he must have been staring at him for an unusual amount of time and looked down, only to see that he was still holding his hand. He quickly withdrew his own hand and sputtered out the first thing that came to mind, “I-I uh, I like girls!”

What.

Alejandro didn’t even seem fazed by the remark. “Noted,” he said politely. “Although probably not relevant to basketball.” He chuckled and Tyler really hoped that nobody else had heard his remark. “My name’s Alejandro,” he said, confirming his name. “And you are?”

“Tyler,” the jock responded quickly. “Uh, nice to meet you…er, yeah.”

“Um, are we gonna play or what?” Duncan asked impatiently from a few feet away. He held up the basketball.

Alejandro nodded at Duncan and turned back to Tyler. “Best of luck Tyler,” he said with another closed-mouth smile.

“Uh thanks but I’m actually gonna be sitting this one out,” Tyler said, backing up off the court.

“Pity,” Alejandro replied, “but I hope you enjoy watching the game then.” Another smile. Tyler felt his face begin to heat up, but fortunately the guys were quick to start their game.

Thirty seconds of watching the game and Tyler had come to the conclusion that basketball was the world’s most unnecessarily sexual sport. Growing up, Tyler had played more sports than most, and he was just now deciding on this fact. Contact sports, while intensely physical, usually involved the wearing of gear for protection. Basketball? While it wasn’t an intentional contact sport, there were still plenty of points of contact during a single game. And with no gear, there were no barriers between skin. Nothing between smooth, sweaty, tan skin.

Oh.

Tyler had started the game trying to focus in on his friends and provide moral support from the sidelines, but that quickly stopped when he saw Alejandro on the court. Tyler had never seen someone play basketball so gracefully before. Alejandro moved with confidence and power, but he clearly possessed total control over himself and the ball when he had it. None of the other guys could even touch him as he practically glided across the court. At one point, he even seemed to turn and look right at Tyler.

His calculating eyes.

Slowly widening in alarm.

A large orange orb slowly growing bigger over his face.

Wait.

A flash of pain and Tyler’s vision temporarily darkened as the basketball collided straight into his face. His head snapped back, his neck making a soft pop as he fell onto his back. Fortunately, he had been sitting in the grass and the back of his head came into contact with untrimmed grass and not the concrete of the basketball court. Tyler may have developed a high pain tolerance, but he wasn’t invincible and concussions were no joke.

Tyler could hear laughing, and some concerned shouts, but soon that seemed to fade away as he saw Alejandro’s face appear hovering over him. “I am so incredibly sorry,” he said, and Tyler could feel a hand on the side of his face. Alejandro had such smooth skin. He slowly helped Tyler up to a sitting position, asking him the usual questions that coaches and trainers asked Tyler after he got took a hard enough blow to the head. It was all very professional sounding coming from someone who likely was the same age as Tyler, but there was something else too. Alejandro had come off as so confident and in control of everything when he had introduced himself not even fifteen minutes ago, and yet now he was flustered and worried and just reacting. And yet he still oozed confidence. And if anything, he was even more beautiful for it.

Hmm.

“It’s all good dude,” Tyler finally said after the round of questions and Alejandro was convinced he didn’t need medical attention. “I’ve taken way harder hits before.” He reached up to rap his knuckles against his skull for effect, Alejandro’s soft hiss under his breath made him reconsider. “But,” he offered, “I’ll probably stay out for the whole game to be safe.”

“Yes, I…I think that would be best,” Alejandro agreed. “It was an accident, I swear.”

“Doing us a favor honestly,” Duncan muttered. Geoff jabbed him with his elbow. “Kidding,” he added.

“Is it cool if we keep playing?” Geoff asked Tyler. “As long as you’re good.

“I’m good,” Tyler said with a slight nod. Duncan went to get the ball and the guys tried to figure out where to position themselves for the game to resume.

“Hey Alejandro,” Tyler said with a grin as Alejandro stood up to resume playing, “I knew what you were doing. I know you just needed to take out the strongest player before he could turn the game around on you guys.”

Alejandro look’s initial look of alarm quickly changed to match Tyler’s grin. “You caught me,” he said in a teasing tone. “It seems you’re too smart for me Tyler, and I was intimidated by the athletic prowess you possess. I do hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.” They shared a laugh and after a few seconds Alejandro gave him a nod before heading back to the game.

Tyler rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling where a bruise was going to form, and leaned back. If he wasn’t going to play, he was at least going to enjoy watching the world’s most unnecessarily sexual sport. Of course, there was one player he tended to focus on more, and he was pretty sure that player caught his glances multiple times without breaking his concentration on the game.

In the end, Alejandro’s team had won by a lot of points. Duncan was annoyed, DJ seemed a little embarrassed, and Geoff was chill like always. The guys still shook hands with one another, and Alejandro walked over to shake Tyler’s hand as well.

“Again, I do hope you can forgive me for your bruised face,” he said, which Tyler just waved off. “Maybe next time, when you’re able to play, your friends won’t lose quite as badly.”

Tyler looked over at his friends and then at Alejandro, meeting his amused gaze with a smirk. “Yeah,” he said, standing up, “because next time…we’re gonna win.”

“Well then I might have to hit you with the ball again,” Alejandro remarked, again with that teasing tone.

“Well then I guess we’ll have to keep playing until my face becomes so strong it bounces the ball right back at you!” Tyler declared.

“Sounds like we’ll be playing basketball together for quite a long time then,” Alejandro said, and Tyler realized that while their handshake had stopped, neither of them had let go of the other’s hand. Tyler felt his face begin to heat up.

“Guess so,” Tyler said, but his voice sounded much less confident than it had moments ago. Alejandro chuckled and released Tyler’s hand.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around Tyler,” he said before turning to leave. “Let me know if you ever want to just play one on one.” It was a normal enough offer but the way he said those last three words sent Tyler’s mind racing as he watched Alejandro walk away.

It hadn’t been a lie when he told Alejandro he liked girls. It was more of a half-truth. But maybe Alejandro had known that from the start. He would have to ask Lindsay what she thought of all this later tonight.

As Tyler said goodbye to his teammates and headed home, he used his phone to check the bruise on his face. It was big, but it would heal quickly. Just in time for another game of Tyler’s new favorite sport.

[danceworshipper]

Nearly Over

Dead mc challenge? Oh boy have I been ready for this! The following story is nearly canon for Gracie and Tessa, and takes place somewhere in year seven. I say nearly canon because this scene will happen, but Tessa won't actually die in reality, instead falling into coma. The challenge was created by @dat-silvers-girl

It's so cold. Why did she come here? Tessa wondered, forcing herself forward through the sludge. Gracie had been missing for over forty eight hours now, and Tessa had only just today discovered the note saying where she went. International Apparation was nearly impossible for new learners, but there was no evidence of splinching where Tessa had landed. Hopefully that meant Gracie was okay.

A sharp burst of wind nearly took Tessa's coat off. She pulled it tighter and frantically made sure her wand was still inside the pocket. It would probably be safer to just carry it at this point. Since it was dark, she lit the tip up with a silent Lumos.

What do you even plan to do when you get there? Liz's words flowed through her head again. She has a huge head start, and the note didn't say much.

Truthfully, Tessa had next to nothing, plan wise. The naive part of her had hoped Gracie would still be close to the Apparation point, which had not been the case. There were no tracks in the sludge either, so Tessa could be going the complete wrong way. Her weak Legilimency was the only hope she had. The steady pulse in the back of her mind growing stronger was the only indication that she might be getting closer to her sister.

Calling Jacob had seemed like a good idea at first, but Jacob had proved time and time again that he wasn't going to listen to any calls from his sisters. Rowan had almost died because he was so determined to "keep them safe" by completely ignoring them. Douchebag.

A sudden headache nearly made Tessa drop her wand. The pain was toward the back of her head, exactly where her and Gracie's connection was, so that was probably a very bad sign. Tessa called out with her thoughts, but there was no answer. Just like the past two days.

Snow began to fall. Tessa tried to ignore the thought that her tracks would be gone by morning if she failed to get Gracie and go back to the Apparation point tonight. The falling of the flakes was comforting even as they were whipped in the wind, especially as they reflected the light of the full moon. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any werewolves around.

In her note, Gracie had said that there was a lake nearby that had something she needed to defeat R, but she hadn't said what that something was. It was times like this that Tessa wished she hadn't stopped helping her sister with the Vaults. She was completely clueless now. Barnaby knew more than her, but he wouldn't tell her anything either. Shouldn't he have to tell her what he knew, as her husband? Part of their vows was not keeping secrets. It seemed that certain secrets were exempt from that promise.

Up ahead was a large pile of rocks. From where she was, it looked like it was at least twice as tall as Tessa. At the top of it, she could make out the silhouettes of two people - one shorter, and one taller, but not by much. The shorter one had long hair that was flying in the wind. Gracie? Possibly. The tall one seemed more likely a man, though technically it could have been a woman with short hair. Tessa extinguished her wand and hurried to the base of the pile, hoping neither of them had noticed her.

She stuck her wand in her pocket and tested her grip on the rocks. They were rough and jagged, instead of smooth - better for climbing. Rock climbing... she hadn't done this since she was a kid, and she had been on a rope back then. There was no time to be scared, though. Depending on who it was with Gracie, lives could be at stake.

By the time Tessa got close enough to make out what the people were saying, her arms and legs burned from the strain. Was she really that out of shape?

"You're a stupid child," a woman said. Tessa paused. That wasn't a voice she recognized. "You think you can do anything because you got this far, don't you?

"No." That was Gracie's voice. So who was with her?

"No? You don't think you can do anything?"

"No," Gracie repeated. "I'm more surprised than you are that I got this far."

The woman laughed. "At least you're humble, then. It's not going to save you. You'll have to fight me for the crystal, and I can promise you I won't be easy to beat."

"Olivia, why did you choose this?" Gracie asked. Olivia... who did Tessa know named Olivia? The name was ringing a bell.

"Choose what? The chance to live? I would have died like Duncan if I refused. Besides - who wouldn't want to be a god?"

"I can think of quite a few people."

A crack sounded through the air, most likely some sort of spell. "Don't get smart with me. I'm not allowed to kill you just yet, but that doesn't mean that I won't as soon as I can."

"Why can't you kill me yet?"

Tessa remembered that she needed to keep climbing.

"The leaders have decided to offer you one more chance," the Olivia woman said. "They say you show potential."

"Rakepick has tried to kill me every time she's seen me since the Portrait Vault," Gracie said. "Why are they offering now?"

"Because you lived," Olivia said simply. "Rakepick is one of our best agents, and she hasn't managed to kill you yet."

"What makes them think I'll join them after all of that?"

There was a short pause. Tessa struggled to climb faster. Gracie was obviously stalling. If Tessa could get up there and surprise Olivia, maybe they could get away.

"You wouldn't have to worry about dying anymore," Olivia said. "You'd be able to make sure your stupid friends were safe, and far away from the Vaults. You could get a share of the treasure in the final vault."

"By selling my soul to the very people that have been trying to kill me my whole life."

"Don't think of it like that. They've been testing you. They thought Jacob would have been the strongest of the family, but he clearly wasn't. Your sister is weaker than a Squib, but you? You're stronger than some of our trained professionals. You could be incredible if you would let yourself."

Tessa chose to ignore the comment about her weakness.

Gracie was silent. Tessa heaved herself up just a bit more, and then she could see. She was behind the Olivia woman, but Gracie hadn't noticed her either. Gracie was staring into the woman's eyes, gripping her wand tightly. Her right leg was clearly bleeding, potentially from whatever spell Olivia had cast earlier. Tessa found a secure dent to put her foot in and grabbed her wand, preparing to attack Olivia from behind. A surprise stunner ought to do it.

"Come on, Gracie," Olivia said. "Let yourself be great."

Olivia put out her hand. Just as Tessa got ready to fire, Gracie did the unthinkable.

"Okay," she said, and took Olivia's hand.

"Gracie, no!" Tessa yelled.

Olivia twisted around and shot a spell. It seemed she had been expecting Tessa to actually be standing on the rock, though, because it missed by a good margin.

"Stupefy!" Tessa cast, but without her advantage, Olivia was able to block easily.

"Tessa, go away," Gracie said angrily. "I've got this."

"You can't join them!" Tessa cried. "What are you doing?"

Gracie stared coldly down at her sister. "What I have to. Go away."

"No," Tessa said firmly. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts without you."

Gracie's wand arm seized up as her eyes widened. Tessa fought the urge to run away. The crazes had never targeted family. Gracie would attack Olivia, and everything would be fine.

"Go. Away."

"No."

Before Tessa could react, Gracie had shot a spell at her. Her wand fell down to the ground and she screeched in pain. Gracie had broken her fingers, every single one of them. Olivia met Tessa's eyes and smirked.

"Go away!" Gracie yelled. Her voice was raspy and low, angry.

"Gracie, stop!" Tessa begged. "You can't do this!"

The same spell flew toward her again, hitting her other hand, and then Tessa was falling, and falling - the connection in her mind opened up long enough for her to hear the word "sorry" -

Then there was black.

And then there was light?

"Tessa? What are you doing here?"

Tessa looked down around her. She was standing in a beautiful garden, lit by the moon. A fountain burbled gently next to her. A couple of chipmunks watched her curiously from a bench. The air was pleasantly warm.

"Tessa?"

It was a voice Tessa still recognized, even a decade later.

"Grammy?"

[thedeviltohisangel]

How The Night Changes//7//Away From The Crowds

Olivia shares some news with Duncan under less than ideal circumstances.

mentions of depression symptoms, jail

masterlist in bio!

thanks to the anon for the prompt, send anymore my way!

She didn’t think she could eat. Didn’t know if she’d ever have an appetite again. It had only been a month or so since Duncan had been arrested and put in jail but Olivia didn’t know how much longer she could hang on. If it wasn’t for the blooming life inside of her, she thinks it might have been near impossible.

Her fork continued to push her gnocchi around her plate as she stared lifelessly at the empty chair next to her. There was a plan in motion for her mother to pardon Duncan but Clare had instituted quite the stipulations in order for that to be granted. First of all was that she couldn’t tell

. Clare didn’t want the man to have any hope of seeing the outside world again or hugging his wife without handcuffs on. It thrilled her to see a Shepherd so low. Olivia had told her mother that she was expecting, that Duncan knew and was eating himself alive from the inside out over it, but it hadn’t made her soften anymore towards the issue or speed up the timeline.

The phone rang and she almost tripped over the leg of her chair to get to it. “Hello?”

“Hey baby.” It felt as though the weight of the world was lifted off her shoulders as his voice flowed from the other end. “I don’t have long to talk but I wanted to hear your voice. Wish you luck for tomorrow.” Olivia had an ultrasound appointment, Duncan acutely aware of her schedule and the schedule of their impending addition. It helped him during the monotony of his days to think of what she was doing or think of how much longer he had to wait until he could meet his son or daughter.

“It’s so nice to hear your voice. I was just finishing up dinner.” It helped for him to pretend that the phone wasn’t between them so she spoke of even the most mundane of things.

“Yeah? I’m sure it was ten times better than what I ate.” Olivia closed her eyes and tried to picture him. It had been a couple of weeks since she had been allowed to go see him, Duncan emailing her at every chance and calling every few days. “What time is your appointment tomorrow?”

“I’m going at seven before they open. Don’t want any news channel or something knowing quite yet.”

“Are you still coming to see me after?”

“Of course. I’ll bring you photos like I did last time.” He slept with the ultrasound photos under his pillow. Kissed them good night before bed and good morning when he woke up.

“I’m count the breaths until then.” He saw the warden beginning to make his rounds for him and his fellow inmates to get off the phone. Duncan didn’t think he’d ever again get enough time with Olivia to be satisfied. “I have to go. I love you more than life itself, my dearest wife.” They hadn’t had anytime to celebrate their marriage. He had been arrested the following day.

“You are my whole heart, Duncan.” She heard the distinct sounds of him kissing the air before the line went dead. Olivia stood there and held the phone to her ear for a bit longer in the hopes she’d still be able to feel his presence. The tears that ran down her face were quickly wiped away with a frustrated groan. She was strong enough to make it through until she had completed all of her mother’s tasks and then Duncan could be in her life again. The way he was meant to be. She just had to keep telling herself she was.

——

Olivia sat in the empty waiting room of her doctors office, mindlessly twiddling her thumbs while her agents kept glancing around. They had become even more protective of her since Duncan left and her pregnancy had been discovered. She knows her detail had been rooting for them all along and she had caught one of them tearing up at the news their fairytale was coming crumbling down. They had made their own vow that the best way to keep their love alive was to keep Olivia and her baby safe.

She turned her head towards the TV in the corner as her husband's name rang from the speakers. It was an update on his legal proceedings. The B-roll footage of the FBI walking him into their office and of him at his arraignment made her sick. He had looked so stoic that day. Like he was accepting his fate. She had sat in the bench behind him and done her best to stay strong as he was remanded. Olivia knew he was worrying about her enough as it was. He didn’t need her sobbing in the courtroom to add to his repertoire of nightmares.

“Can you turn this off please?” she asked politely of the nurse behind the desk. Her own crestfallen face had appeared on the broadcast and it was hard enough to make it through the day without crying let alone having her sadness on a screen in front of her. The woman turned it off immediately and Olivia went back to staring at her hands.

“Mrs. Shepherd? Dr. Haines is ready for you.” She hadn’t quite gotten used to responding to her new name but it felt delicious to be tied to him. The baby inside of her also represented that. She was carrying a piece of him wherever she went, even if he couldn’t be physically beside her no matter how much he wished to.

It felt lonelier in the exam room than it had in the waiting room. Secret Service didn’t follow her in so there were no other bodies to block the starkly white walls from piercing her sensitive skin. It was cold under her paper gown and it was nowhere near what she had anticipated her life ever becoming. Olivia had allowed herself to escape to fantasies and fairytales and with Duncan she thought they would become reality. They had for a little bit. But now that had been ripped from right under her feet and lying on that exam table she had found it near impossible to catch her balance.

“How are you feeling, Olivia?” The smile of the Doctor was kind as she pumped hand gel onto her palms.

“Fine.” She thought that there would have been more excitement associated with getting pregnant and having a baby. And she was, Olivia had always wanted to be a mother and had suffered from some form of baby fever since her late teen years but it was difficult to reconcile being so sad during something that was supposed to be so happy.

“Well, let’s take a look.” She watched silently as the grainy image of her baby appeared on the screen and she smiled, for what felt like the first time in awhile, as the shape of it took hold. Something about seeing it made her connection to her future son or daughter feel stronger and the life within her began to chase away the darkness and the demons.

“How do they look?” They looked like a perfect, ethereal baby to Olivia but she wanted to make sure that on the Doctor’s end they looked the same.

“Something is different from the last time...The machine seems to be picking up another heartbeat…” Olivia began to put the pieces together as the Doctor moved the wand around on her stomach to try and confirm her own suspicions.

“Dr. Haines, I can’t...My husband is…”

“You’re having twins, Mrs. Shepherd.” The Doctor was smiling at her, this would have been joyous news under any other circumstance. Now she was struck with the pain of having to tell Duncan he wasn’t just missing the development and birth of one baby but two. She was going to have to shatter the pieces of his heart that were already scattered. “I’m going to want you to come in more frequently, there are a lot more complications associated with twins and with the unique stressors and circumstances of your life I think it will be beneficial.”

“Okay.” It was way too much for her to process. Twins. Two babies. Her life had been turned upside down with the knowledge of just having one baby but it was being turned all over again with the new knowledge that she was having two. “Can I get some extra photos?

----

Olivia had been granted special visiting hours by the prison Duncan was at due to the security concerns of her visit and the need for prior and extensive planning. She once again found herself alone, waiting at a table for Duncan to be retrieved from his cell and brought to her. The pictures of their babies, plural, were burning a hole in her purple bag. Such happy news should never be delivered in such a venue.

The first thing she noticed when they walked him in was that he wasn’t wearing handcuffs this time. He hadn’t been able to properly wrap his arms around her since his arrest and they were aching to do so now with their newfound freedom. Olivia stood and waited for him to walk over, her being sternly warned the first time she visited that she wasn’t allowed to run at him like she had. It might have been the longest two minutes of their lives. As soon as the hands of the guards released from his arms he was around her. The feel of his hands on her back was gentle and consuming and claiming. They slid under her black and white shirt and caressed her skin. He hadn’t felt it in so long and he traced over it to make sure he hadn’t mis-memorized the bumps and marks in his time away. Duncan had thought the worst part of it would be craving her in a sexual way, and that was hard on certain nights, but it had become a general gap in his life that wasn’t filled. He had found himself forgetting how she smelled, pure honey at sunset, forgetting the way her toes felt as they brushed his calves in the middle of the night, forgetting how she whispered his name when she first woke up in the morning.

“Oh I missed you, my love.” Olivia felt his cracked lips pressed against the column of her throat and she held him against her like she would a life raft in the middle of the sea.

“Don’t cry, Donut, please. We are together again. We always will be. Let’s be happy while I’m here.”

“Let me look at you.” He kept his hands on her waist but stepped back so he could look at her fully. He was looking to see if anything about her had changed last time. If he could tell that she was growing his child. “You’re a little bit bigger in the tummy. Not too much. The Doctor said everything is going okay with our little bub?” His biggest regret was that he was missing out on the growth of his child. He didn’t want to be some faraway image of a father for his baby.

“Actually, she gave me some news.”

“Hold that thought. I forgot that I brought you something.” Olivia sat back down at the table as he ran towards the door he had entered from, having dropped his gift for her in the excitement of seeing her. “The commissary had these stuffed cats so I bought one in each color for...for the baby. I don’t know if I’ll be around so I…” Duncan had seen them when he went to buy gum the other day and thought of his little baby. If he wasn’t going to be on the outside and able to buy them gifts when he thought of them then he would have to do it on the inside. He wanted them to know he loved them and was thinking of them always even when he couldn’t tell them so himself.

“They’re adorable.” She took one of the cats from where he had set them on the table and cuddled it to her chest. It might offer her comfort until it was passed along to the baby to do so.

“I know they’re just stuffed animals but I want to be there in whatever ways I can. My lawyer said that they officially added the charge of treason. It’s not looking good for me, Livvy.”

“Don’t talk like that.” She held his face in her hands so he had no choice but to look at her. “Nothing's over until it's over.��� The plea of her mother’s intention to eventually pardon him was bubbling up on her lips but she stopped them from spilling over.

“I should do the honorable, selfless thing and tell you to divorce me and take the baby and-”

“Babies.”

“What?”

“It’s a good thing you bought more than one stuffed animal because we are having more than one baby.” She began to rifle through her purse in order to produce the ultrasound images.

“I’m not purposely impregnating you while I’m in jail. If I get out I’ll fill you with one hundred babies.”

“No, Duncan. Look. That’s baby A and that’s...baby B.” Olivia pointed to each outline with her finger and watched as it took a few moments for the news to register in her husband’s mind. “Dr. Haines told me today. We’re having twins.” For a moment it seemed as though they both had forgotten the negative circumstances of the news. He embraced her with a loud laugh and used his orange clad shoulder to wipe the tears of joy from her eyes. This was how the news was supposed to feel. This is how life was supposed to be. Being so overflowing with happiness in the arms of the one you love that you can’t control yourself.

“Two babies. Wow. Twins.” Duncan pulled away and rested his hands where a bump would continue to grow. “I’m gonna be a Dad two times over.” Olivia stroked her hand through his hair and he continued to stare at her.

“I’ll move next door to here, Duncan, if that will make your nights easier. We’ll make whatever changes need to be made for us to be a happy family. If I have anything to do with it, you’re not going to miss your children’s lives.”

“I don’t deserve you.” There were a multitude of reasons that Duncan believed that to be true but she didn’t give him a chance to elaborate as she pressed her lips to his. He didn’t care people were watching as he groaned into her mouth. It could be considered obscene, the way he pulled her onto his lap and her hips began to subtlety move against his thigh. “Not here, baby girl. I want to give you release so bad, so so bad right now but we can’t.”

“I haven’t touched myself since he last time we had our special visit,” she murmured into his ear. His eye lids got heavier at her words.

“Well then we better schedule another special visit for you very soon. Don’t want my little princess being unable to relax.” Her nose rested against his as she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent.

“Say your goodbyes, inmate. Visit is over,” the guards called.

“Let me look at you before they make me go.” For a moment they sat silently and drank in the sight of one another, unsure when they’d both be able to see each other again and not wanting to forget the details of the other in that time. “Be good to your Mama my little ones. Daddy loves you both.” Duncan kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed it to the skin where his children resided.

“I love you so much, Donut. I’ll come see you again as soon as I can.” Olivia stood up and let him hold her against him one last time as the uniformed men began to walk towards them.

“I love you too. More than anything.” He used his last minute with her to pepper kisses on every inch of her face that he had access to. And when the men grabbed his arms and began to bring him back into the direction of his cell, he looked over his shoulder at his wife the entire way. The tears of sadness and homesickness flowed from both their eyes as soon as the other disappeared from view. They both wanted to be strong for each other, not let their counterpart know how badly they were hurting.

It wasn’t until she was tucked away safely in her SUV that Olivia let the sobs wrack her body. She hadn’t let herself have a good cry about her situation since the whole thing had happened. Part of her thought it was hormones but she also knew it was the knowledge that she had broken Duncan’s heart with the news of their babies.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

“No, Henry, I’m not.” And until Duncan was back on the outside and in her arms, she didn’t think she ever would be.

Tags:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme

@tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning

@aveiangdon

@langdvn

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 29

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: Madeline has a new target in the White Room to interrogate and one that refuses to cooperate. Section One’s leader, Operations calls a briefing meeting to outline the Intel de Marillac has disclosed about other members of the Rising Dragons especially a Madame Cheung. Claire Beauchamp’s angst is exacerbated when her superiors outline her role in the new mission.

N.B. This chapter contains a situation of a violent nature.

THANK YOU so much for reading, taking the time to write a comment, liking this fiction and for the reblogs as well.  I love reading your comments as they give me clues in how to shape this story.  It is very gratifying to know that you are enjoying this tale of life in Section One for our two protagonists ... the good and the bad.  

Previous chapters can be found ...  https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

 CHAPTER 29 (V)

Madeline made her way along the labyrinth of corridors to the White Room, located deep within the bowels of Section One, where interrogations were performed and where her newest target  ... the Canadian Ambassador ... awaited her restrained in a steel chair.

An expert at extracting Intel from hostile captives and in evaluating and manipulating Section operatives, Section One’s Second in Command, Level 9 and Chief Strategist could be positively Machiavellian at times. For the first time in days the woman who specialized in psych analysis, profiling, interrogation, and torture techniques smiled, albeit her trademark Mona Lisa smile, because of the adrenaline rushing through her body at the prospect of accomplishing what she had planned for this target.

Having worked her way up in the ranks of Section One over the past twenty years, with cunning, determination and manipulation, Madeline was a conundrum herself. Accused of killing her sister, Sarah, by pushing her down the stairs she, like most operatives was recruited from prison. She had no compunction for the terrorists who found their way to the White Room or for that matter, for any operative who tried to buck the system and would willingly manipulate anyone, including herself, to achieve her ends. Her angelic sweetness, diabolical intelligence, phlegmatic appearance coupled with her strategic patience and iced charm made her a formidable adversary. Because of her beauty and elegance Madeline was perceived to be amenable to manipulation by terrorists because she was a woman, but they soon discovered that under the facade of her persona was a measured, calculating and resolute woman who took no prisoners. Indeed her measures for torturing hostiles verged on cruelty and with utilizing the Torture Twins to motivate targets to speak was a testament to how far she would go to gain what she wanted.

Madeline’s gait was that of a confident leader as she made her way to interrogate her target in the White Room and expel any information that would lead Section One to capturing their main antagonist.  The Embassy mission had been successful and Claire Beauchamp had performed well in administering the tranquilizer that had brought on Alain de Marillac’s heart attack. The subterfuge that followed had also gone to plan and she looked forward to reading James Fraser’s debrief, but first she had a pressing appointment.

At long last the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. Tony Wong had implicated Alain de Marillac and now he would reveal what they needed to know about furthering their quest to find Sun Yee Lok.  De Marillac had been a wild card … someone they had not suspected especially given his position of authority in the community and government.  To find out that he was a member of the Rising Dragons was certainly unexpected, but Madeline knew she should never underestimate the human person’s propensity for evil.  Terrorists came from all walks of life but they had many things in common … all were ruthless, determined and unflinching in obtaining their goals.  

Ambassador Alain de Marillac was in a position of power but he’d obviously wanted more.  Total power was corrupting and given his position of authority this is what had happened to him. Power had corrupted his moral decency … and being involved in his own daughter’s death showed just how low he would sink to obtain his ends.  It … was contemptible.  He … was contemptible.  

Madeline had thoroughly scrutinized Geillis Duncan’s and Rupert Mackenzie’s debrief about the telephone calls that de Marillac had received at the embassy.  They had provided important Intel on a mystery man that had contacted him and now Madeline would find out his connection and where this piece fitted into the bigger picture.  She couldn’t wait to meet with Ambassador Alain de Marillac. He was about to pay for the consequences of his actions and would be surprised at what awaited him, for there was no going back to the life he had before coming to Section One … in fact there was no life for him at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The brilliant glare of a ceiling light focused on the lone piece of furniture illuminating the man strapped in the chair.  Alain de Marillac sat shackled in the middle of a white room in a cold, metal chair. His hands and feet were manacled and there was no way that he could see to break from the restraints. He’d tried several times to loosen the binds that tied him to the chair but to no avail. There was no escaping and things looked hopeless for him unless he was able to outsmart the inquisitor he knew would eventually come.  

Like many others before him, he wondered where he was. This place was like no other he had ever experienced.  He had seen where Tony Wong had interrogated his victims, and he had seen pictures of torture chambers in books … but this room was surreal, eerie and ominously foreboding.   Casting his eyes around there was nothing to identify where he might be.  There was nothing too that he could associate with, but his imagination was overactive thinking that this room held many secrets … secrets of people in similar situations that he now found himself in.

He was aware that all was not as it should be.

So he waited.  Alain de Marillac … Canadian Ambassador to China … triad member … murderer … and terrorist … waited for whom may come through the door and for what they may want.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sound of creaking hinges echoed in the sterile room as Madeline opened the fortified door and entered the White Room walking smartly until she stood in front of Alain de Marillac. She smiled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes on the contrary it was a foreboding smile that was tinged with a hint of a smirk.

“Hello Monsieur de Marillac … or should I say Ambassador de Marillac?”

He was taken aback by the sound of a woman’s voice and glancing up saw an elegantly dressed lady whose appearance he would soon find was deceptive. His tone was brash and laced with bravado as he replied.

“Whoever the hell you think you are you don't know who you're dealing with.”

Madeline smiled her Mona Lisa smile once more and circled de Marillac sitting in the steel chair.  As she slowly circled she observed the reaction of her guest noting the rapid breathing, the telltale throb in his neck vein and the darting of his eyes as he tried to avoid eye contact. He sat up more erect in order to give the impression of control which in fact he had none here in the White Room.

“My people will carve you up and feed you to the dogs.  I’m the Ambassador you know.  I have rights.”

Still circling the chair Madeline replied. “Yes … Let's talk about your people. They have recently been involved in multiple murders in Hong Kong with a man named Tony Wong.”

“How preposterous! I’m the Canadian Ambassador to China ... not a murderer.”

“We already know about your connection to the Rising Dragons triad. We want to know the whereabouts of your leader.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sun Yee Lok? The man who is your Boss and Shan Chu?  The man who orders the murders of innocents in Hong Kong?”

“Never heard of the guy.”

Madeline gazed at de Marillac with her steely cold eyes, “Do you think there's anything I won't do to get this information from you?”

“You can’t touch me.  I have diplomatic immunity you know,” he stated matter-of-factually.

“And … I’m trying to be diplomatic,” Madeline replied with an undermining menace.

As she was speaking the White Room door opened again and a man and a woman entered, each bearing a sinister yellow case. The Torture Twins had entered carrying their briefcases of instruments and potions that would leave the hostile with no other choice than to impart the Intel they were after. The two people stood waiting for their instructions to begin their modus operandi.

Addressing Henry and Elizabeth, Madeline stated, “Shouldn't take long. Let me know when you're through.”

“I intend to make a formal complaint for wrongful detainment. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers. I’m the Ambassador after all.”

Ignoring de Marillac’s retort, Madeline turned to leave while Henry and Elizabeth placed their briefcases on the bench and approached the target in the chair. Nervous laughter emitted from Alain de Marillac but faded as Madeline closed the White Room door with a decisive click, leaving her torture specialists to their tasks.

His scream of agony echoed in the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sometime later Henry and Elizabeth exited the White Room to find Madeline waiting for them near the viewing window into the White Room. As they passed by her with their tools of trade, they stopped and Madeline asked, “How were the new units?”

“I think you'll be pleased with the results,” Henry replied with a wry look on his face.

“Thank you.”

They both nodded and Madeline acknowledged their tacit answer then she entered the White Room again.  

Hearing footsteps approach Alain de Marillac sat more erect in the chair a beaten but proud man who refused to show how defeated he really was. Prominent twin slashes inflamed his cheeks as his face bore witness to the distinctive techniques used by the two people who had just left.

Admiring the torture twins’ handiwork, Madeline asked, “Are we ready to talk now, Monsieur de Marillac?”

Nodding his head Alain asked bravely, “What is this place? Who are you people?”

“Who is the mystery person who called you at the embassy?  What is his role with you and the Rising Dragons?”

“I can't tell you what I don't know. You can torture me all day and that won't change.”

“It's a deal.”

“Who died and made you God?” He asked indignantly.

“Perhaps this might convince you Monsieur de Marillac.”

Madeline said nothing more, but just turned and picked up a stack of newspaper clippings which she showed to him.  What de Marillac saw made his heart sink.  He was staring at his own death obituaries.

Madeline looked at him, satisfied to see real fear in his eyes. “As far as the world is concerned … you’re dead. Now … tell me what I need to know.”

Later that same day...

Operations quickly walked into the Briefing room where Jamie, Claire, Fergus and other operatives sat waiting quietly with stony faces. Madeline too, sat to one side of the briefing table knowing what Intel Operations would disclose. Without any preamble he began the meeting by activating the holographic imager while the operatives listened to all that he had to impart. Those gathered watched as information and a picture emerged on the holograph screen. Pacing back and forth each time he spoke, Dougal Mackenzie relayed the Intel Madeline had coerced from Alain de Marillac about members of the Rising Dragons and in particular that of the oriental woman whose face glared back at those assembled. “This is Madame Cheung, the only woman member of the Rising Dragons hierarchy who was personally chosen by Sun Yee Lok.” Looking at the picture of the woman, Jamie asked, “What is her role within the triad?” “Her main role is to procure women to work in prostitution and her exclusive high-class escort service. Alain de Marillac’s daughter was in her employ. Madame Cheung was planning on expanding her business but with Annalise de Marillac’s death this had set her plans back somewhat. She is now on the lookout for brunette Western women of Annalise’s age and build.” Feeling more than one pair of eyes on her, Claire inquired, “She is our next target then?” Operations’ nod towards her confirmed what Claire was thinking ... she just knew that she would be involved to snare the woman on this mission in some way. Dougal Mackenzie turned to his second in command to continue. “Madeline?” “Alain de Marillac was kind enough to reveal to us the location of his mole, and gave us a description of the mystery man who approached women on their own for this Madame Cheung of the Rising Dragons.” “I have also done a voice analysis of the mystery man who we suspect was Alain de Marillac’s contact from the audio tapes of conversation between them at the embassy.” Birkoff added confidently. “The plan's simple.” Operations stated. “Claire will meet with this man. We’ll then track and follow him to his meeting to discuss Claire. That's where we’ll find Madame Cheung.” “When and where is this meeting to take place between Claire and the informer?” Jamie requested knowing that whatever plans Operation and Madeline had that they would not bode well for his Sassenach. Operations gave no more details to answer Jamie’s question but only stated, “Details are on your panel. You’re on standby so stay close to Section until you leave. That will be all.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As the field operatives left the room Madeline spoke quietly to Claire before she had time to leave the briefing table. “Could we see you before you leave?” Nodding at her, Claire Beauchamp acknowledged her request wondering what Madeline had to further add to this mission but knowing that the voice of doom was highly likely. She’d read between the lines during the briefing knowing that Madeline obviously had plans for her and this Madame Cheung particularly given her preference for western, brunette women similar to Annalise de Marillac. Covertly noting the exchange between the two women, Jamie realised that his initial inclinations about his superiors’ motives were not too far from the truth.  Madeline certainly had more in mind for Claire than what would be outlined on her PDA. He knew exactly just what she would propose to her for this mission given the Intel presented and Claire’s similar appearance to the deceased Annalise de Marillac. He would discuss it with her in privacy later at her apartment away from the prying eyes of Section One.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Operations’ Perch, the two Section Leaders were grappling with the wisdom of their decision concerning Claire Beauchamp, hoping that she would be able to carry it off and also about Jamie Fraser’s reaction once he found out about it. 

“It’s time to put Claire to the test,” Madeline stated but her words had a double meaning which Operations failed to recognise.  

In her Machiavellian mind, she was not only testing Claire about her loyalty to Section One and what was to be asked of her, but also to see what she suspected might be true ... that Claire Beauchamp had a relationship with her partner James Fraser that was more than platonic. 

Operations, however, was not convinced and said so. “Do you think it's premature?” “No. This mission will surely grab Madame Cheung’s attention. Now it’s just a question of how far she’s willing to go.” “We knew the probabilities going in … just under sixty percent. Is that good enough Madeline?”

“If Madame Cheung is drawn to Claire as I suspect she will be given her resemblance to Annalise de Marillac … then I believe we can be confident in the outcome.” 

“And James?”

“James Fraser is Section. He will do whatever is necessary.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Come in Claire,” Dougal stated as Claire Beauchamp arrived at the Perch a little while later. She walked in and stood to attention with her arms folded in front of her. With a blank stare perfected like Jamie’s, and looking at Operations and Madeline, Claire waited for the axe to fall on her.

Without mincing words, Operations told her why she was there. “Claire, we feel that a connection to Madame Cheung can be extremely useful to us.”

“Of course.”

“However ... although the profile's already been set there are some changes.” Continuing Madeline outlined their plan. “We want you to undertake a deep cover on this assignment. It will be vital for the success of the mission. You will immerse yourself in Madame Cheung’s world and learn what you can about her dealings with the Rising Dragons and in particular Sun Yee Lok.” “Are you saying you’d like me to accept any proposal from her? “Yes.” “For how long?” “Indefinitely.” Claire’s heart dropped and her stomach was in knots. “And Jamie? ... Does he know about this?” “Not yet ... You can tell him in due course. Tell him you need to learn more about Madame Cheung and being in close proximity for some time is the best way. He’ll know this is true.” “Is that all?” Claire replied perfecting Jamie’s blank stare and not showing any emotion although her insides were churning up. “Yes.” Claire Beauchamp looked at her Section leaders while Madeline watched her closely too realising that she was internalising the fact that she was now on a deep cover mission. James Fraser had taught her well for Claire gave very little away in her stance and replies to their orders, but the fact they had asked her to go undercover with this woman was more than she could comprehend at the moment.  She needed some time to digest what the mission would entail and how she would find the strength and fortitude to endure such a deep cover assignment without Jamie.

With a blank expression on her face Claire turned and left the loft. As she walked out, Madeline looked at Operations again. The Section leaders traded a glance.

They both looked pleased.

In Munitions ...

Murtagh Fitzgibbons was fiddling with a modified cam’s expansion card seemingly lost in the task at hand; however, he looked up smiling when he heard the honeyed sounds of Claire Beauchamp’s voice as she approached his section. 

“Hey Murtagh,” she greeted him trying to appear upbeat for her friend upon coming into his area. “Hey Sugar.” She watched as he continued to fiddle with the apparatus he was working on. “I haven't seen you for over a week. Whatcha got there?” “Nothing much … just a cam I’m modifying,” he replied looking at her, “Heading out?” “Yep ... Have you seen Jamie?” “He just left.” “Oooh!” This was nothing new for James Fraser as he often left Section before anyone else. However, Murtagh failed to notice Claire’s disappointment in his reply about Jamie and continued to question her as he worked.

“So how are things? How’s the mission going?”

“So far … so good but we still don’t have Sun Yee Lok.”

“Proving to be a bit elusive is he?” “Yeah … you could say that.” “I see you have to go back to Hong Kong.” “Yeah.” This time Murtagh looked up at Claire finally noticing her reticent sigh. “Hey, why the long face then? You okay?” “I'm fine.” He put down what he was working on and gave her his undivided attention. “You don't seem so fine.” “Murtagh, it's just this place. It just gets to me sometimes, that's all.” “Is it the mission?” “Sort of … It’s another new mission within a mission.” “Well Jamie will be there to keep an eye on you.” “Maybe …” “What do you mean maybe?” “They’ve put me on a deep cover mission.” “What? ... Where?” “At Madame Cheung’s.” “Does Jamie know?” “Not yet.” “Don’t worry Claire; Jamie won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me.” “I know ...” “You know how things are, Sugar. Things don’t just “work out” around here, they happen for a business.” “Yeah ... but, I’m not sure I can go through with it though.”         “It’s only a numbers game Claire. They pull the lever, whatever comes out three cherries, that’s the jackpot.” “Murtagh ... it’s just that …” “What?”

Claire let her thoughts materialize ... “I was in bad shape this time last year. I don't want to feel that way again and ... I fit the profile again for this mission. I’m getting a bit sick of it. Tall, leggy brunettes! I wish I was shorter and blonde occasionally.”

“Oh, I see,” Murtagh replied biting his lip in mirth. He looked at Claire and his eyes crinkled with mischievousness, “Hey … come to think of it … Madeline fits THAT bill! She could take your place.” He winked at her with the cheeky, craggy grin that Claire loved, breaking her from her melancholy. “Don’t worry ... You’ll knock ‘em dead Sugar!" Laughing, she answered, “Thanks Murtagh … you always put things into perspective.” “Keep your powder dry. Sure as hell going to miss you Sugar.” “I’ll be back,” Claire replied and began to walk away but paused when Murtagh added in all seriousness. “Talk to Jamie. He’ll figure out something.” “Okay.” “Goodnight Murtagh.” “Goodnight Sugar,” he replied as he watch Claire Beauchamp walk away from his station with much on her mind and hoped in some ways that his words had given her some comfort.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

 Should you wish to access the other chapters of this story … go to

https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

[nicemom93]

Logan & Veronica AU Week – Day 2 – Canon Divergence

For most of 2016, I posted my first long fan fic, A Change of Circumstance, where Veronica stopped Lynn from jumping off the Coronado Bridge. For 47 chapters, I rewrote the canon events of their Junior year, tweaked by the changes that arose from Veronica saving Logan’s mom. 

I’ve been planning to do a sequel covering Senior year events, impacted by all the changed events of the prior year,  but it’s been slow coming. I do have the first chapter, so thought I would share that for LV AU Week’s Second Day.

Logan rapped on the apartment door, then used his key to let himself in. Keith stood at the kitchen island, a slice of toast in his hand.

"Hey kid, I wasn't expecting you this morning."

Logan heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. "She left already?"

"Umm, yeah, she did." Keith frowned. "Wallace came by about twenty minutes ago and she left with him. I figured it was the plan."

"If it was, I wasn't in on it." Logan shook his head, then took a step back toward the door, not wanting to be involved in any speculation about Veronica ditching him first thing in the morning. “Okay, well, I'm gonna get going. The first day of senior year waits for no man."

"Are you two fighting again?" Keith asked. 

"Not that I know of. And fighting is too harsh a word. We just don't agree about the Kanes. You've heard it plenty of times." Logan shrugged. "We've agreed to disagree."

"If she's leaving you hanging like this, maybe you don't have quite the agreement you think you do." Keith took a swallow from his coffee cup. "And, in my experience, yelling and door slamming usually qualifies as fighting. Or a 10-16, domestic disturbance." He smiled ruefully. "Anyway, you already know how I feel about that particular difference of opinion."

You might feel differently if you knew the whole story, Logan thought bitterly. Out loud, he replied, "Yeah, I know. You've made it abundantly clear. But it was my mom's choice, and I don't think it's my place to mess it up. It's not like making Aaron a conspirator, in addition to being a murderer, hurts my feelings."

"I just don't like Jake and Celeste getting off the hook because of it. They interfered with the investigation and bribed a man onto death row, and your mom is letting them sneak away without paying for that. That doesn't sit right with me." Keith's coffee cup thumped hard against the counter.

"Yeah, and they pretty much ruined your life while they were at it, don't think I'm not well aware of that little detail." Keith shook his head like that part didn't matter, but Logan knew better. "I don't really like it either. You deserve a public apology and this town begging you to come back to be Sheriff, but the Kanes agreed not to sue Aaron's estate in exchange for Mom not disputing their claim that Aaron's the one who bribed Abel Koontz." And they agreed to stay out of Neptune, and keep Duncan out too. That's the part I care about. Logan shook his head. "She's okay with letting Aaron take another posthumous reputation hit if it means she doesn't lose out on all the bank accounts she inherited."

"I guess." Keith turned toward the sink, rinsing out his cup. "I still think it's surprising they've gone back to Napa. They're in the clear now, why not just keep up the status quo and stay in town?"

Because I demanded it as a condition of the agreement. "Who knows. Maybe it's just hard to be in the house with all the memories of Lilly."

Keith scoffed. "It was okay for the first year and a half but now it's too painful?"

"I don't know, Keith. Maybe Celeste just thinks Napa is higher up the social ladder than Neptune. I'm just glad it's over." Logan slapped his hand on the island counter. "I'm outta here, gonna be late. I'll see you soon."

Veronica felt Logan walk up beside her and looked up from the notes she was taking as Wallace talked. 

"Morning. Sorry I didn't text you I was getting a ride in with Wallace. Did you go by the apartment?" At Logan's pained look, she frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Of course I went by the apartment. Where your dad decided we must be fighting since you took off without telling me. He had me convinced of it before I left the place." He threw his back pack on the free bench and sat down next to Veronica. "He's elevated us to a domestic disturbance code now." He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. 

Veronica turned to face him, scrunching up her nose at his words. "What do you mean, still fighting?" A rude snort came out of Wallace, followed by loud laughter.

"Pumpkin," Logan said slowly, and Veronica rolled her eyes, "as the trained investigator mentioned to me this morning, we walked into the apartment yesterday with you yelling at me, and then you went in your room and slammed the door. He's not wrong that, in most countries, that is a sign of fighting."

"I got over that. I invited you into my room later, didn’t I?" She looked up at him innocently. She knew he was right, but it was more fun to keep playing along.

"Yeah, but thankfully, he’d left to pick Alicia up for dinner by then," Logan said. The stressed out look he'd had when she first looked at him was gone. "The loud noises and slamming sounds at that point wouldn't have been possible with him in the building." He bent his head and kissed behind her ear, making her giggle at the tickling sensation.

Wallace's laughter ended abruptly, replaced with a gagging sound. "You two better knock it off. I'm gonna sic Clemmons on you."

Logan raised his head, looking past Veronica to their friend. "Your own fault, dude. If you would have left her at home, I coulda picked her up and gotten this out of my system before you had to witness it." He ducked down and nuzzled Veronica's neck again. She tipped her head back to give him more room, looking back over her shoulder at Wallace at the same time.

"Guess you should think these emergencies out more thoroughly, hmm?"

Wallace stood and leaned back to reach behind Veronica and slap Logan in the head. "Like this shit is ever outta your system. Now get offa her. I need her right now." Logan sat up straight, rubbing his head, and looking balefully at Wallace.

"What the hell?"

"Wallace has a problem, Snookums—" if he could use stupid petnames, so could she "—which is why he picked me up this morning." She twined her fingers through Logan's, then turned back toward Wallace who was seated again. "Look, I'll talk to the other people who've gotten kicked off their teams and see what I can find out. Okay? I know for sure that neither you nor Meg should have had positive drug tests; let me see if the others should've been clean or not, and then we'll figure this out. I promise."

"You've gotta." His voice was pleading. "If my mom hears about this..."

"Your mom's not gonna think this is true anymore than I do, so stop worrying about that. It'll be easier to poke around though if she's not making a fuss in the principal's office. Just chill. Basketball season doesn't start for another two months; we'll definitely have this figured out by then."

"We start conditioning right away, and I'm out of that until we figure this out. I don't want to lose a starting spot because I get out of shape."

"Oh geez, they run and lift weights," she said dryly. "You can run on your own and you can lift weights at Logan's. Stop stressing out." She turned to Logan. "Walk me to my locker?"

"Sure." He smiled at her for a moment, then looked at Wallace. "When did you find out about this?"

"Last night. I got a call from Coach, telling me that my annual drug screen came back positive and I'm off the team." He grinned, for the first time that morning. "He was practically crying."

Veronica stood up, stepping over the bench and grabbing her bag. "So he's not involved. Good to know." She patted Wallace's shoulder. "Don't worry, okay? We've got this." She turned and looked at Logan. "Come on, I don't want to be late."

Logan was back at the lunch table, picking at his Chinese food as he halfway listened to Mac and Carrie arguing about a band he didn't care about, while watching Veronica make her way through the people who'd had positive drug tests. Wallace had been trailing along behind her for a while, but it appeared that he'd gotten sidetracked at the table where most of the basketball team sat.

"Yo, Earth to Echolls." Carrie punched him in the arm and he jerked around to glare at her.

"Why are you hitting me? You're getting mean, Bishop."

Both girls scoffed. "Nothing else was getting your attention," Mac said. "You should be glad all she did was sock you. She was ready to pour her water bottle in your lap."

Carrie gave an evil laugh. "The way he's staring at Veronica, he's gonna need cold water in his lap when it's time to go to class."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I can look at my girlfriend without needing a cold shower."

"Uh huh."

"Whatever. So, did you want something? Or were you just feeling violent?" He glanced back at Veronica and saw she was talking to Meg. He ducked his head and turned to face Carrie. "You have my full and undivided attention. So spit out whatever you wanted to say before I decide not to talk to you at all."

"Yeah, right." She studied him for a moment, then grinned, shame-faced. "I don't remember; it took so long to get your attention."

Mac snorted out a laugh and shook her head. "You wanted to know if everyone's coming over to his place on Saturday. First party of the school year."

"We had the last party of the summer three days ago. You're ready for another one already?" Logan's voice was teasing, but truthfully, he had no reservations about another gathering at his house. It gave him an excuse to have Veronica spend the night with him. 

"Of course. You're an excellent host." Carrie's face grew serious. "Honestly, I'm looking for a way to get Susan out of the house again. She's so depressed since she—" her voice dropped to a whisper "—gave the baby up, and she had fun with us last weekend. I just thought, maybe another party might cheer her up. I'm just worried about her, ya know?"

Mac nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. "She won't come back to school? Seems like she needs to get out of her house more, get back into life."

"She won't," Carrie answered. "She's convinced everyone knows and will laugh at her. She still wants to do the home school thing."

"Well, then, yeah, Logan's having a party." He looked at Mac with surprise, but then shrugged since he'd been fine with the idea all along. "We'll convince her that she's totally missing out by not being here."

Logan spoke up. "I've got no problem with a party, you all know that. I'm just not sure what she's missing out on. It's high school, not The Grand Tour."

"All of us! Senior year stuff! Graduation! Whatever BS we think of between now and Saturday to make Neptune High seem like the place to be." Mac looked at Carrie. "Whaddaya think?"

"Might work." Carrie nodded thoughtfully, just as Veronica slid onto the bench next to Logan. 

"You saved me some lunch, didn't you?" She looked pointedly around the table. "Where are my eggrolls?"

"Don't worry, Logan's got your lunch," Carrie answered. "No one here would get between you and your eggrolls." She rolled her eyes and stood up. "So, party at Logan's on Saturday. I'll let Susan know."

Logan tipped a finger off his brow as he slid the take-out boxes toward Veronica, who opened them eagerly. "Got it. I'm not responsible for making high school alluring though. I'll provide the location and the food. You guys are going to have to convince her on your own."

Veronica sat silently chewing an egg roll, her eyes on Carrie as she walked away. She swallowed, then looked back at Logan and Mac. "Someone's going to make high school alluring? How's that supposed to work?"

Mac spoke up before Logan could think of any reasonable answer for that question. "Carrie's worried about Susan. She wants to cheer her up and I said we should try to convince her to come back to school."

Veronica nodded and reached for another container. "You think coming back to school is going to cheer someone up? That seems...unlikely." 

"Like you don't enjoy coming to school every day. Get to hang out with all of us, spend time with Mr. Smoosh over there—"

"Hey," Logan said indignantly.

"—and set your life up to kick the world's ass. You like school just fine." Mac grinned over at Logan. "And you, don't pretend you're not totally smooshy. Around her at least."

"Okay, I see the point of dragging her back into the world, even if it is only high school. This may involve some kicking and screaming though." Veronica smirked at Mac, then pointed at Logan with her chopsticks. "And she's right. You're totally smooshy."

"I'm rock hard, and you should know that better than anyone." 

Mac groaned. "Nope, I'm not sticking around for that conversation. Talk to y'all later." She stood up, grabbed her garbage and her bag, and disappeared into the crowd of students.

Veronica took another bite of Mongolian Beef, then leaned into Logan's side. "You do know how to clear a room," she said. "You know you can't say things like that in front of Mac and Wallace."

"Yeah, I try to save those statements for when I want some alone time with you."

"Ahh, now I understand. It's deliberate." She dipped her last eggroll into the sweet and sour, then held it up for Logan to take a bite. "As long as you avoid statements like that in front of Carrie. She just insults you. Actually, it's probably better to avoid that kind of talk at school at all."

He laughed around his mouthful, nodding as she popped the final bite into her own mouth. "You're so right about Carrie. She says things to me that most people would never dare."

"Except Weevil."

He nodded again, sobering. "He and I have a different dynamic than pretty much anyone else. Hey, maybe we need to invite him on Saturday. He could use some pulling back into the world."

"I doubt he'll show, but we can try." She began to gather up the empty containers. "On top of the medical stuff, he's having a hard time without Felix. Personally, I think he's a lot better off without the PCHers but with Felix gone, he's pretty much all alone."

"It had to be done," Logan said in a low voice. "Felix’s choice of true love was going to end up getting him dead if he stuck around. He may not be here to play hopscotch with Weevil, but at least he's alive and well."

"And, he even managed to skip town with that ill-chosen true love. Look, you don't have to try to convince me; I know he and Molly are better off out of Neptune as well as you do." She stood up and rested her hand against the back of his neck. "Weevil knows it too. It just sucks that he's so on his own now." She leaned down and kissed the top of Logan's head.

"He doesn't have to be. He's just too stubborn to hang out with us."

"If your situations were reversed, would you be accepting invitations to hang out at Casa Navarro?" Her raised eyebrows made it pretty clear she knew the answer to her question and he nodded his agreement.

"You're right. And honestly, for all we know, the house might be a trigger for him too. He did almost die there." Logan stood up and gathered the rest of their belongings, following Veronica to the trashcan and then out of the lunch area.

"If that's true, he's hiding it pretty well," Veronica responded. She took her bag back from Logan and slid her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. "He says he doesn't really remember any of what happened that night and he's been by your house plenty of times. He's just not really into the group scene now that his crew is running without him."

"He's better off without those shitheads anyway.” Logan shrugged as Veronica laughed. He knew it probably was weird for him to end up being Weevil Navarro’s biggest advocate, but he owed him, and what the PCHers had pulled while Weevil had been hospitalized was beyond shitty, even for a bunch of loser low-lifes.

“True, but even when your friends are jerks, it can be hard to get used to being on the outside when you used to be in.” Her voice was mild but Logan felt her words like a blow. As good as things were between them, he knew that he'd always regret how he’d treated her in the year after Lilly died, and how he’d let others treat her.

He’d continued to walk with her without hesitation, but Veronica must have felt something change between them because she stopped and turned to grasp both of his hands in hers.

“Logan, stop. The guilty moping has got to stop.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Look, I heard what I said as soon as it was out of my mouth, and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say something that would upset you. But I can’t always be on eggshells with you, trying not to trigger a guilt trip.”

He shuffled closer to her, tipping his head to rest his face against her hair. “It’s not your responsibility to have to guard your words so my feelings don’t get hurt."

"Maybe not, but it's also not your responsibility to constantly rake yourself over the coals about things you did almost two years ago. Especially not when you've been trying like crazy for the last eight months to make up for everything."

"I can never make all of that up to you," he answered sadly. "We'll be old and gray, and I am still going to feel as bad about what I did to you as I do right now."

Veronica straightened and took a step back. He didn’t have the top of her head to rest against any longer and he tucked his chin down into his chest so he could continue to avoid her gaze.

“Logan,” she growled, irritation in her tone. Her fingers pinched at his chin. “Look at me.”

He sighed and raised his head, but kept his eyes downcast. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t feel bad, Veronica. I can’t help how I feel.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. You can feel bad forever if that’s what you want to do.”

That statement got his attention and he looked up at her in surprise. She sighed behind a tight-lipped smile, as she shook her head at him. "I'd prefer that you didn't do that, but I can't do anything about how you choose to feel. But, I would appreciate it if you could stop reminding me of things that I'm over and done with. I don't want to be old and gray and still have to be thinking about a really, really bad party that I went to sophomore year of high school. Because that's what your self-inflicted guilt trips do...they remind me of one of the worst nights of my life. I don't think that's your intent, but that's what you do."

Logan groaned and pulled his hands out of hers, moving away from her to a low concrete wall that bordered the path they stood on. He slumped down onto it and leaned his elbows onto his knees, hiding his face in his hands. "Oh God, I suck."

He felt her sit down and lean into his side. "No sexy talk at school; didn't we just talk about that?"

Despite himself, he snorted a laugh. "That's your rule, not mine." He sat up and put his arm around her. "I'm sorry, Veronica. I never thought about how I was still hurting you by bringing up the shitty things I've done in the past. I'll keep it to myself."

"Okay, if you must. I just wish you'd work a little harder at forgiving yourself. I've forgiven you. And think about it this way...do you really want to be old and gray, with me there with you, and be wasting our few remaining moments together thinking about something bad that happened a long time ago, that you've more than made up for since then? I know that I'd rather that you were thinking about a way to get in my pants."

He gaped at her smirking face. "Now who's breaking the rules?"

She shrugged. "I just need you to get past this old stuff. You've gonna do so many other dumb things in the next seventy years. If you never let go of any of them...it just sounds depressing."

"I am never going to do anything as dumb, or hurtful, as what I did that night. Never." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I will never hurt you like that again."

"I know," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "But you will hurt me, and I’ll hurt you. I don't think we'll mean to, but shit happens sometimes. The important thing is that we recognize when we've messed up, and we fix it." She rested her hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes, nestling into her hand. "Do you hear me, Logan?"  He nodded. "Okay, then, come on, we don't have much time before lunch is over."

"Where are we going?"

"Girls bathroom. It's a new year; I wanna see if you've got any new moves."

He let her tug him upright and pull him toward the bathroom. "When exactly do you think I learned any new moves? I'm pretty sure I've used all of my moves on you at least once."

"You've got a very dirty imagination. You surprise me all the time." She laughed back over her shoulder at him and he did have a sudden thought of pressing up behind her at the bathroom counter while she urged him on over her shoulder. He shivered at the picture in his head, and sped his pace slightly.

"Hey, isn't this conversation banned anyway?" 

"You believed me about that?" 

[junker-town]

The Lakers used free agency to become the oldest team

Photo by Adam Pantozzi/NBAE via Getty Images

OLD.

Los Angeles’ decision to trade for Russell Westbrook helped assemble the team’s big three, but also made the Lakers old. Mind bogglingly old.

As it stands right now the Lakers signed roster has an average age of 33.0 years old, making it not only the oldest in the league — but one of the oldest of all time. That could move down slightly more, should restricted free agent Talen Horton-Tucker re-sign with the team they would still have an average age of 31.7, older than the 2015-16 Spurs, who had Tim Duncan, Manu Ginobili and Andre Miller, all born in the 1970s.

This makes the Lakers the powerhouse team of 80s kids, and I love it. Perhaps the most stunning element of this old team situation is that the Lakers don’t have a single player on their roster who was drafted in the first round by the organization. Many y oung players were given up to acquire Anthony Davis, then more with Westbrook — which led to this elderly movement.

Now, if we’re to compare to last season there were six teams (Spurs, Pelicans, Timberwolves, Thunder, Knicks, and Pistons) last season with an average age of less than 24, meaning the Lakers are almost a full decade older.

Of course, this is no indication the team will fail, it’s just really wild. The 96-97 Bulls were DEFINITELY an old man team, all things considered. Not only did they have Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and Dennis Rodman, all in the 30s, but they had 43 YEAR OLD ROBERT PARISH ON THE ROSTER. Those Bulls had an average team age of 30.06, still much younger than the prospective Lakers, thanks to their rotational players and deep bench.

So, if you’re looking for a team to root for in the NBA in 2021-22 and you’re an old who is bitter about the aging process, then you might want to consider watching the Lakers. They might just make you feel young again, or at least make you believe that olds can do anything. Albeit spectacularly in shape, elite olds.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Twenty-Three → in which the Baudelaires enter the Hotel Denouement

“We look like shit.” Violet said. 

They looked down at their reflections in the pond. They had changed into their concierge uniforms, surprised that Kit had managed to find some for the youngest two. Nick was still hugging his sweater to his chest, as if he wanted to wear it again, though he knew that would be a poor idea. Lilac had tied her hair into a bun again, hiding it all underneath her hat, and Klaus was nervously rubbing his glasses against his shirt to clean them. Solitude hmmed as she held out her pocket, watching her excited frog hop inside to nap. Violet was helping Sunny tie her shoes, whispering to her how to tie her knots. 

As soon as they had finished, they turned back to Kit, who was packing everything up into a basket. She looked them over, her eyes sad. “Will these work?” Violet asked. 

“Yes.” Kit nodded. “You’ll find sunglasses in your pockets, you should wear those to disguise your faces.” 

She walked over towards them, and Lilac asked, “When will you be back?” 

“Thursday, if all goes well.” Kit said. Then, as they watched, she sat onto the grass and started to cry. 

The Baudelaires glanced at each other, concerned, and eventually Solitude wandered over to Kit, hugging her arm. Sunny crawled onto her lap, and Lilac knelt next to her. “Why are you crying?” Violet said. 

“Because all will not go well.” Kit cried. “You may as well know that now, Bauddelaires. These are dark days, dark as a crow flying through a pitch black night. Our errands may be noble, but we will not succeed. I suspect that before Thursday, I’ll see your signal and know that all our hopes have gone up in smoke.” 

“But how will we signal?” Klaus asked. “Which code should we use?” 

“Any code.” Kit sighed. “We’ll be watching the skies.” 

The Baudelaires all nodded solemnly, and then Lilac said, “We’ll all go inside. Let us help you pack up.” 

Her and Violet knelt down to put things away, and as Klaus ducked down to help them, Nick put a soft hand on Solitude’s shoulder, and said, “Kit? Can I… speak to you alone?” 

His siblings gave him very nervous looks, but when Kit wiped her eyes and said, “Alright,” Lilac just gave him a pat on the hand, and Violet and Klaus comforting whispers, and then Nick took Kit to the edge of the lawn, outside of the earshots of his siblings. 

“I understand that you have some serious concerns,” she said, “And I can assure you-” 

“Lilac doesn’t know.” Nick said sharply. 

Kit jumped. “What?” 

“She doesn’t know. About your…” Nick just gestured to her. 

Kit’s eyes softened. “I know that. I just… it’s nice to see her. And you. You look like both of your parents so much.” 

Nick bit his lip, hugging his sweater. His mother’s necklace was still underneath his uniform, and he knew that Lilac’s was under hers. The two of the older girls had their ribbons, and Nick had the folded baby picture of Lilac, and he supposed Klaus had that spyglass and sheet music somewhere, and those few items were the only things they had left. The only things that were truly theirs. 

Nick held out his sweater, and said, “Can you hold this for me? Until Thursday. I can’t lose it.” 

Kit looked about ready to cry again, but she did take the sweater, letting her hands linger over Nick’s as she gripped onto the edges. 

“I hope I can help you, Nick.” she said softly. “When I’m back.” 

“I doubt you can.” Nick said bluntly. His eyes were cold. “Your people will never help us. We’re only here to piss him off, and to make sure he doesn’t get his filthy fucking hands on what he wants. After this is done, we’re going somewhere. I don’t give a shit where, or what we’ll do until Lilac’s eighteen, but we’re not going with you. We’re not going anywhere any of these people can reach us.” 

Kit’s expression didn’t change. Nick wondered if she’d been taught not to show her emotions, and how well that training had taken hold. “Okay.” she murmured, not sure what else to say. 

Nick bit his lip, thinking about everything. VFD. The secrets. The Sugar Bowl. That reminded him of a book Lilac read him. 

“We’ll live on the moon.” he said quietly, his voice almost blank. “And we’ll have flying horses.” God, he wished he was still young enough to believe that. 

He reached into his pocket, which was only just big enough for his small box of markers. He wanted to pull one out, but he also didn’t want Kit to see him. 

“Don’t fail the Quagmires, or Fiona.” he finally said. 

Then Kit took the sweater. 

“I won’t.” she promised. 

Nick didn’t know if that was a promise she could keep. 

After she’d left, and Nick was sure she wouldn’t come back, he drew the moon on his arm. 

When it was time to go in, Klaus and Lilac immediately threw their hands over their ears. The hotel lobby was loud as hell, with bells clanging and guests shouting and bellboys and bellgirls running around, and waiters and waitresses racing to deliver food to tables, and taxi drivers led their guests inside while dogs led their owners outside, and piano music rung throughout the house, and cascades of water fell from the fountain, and elevators dinged as they rose and fell. 

Nick held out a hand for Solitude, and used his other hand to grab onto Klaus’s arm. Violet mirrored him, taking the hand of Sunny and the arm of Lilac. 

“Frank first.” Sunny said. 

“Let’s check the desk.” Violet said, gesturing towards it. “Frank should be there for us.” 

“Unless it’s Ernest.” Nick said. 

As they walked to the desk, they glanced around, seeing several numbers emblazoned onto things- 101 over the desk, 152 on the piano, 131 behind the fountain. 

“What do you suppose the numbers are for?” Solitude asked, barely heard over the clatters around them. 

Before anyone could answer, a man came bounding up to them. He was very tall and skinny, and he wore a uniform similar to theirs, with the wod MANAGER printed in fancy script above one of the pockets of his coat. 

“You must be the new concierges.” he said. “Welcome to the Hotel Denouement, I’m one of the managers.” 

“Frank or Ernest?” Violet asked, as Lilac and Klaus hesitantly lowered their hands. 

“Exactly.” he said. “I’m so happy he six of you are here, even if two of you are unusually short, because we’re unusually short-handed. I’m so busy you’ll have to figure out the system for yourself.” 

“System?” Klaus asked. 

“This place is as complicated as it is enormous,” said Frank, or perhaps Ernest, “And vice versa. I’d hate to think what would happen if you didn’t understand it.” 

“Um.” Lilac said quietly. “We’ll try our best.” 

“Good.” said the manager. “You’ll be at our guests’ beck and call; if anyone and everyone staying here asks for assistance, you’ll immediately volunteer to help them.” 

“Excuse me, sir?” a bellboy ran up, holding two suitcases. “This luggage arrived in a taxi, but the driver said the guest wouldn’t arrive until Thursday. What should I do?” 

“Thursday?” said Frank or Ernest with a frown. “Excuse me, concierges. I don’t suppose I have to tell you how important this is. I’ll be right back.” 

The manager followed the bellboy into the crowd, leaving the Baudelaires standing alone next to a large, wooden bench marked with the number 128. Klaus ran his hand along the bench, which was etched with rings, from people setting down glasses without using coasters. “Do you think we were talking to Frank or Ernest?” Klaus said. 

“I don’t know.” Lilac said. 

Before any of the Baudelaires could guess, a tall, skinny manager appeared at their sides. “You must be the new concierges.” he said. “Welcome to the Hotel Denouement.” 

“You must be Ernest.” Violet said. 

“Or Frank.” Nick said. 

“Yes,” the manager said, “I’m very grateful you three are here. The hotel is quite busy at the moment, and we’re expecting more guests to arrive on Thursday. Now, you’ll be stationed at the concierge desk, number 175, right over here. Follow me.” 

The children followed him to a far wall, to the desk; on it was a small frog-shaped lamp that perked Soli’s interest, and out the window, they could see a gray, flat horizon of the sea. “We’ve got a pond on one side of us,” said Ernest, or Frank, “And a sea on the other. It doesn’t sound very safe, and yet some people think this is a very safe place indeed. What do you think?” 

“Hmm.” was all Sunny could think to say. 

“Hmm.” Frank or Ernest said in response. “Now, then, let me explain how this hotel is organized.” 

“Excuse me, sir!” said a bellgirl, carrying a large pile of newspapers. “These latest editions just arrived.” 

“Let me see.” the manager picked up a paper, and then said, “Alright, I’ll show you the newsstand in Room 168. Concierges, I’ll return shortly.” 

He left with the bellgirl, and Lilac said, “I bet that’s The Daily Punctilio, full of lies about us.” 

“Duncan would hate that.” Klaus mentioned. “Even if it wasn’t about us.” 

“Do you think people will recognize us?” Solitude asked. 

“We look more like concierges than children.” Nick assured her. “Besides, they probably don’t have updated pictures. It’ll be harder to recognize us the older we get.” 

“That’ll make it easier to run errands.” Violet said. 

“What do you mean by that?” asked a familiar voice, and the Baudelaires saw that either Frank or Ernest had returned. 

“What my associate meant,” Klaus said, quickly, “Is that it would be easier for us to start our work if you explain how the hotel is organized.” 

“I just said I would do that.” said Frank or Ernest. “Once you understand how the Hotel Denouement works, you’ll be able to perform your errands as easily as you would find a book in the library. And if you can find a book in the library, then you already know how this hotel works.” 

“Expound.” Sunny said. 

“The Hotel Denouement is organized according to the Dewey Decimal System.” the manager explained. 

“Oh, like libraries.” Klaus said quickly. 

“Yes.” Frank or Ernest nodded. 

“Expound?” Sunny repeated. 

“Marked numbers symbolize different topics.” Nick said. 

“For instance,” Klaus said, “If you wanted to find a book on German poetry, you would begin in the section of the library marked 800, literature and rhetoric.” 

“Similarly,” Frank or Ernest said, “The eighth story of this hotel is reserved for our rhetorical guests. German poetry would be labelled under 831, so if you went to room 831, you’d find a gathering of German poets.” 

“Is there a catalog somewhere?” Violet asked. 

“You shouldn’t need a catalog.” said the manager. “The entire 100 section of a library is dedicated to philosophy and psychology, and so is the first story of our hotel, from the reception desk, which is labeled 101 for the theory of philosophy, to the concierge desk, which is labeled 175 for the ethics of recreation and leisure, to the couches over there, which are 135 for dreams and mysteries. The second story is the 200s for religion, and we have a church, cathedral, chapel, synagogue, mosque, temple, shrine, shuffleboard court, and Room 296 which, fair warning, is currently occupied by a somewhat cranky rabbi.” 

“Any snakes?” Solitude asked. 

“Shh, not now.” Nick said. 

“The third story is social sciences, where we have placed our ballrooms and meeting rooms. The fourth story is dedicated to language, so most of our foreigners stay there. The 500s are dedicated to mathematics and science, and the sixth story is dedicated to technology, from the sauna in Room 613-” 

“Promotion of health.” Nick whispered to Violet. 

“-to Room 697, where we keep the controls for heating, ventilation and air conditioning. Now, if the seventh story stands for the arts, what do you think we would find in Room 792?” 

“Well, that’s stage presentations.” Nick said. 

“A theater?” Violet guesed. 

“You’ve obviously visited a library before.” the manager said. “I’m afraid that’s not true of all of our guests, so when they are in need of any other services, they ring for a concierge instead of wandering around the hotel by themselves. In the next day or so, you’ll probably walk through every section of the hotel, from the astronomy observatory in Room 999 to the employee’s quarters in the basement, Room 000.” 

“Is that where we sleep?” Lilac asked. 

“Well, you’re on dury twenty-four hours a day,” Ernest or Frank said, “But the hotel gets very quiet at night, when the guests go to sleep or stay up all night reading. You can nap behind the desk, and when someone rings for you it will serve as an alarm clock. Your positions as concierges are excellent opportunities for you to quietly observe your surroundings. People tend to treat the hotel staff as if they are invisible, so you will have the chance to see and hear quite a lot of interesting things. However, you should remember that you will also have many opportunities to be observed. Do I make myself clear?” 

They paused. “That’s an interesting question.” Violet finally said. 

They suddenly heard several loud, piercing rings. “Aha! Your work has begun!” the manager said. 

They moved to the other side of the desk, where Frank or Ernest pointed to a vast network of tiny bells, lining the back of the desk where drawers might otherwise be. Each bell had a number from 000 to 999, with one extra bell that had no number at all. Exactly six bells were ringing- the extra bell, 371, 547, 674, 781 and 954. 

“Alright then! That works out perfectly! You can each take a different room.” the manager said. 

“Split up?” Nick said nervously, grabbing Solitude’s hand tight. 

“Of course. You can’t be in more than one place at once, can you? I suppose you’ll each have to pick a room and head out.” 

“What’s the extra bell?” Lilac asked curiously. 

“The rooftop sunbathing salon.” said the manager. “People who sunbathe aren’t usually interested in library science, so they’re not picky about the salon’s location. Now, get moving. Off with you!” 

The siblings quickly raced towards the elevators, ducking behind a plant as soon as Frank or Ernest turned his back on them. 

“Last time we split up, Solitude was poisoned.” Nick hissed. 

“Girb,” Sunny said unhelpfully, which meant, “Technically, the last time we split up, we were tossed into separate brigs and Violet tried to make a flamethrower.” 

“Goddamnit, Violet, what have I told you about flamethrowers?” Lilac groaned. 

“That I should totally make one and use it on Olaf the bastard man.” 

“No!” Lilac paused. “I mean, I’m not opposed to the idea, but-” 

“If we have to split up,” Klaus interrupted, “We should hurry. And run back to meet here when we’re done. Nick, you know the Dewey Decimal System better than I do, what were those numbers?” 

Nick shivered and shut his eyes. “I don’t have the full thing memorized, but 371  is educational, 674 is lumber, 954 is… maybe food? Or something South Asian? I don’t know the others.” 

“Nine.” Sunny said, which meant, “I’ll take that last one, then.” 

“I’ll take 674.” Klaus suggested. 

“Are you sure? That’s lumber. You almost killed someone in a lumbermill.” Lilac said. 

“Thanks for the reminder and implicit vote of confidence, sister dear.” Klaus said. “I’ll be fine, it’ll just mean I know the area.” 

“I’ll take the roof.” Violet said. “Nick, you take 371, that sounds safe.” 

“I’m not taking a safer option than the rest of you.” Nick said. 

“Okay, fine, but you would still probably be able to help more with education, considering how many books are still bouncing around in your dumb head.” 

“You’re a dumb head.” 

“Holy fuck, Nick, just take the school shit.” Lilac said. “Soli, you want to take your chances with 547 or 781?” 

Solitude considered. “781 sounds like fun.” 

“Whatever you say, sweetie.” Lilac said. 

“What happens,” Solitude asked then, “If one of us finds the imposter alone?” 

“Get the rest of us.” Lilac said sternly. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks.” 

“And don’t die or get captured.” Nick said. 

“Guys,” Violet said, putting one comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder and the other on Sunny’s head, “We’ll be fine. We’re in a library. What’s the worst thing that could happen in a library?”

[paharvey99]

No Waitrose October: Days 27-28

Day 27

Who’s staying up for the US election then? I’m so excited about it, I keep checking that 538 website and looking for the latest Pennsylvania polls and trying to work out whether Biden is in a better position than Clinton was four years ago… I mean, all the polls are saying Biden is going to win, if you were looking at it rationally you’d say he was going to win big, but after what happened four years ago I don’t think anyone can look at anything rationally right now. Plus the Republicans are going to do everything they can to steal the election, they’re not even hiding it.

I don’t know anything about US politics the rest of the time, by the way, just around election time. I always wonder if there’s an equivalent set of people in the US when we have a general election; people sitting about in Dallas or Pittsburgh, frantically checking up on the chances of Iain Duncan Smith getting chucked out in Chigwell. I hope so.

I’m not staying up for the election, by the way, I’ve read that there probably isn’t even going to be a result for a few days because of mail-in votes. Although I’ve also read that the Republicans are trying to claim that there has to be a result on the night as a way of trying to get all the mail-in votes chucked out without being counted, as they’re more likely to favour Biden… OH GOD I LOVE ELECTIONS. If I get any more into this election I’m going to start calling the Republicans the GOP and it’s going to get really embarrassing.

I think part of the reason I’m excited about it is because getting rid of Trump would just be a nice thing, wouldn’t it? One less thing to worry about. And it would be nice round about now to have fewer things to worry about. Also, if Trump gets kicked out it’s bad for Boris Johnson, isn’t it? Johnson looks more nakedly awful once you stop being able to look across to America and say, “Well, at least we haven’t got that guy”. He’s a lot more exposed as a total shit if Trump goes. Hopefully that would make a difference on some tiny level.

Anyway, you didn’t come here for ill-informed and badly-reasoned political chat, you came here for… actually, what? Why do you even come here? Why are you reading this? This isn’t worth your time. It’s not enriching your existence. You’re just sitting there on your phone, trying to pretend you’re not addicted to your phone, while reading about me and my inconsequential opinions. Seriously, stop it. Go and talk to your children. Go out for a walk. Give your mum a call. Listen to Big Thief, or Cornershop, or Brahms. Paint. Give your head a treat. Whatever you do, just STOP READING THIS.

…

 …

 …

  Right, now we’ve got rid of the part-timers, let’s get down some hardcore No Waitrose Octobering. Day 27, a Tuesday – a nursery day. The four year-old I live with has been getting much better at getting ready for nursery recently. It could be that the person I live with and I have got better at adapting to her latest software updates; currently, she basically wants to do everything for herself, even if she can’t do it. This makes even the smallest task, such as putting on Fireman Sam in the morning, utterly arduous.

Me: *presses button on remote*

Four year old I live with: I WANTED TO PRESS THE BUTTON

Me: Ok, come here then

FYOILW: Which button is it?

Me: The big button in the middle

FYOILW: *presses wrong button*

Me: No, not that one, this one. *presses button on remote*

FYOILW: I WANTED TO PRESS THE BUTTON

Me: *kicks self*

A pretty hectic day, but all days are pretty hectic at the moment. I’ve got more stuff to do, more meetings to go to, more people to talk to than ever before. Remember the good old days when working from home was openly acknowledged as being a bit of a skive? Feels like we might have changed the dial on that one.

Did the evening nursery run and on the way back decided to nip into M&S Food for a treat. The four year-old I live with loved M&S Food last time we were there, so I thought she’d enjoy it again. We did actually need some stuff as well, don’t worry. We needed milk, and I also had a vague plan to get something fancy for tea, as we didn’t have much in at home. Then it turned out that there wasn’t really anything fancy in M&S Food that I fancied, so I decided to go with the half a packet of bacon in the fridge as the basis of our evening meal. It turned out to be a good decision; I made some tomato, olive, bacon and chilli pasta that was pretty delicious, all told. It’s often the case that meals borne of mild desperation are among the tastiest, no idea why.

Didn’t go to Waitrose.

Day 28

Wednesday, and a new tactic. As you’ll remember, the four year-old I live with is at nursery from 1pm on Wednesdays, so Wednesday morning has become Big Shop Day. Now, the last few weeks have proved that going to the shop in the morning, coming back for lunch for an hour and then hotfooting it out again to nursery is a bit of a scramble, so I decided that today we would try going out to do the Big Shop and just staying out until it was time for nursery, see how that went.

We decided to go to West Hove Sainsburys, to try to buy a swimming costume again. They didn’t have one last week, so I was confident they wouldn’t have one this week, which was exactly what I wanted to happen. The four year-old I live with was confident they would have one this week for some reason, so I decided to let her discover the harsh realities of capitalism the hard way.

Thankfully Sainsburys hadn’t decided to start stocking swimming costumes in the last week and we made it out of the clothes section unburdened by lycra. The four year-old I live with had sensed that she had missed out on a treat though, so was on the lookout for the rest of the shop for something to fill the treat-shaped void. This intensified in the magazine aisle, I have no idea why I went down the magazine aisle, a rookie error. Ignoring the plaintive magazine demands, I hastened to the baking aisle and filled up on vaguely exciting things like sugar and golden syrup.

It was around this point that the four year-old I live with spotted a unicorn. Everything has unicorns on them these days, because four year-olds like them and idiot parents like me will give in and buy them. The thing that I caved in and bought was some kind of unicorn-flavoured Angel Delight. On closer inspection it emerged that it was three different layers of Angel Delight that you had to make separately and assemble in fancy glasses, which sounded like more effort than Angel Delight is worth, but vague nostalgia won out and it went in the trolley.

The four year-old I live with has learned that pretty much everything after the baking aisle in West Hove Sainsburys is as boring as hell, so almost immediately the demands to go and pay started up. Frankly I pretty much agree with her; the beer selection in Sainsburys is the worst of any major supermarket, and the freezer section holds little interest beyond frozen peas and fish fingers, so we went and picked up a sausage roll from the hot food counter for lunch and found a socially-distanced queue to stand in for the till.

Back in the car we ate our lunch despite it only being about 11am. We still had a couple of hours to kill before nursery, so we called Granny for a chat. We told her about the unicorn-flavoured Angel Delight; she’d heard of Angel Delight but never had it. The internet informs me that Angel Delight was invented in 1967, at which point Granny was 45 years old. Of course she’s never had it, it’s still some new-fangled rubbish to her. 

I wonder what I’ll think if I get to the age of 98 and I have some grandchild ringing me up and telling me they’ve just bought some Vegan Magnums or something. I think I’ll be okay with it, all told.

After the phone call we still had a bit of time to fill, so I had a look on the map on my phone to see if there was a nearby park we could have a look at. There seemed to be something called Hangleton Park, which looked quite big, so we went there. The park itself did indeed turn out to be quite big, a long narrowish stretch of grass with nothing on it other than a couple of benches and a few trees in each corner. Not exactly what I was after, but I had packed a ball, so I could work with it. We ran about and chased a ball and pretended to be monsters until it was time to go to nursery, at which point I went home and did a load of work in the afternoon.

After the evening nursery run and assorted malarkey, I made a chicken for tea. I’d been reading Nigella’s Christmas book where she gives a recipe for fancy roast potatoes, so I decided to try them out. Usually I just shove the potatoes in round the chicken, but for these I parboiled them first, coated them in newly-purchased semolina and tipped them into hot fat on their own baking tray. They were perfect, crispy and crunchy coating around a fluffy interior. They were almost too good, really, I was a bit suspicious of them. I asked the person I live with what she thought of them, she said she prefers her roast potatoes gloopy and I needn’t have bothered trying anything fancy.

Probably won’t be bothering doing that again. Also, I now need to find something to do with the rest of the packet of semolina.

Didn’t go to Waitrose.