#i know she's a special case who might never ever get a rerun but. if she gets one. high priority

[buryam-soul]

Even in the final scene of her story after she takes over the tavern and it's all lively again, Jiu Niangzi is still depicted alone with a lot of empty space around her.

It's only in the main event story that she's surrounded by others -- and even then, no one is really looking at her, and she's not looking at anyone. Nobody realizes what she's done, what she's about to do.

Which makes this scene retroactively hurt more. Now everyone's facing her -- seeing her.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Prove Them Wrong | Reggie Peters

A/N: I got these two requests for a Reggie fic and decided to merge them together, I hope you don’t mind! 

Request 1:  Please i just want a fanfic of reggie discovering YouTube and uploading home is where my horse is video and the gang reacting to it since people absolutely love it

Request 2:  Hi!! Can you do one where the reader is julies friend and is with her when the boys come back and her and Reggie have a instant connection and he follows her around and is always talking to her

Relationships: Reggie x Reader, Sunset Curve x Reader, JATP x Reader

Warnings: Fluff? 

Words:  4,165

Your life has been pretty ordinary for the past 16 years. A life pretty much every person would call boring was a life you wouldn’t change for the world’s most expensive things. Until you met Reggie and the other boys from Sunset Curve. You say boys, but it would be much more accurate if you said ghosts. Sunset Curve was a ghost band from the 90’s that popped into your life one night when you were helping your best friend Julie clean up her mother’s studio. 

2 months earlier… 

A text from Julie comes in when you’re doing your homework on your bed whilst watching reruns of Friends on your laptop. The show makes for good background noise, you find. “911!” Worry rises within you as you read the call-for-help text from your best friend. “U ok?” you text back. Three dots begin dancing on the screen, raising suspense. “Do u wanna come help me clean out mom’s studio? :( x” A soft smile plays at your lips whilst more dots appear. “Don’t think I can do it by myself.” You close the Netflix app on your laptop and get up to put some proper pants on. You had the habit to kick your jeans off the second you got home. Prancing around in your underwear after a tough day at school has become one of your favorite things to do, but Julie might not appreciate that too much, nor would the neighbors. “OMW!” you quickly text back and hop into your Vans before heading down to the Molina house. You find your best friend behind the grand piano, looking up at the chair-decorated ceiling of the shed. Something Julie’s mom did with a superstitious meaning you’d kind of forgotten. Neither you nor Julie believed it, to be fair. “Hey,” you greet softly, making her look at you. A smile appears on her lips, glad you’d be willing to come over and help. Like you’ve been so many times last year when her mother died. You’d be there to listen to her talk about all the memories with her mom, or to hug her as she cried because she missed her.  This is just another part of the grieving process she needs to get through, and you’re there to hold her hand all the way through it. “Are you okay?” you ask, walking towards the piano and leaning your forearms on it. “Yeah, it’s just a little weird to be here…” she says as her eyes start scanning the entire space. “There are so many memories of her in here.” Her fingers glide across the piano keys. “Yeah, I know,” you whisper, not wanting to bring up anything that might hurt her. You remember the days you’d come over to play with Julie and you’d hear her mom singing in her studio. You remember when you’d make music together with Carrie and her dad and Julie’s mom. There are so many unfinished songs about bunnies and puppies from when you were kids, and even some more recent ones about the person you had a crush on or about that boy that broke your heart when you were fifteen. Those songs are now stored away in the back of your mind, waiting for the day Julie would start singing again. Along with all those memories you put on tape.  “Let’s get crackin’!” you tap the top of the piano in a rhythmic beat before stepping away and holding out your hands for Julie to take. The girl gets up from the stool behind the piano and carefully places her hand in yours. You pull her away from the piano and halt in the middle of the garage, looking up to the loft that suddenly seems very looming. Both of you know whatever’s up there is the ghost of a musician’s past, and not even Julie’s mom’s. No, all the instruments up there are from the people that used to live here. Julie never told you, but you’re certain Carrie’s dad used to live here when he was a child and sold his parents’ house to Julie’s parents when they died. You’d noticed the way Trevor always stood in the doorway, glancing around with soft eyes and a tender smile tugging at his lips. Almost like he’s reminiscing about his past. Besides, he’s accidentally slipped up a few times when talking about his childhood, saying he used to play around here with some of his buddies. No one else ever mentioned it, so you didn’t either. There’s probably a good reason for him not to speak about his past in too much detail. You climb up the stairs first and step up on the wooden floor, letting your eyes scan over all the junk up here. Keyboards, old guitars, drumsticks, even an entire drum kit, along with bags and backpacks, all strewn around the place. “Y/N,” Julie’s voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. You look down to find Julie still on the stairs, half of her body in he loft. She’s holding a CD up to show you. “Sunset Curve?” you read aloud from the black CD case. “Never heard of that band.” “Let’s give it a listen?” she suggests and after receiving an agreeing nod from you, she climbs down again, followed by yourself. She places the CD into the stereo whilst you sit down on the couch. Julie presses play and joins you. “1-2-3 Take off, last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge--” The music fades away as it’s overpowered by a loud screeching noise. You look over at Julie, who has her hands up to her ear to cover them from the noise. Your eyebrows knit together, confused as to what’s happening. It might just be a fault in the production of the song? Or maybe a scratch on the CD? Before you can even come up with a decent reason, a bright flash lights up the entire garage, followed by a loud thud. And, when you look up, you find three boys in the middle of the studio, scrambling up from where they’d come down harshly. You and Julie quickly get up from the couch, wanting to take a closer look at the scene in front of you.  “Woah! How did we get back here?” One of them says, confused about his surroundings. Julie lets out an ear-piercing scream before running out of the garage, leaving you with those three boys. You have no clue what’s happening, and you don’t know what to do either. Should you run and hide like Julie? Or should you just wait and see if they have a reason for being here? “Hello!” one of them yells excitedly, making you snap out of your train of thoughts. It’s the dark-haired boy with the red flannel tied around his waist that’s talking to you. “I’m sorry, who are you and what are you doing in our studio?” Your eyes widen at this. They think this is their studio? “I-I’m… I’m sorry, gimme a second,” you say, holding up your finger. The boy nods curtly before you dash out of there too, running up to Julie’s room with the question haunting your head ‘Who are they? And why do they think it’s their studio?’ After a while, you and Julie pluck up the courage to go back into the garage, armed with a cross since Julie’s positive they’re ghosts. Turns out they are. They -- along with Google -- explain they’re three ghosts that used to be in a band called Sunset Curve and that they died after eating bad hotdogs in ‘95. Luke, Reggie and Alex introduce themselves to you, and from that moment on, you’re certain these three ghost boys will change your life forever. And they do. 

Present day

To say your life has changed since the day those boys came into your life is an understatement. It went from studying while watching Friends in your room to going out to their gigs almost every Saturday and sitting in on their rehearsals every day after school. You, along with Julie, have grown very close to the boys in the last five months. They’ve become your best friends you could talk to about everything and anything. But the most special connection you have, is with Reggie. Ever since that day, the boy hasn’t left you alone. Every time you’re at the Molina house, he’ll poof in, wherever you are. Whether you’re getting a drink or a snack in the kitchen, or  you’d just come out of the bathroom, he’d be there. This caused a lot of heart attacks, but also a lot of deep conversations.

Especially if he came to your own house. This was mostly when he’d had a bad day or missed his old life or his parents. He’d poof into your room and just tell you to do whatever you were doing, that he just wanted to hang out. After a few times, you didn’t even ask anymore and he didn’t have to tell you to just continue whatever you were doing. Those nights even ended with the two of you cuddling, which is something  you realized you could do for some unknown reason. But you liked it, so you didn’t think too much about it.  Today is Friday, which means it’s the last big rehearsal before the boys and Julie have their gig tomorrow night. And though you’d much rather be there with them, you have to watch your little siblings for the night since your parents have gone out to a dinner party. You’re making some popcorn in the kitchen for all of you to munch on when watching a movie, when Reggie suddenly poofs in, making you jump. You hadn’t expected him to come in this early, which causes the worry to well up inside of you. Something must’ve happened. “Reg, you okay?” you ask in a hushed voice, glancing back at the kids in front of the tv. “No…” he murmurs, wringing his flannel in his hands. He looks sad, sadder than when he misses his old life, which means something really bad must’ve happened. “Gimme a second,” you say and turn to leave the kitchen. Reggie smiles a little as those words remind him of the first words you ever said to them. “Kids, it’s time for bed!” Moans and whines come from the little kids on the sofa, protesting their early bedtime. “No complaining! Chop chop!” you rushed them up the stairs before returning to the kitchen. “Get yourself comfy on the couch, I’m just gonna put them to bed real quick, okay?” Reggie nods agreeingly and watches you walk away again. He grabs the bowl of popcorn you’d prepared and takes it into the living room. Even though he can’t eat, he’d want you to snack on it since you’re the one that made it. “Sorry it took so long. They can be really stubborn sometimes,” you exhale frustratedly as you plop onto the couch next to Reggie. “Now, tell me, what’s going on?” “So, I suggested to Luke we’d try this song I wrote a while ago,” he starts solemnly. “Home is Where My Horse is?” you ask, remembering him writing that up in your room. You’d even helped him on some verses.  “Yes, that one! But he just rejected it… Again!” he sighs exasperatedly, throwing his head back on the backrest of the couch. “Yelled at him that he didn’t appreciate my talent and just poofed out,” he chuckles airily, and you do too. “I’m sorry Luke isn’t more open to your creativity, Reg… I really wish I could help you somehow, if I knew something I--” you stop in your tracks as an idea pops into your head. “What is it, Y/N?” he asks, getting excited as it seems you have an idea.  “What if we film you singing the song and upload it on YouTube?” you suggest, eyes twinkling at the idea alone. He nods excitedly at first, but then slows down when he realizes he has no clue what you’re talking about. “What’s a YouTube?” he asks. You let out a giggle before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the dining table where you’d left your laptop. You open it on the site and show him the home page filled with different types of recommended videos. “It’s a platform where people can post videos of whatever they like. A lot of artists use it for their music videos nowadays. It’s where I posted ‘Edge of Great’ a few weeks ago,” you explain. 

He peers at the screen with wide, intrigued eyes. You then lean forward and type in ‘Queen don’t stop me now’ before hitting enter. Reggie’s eyes widen even more as you press play on the music video.

“I could film you with my dad’s equipment and edit the whole thing together and upload it. At least then the world will see how truly talented you are and maybe Luke might change his mind too?” He eagerly nods his head in agreement, getting excited about the whole idea. Besides him being able to prove to his band that his country songs are worth taking a second look at, it’s also a good opportunity for you to test out some new techniques. 

So, on Saturday, the two of you get up at the crack of dawn -- or you do since ghosts don’t really sleep -- and make your way down to the riding club your little brother goes for riding classes. You’re acquainted with the owners, so they’ll let you film whatever you need around there. Doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re not filming anything. “Okay, you ready?” you mutter as you set up the first scene. He’s currently sitting on a picnic bench with his guitar in his lap and the stables in the background. Your camera is set up in front of Reggie with the stable doors on each side of his head, perfectly balanced. You simply nod your head curtly as his ‘action’ sign. He immediately starts strumming his guitar and singing out his self-made words. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day…” You spent the entire day running around the ranch, letting Reggie sing his song multiple times in different locations. You even film a couple of nature shots to edit in later. This is just going to be the greatest music video you’ve ever made, and it’s all thanks to Reggie. Your Sunday is spent behind your laptop, editing Reggie’s footage until it’s turned into a somewhat coherent video. “Hey!” Reggie poofs into your room late that night. “Where’ve you been? You missed movie night!” he asks, worry laced in his voice. You don’t even take your eyes off your screen. It’s almost finished just a few more… Yes! “I just finished editing your video! Wanna see?” He nods his head excitedly, so you make some room for him on the chair you’re sitting on. He seems hesitant at first, but eventually sits down on the very edge. Your entire side that’s touching his tingles. It’s always been a weird feeling to touch him, but this is from an entirely new calibre. You rewind the video and press play. There’s a shot of the surrounding nature at first and some horses galloping in the distance whilst the strumming of his guitar floats out of the laptop. Then the camera pans to Reggie on the picnic bench with his guitar. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day… and for me” The picture changes to Reggie looking out into the meadows, watching the horses frolic around in the grass with a couple of shots of him playing his guitar as he’s walking along with the horses. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is Don’t need a house or a roof I just put on the saddle, lace up my boots  Cuz home is where my horse is” In the next few shots, you’re even in it. Reggie had grabbed your camera and placed it on the grass before grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the meadow with him to dance. It probably looked most ridiculous to any bystanders, but the footage is too pretty not to use. You can just about see two silhouettes dancing around over the grass with a flare of sunlight breaking in and giving it a magical flair. “I don’t need the streets Don’t need the city lights I don’t need a fancy car I just hop on my horse and ride” You’d filmed a couple of the riders too, since Reggie himself couldn’t really ride a horse seeing he’s a ghost and everything. But it made for some good footage to set the scene of the song properly. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is I see the beautiful beast running up to me And I know I’m home” The song ends and the screen fades to black, Reggie vanishing as he looks out into the meadow again. You look up at real-life ghost Reggie with expectant eyes. He’s just staring at the black screen for a moment, mouth ajar and eyes wide. “Woah!” he finally mutters. “That was amazing, Y/N! Show me that again!” he exclaims excitedly. Of course you oblige and show him again. This time, he points out everything he loved. “This is my favorite part!” he says, pointing at the screen as the two of you are shown dancing. You can’t help but smile at how excited he gets over this collaboration. “So, can I upload it?” you ask when the screen fades again. “What?! Of course! Put it on the Tube-thing!” he claps his hands excitedly and watches as you open the site and start the upload on the Julie and The Phantoms channel. You had edited their Edge of Great video when Ray asked your father to help him film, so you pretty much had the right to do this, even if Julie might say otherwise. “There we go! It’s set to upload in about five minutes!” you say and turn to Reggie, almost forgetting how close he’s sitting until he’s literally mere inches away. You can actually feel his hot breath tickling your lips. A wave of warmth rushes through you when you catch his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again. “You’re really talented, you know that?” You simply hum in response to this compliment, not that you agree with him, but you don’t know what else to do. You’re completely frozen in place. His eyes are so pretty up close. They’re the most beautiful shade of green you have ever seen, especially with that twinkle in them. “Can I kiss you?” his soft voice makes you snap out of your thoughts about those dreamy eyes.     “Wh--what?” you stutter, hoping you did hear that right, but not wanting to assume. “C-can I kiss you?” he repeats, his voice just above a whisper. 

“Yeah.” Your voice wavers ever so slightly. Reggie’s eyes flutter close as he leans in to press his lips to yours. There’ve been times you dreamed about doing this, but you never thought you’d actually be able to kiss him. The ability to touch him was a surprise and a miracle, you didn’t think this would be possible too. A bleep coming from your computer causes you to pull away abruptly. You just about catch the smile on Reggie’s face before you turn to the screen, madly blushing yourself. “It’s ready to go!” you state excitedly and start typing up a description for the video. “What are you doing?” he asks, peering over your shoulder. “Typing up a little description for the fans, or whoever watches,” you reply as your fingers stilt for a second to think about what else to write. “Home is Where My Horse is, a Reggie original. Written and performed by your favorite bassist, Reggie Peters. Filmed and edited by Y/N Y/L/N. Special thanks to Hold Your Reins Ranch.” He reads the little text aloud. “Nice,” he nods his head, impressed by your abilities with this foreign platform. “And we’re live!” you inform him as you have pressed the post button. “Thanks, Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, making you look at him again. “I’m just gonna kiss you again, is that okay?” You nod your head before closing the distance between the two of you and kissing him again. This is not what you’d expected to come from this project, but you’re glad it had. This feels right. That night, you send Julie a message with the link to the video. “Give the boy a chance. This is an actual bop!” you sent along with it. You’re a little scared you might’ve overstepped and shouldn’t have suggested making this video for Reggie and you definitely shouldn’t have posted it to the Julie and The Phantoms YouTube channel. It probably wasn’t your place to mingle into a band conflict, but you couldn’t handle seeing Reggie so upset. 

“Get ur talented ass to the studio. NOW,” Julie’s text reads. It sounds a little passive-aggressive, but you still obey and hop into some pants and shoes before heading down the other end of the street where the Molina house stands. “‘Sup, kids?” you say when you find the boys and Julie on the couch, throwing up a peace sign. The bubbliness might camouflage the nerves building up inside you. “Care to explain yourself, miss Y/L/N?” Julie starts with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. You glance over at Reggie. He’s glancing down at the rings around his fingers. “I’m sorry, Jules. But I really think you ought to give this boy and his horse a chance!” you aggressively point at the boy in question, whose head snaps up at this. Now he’s looking at you with a scared, yet tendered expression on his face.    “I was joking, babes,” Julie mutters, holding her hands up in defense. “We didn’t think you’d react this defensive over this…” Your eyebrows knit together as confusion takes over you. “Wh-what do you mean?” you question. “Your video has been viewed over a thousand times already and it’s only been up for about two hours, Y/N,” Julie explains and turns her laptop for you to see the view count at 1,327. Your breath hitches in your throat at the large number. That’s how many people have seen your work? I mean, you would’ve watched it that many times in a row yourself because that song is actually amazing. These people are stupid for not giving it a chance earlier. “Woah, Reg! That’s a lot of people hearing your song!” you exclaim excitedly. The boy gets up from the couch and walks over to you with a proud smile on his face. “Actually….” he starts and scrolls down on the laptop. You taught him how to do that. “They’re loving your camerawork and editing!” He shows you all the comments underneath the video. The reactions are divided evenly between praise for the song and praise for your work. “Wha--” your eyes dart from Reggie to Alex, then to Luke and Julie. “We had a band meeting and we want you to become our band’s official videographer,” Alex announces with that soft smile of his plastered on his lips. Your mouth drops in disbelief. You’ve always loved videography and editing, but you always saw it as something fun, not as an official band thing. After months of sitting in rehearsals and watching gigs, you’re finally going to be part of the band. Or close enough to being a part of the band. “What do you say, babe?” Reggie asks when you’ve been quiet for a good minute. Luke and Alex exchange glances at the sudden use of pet names. That’s new. “I mean, it could be cool?” you shrug humbly. The band cheers, Alex and Luke even high five. Before you can even go over to hug Julie, Reggie’s already cupped your face and crashes his lips to yours. You’ll never get used to that feeling. “That’s new,” you hear Alex say when the two of you pull away. You need a good second to cool it after that passionate kiss, but once you do, you beckon the others over for a group hug. “Thank you, guys,” you whisper and press a kiss to Julie’s hair as a thank you. From that day on, you’re not only known as the Julie and The Phantoms videographer, but also as the cute bassist’s girlfriend. To say your life has drastically changed since meeting these boys would be the understatement of the year.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay​ @thedarkqueenofavalon​​ @caitsymichelle13​​ @calamitykaty​ @wiselight​ @kcd15​​

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Braid Braid

Summary: One day Mabel asks her Grunkle Ford to braid her hair, but ever since he went out to investigate an anomaly with Dipper instead, the fact he couldn’t deliver her simple request plagued him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, Ducktective, it seems you’ve quacked the case.”

“Quack, quack, quack.”

Mabel laughed as she continually brushed her hair; the show may have ended ten months ago, but she was convinced that Ducktective was real and would never die, so she happily watched reruns whenever she could. She sat in her grunkle’s chair with her case of hair things, having already finished her sweater for the day, and she planned to play with her long hair while she watched TV. She heard footsteps and casted her eyes to her left. Soon an old nerd came into view and she grinned. “Hey, Grunkle Ford!”

“Hello, my dear.” He smiled at her. “What are you up to?”

“Just watching TV.” She then lit up as a brilliant idea came to her and she held up her hairbrush and glittery bag full of hair clips and hairbows. “Wanna braid my hair?”

Ford held up a hand as he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Mabel, but I don’t know how to braid hair…”

“I can teach you if you want!” The girl offered happily. “I bet you’d be great at it!”

Just then, Dipper came down the stairs called, “Hey, Grunkle Ford! Ready for our mission?”

“Indeed!” Ford gave him a high-six and the boys headed for the door.

“Where are you two going?” Mabel asked.

“I convinced Ford that we should investigate the Hawktopus further.” Dipper answered. “No anomaly is too stupid to look into.”

“We’ll be back by dinner.” Ford promised as he opened the door. “If not, then assume the monster ate our flesh.”

“See ya later, sis!” Dipper called and the boys were gone.

“Bye!” Mabel yelled after them through the door happily, but her happiness slowly went away as sad thoughts occupied her brain. “Have fun. Without me.”

The teenager slumped in the chair, the sounds of the TV unable to penetrate her thoughts. She knew her grunkles loved her very much, but sometimes she wondered if Ford liked Dipper way better than he liked Mabel. She could understand Ford liking Dipper a little bit more than her, because they were so similar, but it sometimes felt like the Sweater Twins only had sweaters in common and that’s it.

The more Mabel thought about it, it was no wonder Ford liked Dipper way more than he liked Mabel. Stanford Pines was an experienced scientist who had been all over the Multiverse, traveling for thirty years, and was as tough as nails and as strong as an ox; no one like that would want to hang out with a girl who likes glitter and make-overs and other girly things. No wonder Ford would much rather hang out with Dipper than her. Mabel didn’t blame her uncle, but it still kinda hurt.

She wished there was something they could both do. Something Ford and Mabel liked to do. Something no one would only be doing to spend time with the other. Mabel loved adventure and weirdness and exploring, but maybe Grunkle Ford only wanted that to be a Dipper and him thing, which was fine! So Mabel racked her brain for anything he would want to do with her, but she couldn’t think of anything.

To get her mind off of it, she went into the kitchen to get a drink of Mabel Juice and then to maybe hang out with Grunkle Stan, play some cards or throw water balloons at each other. She didn’t really feel like playing with her hair anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hawtopus investigation proved to be more difficult and more enjoyable than Ford had predicted, so after dinner and the kids had gone to bed he yawned into his hand and ventured into his bedroom to take a shower and go to bed. He entered the clean space and slipped off his trenchcoat to hang it on the coat track, and as he did so his eye caught something bright purple and sparkly. He smiled as he saw a bundle messily wrapped with coloring paper and tied up with red ribbon, glitter added for some “pizzazz” as Mabel would have called it.

Ford gently picked up the package and sat on the couch with the gift on his lap. He couldn’t contain the huge smile on his face as he unwrapped the gift. There, cushioned in wrapping paper and on his lap, was a brand new sweater. Ford grinned and held it up for a better look at the new turtleneck. It was blue, his favorite color, and had a beaker with atoms swimming around it, something science-y for him to display proudly on his chest. Mabel had made him a sweater once before, a new red one with a golden six-fingered hand on it, and now he was honored with two sweaters.

He made a mental note to thank Mabel with hugs in the morning. As he stripped for his bath and turned on the shower, he wondered how in the world Mabel found time to do this, to make so many sweaters in such a short amount of time; she seemed to miraculously make a sweater every day! Then his mind toyed with the idea of her working on the sweater while watching TV, but then he remembered that Mabel had been doing her hair and had asked Ford to braid it.

Under the warm water, the old scientist felt like a rock had been dropped in his stomach. He realized he might have hurt her feelings to choose to bond with Dipper rather than her, considering the boys always seemed to be together. Ford was aware that he accidentally showed favoritism in one twin, something he completely didn’t intend to do, and not only had he done so, it had hurt Mabel’s feelings. He had hoped countless messages and phone calls and video chats between summers had assured Mabel that Ford cared about her, but it was very possible that she might need a reminder every so often.

To make it up to her and to reward her for her kindness and patience with a special treat, Ford racked his brain for what to do for her. The only thing that stuck out was the way she had innocently asked her grunkle to braid her hair. Taking into account that no one in the family seemed to do “girly” things with her, at least not nearly as much as she does “boyish” things with the men in the family, Ford made up his mind.

After the shower and dressing in his new sweater, dark pants, and trenchcoat, Ford snuck out of the house to do some research. The library was closed, but Ford had no problem sneaking in and settling in a desk at the dead of night, reading books on the History of Braids and the Origins of Dreadlocks and literally any hair-themed book and magazine the library had; he even read up on hair-dying techniques for whenever Mabel had the desire to try something new.

The books didn’t feel enough. After a quick cup of coffee at a gas station, Ford hurried up the hill for his best friend’s manor. He knocked on the door urgently and waited a minute or two for Old Man McGucket to come to the door, rubbing his eyes with a bathrobe over his green flannel pajamas. “St-Stanford? Whazza matter?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, buddy, but it’s very important.” Ford pressed, his arms full of books and magazines he had borrowed without permission from the library. “I need to learn how to braid hair for Mabel and I was hoping I could use your mobile computer.”

Fiddleford blinked through his thick green glasses and smiled a half-toothy smile. “This is an emergency. Anythang for Lil’ Sweet Tea! C’min, c’min. Want some coffee?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Long into the night, the old researchers acted just as seriously as they did back in the day, except they weren’t unintentionally creating a gateway to Hell. McGucket dug up some more books from the Northwest’ private book collection in the lounge and Ford used the laptop to do some more recent, or “trendy”, findings. To he and McGucket’s amazement, the internet was full of videos showing exactly how to do all sorts of hairstyles. From coloring hair to cutting it to braids and ponytails, all kinds of hair from straight to messy curls to somewhere in between could be learned to tame with a few clicks on a computer.

“Bingo!” Ford said, readjusting his glasses, and he quickly got to work, just as enthusiastic as he was about earning another PhD or discovering a new anomaly. Fiddleford had a very hard time keeping the smiling eyes off his friend as he watched him get so excited about a feminine activity, one both men had been deprived of due to a lack of females in their lives but were eager to explore.

The next morning, Mabel yawned into her fist and skipped cheerfully down the stairs for a glass of orange juice to start the day. She heard the front door open and close and she was surprised to find Ford coming home. “Grunkle Ford, wh… Aw! You’re wearing your new sweater!”

Ford grinned and nodded. “Yes, I absolutely love it! It’s almost as beautiful as you, my dear. Thank you very much.”

Mabel blushed and drank some juice. “You’re welcome! So, where have you been? Out on a morning walk?”

“Something like that.” Ford said with a shrug. “So, would you still be interested in me braiding your hair?”

Mabel gasped and cried out, “OH, YES PLEASE! I’ll be right back!” And the young girl ran off to get her bag of hair things.

Ford sat himself in his brother’s chair and Mabel soon returned and plopped in his lap when he petted his right leg for her. Mabel gave him the hairbrush to detangle her bed-head and said, “Okay, so it’s easier to start by parting it into sections…”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear.” Ford said calmly as he brushed her hair lovingly. “I’ve done my research.”

Mabel had on idea what he meant by that, but she shrugged and decided to let him do as he pleased. She had braced her skull for a bit of tugging as it was sometimes difficult to brush tangled hair, but Mabel was pleasantly surprised to find Ford being as gentle as a kitten and brushing her hair so gently she could hardly feel the pull on her scalp, and yet she could feel the knots becoming undone and progress being made. She grinned and said, “Wow, Grunkle Ford, you’re really really good!”

It was a good thing she couldn’t see how red his cheeks turned. “Well, thank you, sweetheart. You truly have very beautiful hair.”

“So do you! It’s so fluffy and cute! After you braid your hair can I braid yours?”

Now Ford’s whole face was as scarlet as a king’s robe. He knew his hair was a bit harder to manage than Stanley’s but he never considered it to be cute or fluffy. “I see no reason why not.”

“Yes! I’m so excited! You really are very beautiful, Grunkle Ford.”

Okay, who gave this young lady permission to be this adorable? There were several dimensions in which it was illegal. “Th-Thank you, Mabel, but really I’m not… B-Beautiful is a more suitable term for wom-”

“Nu, uh!” Mabel interrupted and shook her head only a little bit, trying to be still for her uncle as he brushed her hair. “Daddy says anyone and anything can be beautiful. If a flower or Christmas lights or an animal can be beautiful, then girls and boys can be beautiful. And also girls and boys can be handsome!” Mabel added to drive her point further home.

Ford chuckled and it made his niece’s chest feel warm. “That makes sense. Thank you, Mabel. So, did you feel well last night?”

“Yeah! I had a really funny dream!”

“Oh, what was it about?”

The conversation spilled into swapping stories of past dreams. While Ford’s dreams from the past mostly contained nightmares, he could recall a small handful of dreams that were positive spins on his imagination and he happily recalled them with Mabel. As their talk flowed so easily, like water, Ford detangled all of Mabel’s beautiful hair and then began to braid. He wanted to impress her with something big and elaborate, but he wasn’t confident in his skills yet and this was his first attempt, so he met in the middle and did something a bit more complicated than a simple braid but he wasn’t nearly ready for a boho wedding braid.

With his tongue between his teeth, Ford carefully tied the braid close and held his polydactyl hands away to inspect his work. “Okay, I think I’m done.”

“I wanna see, I wanna see!” Mabel squealed and pulled out a mirror to see her uncle’s work. She was silent with a hard-to-read expression on her face as her eyes fell on her reflection. She tilted her head and the mirror to see the back of her head to see the braid and remained silent.

The braid started as two side braids at the back of her head, but they trailed down and combined into one big, lush braid that hung loosely from the bottom of her skull and trailed down her back. There were one or two times the braid didn’t match the rest of the hair piece and Ford thought the big braid was too loose now that he took a second look at it.

His face fell a little as he was concerned that she didn’t like it and was trying to hide her disappointment. Ford knew he should have interviewed some hairdressers before attempting to do Mabel’s hair, but he had been so excited that he had become reckless, just like always. “I’m sorry, Mabel, I understand if you don’t like it…”

“I LOVE IT!” Mabel had finally conjured up the strength to grin, the wind had been knocked out of her from pure delighted shock, and her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled as she admired Ford’s work. “IloveitIloveitIloveitILOVEIT!!!” She squealed loudly and was bouncing in Ford’s lap. “Look, Grunkle Ford, look! You did SUCH a good job! I’m so pretty now! That’s the best braid I’ve ever seen! ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!” And she spun around to kiss his cheek and she hopped off of him. “I’m gonna go show Dipper! DIPPER! LOOK WHAT GRUNKLE FORD DID!” Mabel yelled as she ran as fast as she could.

Ford was as still as a statue as his niece’s kind words ringed in his ears like cheerful bells. He wanted to smile, but all he could manage was a tearful look as he used all his might to try not to try, his eyes wet and shiny and his lips pressed together. He chuckled at himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose and composed himself. Soon Mabel was skipping back to him and leaped back into his hold to hug him and nuzzle her face in his shoulder.

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford, I love it.” She repeated.

Ford hugged her back tightly and rubbed circles into her back. “You’re very welcome, my dear. Thank you for letting me braid your hair.”

After one last squeeze, Mabel climbed up the armchair to sit on the back so she was behind Ford’s head. She held out a hand for the hairbrush and said, “Your turn!”

Ford grinned and handed her the sparkly hairbrush and felt himself relax as his scalp was treated to the gentle sensation of his niece brushing and caring for his gray fluff.

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 8)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So I was writing this chapter before and during the angst of posting the parade chapter, and I want to just say, that while I knew many of you would be stressed, I imagined this chapter (and chapter 7) as a healing remedy. This is filled with first date fluff and cuteness and also some more needed disclosures between Killian and Emma. it represents a real beginning, and hopefully you’ll all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Anyway, without further ado, here goes!

Okay, Emma, don’t panic. It’s just Killian. You like Killian. Actually, you really like Killian. And yes, he might be a prince, but that doesn’t have to mean so much when you think about it. A date is a date. Sure you haven’t been on one in years, and certainly not with a man you actually cared about. But it’s fine. It’s so fine. You got this. It’s not like he’s taking you to the palace for the date. Oh Jesus, he’s not taking me to the palace is he? I know he said he wasn’t but –

“I can practically hear you overthinking things through the door, Emma. Cut it out!” Anna scolded with her ever present affection laced into the sharp words. The censure snapped Emma’s focus back into the moment and reminded her that time was ticking, and she had others waiting on her. “Now come on, we want to see your dress, don’t we Henry?”

“Yeah, Mom. Open up!”

Anna and Henry’s headed back down the hall, and Emma heard their footsteps loudly thumping in a purposefully dramatic way. They hadn’t even waited for her reply, they just commanded her to get a move on. Emma smiled at their antics, despite her flurry of nerves, and looked back to the mirror one last time. She smoothed out the lines of the delicate dress she’d chosen for tonight, recalling Killian’s promise that they would have complete privacy and no expectations. With that assurance, she went with something pretty and yet still comfortable. Her chosen sun dress reflected the seasonal heat they’d been experiencing, but the pretty pink color was not her usual choice. It was different, but it felt special, and as she’d been choosing from the hordes of outfits Anna and Elsa offered when they arrived, Emma couldn’t help remembering Cecelia’s words at the center’s picnic. She’d said pink was for princesses, and though Emma by no means thought herself a princess, she wanted to feel a bit surer of herself in a not so normal situation.

“All right, I’m coming out,” Emma announced, swinging the door open and heading out for the big reveal.

Elsa, Anna and Henry were all gathered by the television, plotting out their movies to watch and snacks to consume while she and Killian went out for the night. Emma was so grateful to have new people in her life who would give up their one night off from work to help her care for her son, but when she tried to thank them, Elsa and Anna waved off her gratitude as unnecessary. Already they considered her a ‘dear friend’ and they were thrilled to spend more time with Henry. Henry was equally excited, but when he knew this was happening so Emma and Killian could go out, that excitement was compounded. He’d loved every minute they spent with Killian yesterday, and he’d reaffirmed that all day long. Henry had also been very clear of his approval and his want for Emma to give this a real chance.

When she came into view of her friends and her son, Emma felt a bit of lingering uncertainty, but it faded in the sight of everyone’s reactions. Elsa and Anna were so expressive, both of them clapping and smiling immediately.

“Oh, it’s perfect, Emma, just perfect,” Elsa said happily while Anna gave her own assessment.

“I really thought you should go with something more formal, but you were so right. This is the one.”

Emma smiled at the thought and looked to Henry. The softness of his expression made her throat tighten unexpectedly, and in seconds she was ready to cry. He looked so sweet and filled with adoration, and then he said the most beautiful words that always made a mother truly happy. “You look beautiful, Mom.”

“Thanks, kid,” she said, gesturing for him to come over. He ran to her, giving her a big hug that made her teeter slightly on her wedged shoes. She held on tight though, cherishing this love from her son and taking strength from his love for her. “You sure it’s really ok?”

“Killian’s not going to know what hit him,” Henry agreed with a grin. Then that smile faltered and Emma grew worried.

“Everything okay, Henry?” her son nodded.

“Yeah, Mom. Everything is great. You know I like Killian. He was so cool yesterday, and he makes you happy. I saw that.”

Emma couldn’t disagree. Even with all the unknowns and the questions and the hurt yesterday she had been happy. Spending time with Killian and Henry together had been easy and fun. It felt natural, and she’d loved that. It scared her, but she wanted it, and that was part of the reason she’d chosen to forgive Killian and still try despite everything that happened. Still, she felt there was something Henry wasn’t saying, and she waited her son out to see if he’d tell the full truth.

“You deserve this, Mom. I know you’re nervous still, about getting back out there after what happened with my Dad,” her heart stopped. They rarely ever talked about Neal, but when they did Emma always worried. Her priority was Henry and she never wanted him to feel like he was missing something. But in this moment, Henry quickly put those worries to rest. “But this is different. Killian is not like that.”

“You seem pretty sure about that,” Emma said, trying for lightness in tone, but not quite getting there.

“I am sure. You always told me to follow my gut, and my gut says that Killian is good for you. Good for us. Don’t you think?”

“I think…” Emma said, weighing her words carefully. Because yes, she did think that might be the case, but it was still very early on in whatever this relationship was, and she didn’t want to build up hopes too high for her or her son. “I think that I am excited for this date. So, what does that tell you?”

Henry grinned. He looked poised to say more but then a knock sounded at the door. Emma’s stomach flipped in anticipation and all the butterflies came back full force.  Oh god he was here. This was actually happening.

“Look at that,” Anna said gleefully, gesturing to her watch. “He’s three whole minutes early. Someone’s certainly eager.”

“Anna,” Elsa said, chastising her sister, but only in jest. Elsa then came to stand and took Emma’s hands as a means of reassuring her. “You got this Emma. You can be totally certain we’ve got things handled here. Your only job is to go and have a marvelous time, okay?”

“And then report back all the details to us later,” Anna said. Elsa rolled her eyes, which made Emma laugh in spite of her anxiety, and then smiled.

“Any and all detail sharing is up to you.”

“Thank you. Both of you,” Emma said to Elsa and Anna. “Now Henry, you be good, okay?”

“You got it, dude,” he said sticking his thumbs up and quoting a show from her childhood that he’d taken to as a kid when it was on constant reruns. She laughed again, and allowed that laughter to carry her to the door. She didn’t give herself a chance to second guess, she just went for it, and then she saw Killian on the other side and she was spellbound, caught in a web of how handsome he looked.

“Emma.”

His voice sounded out in a deep rumble, gruff with feeling as his eyes took her in. She barely noticed though, distracted as she was by his outfit. Damn, it should not be legal for a man to be that hot. He was that perfect mix of formal and casual, and she momentarily forgot her audience. In fact, she forgot about everything except Killian, and by the time her eyes met his again, he was smiling this sinful smirk that lit her up inside. Crap, he’d caught her ogling him, but when he stepped towards her and filled the air around her with the scent of him she was lost again. She wanted to melt into him right now, but he held back, teasing her but never quite following through.

“I’ve no intention of waiting to the end of the evening to taste you, love,” he whispered, low enough that only she would hear. “But at the present moment we’ve got an audience, and I won’t put you through that.”

Emma nodded, thinking he meant Henry, Anna and Elsa but then she looked over his shoulder and saw the detail he’d had to bring. She blushed at the fact that she’d forgotten herself, but Killian didn’t give her any time to linger in that. Instead he took her hand in his gently. She assumed they’d leave straight away, but he surprised her by asking how Henry was.

“He’s great actually. Elsa and Anna are already spoiling him and I haven’t even left yet,” she said and Killian’s amusement was so genuine it touched her heart. “Do you want to say hi before we go?”

“I would love that,” he confessed and Emma brought him inside, realizing too late that this could be the equivalent of bringing him to the Spanish Inquisition. Her kid already asked a lot of questions, but with Elsa and Anna here, there was simply no way of knowing what would be asked or said. As if he could sense her worry, he squeezed her hand lightly and pressed a reassuring kiss to the top just before they came into view of the others.

“Hey, Killian! I didn’t know you were coming in. I hoped you might, but then Anna said people on dates get all heart eyes and stuff, whatever that means, and maybe you might forget.”

“Couldn’t possibly forget you, lad. Not when you introduced me to the world’s best pizza.”

Henry’s smile at that and his easy hop up from the couch to slap Killian’s hand had Emma absentmindedly rubbing at her heart. She watched the two of them catching up on the day, and also saw how easy Killian was with Anna and Elsa. Both of them lobbed a few sassier questions or comments his way, but he handled it all with grace, and every time he looked back at Emma, which was often, he had a smile on his face, like he was genuinely glad to be here, jumping through all these hoops.

Finally, after a a little visit with all of them, Killian made their excuses, while still keeping their end destination a secret. He offered Emma his hand once more and she took it, following him as he lead her out her front door and to the car. With sure and steady movements, he handed her inside carefully, acting every bit the gentleman. He then came around to the driver’s side and only when they were off and driving did she realize how not normal this must be.

“So what did you have to do to convince Jefferson to let you drive?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Killian said honestly before flashing her a smile. “He’s a smart man. He knows a losing battle when he sees one, and any iteration of this date where I sacrifice alone time with you is definitely a losing battle.”

Emma loved that he’d made this clear, and through the rest of the ride they talked and fell into an easy pattern together. It wasn’t long before they’d reached their destination though and Emma gawked when they pulled up to the magnificent, high, wrought iron gate.

“I thought you said we weren’t going to the palace,” she said, stunned at the size of this place. From the outside it looked like a castle, at least to someone who’d only ever lived in cramped apartments (at best) her whole life.

“This isn’t the palace. It’s another of my family’s estates. Actually, if you want to get technical, it’s mine.”

“Yours,” she said, dumbfounded, but entranced as they were let through and she looked at the stone façade. It was beautifully crafted, and maybe it was smaller than a palace might be, but it was a gorgeous home on a sprawling bit of perfectly manicured land. In a word it was intimidating, but she couldn’t deny the beauty, or the immediate charm of the place.

“Aye. I haven’t spent much time here though. I’ve always been home with my family when on leave. Historically if I so much as mention leaving, my Gran gets cagey and my mother grows quiet, two things you do not want to happen.”

“Bad signs?” Emma joked, and Killian nodded.

“Most definitely. Now though I don’t anticipate any push back.”

“What’s changed?”

“Everything.”

The way he looked at her when he said that told Emma so much. He was talking about her and about them. She felt a flare of heat and appreciation at his affirmation. Knowing he took this seriously made her happy even if she was still not ready to fully jump in. But it begged the question, did his mother and grandmother know about them? Did his brother? What did they think? Did they approve? All these thoughts ran rampant in her mind until Killian drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately any worries fled and she was just here, with him, in this glorious moment. It felt just as good as she remembered, and she loved the taste of him and the feel of his hard body against hers. Emma never felt more secure or safe than she did in his arms, and she didn’t ever want to draw back. Fear was never on her radar when she kissed this man. She was simply free, free to be herself and to believe in something greater.

“I told you I couldn’t wait for the end of the night,” Killian said, his words a low warble that brushed against her skin when they broke apart. Her eyes opened and she took in his sexy as sin smile and felt her heart skip a beat. Damn this man for being so distracting. He was just so smooth and effortless, but underneath that swagger there was some not so hidden insecurity. He could be this and still be vulnerable with her, and that helped Emma feel like all of this was that much more real.

“Who said you needed to?” she quipped, teasing him with an almost kiss of her own and a soft nip at his lip. He growled and she pulled back, chuckling lightly. “Actually, on second thought, a little waiting never hurt.”

She should not have taken so much pleasure at his groan, but he respected her wishes, taking her hand and leading her inside. His hold on her was sure and strong, and she followed him, intrigued by a place she’d never seen the likes of before. The walkway inside was immaculately gardened. The cobblestone was ancient and even, and the vines along the walls were green and full and bright. There were flowers in the hedgerow, and the glass of all the windows glinted with the remaining sunlight. It was a gorgeous façade, and she was eager to see what beauty lay inside.

Walking into the manor home, Emma was struck by the design and the aura of the place. This home was pristinely kept and yet classic in all ways, but where Emma expected sterile, spacious garishness and overblown luxury, she found none. The mood inside was warm, there was plenty of natural light thanks to all those windows, letting in the dimming summer sun, and historical accents that blended with much more modern fare. Room by room she tried not to gawk at how beautiful it all was. It was wild because it was so different, but there was so much she liked, and so many parts of the house she saw and actually desired. It was a royal getaway but it was still a home, and that was beautiful. Thankfully they did not go on a full tour. That would have been kind of mortifying, and a reminder of how truly different their lives were, but what she did see was stunning. She could imagine Killian here, and for a moment she allowed herself to think if she would like it here and if Henry would too.

But she was getting way ahead of herself. She shook away the thoughts as they entered the kitchen, and once they were inside, she saw the first unkempt part of the house to date. It wasn’t messy, per se, but there were ingredients out and utensils and things for cooking. Actually, it looked like someone had already cooked half of a meal. Some things must be in the fridge, but there was enough on the counters for Emma to be curious. Yet there was no one in the house that she’d seen so far. The staff, Killian informed her, had all been given the night off. The only people on the property were his detail and they were at the gates. This was a secured place so aside from regular rounds, there would be no one walking about, and Killian assured her no one would be in earshot or view of either of them. She looked at Killian quizzically and he explained.

“I thought I might cook you dinner tonight, love, but then I realized, as a relative novice, some parts may take too much time. Between reading the recipes and consulting the videos I found online, it was a rather long process. So, I got what I could done earlier before picking you up. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“Killian, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble,” she said shaking her head. No one had ever done anything like this for her. Certainly not someone who had so many other calls on his time and attention.

“It wasn’t any trouble, love. And I hope, when you find out what exactly is on the menu, you’ll be pleased.”

Emma didn’t know what she was expecting him to feed her, but his menu, as he put it, was a mix of elegant refinement and casual things that showed his attentiveness. He had a few courses mapped out, and most were unfamiliar and native to the Montennaran coast, but every one smelled delicious and tasted even better. It was a languid pacing, with Emma offering to help and Killian insisting he could do this. This left her to relax with a glass of some of the best wine she’d ever tasted, and gave the two of them space to talk, all while Emma took in his determination and sheer power of will. He was a beginner in all of this, and some elements took a bit more time because he was new to them, but his carefulness and attention told her so much about him, and all of his patience was well rewarded.

They stopped to share each plate together, and those moments felt especially intimate. They were seated close together, with barely any space between them, sharing each dish and enjoying each other’s company. Of course it was only a matter of time before that closeness got the better of them, but every time Emma thought they’d give in to the crackle of heat between them, Killian would say there was another course left. He’d press a gentle kiss to her cheek or her neck or her lips and be back up cooking once more. Now it was time though for the final course and she was eager to see what he had lined up for dessert.

“So let me guess, this dessert is going to somehow factor in those Montecarri things right?”

“What makes you say that, Swan?” Killian asked, amused at her question, but giving nothing away as he pulled some items from the cabinets. She was so distracted by his smirk she didn’t take stock of what he was gathering.

“Well this has been essentially a culinary tour of this country, and I hear Montecarris are the specialty to end all specialties. Seems fitting to include them.”

“Perhaps it would have been,” Killian hedged, his expression now the tiniest bit unsure. “But I actually had other plans.”

Emma was about to ask what they were when she looked down at the ingredients he’d brought out. Marshmallows, vanilla ice cream, and wait – was that chocolate chip cookie dough? If her eyes did not deceive her, that was chilled dough of a totally American staple, which also happened to be her favorite baked good bar none.

“Okay, I’m intrigued, what are you making?”

“Can’t you tell?” he asked curiously. “It’s your favorite. Well unless I’ve misunderstood.”

Killian explained his intention to bake these cookies and then to move outside to use the outdoor fireplace. He produced two perfect roasting sticks for marshmallows, and suddenly it dawned on her.

“Cookie s’mores,” Emma said in awe. They were her favorite summer treat, and as she looked closer at the dough she could see that there were graham cracker flakes in the mixture. Holy cow, he’d really done his homework for this one. “But how did you know?”

“My first week at the center, you were caught up in the children’s favorite game,” Killian said, alluding to how the kids loved to ask all of the adults about their favorite things. It had apparently been a staple since the older kids watched The Sound of Music. Now all of them loved compiling lists of favorite things as well as a list of things to try and to dream of one day seeing and doing. Thinking back though, Emma couldn’t understand how he would remember something like this. It was weeks ago, and it was such a small moment, but from her handful of words he’d created a road map to something thoughtful and perfect just for her. “You told them about this particular delicacy, and they were fascinated, as they are by damn near everything you say. I’ll admit, I had some trouble sourcing these graham crackers, though. They’re not a staple around here, but a lieutenant of mine from the navy can get anything from anywhere so I called in a favor.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Emma admitted. She found it hard in this moment not to cry, and the reasons for the feeling were all good. She was just a bit overwhelmed at how much he’d really been paying attention and how serious he was about making her happy. And it was working. She felt so good being with him, and for the first time in her life she was scared in a relationship, not because she didn’t want to trust, but because she didn’t want to let go.

“Perhaps you should save any declarations one way or another until after they’re made?” Killian teased and she knew he was looking for a smile, but she couldn’t just stop there. Instead she moved around the counter and pulled him in for a kiss, showing him how much this gesture meant to her in the scheme of an already beautiful night.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered when they came up for air. His eyes were filled with admiration and want, and she could see he was barely holding back, even as his cursed words sounded more like a prayer than anything else. Emma grinned and let out a low laugh as she ran her fingertips along his jaw.

“I think it’s safe to say that I love this, but just in case there was any doubt…” Emma said, and she purposefully left her meaning ambiguous. To him he might think it was just the s’mores she was discussing, but it was actually so much more. She loved being with him, on this date and just in general. She loved this snapshot he’d provided at a perfect quiet moment. And she loved the passion and the hope this man brought forth in her life so often. Despite yesterday’s uncertainty, she felt firmer in herself and in this new relationship than she ever had, and that was thanks to Killian and his kindhearted ways.

“You’ll never know what it means to me to hear that, love,” Killian admitted and she smiled at him once more. “I only hope you like the rest of the evening as much as you’ve enjoyed all this.”

And as they finalized things here in the house to make the rest of their dessert out back, Emma knew that she would enjoy whatever was coming down the pike. Because with Killian at the helm, she could have total faith in what was coming, and that feeling of safety and excitement that had been with her all evening would continue in the best and most wonderful way.

…………………

Sitting beside the outdoor flame, watching Emma laugh in the flickering fire light as she tried not to set her marshmallow ablaze, Killian knew he had never been more at peace.

Tonight was a revelation, just as many of his moments with Emma had been, but this was different. This time, Emma knew he was a Prince, and though he saw her eyes widen at the ostentatious gates and the vastness of this house, she never made him feel different or otherized. It may not be her norm, but there was no judgment from Emma or expectation. She had rallied and clearly chosen to be herself despite all of this, and that allowed him to do the same. It was a remarkable feeling, and a pleasure he never believed he could have as long as he lived here in Montennaro.

For the past few hours, Killian had done his best to memorize each moment. He kept tabs on all of Emma’s words and expressions. She was touched by his cooking for her, and though he was somewhat overwhelmed by all the things that could go wrong, she seemed to have complete faith in him. She also cherished all of their closer moments together, and he felt her wanting and the way it mirrored his own. There was so much brimming underneath the surface, a tantalizing knowledge that their chemistry was bound to combust sooner rather than later, but still he held back, savoring Emma the best way he knew how and trying to treat her to the perfect first date that she deserved. He wanted to carry all these little pieces of this evening with him for the rest of his days, even while dreaming of making a million more memories like this in the weeks and years to come.

Tonight had also solidified his hope for a future with Emma. He had known for some time that that he was in love with her. Interest and infatuation grew surely towards love early on for him, and now he cared for Emma in a way that would outlive his time on this earth. There was no denying how connected he was to her, and how enduring this bond he felt was becoming. She had his heart and his hopes tied so effortlessly around her, he stood no chance at getting either back again. But seeing her here, in his home, and in the place he was expected to build his future, changed something, taking things even further than they’d been before.

For the first time Killian could imagine Emma with him in his world. He could see a path for them to meet in the middle and to carve out a life they both could love. He had duties and responsibilities as Prince, some of which would require Emma’s participation if they continued to be together, but he would fight tooth and nail to give Emma everything she wanted and deserved outside of royal expectation. He couldn’t give her a fully normal existence, but he could give her love, support, and opportunity. He knew she’d want to work with the Institute still, and likely do even more for children all around the country and the world and he’d see to it that she could. He’d move mountains for her to help her feel fulfilled, because all he needed to feel that way was her. She was his home and his purpose, first date or not, and he prayed that someday she could see a home with him here. If not, he didn’t know what he’d do. All he knew was that living without her was not an option.

“You’re making that face again,” Emma said and Killian looked to her, grounding himself in the feeling of his hands on her lithe form as she turned their sugary treats until they were a perfect toasty brown.

He’d had his hands on her as much as he could tonight, and he was addicted to the feel of her. He did not know how he could go another day without touching her. Even a few hours felt too long a stretch. Emma soothed him and excited him at once, his heart raced but his demons stayed away. Feeling so much and having those feelings be good was something he’d never known before, but yes, sometimes worries crept in. He couldn’t help fearing that somehow she would leave him, and his hands were tied at the moment. He couldn’t tell her everything he felt so early on, but he’d never feel fully comfortable until he could. Still, the way she looked at him, like she knew him even better than he knew himself, should terrify him. Emma saw into his soul and could read him fully, scars and all. But instead of running from the attention like he did with anyone else, he was filled with pleasure. To know that she cared and that she was in this with him meant everything, and that eased the pain of his thoughts and worries being so obvious.

“What face is that love?” He feigned ignorance, though he knew exactly what she was getting at.

“The one you get when I’m leaving, or when you’re worried that I will,” Emma said, pulling out her golden treat from the fire and offering it to him. He absentmindedly took it as she continued on. “You had it yesterday at the parade, and then before we talked. Sometimes you get a version of it at the Center when it’s time to say goodbye, or when our tasks take us different directions for the day. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s a pretty persistent expression.”

“I’m not a fan of being parted from you,” Killian admitted and Emma looked at him with a softness in his eyes that spoke to understanding.

“That makes two of us. But luckily we’ve still got time, right?”

We have forever, he thought to himself but he bit the words back as he nodded and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

From there they managed to create Emma’s favorite summer sweet, and he had to admit that it was delicious, especially when he tasted it on Emma every time he stole a kiss. It was decadent but simple, and though s’mores were not a custom here in Montenarro, he felt young again. Like a kid in the summer months. It was peaceful and rejuvenating, and he wanted to extend that as much as he could.

“What are your thoughts on stargazing, love?” he asked, and Emma looked surprised before casting her eyes above.

“I haven’t had much chance to do it, honestly. We’ve always been city people so the light makes it hard to see. But out here… wow, I didn’t realize just how much you can see.”

“This is nothing,” he said, standing up and tugging at her hand. “Here, let me show you.”

As they left the stone walkway, Killian grabbed a nearby lantern, lighting the flame so they’d have enough light to guide their way. With languid steps the two of them walked from the fireside down a path in the back greenery. It was dimly lit with tiny lights along the path on the ground, but by now the sun had long since set and the night was out around them. Only the pale yellow glow of their lantern cast anything substantial enough to help them see. Emma held his hand tightly, and he checked to make sure she was comfortable. Her expression, even in the dim light, told him everything he needed to know. She was excited for this, and unbothered by the darkness they needed to get through to see the sea of stars.

Soon enough they came upon the back villa, a structure meant to house any guests, which had long been dormant. Since Killian was not here, he’d had no visitors, but someday he hoped that would change. What the house did boast, however, was something essential for stargazing, and he was glad he’d had the foresight to pull it out before Emma’s arrival.

“Wow,” Emma said when their seating area came into view. “That’s some telescope.”

“One thing you’ll learn about my brother is he does nothing by half. I mentioned the stars once when home for a deployment and the next day this was in my rooms. I had no real need of it at the palace, so I had it brought here. Needless to say, it’s a bit more powerful than anything I might have expected.”

“Henry would love this,” Emma said and Killian warmed at the mention of her son. Her boy was special to be sure, and even though he’d only met him yesterday, he knew Emma was right. Henry would take great joy in learning about something like this, and Killian felt a strong need to be the one to teach him how.

“He’s welcome any time, love. You and he both. You know that.”

Emma nodded, running her fingertips across the telescope thoughtfully. Killian knew she was thinking of that possibility, and he saw no signs of discomfort on her face. She just appeared to be thinking about what that might be like and what it would mean to bring her son to this place. Eventually Emma looked at him again, and when she did there was a light in her green eyes not provided by the lantern or the nearly full moon. It was something else, something warm and wonderful. A moment passed where there was so much left unsaid, but then she smiled and asked him to show her what to do. He was eager to do so, finding with relative ease all the big constellations and visible planets on this clear, summer’s night.

“Which constellation means the most to you?” Emma asked. He noticed that she hadn’t asked which one was his favorite. She had purposefully worded her query with the intention of understanding him. Tonight they both wanted to learn as much as they could about each other. It had been a theme throughout dinner and beyond, and for the first time he felt able to give that openness to someone. She may not realize how much this particular question meant, but he wanted to share it all the same.

“Aquila,” he replied, aiming the telescope to where it should be in the inky night sky. It took a few moments, but he found it sure enough, and he passed the scope to Emma with careful fingers so as not to move the lens. She took it in, looking at the stars, some brighter than others. She wouldn’t be able to see the design, or the lines that star maps always filled in, but that wasn’t important. It was the story behind this choice that mattered.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma said quietly. “What does it mean to you?”

“Aquila is the eagle constellation, part of the Herculean star systems. You can see the wings up top, and the bulk of the body below,” Emma nodded, her eyes staying trained in the telescope, giving him a bit more time to rein in his feelings before carrying on. “Aquila has long been associated with warriors, and so being in the navy, that connection always drew some attention. But it’s not the only fighting symbol. It’s not the strongest or most dominant. Most people who know of stars appreciate the constellation, yet cite others as more impressive or important.”

“But not you,” Emma said, looking back at him and coming to sit beside him on the outside lounger. Her hand came back to his and she gave a soft squeeze, pushing him forward.

“My affinity for this particular constellation has to do with the number in the grouping itself. There are ten stars in the assemblage.” He took a steadying breath and said the rest. “The same amount of sailors I’ve lost on my watch.”

Killian took another pause, steadying himself as the faces of those soldiers graced his memory. Despite the effects of time, he remembered each one of them, and sadly he vividly recalled their passings too. None had been easy losses, almost all had been in active combat, and most never had real resolutions. The killers got away, or were untraceable. There was no avenging these fallen brothers and sisters, there was only forward motion. Survival dictated they all carry on, but Killian’s heart required that he carry the fallen with him. He would not let them be forgotten. Indeed, the smallest thing he could do was see them in the stars each night.

“On a ship or on deployment, there are lots of open spaces. The night sky is a constant. Clouds may come, and so does fighting, but if you live through the day, the stars remain. They teach all sailors in the royal navy about the stars. Navigating by them might not be necessary anymore, but it’s a skill we’re expected to harness. The stars were also familiar. I had gazed upon them as a boy, not so unlike tonight. Liam and I used to enjoy such things, in the summer especially. For a long time, when I saw the stars, I thought of home. I thought of my family, and I took strength from that.

“But as much as the stars were a comfort, they were also witness to some of the worst moments of my life. When I experienced real fear and real loss in the field the first time, it was dark out, the peak of night, where stars are brightest. We were ambushed, a number of us were wounded, and we lost a life. Lieutenant Smee was nearly finished with the service. He had three weeks left, but death doesn’t respect such things.”

As he remembered that first lost, Killian still felt the weight of that realization. He’d known going into the service that risk was a part of things, but it made it all so much more real to have someone die in front of him. At that time he couldn’t understand why things happened that way, and he’d felt completely unmoored from any concept of a higher power. If endings were arbitrary and life came crashing down so unexpectedly all the time, what did that mean for the rest of them? What were they fighting for? And was any of it worth it?

“The next night I couldn’t sleep. I felt too much guilt,” he explained, looking down at Emma’s hands on him and using that as a lifeline in these murky feelings from his past.  “We were sleeping and a man was dead, a family was broken, a dream was erased. I looked at the stars all night. This time I felt my ties back home and I also saw the scars I was forming. But even still, every night thereafter I looked at them. Loss came at any time, under the night sky, in a rainstorm, or in the blazing sun. Every time it did, I added a face to see. Soon I had enough to merit picking a specific group. At one time I prayed I would never come to need Aquila, and when I did need it, I prayed to never need another. Ten souls lost was ten too many.”

By now Emma was wrapped up beside him, her embrace having grown more supportive as he continued on, and despite the weight of the memories, he didn’t feel overwhelmed. There wasn’t darkness in full. It was like the sky tonight. There was deep, obscure patches, but light overall. That’s what Emma did for him. She lit him up and made his world so much brighter in the process. It also helped that as he continued on, telling stories of the people he’d lost she never flinched. She sat there calmly, attentively, and supportively. She held him, and when he felt he could say no more tonight she looked at him, with unshed tears and true affection that helped him feel like everything might be okay.

“That was the first time you’ve told anyone any of this, wasn’t it?” he nodded. She curled up closer to him, quietly telling him that she knew how much that meant.

“Aye, but it won’t be the last. I’ve made arrangements to meet with a naval counselor. I never intended to, but today I made the call.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked, clearly glad for his choice but holding off on her opinion.

“You,” he said honestly. “I would really like the chance to be in your life, Emma. You and Henry both. I hope I’ve made that clear by now, but I need to know for myself that I can give you everything I want safely. I still have nightmares and bad moments. I have scars as you now realize, and I want to understand them so I can be better for you, and for me.”

“You’re already more than enough, Killian.” Again she cupped his face, looking at him with what could only be described as love. Whether it was said or unsaid, Killian knew that Emma loved him, and that she was proud of him, despite everything he’d seen and done. It humbled him to feel that, and he knew he could never go another day without it. She was everything and so much more. “As someone who has needed help for my own demons though, I know how good sharing your stories will be. I used to be so afraid about being enough for Henry, about messing him up because of what I’d been through. I know you know the basics, but the truth is I was in more than a dozen placements in sixteen years, and that kind of constant change and upheaval and rejection takes a toll on a kid.”

Killian could not imagine how anyone could meet Emma and not want to keep her. To think of all the places that she’d landed that didn’t fight for her, that didn’t realize what a good and honest person she was made him sick. He knew she’d been through agony as a child, but he never imagined it could be so bleak.

“When I finally split, I still couldn’t find roots, no matter how hard I tried. I was desperate for them. I had no money and nowhere to go. I just… wandered. I’d have given anything for a family or even just friends, but I didn’t trust anyone enough to really let them in. I just needed to survive, and I couldn’t get to a stable enough place to feel like I could take a breath, never mind live a real life. Neal was the first person who helped me, and I made an exception for him. I let him past my walls, and I trusted in him.”

It wasn’t easy to hear Emma speak of a past love, but the look in her eyes told him there was no lingering emotion for this man he knew was Henry’s father. She may have loved him at one time, but that love was now gone. There wasn’t anger or hurt either, there was just calm, like she’d already made peace with every part of this sad story.  

“It was good between us for a while, and I was young and I wanted to love and be loved. As soon as I let him in, that was it. He had my loyalty and my heart. I’d have done anything for him. I thought he could be that connection I was needing, but my desperation clouded my judgment. I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I knew he wasn’t always on the right side of the law, but he always did right by me. I could see past his choices because he loved me and because he did these things for us. That’s what he always said, ‘I’m doing this for us.’ He also never involved me, and he made me feel protected. The world was a rough place, but we’d make it through. He’d get us through, that’s what he said. By the time I realized what kind of man he really was though, everything had gone wrong. He got caught stealing all sorts of shit, and he ran. Not only did he run, he tried to set me up for what he did to get the heat off of him. I almost went to prison. Not jail, but prison, for grand theft.”

Killian could understand more and more now why she had felt extra sensitive to the differences between them. As a Prince, his life and the lives of his loved ones would be under scrutiny always. She probably worried he would hear this and resent it, but he never could. He was livid at the fact that a man had ever hurt Emma this way, that he’d been coward enough to let her take the fall. But he was stunned at her perseverance. Somehow she’d gotten through that, and he was awed by the strength such growth must take.

“The only reason I was let go and my arrest was never recorded was because a good Samaritan called into the cops and provided my alibi. I had been in the park all day, studying for the last of my tests I needed to pass my GED. She and her dog were out there and the dog got off leash. I helped her wrangle the little guy at the same time as the robbery clear across the city. With her testimony they had nothing on me, and they realized they were going to charge me with something I had nothing to do with. I was let go, but yet again I was left with nothing. I had to start over again and it was so hard to do. Then a few months later I realized I was pregnant with Henry. I was so scared. I really didn’t think I could do it, but my state sponsored counselor ended up being a great help. She got me on the road to making things better, and she helped me see the circumstances of my life were out of my control. She said something I thought was unique, but it’s something I hear Anna say to the kids all the time at the center.”

“All you can do is the next right thing,” Killian echoed, and Emma nodded.

“I don’t think I always get it right, but I try to, and looking back I can honestly say that I’m proud of the last ten years. It wasn’t always easy, but we are here and here is…” Emma’s face colored with a soft, thoughtful smile and he could tell that she was thinking of her boy and how their life together was. Killian couldn’t help but feel tremendous pride in Emma and awe at all she had done. She was truly a survivor, and it was clear that the choices she’d made since then had all been guided by a want to do right by herself and by her son.

“Here is…?” Killian hedged, wanting to hear her put it into words. Now her eyes met his and they flickered, turning warm and sultry.

“Here is proving to be better and better, in no small part because of you.”

It was difficult to tell which of them started the kiss they shared then, but Killian savored every moment of it. They were out there together, under the stars and enjoying the quiet peace here away from the world. He wanted to get lost in it, to hold Emma tight from this point on and never have to pull back. Before their evening began he’d already envisioned his future lay with Emma, but now he could see it all here. The two of them together, choosing each other, building a life. Henry was here, and maybe someday other children. He’d be with his family, but they’d live on their own. He didn’t know how, but he felt that he could. He could craft a story for them here, and he just prayed that Emma felt inclined to do the same. Her actions tonight stoked that hope, and the taste of her kiss and the feel of her hands on him revived anything that he’d lost in his recent journey back through the past. Soon enough he was restored, feeling better than he ever had, and content that after so long he truly had found everything that he wanted.

“I wish this night never had to end,” Emma said wistfully some time later. Her lips swollen from their interlude and her golden hair bearing a slightly different shape from where his fingers had twined through. She was more beautiful than ever, here under the moonlight and in the lantern’s golden glow. And though they’d done nothing more than typical first date customs would allow, Killian would never know. He’d never felt so satisfied, and he shuttered to think of what he’d feel when they truly came together.

“I feel the same, love, but I promise – ehrm rather, I hope – that it won’t be the last.”

He shouldn’t have been so presumptuous as to assume she’d want another date with him. Of course he felt her desire and her want to be with him, but this situation was different than most other couples giving things a try. Perhaps she would realize she didn’t actually want to date a prince, undeniable attraction be damned. But God if she ended this then –

Before his thoughts could spiral, Emma pulled him for another searing kiss, one that left no room for outside worries or despair. There was only Emma, and god she was a wonder. He was dizzy from her by the time they broke apart, and his heart lurched at the seductive smile she tossed his way.

“Any chance you’re free on Tuesday?” Emma asked, filling his heart with relief before adding an even sweeter sensation directly thereafter. “Henry’s going straight from camp to dinner at a friend’s house but he’ll back for dessert. We’re having…” she trailed off and blushed and now Killian was too curious to be polite.

“What is it love?”

“Apple pie and ice cream.”

“How endearingly American.”

“I swear we’re doing our best to immerse ourselves, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants,” she said with a shrug and he chuckled, running his hand along her cheek and watching her green eyes darken with the immediate interest that flared once more.

“I can think of nothing I’d like more than to see you and Henry again, love. Dessert sounds divine, whatever is on the menu”

“And dinner?” she asked, licking her lips and making him want another taste even though he’d had one just moments ago.

“If you’ll place your trust in me, I have just the spot in mind. It’s in the city, and we’ll be assured of total privacy.”

“Perfect,” she whispered, leaning into him as they stood and as he took her hand, leading her down the outdoor path once more.

And though it hurt to say goodbye when he drove her back home, so much so that Killian couldn’t bear to say the words, opting instead for a ‘See you soon, Swan’ and a final stolen kiss, he was comforted in knowing that this night was not the end. Instead, it was a beautiful beginning, one his instincts told him would lead him to the best moments of his life for now and always.

Post-Note: So there we have it – another CS first date in the books. I hope that you have enjoyed this chapter. For me it was a real relief to write this, both because I wanted to get to this moment, but also because I crafted it in the midst of a maddeningly busy part of my program. The good news is I have moved to my final stage and successfully passed, so I’ll soon be out of the thick of my crazy time consuming studies. Still, I may be sporadically posting for a little bit as I settle into my new normal post-school. All that being said, this chapter helped me destress and surround myself in fluff, even while dealing with some harder issues in Emma and Killian’s pasts. Please rest assured that Emma and Killian move forward from this moment with nothing but hope and good vibes. My plan for this fic has always been about 12 chapters, and I think I will land right there when all is said and done, and I promise to get back to this fic as soon as I can. In the meantime, I appreciate all of you so much for your continued support and kind words. They mean so much to me and I carry them always. Thanks again and hope you have a great rest of your weekend!

[skinks]

u KNOW eddie sees went and mags as parental figures. some days he’ll come home w richie and they’ll be like “hi eds, we’re having roast chicken for dinner so feel free to stay but make sure your homework is done or no TV afterwards” and he almost cries

ohhhHHHH BABIE boy. U know he notices how casually and happily they welcome him in their house, where his own mother is always hovering like a disapproving vulture when he brings his friends over. How nobody at the Toziers’ even mentions allergies when making dinner, and everything tastes good, even the stuff full of herbs and spices his mom never uses, just in case.

How nobody but Richie and Maggie and Went call him Eds, and that, Eddie realises with a funny flip in his stomach, means that Richie must talk about him to his parents. And he can’t POSSIBLY snap “don’t call me that!” to Mr and Mrs T. so he just has to blush all through dinner and acknowledge internally how nice it makes him feel to have a special nickname, how included and close. It’s like they’re his family, too. If he and Richie stayed friends forever then maybe they would be like his family? Like, if Richie got really famous and had his own show like Jay Leno and bought a big house, they could all live there together, with the Losers too. It’d be like sleepovers every night, Eddie wouldn’t mind sleeping on the bottom bunk bed as a grownup if Richie was there, dangling upside-down over the edge until his face goes red and Eddie’s goes redder from laughing.

Richie helps him with the really tricky math problems and they finish quicker than Eddie ever manages alone, and that’s even with Richie getting distracted by catapulting erasers across the room off the desk with a ruler, slapping his belly and singing sometiiiimes i feeel i’ve got to [slap slap] square the root, i’ve got to, solve for x and help my Eddie paaaaassssss

They actually finish quicker than Eddie might like because he loves it when Richie changes and jitters through songs all the time like he’s got a little DJ chopping and screwing inside his throat, and especially when he jams Eddie’s name into them. It feels like being friends with Max Headroom. But they finish and play leg wrestling and watch Star Trek reruns in the den for so long that it’s dark outside when Went knocks and says it’s bedtime.

Eddie’s throat seizes up around his mouthful of Oreos because jeeze, he was supposed to be home hours ago, he’s screwed, but before he’s even coughed out his first panicked mouthful of black mush, Richie is rubbing his back hard in the right place with the heel of his hand, the place Eddie told him about months ago that helps your lungs, and it soothes something right through his back and out through his chest. Like drinking hot cocoa. He breathes out, and swallows his mush. Richie squawks along as Dingo Dan, yah beauty, neahly cawt ahselves a real rippah of a shahkthmarattack - get it, Eds? shark asthma attack? - luckily Dingo Dan, hero of the bush, was heah to save the day! It makes Eddie laugh and topple him over, and Richie is pretending to take big Crocodile Dundee bites out of Eddie’s screeching side when Maggie comes in to say she phoned Eddie’s mom earlier, because it’s a Friday and you boys seemed like you were having so much fun.

Eddie loves his Ma, but in his house it’s just the two of them. It’s too easy to be sucked into her gravitational pull, and forget there’s a whole big universe of different people who love him and who he can love in return. And if he climbs up into the top bunk in the middle of the night, it’s just so Richie won’t have to whisper so fucking loud, and they can keep talking undetected and under covers until the sun comes up

[scribbles97]

A Man’s Best Friend -- Part 1

@gumnut-logic this is entirely for you for all the help and love and wonderful fic you have given me and helped me with recently! This is only a very small way of paying you back and I hope you don’t mind me stealing your dog <3 

It was against everything he had ever meant for the little dog he had rescued from the singed and blackened bush of Australia. He had made a promise to look after her, to care for her and never ever leave her alone or abandoned. 

Except now, in order to care for Bo, Virgil was being forced to leave her. 

Sure, it was only for the day. He’d left her at home alone for the day before, that was no biggie, she knew that he always came back to her at home. 

Home wasn’t the vets office though. A place that he and Bo were both perfectly familiar with having visited plenty of times for her inoculations. As always she trotted in with a grin on her face, carrying her own lead that he hadn’t even bothered to try and wrestle off of her. 

Bo was probably just as stubborn as Scott. 

Virgil wondered just how the vet was going to manage her. 

As she jumped up to rest her front paws on the reception desk and greet the receptionist, Amber, something told him that perhaps she just might be as good as gold for anyone who wasn’t him. 

“Hello my gorgeous girl,” Amber grinned as she leant around her computer to fuss the dog’s ears, “You’re stopping with us today aren’t you?”

Virgil chuckled as he leant on the smooth varnished wood desk, “I hadn’t told her yet.”

The woman’s hazel eyes widened as she gasped comically at Bo, “Did your Daddy not tell you? Did he bring you out without any breakfast and--”

Bo barked in response, tail wagging as she looked from the receptionist to Virgil and jumped down from the desk. Sitting perfectly at his feet, she looked up, still wagging her tail.

“Well,” He sighed, “Now I’m in trouble, you said the B word.”

Amber chuckled, leaning back in her chair as she pushed her blue rimmed glasses up her nose, “I don’t doubt the nurses will dote on her hand and foot all day.”

He smiled, reaching out to ruffle the short fur of Bo’s head, as he glanced around the waiting room catching the eye of a labrador and something in a basket. 

“As long as all the other patients get just as much love and attention.”

It wouldn’t do any harm to keep Bo grounded as his parents had done he and his brothers. 

“The extra cute ones always get a little extra love.” Amber grinned flicking through something on a datapad before sliding it across to Virgil. 

“Take a seat and have a read over the consent form. The vet will come out for you shortly.”

He nodded, glancing to the information before looking back to Bo, “Come on girl.”

Her tail dropped slightly as she looked back to Amber, ignoring Virgil’s command completely as she turned back to the receptionist. 

“Bo!” He snapped as he took a seat away from the rest of the clients, “Here.”

She ignored him for a moment more, always insistent on doing her own thing, before turning and trotting across to sit at his feet. Virgil shook his head as he scratched her ears. 

“It’s a good job you’re cute.”

Pivoting on the spot, she rested her head on his knee, lifting one paw to scratch at him. He knew exactly what she was after, it didn’t matter which time zone they were in, she always knew when it was breakfast time. 

“You can have a special dinner tonight.” He told her, hoping it would be enough consolation and that she would forgive him. 

Her huff was loud as she sat up again, turning her attention to the labrador across the waiting room and watching as it wobbled into the consulting room. Virgil took the time to look back to the form Amber had given him, reading what her procedure that day would entail and filling out the appropriate contact details. 

He was slightly stunned when the next question asked where Bo preferred to go to the toilet. Looking back to her, he frowned, she went anywhere outside. Brains had even installed a chip in her collar which allowed the doors to open when she sat at them for more than thirty seconds. 

“We’ll just say outside, huh?” He shrugged. 

He had to chuckle at the next question on the list, what did she drink from?

“Anything.” He uttered, remembering the reason he had to always remember to put the toilet seat down those days. 

“I think your only behavioural problem is that you think you’re a human.” He snorted as she watched him with those big round eyes, “Don’t give me that look.”

For a moment he thought she was obeying him as she looked away and focussed on one of the consult room doors labeled as number three with the outline of a dog painted on the room. 

When Doctor Barrett stepped out, Bo wagged her tail and barked once. 

The man grinned, approaching her with hands spread wide, “Hey Bo, how’s our star patient doing?”

“You can say hi Bo.” Virgil prompted as the dog fidgeted on the spot, hind feet twitching in anticipation of seeing one of her favourite people. 

She hardly needed any more telling as she leapt forward towards the vet, sitting on his feet immediately and pawing at his scrubs. Tail wagging at ten to the dozen she barked twice at the man before flopping over onto her back, clearly demanding belly scratches. 

Virgil smiled as he shook his head at her, a couple of treats and a lot of fuss and on her first appointment for her vaccinations Luke Barratt had had Bo in the palm of his hand. Since then, Virgil had done his best to make sure she would allow the other vets to treat her too, but none of them got quite the reaction Luke had.

“It’s nice to know some of my patients love me.” Luke chuckled as he knelt down to fuss her before glancing up to Virgil, “How’s she been?”

Standing, Virgil nodded, “Good. She loves flying now and is getting used to the protective boots. We’ve not had any problems with border control or anything so the World Council have kept up their end of the deal.”

“Good stuff,” Luke smiled as he rubbed at her ears, “And been fine eating, drinking, going to the toilet?”

“All normal,” He nodded, “She knows when it’s time for food no matter where in the world she is.”

“A dog will never let you forget their dinner.” Luke agreed as he stood straight, “And no vomiting or diarrhoea recently?”

“Nope.”

Bo sat up, pawing at Luke again, demanding his attention. 

“One minute gorgeous,” Luke chuckled, “Lemme talk to your dad then you can have all my attention all day.”

With a groan she lay down at Luke’s feet, glancing back to Virgil as she let out a long, loud huff. 

“So,” Luke started, taking the datapad from Virgil and scrolling back to the top of the form, “She’s had bloods run recently. I wouldn’t worry about rerunning them today.”

Virgil nodded, he had wondered himself if the repeat sampling would be necessary. It was the first question at the top of his list, but Luke had clearly anticipated it coming. 

“We’ll give her what we call a premedication to relax her,” Luke glanced down and nudged Bo with his toe, “Not that she needs much relaxing.”

He chuckled, looking to her with a shake of his head, “Luke, I trust that whatever she needs you will see to.”

The vet smiled, scrolling down the datapad slightly and holding out to Virgil, “She’ll have a full anaesthetic for the procedure, and we’ll be removing the ovaries and uterus through a keyhole method.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows at the dog, “No babies for you.”

“Also reducing the risk of some cancers and a uterine infection that dogs are prone to.” Luke added, glancing to her again, “There are risks though.”

Virgil knew there were risks, knew it every time his brothers or himself got hurt and required surgery. No anaesthetic was completely safe, not for people, and not for animals. The procedure was necessary though, for her long term health, and if he wanted to have her with him on rescues. 

Luke’s face was serious as he reminded him of as much, apologising for going through what Virgil already knew. It was a legality though, something the vet had to do to protect himself in the long term just in case. 

“Okay,” Luke finally announced, making Bo jump to a sitting position, “All that’s left is for you to sort out payment with Amber and I’ll call you once she’s awake and arrange a discharge time.”

He was simply grateful that he’d be getting her back home in the same day. Not like when he and his brothers usually ended up in hospital for days at a time. 

Still, this was Bo, not one of his brothers. 

Not that she got preferential treatment or anything. 

“I hope she behaves for you.” He sighed reaching out to scratch her ears, “If not call me.”

Luke chuckled again, “We’ll be fine, won’t we girl?”

“Go on,” Virgil nodded as Luke turned to hold the consulting room door, “Go with Luke.”

So used to be taken down the back for health tests and checks, she hardly had to be told twice as she trotted after the vet, tail wagging as she went. 

Turning to Amber he smiled to her, waiting his turn as she finished with what sounded like a somewhat irate client on the phone. 

“You can’t please everyone, huh?” He sighed as she finally set the handset down. 

She rolled her eyes, “In this job, it seems like everyone’s a critic.”

Leaning on the corner of the desk he offered her a cheeky wink that was entirely more Scott’s style than his own, “Well I can promise you I’m not. You guys do a great job.”

Amber laughed as she held out the paypad, “You haven’t seen what she’s costing you yet.”

He shrugged at the number that came up in front of him, not because he had the money to spare either. 

“You guys are providing a service, and I know how much some of those drugs cost for people!”

Amber rolled her eyes, “Double the number and add a zero for the same drug to be licensed in animals, and that’s only cost price to us.”

He winced, “Ouch. How in hell do you guys manage with these prices then?”

“It’s a very fine line.” Amber murmured, tapping a button on her computer, “All gone through for you. I’ll see you when you come to get her this evening.”

Nodding he smiled, “I look forward to it.”

[ejzah]

A/N: Since I don’t love story I posted earlier, I thought I’d give a bonus chapter. Which I also don’t love. Enjoy Kensi and Deeks on their not date.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 8

“This is incredible,” Kensi groaned, having just bitten into a warm, succulent carnitas taco. It was so good she closed her eyes to better enjoy the experience. When she opened them, Deeks was grinning at her. “What?” She swiped self-consciously at her chin.

“Nothing, I’m just glad you’re enjoying the food. Alex will be happy,” he said.

“Who’s Alex?” Kensi considered stuffing the rest of the taco into her mouth in one bite, but decided that would probably be pushing the limits of propriety. Even if they weren’t on a date, she still didn’t want to disgust him.

So far dinner was nothing like Kensi had been expecting. Deeks had answered the door in a black t-shirt, jeans and with bare feet, completely confident and at ease while her stomach felt like she’d eaten worms for lunch. At the very least, was relieved she’d opted not to wear the sundress she’d been considering.

After showing her around the rest of the house, which was equally as impressive as the few rooms she’d already seen, he led her into the room he called a den/entertainment room. They were now sitting on the floor in front of a low table eating some of the best Mexican food Kensi had ever tried.

Deeks had found the first Iron Man movie on some movie channel and it was playing in the background, but neither of them were paying any attention to the plot.

“Alex owns Alejandro’s, the restaurant I ordered this food from. He’s a friend from high school and hooked me up for the night.” He looked pretty pleased with himself.

“Why have I never heard of it?” Kensi demanded.

“Well, it’s a little bit off the beaten path,” Deeks explained. “I’ll have to take you there sometime.” He said it casually, but Kensi froze for a moment. That sounded distinctly more date like than their current situation. Deeks didn’t notice her response, busy sorting through a bowl of chips.

She stared at him for a minute, taking advantage of his obliviousness. Once again he’d surprised her. She’d expected something much more elaborate, designed to impress and display his wealth than tacos and a movie.

It was very much at odds with his choice of profession, not to mention the massive house, and it made her curious.

“So what made you decide to be a lawyer,” she asked, popping the final bite of taco in her mouth. Deeks snickered, taking a swig of his beer and smirking at her.

“Really, that’s the question you decided to start your interrogation with?” he teased. Kensi stole a chip from his plate, biting into it with an obnoxiously loud crunch.

“Oh, if you want an interrogation I’m happy to oblige. Why do you go by two names?” She raised her finger, cutting him off as he opened his mouth. “And before you start, remember that you already gave me the separate lives bit. Somehow I don’t think your life is that crazy that you need to use a pseudonym.” Deeks acknowledged that with a nod of his head and drained his beer before responding.

Although his expression didn’t change, Kensi sensed he was bracing himself for whatever he was about to tell her.

“Martin Brandel is my legal name. I didn’t get along very well with my dad and pretty early on I decided I wanted to change my last name to Deeks, which is my mom’s maiden name,” he explained, getting up to grab a fresh Modelo. He gestured to Kensi and she shook her head.

“I knew my dad wouldn’t let me, so I waited until my parents got divorced. I figured my mom wouldn’t mind, but she said I needed to wait until I was 18.”

“Your first act of rebellion as an adult,” Kensi guessed and he smiled wryly.

“Almost. When I started looking into the process, I realized why my mom had told me to wait. The filing fee was a couple hundred dollars alone and we didn’t have the extra cash,” Deeks told her with a shrug.

It hadn’t occurred to her than Deeks had ever been anything other than well off and she was curious to know more.

“Why didn’t you change it in college?” He snorted, giving her an incredulous look.

“Are you kidding? I was a scholarship kid. Some months I could barely afford room and board. I didn’t have the money to pay all the fees either.”

“I didn’t realize,” Kensi said, feeling a little ashamed and embarrassed. He waved it off, apparently unbothered by her invasive questions.

“Don’t worry about it. A lot of people assume I came from money.” He glanced meaningfully at Kensi. “It’s how they respond after they get to know me that I care about. Anyway, it was during college that I decided to go by exclusively Deeks with my friends and use Brandel for anything that required my legal name. Turned out it came in pretty handy once we started the law firm. Like I said, it keeps my personal and business lives separate.”

Kensi was quiet, taking it all in. In the back of her mind, she remembered asking Eric to research Deeks’ history. Then it had been for the case, but it could still come in handy. She made a mental note to skim through his history so she wouldn’t run into anymore surprises like this.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, watching Robert Downey Jr. fly across the screen in his metal suit.

“So what led little Kensi Blye to become a big, bad Special Agent?” Deeks asked after she’d eaten her third taco, his tone slightly mocking.

“My dad was a marine,” she told him as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “He died when I was a teenager. But even before that I knew I wanted to serve the country in some capacity. NCIS was the perfect fit.” She kept the details sparse, not wanting to delve into the years of anger that had accompanied her father’s death.

Deeks gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her shoulder. It was a quick touch, but she felt the warmth of his skin through her shirt.

“I’m sorry.” She smiled back, shrugging it off, even though talking about him still stung.

“It was a long time ago.” She felt Deeks’ eyes on her, heavy and inquisitive.

She cleared her throat, her emotions feeling a little too close to the edge. She didn’t talk about her dad often and had shocked herself by telling Deeks about him at all.

Needing to lighten the mood, she snatched up the TV controls which were sitting by Deeks’ leg. He looked a little surprised by her response, but didn’t say anything as she switched off Iron Man and started flipping through the channels.

“Have you ever watched America’s Next Top Model?” she asked and he shook his head, leaning back as she found a rerun of her favorite show.

“No, I don’t watch a lot of TV,” he told her. Kensi grinned evilly and suddenly he looked a little wary. “Ok, now you’re freaking me out a little bit.”

“You are in for a treat,” she promised, grabbing the bowl of chips and settling in against the back of the couch. After a minute Deeks made a horrified sound.

“Kensi, why does that girl have a cockroach crawling on her?”

***

A/N: I hope this wasn’t too awful.

It seems I might have underestimated how much a mansion-y type house would actually cost in California. Where going to pretend that Deeks’ house didn’t cost several million more than I stated.

Also, the filing fee to change your name in California is currently over $400 and that’s not taking into account all the other fees. I figured that when Deeks was 18, it might have been quite a bit less, but still pricy for a poor college student.

[nobleclover]

Silver Screen Sneak - In!

“What do you mean that I can’t see the new movie, Mom?!” CJ whined, his lips pursed into a sour pout.

             You’re probably wondering as to what movie he is so eager to see yet was forbidden to by his mother, Angel. Well, that movie just so happens to be Psycho, directed by Alfred Hitchcock and released on September 8th 1960 for all the public to witness while simultaneously terrorising themselves. Definitely not a film suitable for a ten year old cup like him.

             “Because you’re too young, you’ll get nightmares and school’s only just started! Now run along and finish your homework!” she ordered him before turning back to the row of oysters she gathered that day to make oyster sauce. As she began cracking them open, she heard her precocious little boy stomp up to the bedroom that he shared with his other three siblings and sighed. She didn’t like having to end a conversation like that, but, as his mother, she had to be firm with him, especially since he wanted to go see a HORROR movie of all things.

             In his room, CJ lied on his back across his bed glaring at the ceiling. He really wanted to see the movie after hearing about it from Sorrel, Cagney and Hilda’s teenaged son while he was learning some gardening. Sure, he knew that he was young, but he would hear of his other friends in school discuss scary TV shows that they were allowed to watch, like The Twilight Zone. He was a bit jealous of not being allowed to watch them like his peers, especially his own cousin Saffron, who was surprisingly into horror despite her demeanour. Even more infuriating, when he asked them for more details, they wouldn’t tell him as they “didn’t want to spoil anything.”

             Turning over, he crossed his arms and muttered, “I’m not that young! I’m practically a big kid! My age has TWO digits now, so that must mean I’m allowed to do more stuff!”

             Just then, a small voice from the doorway asked, “What are you sulking about?”

             Looking up, he saw that it was his older sister, Coral, who had just returned from a day swimming and fishing. He slumped back down on the bed muttering, “Nothing.”

             “Nothin’? Doesn’t look like nothin’! You kinda look like Mr. Flatfoot that swims under that arch near the observatory,” she noted.

             Sighing irritably, he sat up with a dead, sad look in his eyes and explained, “I wanna go see the new horror movie sometime soon, but Mom won’t let me!”

             “Ugh, yeah! You know what she’s like! A total killjoy!” she groaned, before climbing onto the bed.

             “You’re getting my covers wet, Fish Face!” CJ complained.

             “Simmer down, Gill Boy!” she retorted before explaining, “now look, I know that I can be a jerk sometimes, but geez, that look on your mug is just pitiable, and…I want to help you.”

             “Huh, that’s a first, considering that you’re a real narcissist,” he replied dryly.

             “Shut up and listen to me! Now look, you wanna see that movie, right? The one that you keep yappin’ on about? Well, most movies only last around three weeks in the picture house, but really SPECIAL movies like YOUR movie last for about FOUR weeks so that the public can get the chance to see it, at least that’s what I heard from Sugarelle!”

             “Really?!” CJ asked with his eyes sparkling with hope, “so I might get to go see it then! But I also heard that most of the time children should be accompanied by adults when seeing horror movies, so how can I get in?”

             Coral was now stuck for words as she couldn’t think of a good solution for him, and could only utter, “I don’t know…”

 One week later:

After much planning and crafting, CJ finally came up with a brilliant scheme: enter the theatre as a ‘short’ adult! He’d selected what he thought was the perfect disguise, some light brown pants, a grey tweed jacket with a hat, and, the most distinguishing feature that would convince people that he was an adult: a moustache.

             When Saffron and his eldest sister Juni heard of this grand plan, they each uttered the same response, “That’s the best you could come up with?”

             “Well…yeah! It’s not like they’re gonna ask me for ID anyways! They never do, that’s what I heard!”, he awkwardly exclaimed, half hoping that he was right.

             “How do you know they don’t?” Saffron asked, shooting him a skeptical look.

             “Be – because Coral told me! Yeah, she – she did!”

             “Yeah, well knowing her, she thinks she knows everything,” Juni responded, “why can’t you just wait until you’re older to watch a horror movie? I’m also pretty sure that they do reruns a few years after the actual release of some movies!”

             “Well, I wanna see it now and show everyone how well I can handle a few jolts and scares in a dark theatre, and I’ll also be seen as cool for once!” he declared, with a smug grin.

             “It’s okay to admit that you’re a ‘fraidy cat, CJ. I can handle some horror but not ALL of it. Besides, you could –” Saffron added before being cut off.

             “Well, I’m pretty sure that I’m more than a little old enough to watch a movie like Psycho, Saffy! Plus, come Monday morning, I’m gonna be pretty much the talk of the school, but I won’t say much as I don’t wanna spoil it for ya!” he replied arrogantly.

             “Not that you’d have anything to say because you’ll likely be covering your eyes during the scary parts of the movie!” Juni retorted.

             “Oh, SHUT UP!” he yelled, “I don’t need to prove to the likes of you that I can be brave, Juni! Anyways, I’m off to the theatre now and I’ll see you two later!”

             With that, he confidently strode off with the bag containing his disguise in his right hand. Saffron and Juni watched him go, with Juni stating disdainfully, “He’s gonna be screaming for Mom like he always does when he has a night terror.”

             “Well, hopefully that nobody recognises him,” Saffron added.

 Later:

CJ just about made it to the theatre. A huge queue trailed in front of the ticket booth as far as the eye could see, much to his dismay. He hadn’t taken the number of people into consideration, so he’d have to try a different way to get in. As he pondered good and hard on how to enter the theatre easily, he suddenly had an idea.

             As the lanky young man let the next couple in to see a movie, CJ ran up to the booth with a panicked look in his eyes and tapped on the glass. The ticket man looked down upon him and asked in a dreary monotone voice, “How can I help you?”

             “I’m so sorry sir! I really REALLY need to use the bathroom and I need to use it NOW! Can I use the one in the theatre?” CJ asked in a rapid manner.

             “Well…normally, I’d say you’d need a ticket to get in…buuuut…I think that’s cruel especially given the circumstances. Go ahead in,” he drawled.

             With that, CJ rushed into the bathroom and stood on the lavatory seat to put on his disguise when he stopped. He suddenly realised that he forgot the most important thing ever in his grand plan: what theatre was the movie showing in?!

             Just then, he noticed a discarded ticket on the floor of the stall and picked it up. Sure enough, it was for the movie Psycho and it was showing in Theatre 7! How convenient! He beamed. As if it was also a coincidence, the number of the theatre definitely showed his luck! As soon as the gentlemen had exited the bathroom, he quietly slipped out and made his way to Theatre 7. He coyly walked in past the usher and twiddled his fake moustache as he went along.

             Soon enough, he found a nice seat at the top of the theatre’s steps, that had a grand view of the screen. He grinned as he thought of how great his grand plan was going so far. He managed to find a way into the theatre without getting paying for a ticket, he got one for free (off a dirty bathroom floor, but still) and he’s now sitting in a swell seat, ready to watch his first proper horror movie!

             The crowd of people pouring in grew larger as each individual spread out to find available seats in the barely lit theatre. A taller gentleman soon approached the row CJ was sitting in, with a large collection of snacks he’d gathered up from the lobby obscuring his face. He was carrying large sodas, a bag of pretzels, some candy and a large bucket of popcorn. CJ licked his lips under the fake moustache as he saw how delicious the food was. He did have money, but he was sure that if he left the theatre just before the film began, they wouldn’t let him in. Apparently, any cinema that was showing Psycho would not allow anyone else in past the time the movie started. CJ irritably sighed and bitterly thought to himself, Guess I’ll starve then!

             The tall man then set the goodies in the seat beside CJ, further obscuring his face from him. As CJ wondered why a man like him would want this much food for himself, the man suddenly poked his head around the bucket of popcorn to reveal that it was none other than HIS OWN FATHER CUPHEAD!

             Cuphead looked at his disguised son with a smile and said, “I heard this is gonna be a killer thriller! Know what I mean?” followed by a gleeful wink.

             CJ was stunned with fright and could only muster up a little nod of his head so as not to appear rude. He sat back in his seat, his mind flooded with panic. He could only think, Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!!!! I’M DEAD MEAT IF HE RECOGNISES ME!! I’LL BE GROUNDED FOR LIFE IF HE --!!!

             Just then, the opening credits flashed on the screen, accompanied by rapid, tense strings with the words having to criss – cross each other to form coherent credits. Everybody braced themselves for what was going to unfold, while CJ was on high alert in case his father was to intercept his disguise.

             As the movie progressed, CJ, much to his dismay, found himself to be extremely bored by this movie. It was nothing but grown – up talk with very little action. Sure, the lady in the film stole a lot of money and took it with her so that she and her boyfriend can live happily ever after, but good lord, was it just coma – inducing. Meanwhile, Cuphead had his eyes glued to the screen, shoving popcorn, pretzels and candy into his mouth and chomping his goodies very loudly.

             The food was so unbearably good that CJ soon heard his stomach growling. Cuphead noticed and whispered, “Hey, old timer! I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t have any concession goods! Wanna share with me?”

             Despite his better judgement, CJ nodded and reached his arm out and received a handful of pretzels. Great, he thought, he’s gonna have to try and make it through the movie without dying of thirst and boredom now.  

             As he munched sparingly on the pretzels, the scene shifted to when the lady and gawky motel owner were having supper in the parlour. It was then that CJ finally began feeling that sense of unease that he’d been waiting for, especially as dark shadows cast over the walls and the owner himself. Finally, some decent tension, he thought.

             Alas, Cuphead had fallen asleep beside him and was snoring like a hippopotamus with asthma. CJ looked at him and softly groaned. His father was always like this after a big meal or a good number of snacks and needless to say, the noise was as ear grating like someone rubbing sandpaper against glass. The young cup tried listening to the dialogue as hard as he could but his father’s snores drowned out whatever noise was coming from the movie.

             Someone else got fed up with Cuphead’s snoring and got the usher up to the row where both cups sat and gently nudged him, jolting him awake. Looking around and stammering, Cuphead looked up at the usher startled and loudly asked, “Did someone die yet?!”

             “No, sir, but someone complained that you’re snoring too loud so that’s why I woke you,” the usher explained.

             Cuphead understood what he said and quietly assured with a smile, “Oh, okay! I’ll keep quiet don’t worry! Thanks for telling me!”

             CJ could feel a laugh welling up but suppressed it. It was truly amusing to see his own father act like a real goofball. Just then, Cuphead turned towards him and whispered, “Hey, old timer! You can have the rest of my snacks okay? Just so that I won’t slip into a food coma again! Sound good?”

             CJ nodded and gladly accepted the food between him and his father. He was pretty satisfied that he got free food and for the first time since his father sat down, he felt like he could relax and enjoy the film properly now.

             The film kept going and reached the infamous shower scene. Everybody, not just little CJ and his father, felt chills going down their spine once they noticed the door behind the shower curtain open followed by a blurry figure approaching closer. Soon enough, the entire theatre erupted into screams once the curtain was pulled back to reveal a seemingly old woman who’s face was obscured in shadows. Then, accompanied by shrill violin strings, everybody jumped and hollered in fright as the poor young woman met her demise. CJ’s eyes were fixed onto the screen in complete horror, while his dad gave out the occasional horrified yelp and gasp. The terrified boy suppressed the urge to scream as he was afraid of being discovered given his young sounding voice.

             Cuphead caught his breath and looked towards CJ and whispered, “JEEZ LOUISE! I wasn’t expecting that! Still, you’re definitely pretty brave sitting through a picture like this!”

             CJ nodded and gave a little thumbs up, still trembling quietly.

             The rest of the movie continued as the characters worked on solving the mystery as to what happened to the young lady with the money. Even with the scenes with a lot of talking, poor CJ was still shaken following the shower scene, and it certainly didn’t help when the private investigator turned up dead or when they found the skeleton in the basement. At long last, once the whole movie was brought to a close, everybody got up and walked home.

             CJ waited for Cuphead to move who was stacking all the disused food buckets, boxes and cups to dispose of them outside. Finally, the older cup got up and made his way down the steps. CJ trailed along after him, only to trip on a step and soon tumbled into Cuphead’s leg, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

             Cuphead looked at the mess around them and uttered, “Aww heck!” before going to clean it up. CJ stood up and realised to his horror that his moustache had fallen off. While Cuphead was picking up an empty soda cup, CJ scanned the steps quickly for his moustache, which thankfully had fallen down two steps ahead of him. He quickly grabbed it and stuck it back on his face before his father could notice.

             Cuphead was still gathering the discarded cardboard rubbish when CJ lent him a hand by carrying some of it to lighten the load for his father. When Cuphead took note of this kind gesture, he responded with, “Gee, thanks, sir! That’s really helpful of you!”

             CJ smile and responded as deeply as he could with a “Mmm – hmm!”

             Cuphead smiled back and headed down the stairs with some of the rubbish and began rambling on about the film as well as how scary it was, even noting, “Oh, man, if my youngest boy was there, poor kid would have nightmares for life! Kid ain’t missing anything!”

             This statement made CJ feel a little guilty, but also somewhat amused. While he did indeed sneak into the theatre without really paying and basically deceived his own father, he was honestly impressed that he was never found out. One could even say that he was even proud of having kept up the charade for this long with Cuphead.

             After discarding the last bit of rubbish, both of them stepped out of the theatre to find that the sun was still bright. Cuphead gave his stiff arms a little stretch before turning to his son and declared, “Well, I better hit the road. It was nice watching the film next to ya, old timer! Take care!”

             CJ gave his father a wave and, again in a deep voice, responded with, “You too, Dad!”

             To his alarm, he realised his error and before he could even move his father whipped his head around and walked over to him, echoing the last parting word in confusion, “Dad?”

             As if it wasn’t already humiliating enough, the moustache dropped off his face and was blown away by a small breeze. CJ watched it blow away before turning to his cross father and asking with a nervous laugh, “That was indeed a killer thriller, huh, Dad..?”

 Epilogue:

             Saffron was sitting on a bench in school eating lunch when CJ collapsed in the seat beside her, with puffy tired eyes heavier than lead. She was gobsmacked at how half - dead her cousin looked and asked, “Whoa, what the heck happened to you?”

             “Psycho happened.”

             “Oof,” she replied, feeling very sorry for him, “well, like I said before, it’s okay to admit you’re a bit of a ‘fraidy cat, cousin. Horror isn’t for everybody.”

             Dejectedly, CJ paused and uttered, “Yeah, you’re right. Still, it’s one thing to be grounded for two months for disobeying my Mom, it’s another when all your other siblings look at you weirdly when they hear how you EXACTLY got found out! Juni laughed at me for a whole hour when Dad explained what happened! Still, at least Coral was a bit supportive, though.”

             “Sorry to hear that, pal,” she empathised, patting his shoulder supportively.

             “It’s fine. I still wish I wasn’t too much of a ‘fraidy cat, mind you,” he sighed.

             Saffron suddenly got an idea and suggested, “Well, maybe when your grounding is over, you can sleepover at my place and I’ll get you into the Twilight Zone. I don’t think it’s scary as Psycho but I think it’s a good start for getting into horror without being too traumatised.”

             CJ thought for a moment and replied smiling, “I’ll consider it. Thanks!”  

             “No problem!”

 The End

[mikewytrykus]

Carl Reiner: Write What You Know

When I was a student at Columbia College Chicago, I had a Studies in Television class about The Dick Van Dyke Show. What follows is the essay I wrote for my final paper about its creator, the recently passed comedy legend Carl Reiner. It’s about 1,700 words. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it.

I have been a fan of the work of Carl Reiner for a long time – longer than I had, until recently, realized. I had never noticed before that he was the director of such movies as Oh God!, as well as the early films of Steve Martin (not all of which I have seen, but I have enjoyed those that I did see). And even before I knew who Carl Reiner was, I was a fan of the work of his son Rob Reiner. I watched All in the Family long before I had ever seen an episode of The Dick Van Dyke Show. And The Princess Bride, a classic of the fantasy-adventure genre, remains one of my all-time favorite films. Later on, when I began watching The Dick Van Dyke Show, I did not immediately realize that the actor playing Alan Brady was in fact the creative genius behind the entire series. I did not notice that this one man scripted the bulk of the episodes, including many of its best. I had not yet come to fully appreciate the talent and brilliance of Carl Reiner. That is something I have only achieved through this course. I have a new respect and admiration for the man, truly one of the great comedians of our time. The series he created has been a favorite of mine since I discovered it through reruns on Nick-at-Nite and will remain one of my favorites for as long as I live. I will examine Carl Reiner’s various roles throughout the production of The Dick Van Dyke Show and show that this actor turned writer-producer was truly a force to be reckoned with in the field of comedy.

When I began watching The Dick Van Dyke Show, I slowly became more familiar with the work of the cast and crew of the series. Once I had learned who Carl Reiner was – the creator of the series as well as its chief writer and producer – I discovered his early work on Your Show of Shows. I knew, for the most part, who Sid Caesar was. I was probably most familiar with him from the classic comedy film It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World – which also featured Reiner in a small role as an airport control tower operator. I knew of Imogene Coca and Howie Morris – the latter more from his cartoon voice over work. I had never seen the show, but I knew it was a landmark television series, essentially the Saturday Night Live of its day. I’ve since learned that it was Reiner’s experiences on this series and with the people that have worked on it that formed the basis for The Dick Van Dyke Show. It was through Your Show of Shows that Reiner began a long lasting friendship and professional partnership with the great Mel Brooks, who I should not have been surprised, was the inspiration for the human joke machine that is Buddy Sorrel. Reiner was primarily a performer on the show but eventually became an uncredited contributor in the writers’ room. However, his alter ego on The Dick Van Dyke Show would be the series’ head writer, an embellishment that I’m sure delighted Reiner to no end. 

It is the creation of this series and Reiner’s alter ego Robert Petrie that most impresses me about the man. Trying to break into the arena of television sitcoms, unable to find a vehicle fitting of his talents, Carl Reiner took it upon himself to create his own series – partially at the urging of his wife Estelle. Reiner believed in the old adage “write what you know” and thought about what experiences he could draw upon that others might not. It occurred to him to base his series on his life and career as a performer and writer on Sid Caesar’s television series. It also occurred to him to not only draw upon his professional life, but his personal one as well, and show the two worlds his main character would inhabit: the world of his job as a television writer and his world at home as a husband and father. Reiner then proceeded with the unprecedented endeavor of writing thirteen complete episodes for this series in a single summer. It is this feat of dedication and productivity that most inspires and encourages me. It shows what a creative individual can accomplish when he or she sets his mind on a task, a goal, and commits to it. It remains a grand accomplishment in spite of Reiner’s initial setbacks in getting the series off the ground. Reiner’s series, dubbed Head of the Family, would make it to the pilot stage and, for at least a time, no further. It’s rather ironic that one of the biggest problems with this incarnation of the series is the performance of Reiner himself. One would think that a man would be most qualified to play himself, but apparently this was not true in Reiner’s case. 

We can thank the efforts of executive producer Sheldon Leonard for salvaging Reiner’s fledgling series and setting him onto his true path, as the show’s writer and producer. It is was here that Carl Reiner truly shined. The shear workload that Carl Reiner endured throughout the first two seasons of The Dick Van Dyke Show is striking, one might even say Herculean. As producer, Reiner’s responsibilities included the supervision of casting, staging, scoring and editing of each season’s thirty some episodes, in addition to his duties as writer and story editor. Nearly two-thirds of the episodes aired in the first two seasons were written by Carl Reiner, and there was almost no episode that went completely untouched by his creative hands; many of these episodes were polished or rewritten by him as well. How Reiner was able to endure this staggering workload is nothing short of amazing, almost miraculous. However, it was not something the overworked creator could endure forever. Fortunately for Reiner, and for fans of the show everywhere, help arrived in the third season in the form of screenwriters Bill Persky and Sam Denoff. It is because of these unlikely saviors lessening his burden of responsibility that we were able to enjoy Reiner’s efforts in front of the camera as well as behind during the series’ final two seasons. It is here that Reiner was able to return to his first desire – performing – as the vain, egomaniacal, overbearing television star Alan Brady.

If Rob Petrie was the alter ego of Reiner himself, then Alan Brady represented Sid Caesar, as well as many other vaudevillian stars of early television. When one considers what kind of a man and a boss that Reiner was – he only lost his temper on set once and was a genuinely gracious person to work for – it’s a testament to his acting abilities that he delivered such a believable and hilarious performance. Alan was loud, domineering, arrogant, self-centered, often cruel, but always funny. He was the living embodiment of every big shot television star that was completely full of himself, and added a welcome dynamic to the show. As if beleaguered producer Mel Cooley hadn’t suffered enough thanks to Buddy’s constant insults, he now had his belligerent brother-in-law to contend with. But Mel was not the only target of Alan’s pompous anger. I doubt anyone on the cast avoided being walked all over by Alan, and I would say Rob suffered more than anyone. Everyone was terrified of Alan Brady, and with good reason. He held the collective destiny of our favorite characters in his hand. The threat of being fired loomed constantly overhead and led to some great comedic moments, even when the threat was idle or completely non-existent. Whether it was Rob forced to ghost doctor the lackluster play for Alan’s Broadway debut or the whole staff offering their writing services to a snail, the prospect of unemployment was never funnier. Not even friends and family were safe as Laura, Millie and Jerry were all caught in the wake of hurricane Alan. 

Writer, producer, performer, Carl Reiner was at least a triple threat. Like nearly everyone in the cast of The Dick Van Dyke Show, Reiner was as multitalented and versatile as they come. Always a class act, forever striving for excellence and devoted to bringing to life “one man’s reality”, Reiner worked fervently for over five years to make the series he had created one of the best television shows ever to grace the airwaves. It is for this reason that he and Dick Van Dyke chose to end the show after its fifth season. Like any good showman, Reiner wanted to go out on a high note and leave the crowd wanting more. It may have been the end of his sitcom, but it was hardly the end of his career. 

Carl Reiner would continue to be a driving force in comedy and moved on to become a writer and director of feature films, including the movie based on the novel Enter Laughing that he wrote in the late 1950s that was a precursor to his work on The Dick Van Dyke Show. He kept working in television as well and even reteamed with his former star in the 1970s for The New Dick Van Dyke Show. It was, however, not as long lived or anywhere near as successful as their previous endeavor. Reiner would also continue to work as an actor and, in fact, continues to work to this very day in both television and movies. His role as Saul Bloom in the Ocean’s 11 films was one of the highlights of that series.  He has even reprised his most famous role as Alan Brady on sitcoms like Mad About You, a Dick Van Dyke Show reunion special and even an animated program titled – what else – The Alan Brady Show. 

Carl Reiner has crafted a legacy that I believe will withstand the test of time, and he will be remembered as one of the giants of comedy, a true creative genius. He has certainly inspired me to continue working hard on my own creative endeavors and to commit myself to the things that I am passionate about. If I could achieve even a fraction of his success, I would be a very fortunate man indeed.

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty- 2

murder mystery’s back! im having too much fun with this story guys

Link to chap 1 in case you need it

warnings: albert being a human disaster, abuse of the word ‘milk’

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 1680

editing: lmaoooo no

Chap 2

When Albert gets to the precinct the next morning, he’s wary to find a wrapped parcel on his desk that looks suspiciously like a sandwich.  He pokes at it, frowning when he sees a singular smiley face drawn on the underside in black sharpie.

 “Hey, uh, Spot?” He calls, looking up when he hears his partner’s chair roll out from his desk and subsequently poke his head around the low wooden wall that separates their cubicles.

“Yes, honeycakes?” Spot’s expression is the face of innocence and Albert’s stomach churns.

“Did you-” He stumbles, gesturing to the presumed sandwich, “Is this for me?”

“It’s on your desk, isn’t it?” Spot smiles, rolling back into his cubicle.

Albert sighs, taking off his messenger bag and jacket and sitting heavily in his desk chair.  He cautiously unwraps the white paper to find a loaded meatball sub sitting in the middle of a napkin.  There’s a sticky note placed delicately on the fluffy white bread and Albert plucks it up, squinting at the words:

Sorry you didn’t finish your sandwich xoxo Spottie

He laughs probably too loud and sticks the sticky note on his desktop, right next to the note from Jack that reads: ‘I’m sorry for stealing your pants, I had brains on mine’ after Jack had taken his extra pair of slacks from his locker when his got spoiled at a crime scene.

He takes a bite of the sandwich, pleased to find that he can still stomach his favorite Gianno’s special after yesterday’s events.  As he chews, careful not to get any tomato sauce on his shirt, he plucks a sticky note from his own pad and scrawls out: Thanks, Pop Spotcket.  Love u, dear xoxo and tosses it over to Spot.

A moment later, Spot snorts indignantly, “‘Pop Spotcket’? Really? Does anyone actually use those anymore?  The only person I know who has one is my niece and she’s eleven.”

Albert rolls his chair so he’s in Spot’s cubicle, sandwich still in hand, “I have one, asshole.  They’re useful.  Anyway, thanks for the sandwich.  How’s it looking at Gianno’s?”

Spot sighs wearily, placing a stack of papers down and turning from his computer to look at Albert, “Eh.  They’re closed today.  I stopped by this morning to pick up some evidence left at the crime scene and one of the waiters asked if I wanted anything and I remembered that you didn’t get to finish your lunch yesterday so…”

“Thanks, man,” Albert says, mouth full.  Spot wrinkles his nose and tells him not to speak with food in his mouth.  Albert rolls his eyes, “Anyway, evidence?  What’s new?”

“Nothing really,” Spot says, “Just Wiesel’s receipt from his last meal.  Wasn’t really much on it, but it gave us a sure timestamp that lines up with our original record, so at least that’s set.”

“Good,” Albert shoves the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“Yeah.  Saw our boy there, though.”

Albert raises his eyebrows, “Higgins?”

“Mhm.”

“How’s he?”

Spot shrugs, “Didn’t talk to him.  Kid looked like shit.  Well, more shitty than yesterday if that’s somehow possible.  Kept sending cute little glares my way, fucking ray of sunshine, that one.”

“Christ,” Albert grimaces, “I’m convinced he’s a player in this debacle somehow.  I mean, he seemed genuinely surprised when he found out the vic was Wiesel, but too many strings lead to connections on his end.”

“Yeah,” Spot agrees, “I dunno, I say we dig a little into Wiesel’s other relations as well.  I feel like there’s a gap here somewhere.”

“Toxicology came back,” Albert says after a pause.

Spot looks at him, eyebrows raised, “And?”

“Sarin poison in the blood.  Stab wounds were post-mortem.  Someone wanted this shit to look messier than it is.”

“Interesting.  I wonder who’d go through the trouble of poisoning, then following up with a physical attack.  ‘Specially in a public place.  S’kinda risky.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but whoever it was, clearly knew what they were doing.”

“Clearly…”

XXX

Albert never understood why there was such a wide variety of milks in the world.  And why, in this moment, he can’t find any simple fucking 2%.  

He scans over the selection again, bypassing the almond and oat milks and skimming over the fritzy lactose free shit.  There’s strawberry milk and chocolate milk on display and even horrifyingly enough, mint milk, but no fucking 2%.  It’s not even like this fucking bodega is big enough to warrant having so many milks. 

He just wants some damn normal person milk!

“Excuse me, detective.” 

Albert doesn’t startle.  He doesn’t.  He’s a trained law enforcement officer and detective.  People like him don’t fucking startle.  But, he is on high, professional alert when he turns around to see Antonio Fucking Higgins standing behind him, eyebrows raised in what’s probably amusement and hands shoved in his pockets.

Albert makes a strangled noise, eyes working on their own accord as they trail down Higgins’ body.  He’s sweaty, looking like he just came from some sort of workout, and a pair of tight adidas running pants hug his legs in all the right places.  He’s in a tank top today, somehow doing his arms more justice than the grey shirt he’d been wearing yesterday.  A hat sits backwards on his head, doing little to tame the curls that are trying to sneak out of the stupid hole where the strap meets the fabric.  He looks hot and it’s unfair and Albert’s never been ashamed of his sexuality, but right now he’s wishing that he could reign in his gay ass a little bit because aside from the fact that Higgins is a bit of a prick, he’s also a suspect and that’s, like, number one in the Book of Nope for cops of any kind.

Higgins is still looking at him, but now there’s a small crease of concern between his eyebrows, “You alright, man?” He asks, “You look kinda like you’re having a heart attack.  Do you have any chest pain?  Your left arm feel numb at all?”

Albert shakes himself, morphing his expression into something he hopes looks less like Gay Panic, “Yeah, sorry, I-” He splutters a bit, then shuts his mouth with a click.  

Higgins scoffs, “I just need milk, man, you mind?”

Albert starts, hastily stepping out from where he was definitely blocking the milk selection and watching as Race grabs a carton of-- fucking 2%.  How did he find it so fast?  How did Albert not see it?  He’s supposed to be the one trained to look for details others don’t see!

Trying not to flush, Albert reaches out and grabs a carton as well and Higgins looks at him again, laughing, “You were standing here for a long time, dude, I thought you were gonna murder the milk for a second.”

“Couldn’t find the 2%.” Albert mumbles, blushing harder when Higgins laughs louder.

“Real good reconnaissance there, detective.”

When Higgins is laughing, his face changes into something a whole lot more pleasant.  Not that it was ever unpleasant (the dude’s got a jawline of a god), but some of the hardness in his eyes and shadows on his face go away and for just a second, he looks like the 25 year old he’s supposed to be.  It’s nice, Albert thinks, ignoring the way alarm bells are going off in his head.

“Shut up, Higgins, I’m tired.  Some of us have to read about murders all day, so excuse me if my milk finding skills aren’t the most refined.”

Higgins’ face softens and the smile in his eyes turns into something else that Albert doesn’t want to dissect, “Race.”

“What?”

“Higgins is my dad, not me.  And I don’t like the name Antonio very much, so if we’re gonna be talking more, be it over murder or milk, call me Race.”

“Race?”

Higgins--Race--winks, “That’s a story for level five amici.”

“Oh, okay.”

They pause for a moment and even though Albert’s not drunk, his inhibitions seem to flutter away from him against his will as he blurts out, “Drinks sometime? Would- uh- would you wanna get drinks sometime?”

And fuck-fuck- SHIT- what are you doing Dasilva? What the fuck?

Race considers him for a moment, “Not that I wouldn’t hit that,” he nods to Albert’s body and Albert flushes.  Damnit with the flushing!  He’s 26, not some flouncy high schooler, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea, detective.”

Albert nods, “No, yeah, honestly I don’t know why I asked- uh-”

“Relax, don’t have an aneurysm, it’s okay.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

“No no, you’re right.  Absolutely.”

There’s another pause, then Race smiles apologetically, “I gotta go get the rest of my groceries.  Take care.”

Albert cringes internally at how fucking painfully awkward this exchange has been, “You too,” he says, watching Race retreat to the wine aisle.  He takes another moment to gather himself, then goes to the checkout line.

XXX

Albert turns up the volume on his TV, pleased with the quiet solitude of his apartment for the night.  He doesn’t love living alone, but it’s been a long couple days and he’s been looking forward to a night to himself since he’d woken up that morning.  Just him, some thai, and the Animal Planet playing reruns of ‘It’s Me or the Dog’ all night.  Fucking self care.

He’s just yelling at some dog owner on the TV for feeding his pug 24 eggs a day and watching as Victoria Stilwell chews out the greasy fucker when his phone rings on the coffee table in front of him. 

Groaning, Albert mutes the show and chugs down a few sips of beer, before picking up the phone and answering with an annoyed, “Someone better be dying.”

There’s silence on the other end and Albert pulls the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID.  It’s Spot.  Shit, someone might actually be dying.”

“Spot?  Everything okay?”

Spot sounds sheepish when he says, “Well no one’s dying, technically…”

“But…”

“There was another murder.”

“Shit.”

-

Race went straight home after the bodega, right? RIGHT!??!? stay tuned ;)

thanks saph for ‘pop spotcket’

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[welcometothepenumbra]

JUNO STEEL AND THE LESSON LEARNED (PART TWO)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra. Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

The junction lies just ahead, Traveler. If you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

(CHUCKLES) Well, next stop? Hyperion City.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Detective Steel entered the Fortezza trying to prevent a murder. But the way this case is going, he might soon be the victim of one. A serial killer from twenty years ago has set her sights on our detective, and if she wins, her murderous curriculum will be renewed.

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES. DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

Our next stop: Juno Steel and the Lesson Learned.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

MICK: Hey, Jay?

JUNO: Yeah, Mick?

MICK: How come it feels like every time I see you we get trapped in some lunatic’s crazy murder-game?

JUNO: I don’t know, Mick. Just lucky, I guess.

MUSIC: STARTS.

MICK: Yeah. Now that you mention it… I think you might have pretty bad luck, Juno.

JUNO: Me?!

MICK: Yeah! I mean, the Proctor locks us up, gives us both guns, and says we’ll have to shoot each other if she’s gonna give us the antidote to the-the-the whatyacallit, the-the Sundial Toxin?

JUNO: Hourglass Venom.

MICK: Ha, that’s a good one, Jay, but I’m pretty sure it’s Hourglass Venom, like I said.

JUNO: That’s not what you—

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

PROCTOR (FROM COMMS): That’s enough bickering, Mr. Steel, Mr. Mercury. Now, your test is just down this hall. Onward! Education awaits.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The attic of the Fortezza was a condemned cell block from back in the days when this place was for sealing criminals away – not rewarding them. In a lot of ways it reminded me of my old wedding gown: it was dusty, smelled like a lot of dreams had probably died in it, and pushed off into a dark corner somewhere in hopes that everyone would just forget the damn thing ever happened.

And the worst of it all was the tenant here: the Proctor, a fame-seeking serial murderer who’d just come out of retirement and was making up for lost time. First, she planned to kill Mick and me with Intro to Chemistry, and then in two hours she’d move on to the first candidate for mayor in fifty years who might actually try to make this city a better place.

That guy’s name was Ramses O’Flaherty. And my name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye. And right then I was the only thing standing between Ramses and death. And me and death.

MICK: (WHISPERING) Psst! Hey, Jay!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And him and death.

MICK: Jayjay! I just thoughta somethin’!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I was usually the only thing standing between Mick and death.

MUSIC: ENDS.

MICK: This is, like, my moment, isn’t it? I took this job so I could prove that danger is what my life’s missing. And hey, this is very dangerous! That’s pretty lucky, I think.

JUNO: With luck like that, you should start investing in lottery tickets.

MICK: Hey, that’s not a bad—

JUNO: Don’t!

(QUIETLY) Can’t make that joke with him, Steel, he’ll really do it.

MICK: What was that?

JUNO: Alright, so you want to be a P.I. or a special agent or something?

MICK: I-I was thinking more like a superhero, but… I’m willin’ to work my way up.

JUNO: If you want to do this, you gotta be able to analyze your situation. So, they must’ve given you some training before they stuffed you in that uniform – didja pick anything up?

MICK: Uhhh, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.

JUNO: And, there it is.

MICK: Except… oh, oh!! They showed a map of the Fortezza! And I even memorized it!

JUNO: Wait, seriously? That’s perfect, Mercury!

MICK: You’re tellin’ me! And hold on, now, gears are turnin’, gears are turnin’…

Oh! Sweet shining nebula, Jay, I think my brain mighta just done a clue!

JUNO: We’ll clean that up later. This is great! If you remember how this old cell block is organized you should be able to get us to, I don’t know, a boarded up window or wall or something, and maybe we can break through—

MICK: This floor wasn’t on the map!

JUNO: …What?!

MICK: Yeah! They didn’t tell us anything about these floors during training at all! Heh. Wow, this Proctor really is smart, isn’t she? I mean, I’ve lost a room before, but losing two whole floors? You’d have to be, like, a genius to hide two whole floors from the people who own the building!

JUNO: I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. (SIGHS) I don’t know if that’s a sign of genius, Mick, but it’s definitely a sign of something.

MICK: Like what?

JUNO: Not sure yet. But I’ve got a hunch.

MICK: I mean, I didn’t want to say anything, but you should probably work on your posture, buddy.

JUNO: That’s not– nevermind.

(CALLING) Are we there yet? I’m tired and he keeps bugging me.

PROCTOR: Just one more door, Mr. Steel. That’s it… just ahead…

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

Your next exam!

SOUND: DOOR CLOSES.

JUNO: Wow, more mannequins!

You shouldn’t have. We moving on to Art 102 now?

PROCTOR: No no, art is behind us. The three lessons you’ll have to pass today are the three Rs: Reasoning, Reading Comprehension, and… well, the last one’s a surprise.

MICK: Sure glad spelling isn’t one of them. I didn’t know surprise started with an R.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The test on Reasoning didn’t look like much. Four mannequins stood in front of us, each with a button on its chest and a tangle of wires snaking into its feet. But there was going to be a trick to it. There had to be.

PROCTOR: The mannequins are only half of the test. Are you ready for the second half?

JUNO: Depends. Is it four more mannequins?

MICK: Jay, that was kinda rude.

PROCTOR: No no, I’m afraid not. Now listen closely, because I’m only going to say this twice:

MICK: Twice?

PROCTOR: Sage, Vladimir, Aisha, and Sponge walked down the road together side-by-side, holding hands. Two wore shirts of red, and two wore shirts of blue; but none would stand next to another wearing the same color shirt.

JUNO: Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

MICK: Who? What? Who??? What???

JUNO: It’s a puzzle, Mick. A stupid puzzle.

PROCTOR: It’s a very good puzzle. Now be quiet.

(CLEARS THROAT) Aisha, the baker whose shirt was red, held hands with only one other person. Sponge’s shirt was also red. Vladimir held hands with two people, one of whom was a detective; the other was Aisha. Sage could not tolerate anyone holding her right hand. Vladimir was not the murderer.

MICK: Well! That got exciting very quickly!

PROCTOR: Among them were a detective, a baker, a fortuneteller, and a murderer. If you do not find the murderer, they will kill everyone else in line – and they will kill you, too. (CACKLES) So tell me: which of these four mannequins is the murderer?

JUNO: This is what you got famous for? Seriously?

PROCTOR: I know! Very impressive, isn’t it? I’ll give you a tip: in a multiple choice exam, always be certain to eliminate silly answers before—

JUNO: It is not impressive! It’s the kind of thing they give to bored middle schoolers when the radiation storms are too bad to go outside for recess!

PROCTOR: So if you can’t solve it, detective, what does that make you?

JUNO: Too busy for this stupid—

MICK: Hey, wait a second, wait a second. You said you’d say all that twice, right? Can you say it again?

JUNO: You’re not really buying into this.

MICK: You said bored middle schoolers did these! And, well! I was a bored middle schooler for nearly five years!

JUNO: Mick, you repeated those grades ‘cause you never went to school.

MICK: Come on, Jay. I really need this. Please?

JUNO: Fine… fine, listen to the dumb puzzle again.

PROCTOR: (CLEARS THROAT) Sage, Vladimir, Aisha, and Sponge walked down the road together side-by-side, holding hands. Two…

JUNO (NARRATOR): While our host gave Mick the rerun of her stupid puzzle, I took this opportunity to investigate my feelings about the last few hours.

Stupid goddamn waste of time puzzles! What am I, some kinda—

MICK: Shh, Jay! I’m tryin’ to listen!

JUNO: Hmph.

PROCTOR: …Vladimir was not the murderer. There. Your last reading. Think carefully – and be sure to check your answers.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It wasn’t an easy puzzle, sure, but it was pretty typical crime scene investigation. Gather the clues, listen to the witnesses, rebuild the past. Hell, this was easier: these witnesses couldn’t even lie to you.

If Mick could solve this… maybe he had a point. Maybe danger was the missing ingredient in the Mick Mercury cocktail.

MICK: Hmm. I see.

JUNO: You… do?

MICK: I thought about it real hard. And my answer is… we press all the buttons at the same time.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Or… not.

PROCTOR: A very… interesting approach.

JUNO: Mick, seriously?

MICK: Yeah! I mean, I thought about the whole puzzle thing, but then I decided it was probably just a red herring. ‘Cause look at them all! They’re so weird and creepy! And I swear a second ago, I saw them all twitch or something, real murrrrderer stuff, so we gotta—

JUNO: They didn’t move, Mick. And the murderer is Sage, on the far right.

MICK: Well, I mean, yeah, that’s the obvious answer.

JUNO: Oh, yeah? Why’s that?

MICK: Because… uh…

(NERVOUS LAUGHING) I-I mean I-I don’t think I gotta waste both our– our time, tryin’ to talk through things we both already know, Jay—

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO: Mick, where the hell are you going?

MICK: C-c-c-y-y-y… I-I… ‘cause– like, d-don’t you feel p-p-poisoned? Definitely feel poisoned, Jay; at– at least a little poisoned? So, I’ll just press this here button, and—

JUNO: Damn it, Mercury! That’s the wrong button!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. THUD.

MICK: What gives?! You said far right! I was goin’ for the far right!

JUNO: You were going for our right, Mick. You need to go for their right.

MICK: No, I mea– I mean—! Well that’s just—!

(SIGHS) Yeah. Yeah okay, that’s reasonable.

SOUND: BUTTON CLICKS. CONGRATULATORY JINGLE PLAYS.

PROCTOR: Excellent job, Mr. Steel! You’ve passed your Reasoning exam with flying colors!

SOUND: HINGE CREAKS OPEN.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Above us opened another trap door, and, another ladder fell out. The top floor. Finally. And with an hour to spare.

MICK: Whew! So, uh, good thing we made it through that one, huh… Juno?

…Jayjay?

JUNO: Give me your gun, Mercury.

MICK: …What?

JUNO: The gun the Proctor gave you. Give it to me.

MICK: But Jay – I’d never shoot you, you know that—

JUNO: You’d never shoot me on purpose, sure. But whatever the hell is up there for the Reading Comprehension test? Some monster made of goddamn books or something? You’re gonna aim for its table of contents and shoot me straight through the epilogue.

MICK: But Jay, we always got into trouble and it was always fine—

JUNO: Yeah, when we were kids. You’re forty, Mick. You’re not a kid anymore! You’re a screw-up, and this stupid danger idea of yours is going to get me killed. Now give me your gun.

MICK: I’m a… screw up?

JUNO: Don’t. You say it about yourself all the time.

MICK: Yeah, but… it’s different hearing it from, uh… Alright.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

Here’s the gun.

JUNO: Thanks. Now let’s go.

SOUND: ROPES CREAKING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I didn’t mean to snap at Mick like that.

Well actually I did mean to, but I felt bad about it, at least. And that's gotta be worth something, right?

Anyway, I didn’t have time to let my conscience have the floor. I could already feel the Hourglass Venom working through me – I could feel my head bloat and stomach throb. It would kill me soon. And just a few minutes after that, it’d kill Ramses.

MICK: (COUGHING) Ah, jeez buddy, I… really don’t feel so good.

JUNO: Yeah, a fatal dose of poison’ll do that to you. (COUGHS)

MICK: I guess in some ways we’re lucky, though. Back in the day I remember her tests were all over the news, and they were so…

There was that guy she killed with a geometry test… I’ve never seen someone’s legs go at that angle before. Or the Phys Ed case: the lady she made run so hard she wore holes in her feet. Or, the worst of all… Home Economics. What makes a person do all that, Jay?

JUNO: Who the hell knows, Mick. It’s not my job to psychoanalyze the killers. I just lock ‘em up.

PROCTOR: Then allow me, detective: raw creative genius. The greatest minds in the world are overtaken with it – the need to build, to create. When one is as skilled as I am, it simply… overtakes you. I am but a slave to the Muse within me.

MICK: But… that doesn’t make any sense.

JUNO: Mick, stop humoring her already.

MICK: No, but it doesn’t make any sense! If she’s got this creative bug or whatever, why should she wait twenty years—

PROCTOR: The Muse cannot be tamed!

(CHUCKLES) > Those old murders were excellent, of course. Nobody’s ever thought of all the applications for a protractor that I have. But genius, like wine, only improves with age.

JUNO: Unless the container’s as cracked up as you are. Then it turns into vinegar.

PROCTOR: I am not vinegar! You’ll see. This is a new era for the Proctor. My second creative career begins with you. And it will be even greater than the first. Go. The Reading Comprehension test is just through that door.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

MICK: (YELPS)

JUNO: …Wait, seriously?

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

PROCTOR: Deadly seriously, of course! (CACKLES)

JUNO: It’s just… sixteen more mannequins.

PROCTOR: Just sixteen mannequins, he says! Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to read the directions first?

MICK: Hey, Jay! There’s a paper on this table that says “Reading Exam Directions!”

JUNO: Don’t—! Touch it.

SOUND: PAPER FLIPPING.

“Davis, Major, Anya, Jean, Cobweb, Hephaestus, nine of their friends, and Sponge were walking down a road side-by-side, holding hands—” (GIGGLING)

MICK: I mean, Jay, that is a pretty wide road, but I don’t see what’s so funny—

JUNO: This is the best you’ve got, Proctor? Seriously? Twenty years to think something up and you start writing crossword puzzles?

PROCTOR: They are not crossword puzzles! They are works of logical genius, designed to test your…

JUNO: Ha!

PROCTOR: Stop laughing!

JUNO: HA!

MICK: Heyyy, uh, Jayjay, maybe don’t piss off the killer lady so much—

JUNO: No, come on, Mercury, this puzzle is hilarious. Listen to this: “Thompson had a deadly nut allergy, but none of them knew Anya very well. Major often confused Sponge with one of their friends in a yellow shirt; Cobweb was known to fingerpaint with peanut butter”—? (COUGHING)

PROCTOR: The test you’re laughing at is going to kill you, do you understand? And then who will be laughing? Time’s up! I will! D Minus!

MICK: If you’re laughing, you must have a plan, right? You know the solution to the puzzle?

JUNO: (COUGHING) ‘Course I do. Same as the solution to every test I ever passed in school.

MICK: Study hard? Apply yourself?

JUNO: No. Cheat.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC POWERING-UP BEEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I should’ve thought of it hours before. Getting rid of headaches is the point of technology, isn’t it? Or maybe that’s aspirin. Aspirin’s a kind of technology. Shut up, Steel. The point is, the Theia Spectrum had a filter for detecting electromagnetic frequencies.

THEIA: Now detecting electromagnetic frequencies.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Like that. The cables coming out of the mannequins’ feet had to be hooked up to all the other junk in here, didn’t they? All I had to do was track whichever mannequin had the cable that went back to the door and not… whatever the hell they were gonna do to us. It was hard to see through that rat’s nest, though��� and even harder with all the shouting in my ear.

MICK: (COUGHING) Oh, Juno! The mannequins, they’re—

JUNO: Not now, Mercury.

MICK: But it’s just like downstairs, I’m trying to tell you that—

JUNO: You said you wanted to help, right? Well, y’know how you can help me now? By shutting up, staying still, and letting the goddamn professional do his job!

MICK: (WORRIED GROAN)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I found it in seconds: the mannequin three in from the left had a thick coil of wire extending from its feet, through the floor, and toward the door on the room’s far side. The other mannequins weren’t hooked up to any traps I could see – just a little glowing box on each of their chests.

When I thought about it later, I realized those were wireless transmitters. And when I thought about it later, I realized I probably shouldn’t have interrupted Mick, too.

MICK: Jay—

JUNO: It’s that one. Come on, let’s press the button and get the hell out of here.

MICK: I don’t know if you should get so close, Jay; I swear I saw ‘em move and—

SOUND: BUTTON CLICKS. CONGRATULATORY JINGLE PLAYS.

JUNO: There, see? Button’s hooked up straight to the door, now it’s open. Let’s– gahhh!

SOUND: WOODEN RATTLING & CLANKING.

MICK: Jay! The mannequins are moving!

JUNO: I can see that! This one’s got my arm!

MICK: And that one got your other arm!

JUNO: Gee, I had no idea!

PROCTOR: I educate you… I craft these tests for you with my own blood, sweat, and mannequins… and this is how you show your appreciation? You cheat?!

JUNO: Watch it, buddy, you’re gonna pull my damn arm off— ahhhh!

MICK: Oh, no, no, no! Don’t come any closer…

SOUND: RATTLING GETS LOUDER.

PROCTOR: Well, I suppose the last test will have to be cancelled. And too bad: I had an excellent plan for your ‘rithmetic exam.

JUNO: That doesn’t even start with an R, you has-been! AH!

PROCTOR: Perhaps not. But here’s another R for you: Recess!

MICK: Recess? Hey, that sounds kinda nice…

Wow, those things are movin’ quick!

PROCTOR: At Recess, all rules are suspended. Good luck, Mr. Steel and Mr. Mercury. Your classmates play rough.

SOUND: CACOPHONY OF WOODEN CLUNKS & BANGS.

MICK: Jay, what do we do?

JUNO: Personally, I think I say bye-bye to my arm, because it feels like Pinocchio over here’s gonna pull it out of its socket.

MICK: Seriously! Oww!

That one almost got me! I’d fend ‘em off for you, but you took my gun and—

JUNO: Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me! Just get the hell out of here, Mercury! I opened the door, you go without me. Maybe you can find the antidote on your own.

MICK: I’m not just gonna leave you!

JUNO: You’d better! Augh! The only thing I want less than for this wood shop project to rip me in two is to watch it rip you in two first!

MICK: But I can’t— oww!

JUNO: Just go before one of those things gets you!

MICK: I said I wasn’t gonna leave you!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And so in came Mick Mercury to the rescue, fists flying.

MICK: (YELLING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And sure, it wasn’t exactly elegant—

MICK: Ow, ow, ow, ow, that smarts—!

JUNO (NARRATOR): —but it got the job done.

MICK: Hey, I got ‘em!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And there goes number two.

MICK: The other ones are getting closer!

JUNO: Make for the door, quickly!

SOUND: CLANKING NOISES FADE. PANTING, GASPING. DOOR CLOSES.

MICK: (COUGHING) That was a great idea, Jay… good on ya, closin’ that door behind us.

JUNO: Close it? I didn’t close it. I thought you did.

PROCTOR: Aaaaaaand locked!

SOUND: LOUD SNAP.

Did you really think I’d have remote controls on my mannequins and not on the doors, Mr. Steel? You underestimate my genius.

JUNO: To be honest, Proctor, I haven’t seen any evidence of it yet.

PROCTOR: Of course you have! I have accounted for every possibility! You have been outsmarted at every turn!

JUNO: (COUGHS) Funny. I remember us outsmarting you, twice so far.

PROCTOR: That’s—!

But you still haven’t passed the biggest test of all, have you? It is wise to save the most difficult questions for last, but… your hourglass is running low. Only ten minutes remain before the venom claims you, and only fifteen before I claim Ramses O’Flaherty. But you still have one test to pass: Arithmetic.

JUNO: Still doesn’t start with an R.

PROCTOR: The equation is simple, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you any hints on this one. You will find it written over the doorway you must pass through. And you will find the window you seek on its other side.

JUNO: What about the damn antidote?

PROCTOR: Oh, if you solve this test, Mr. Steel, you will certainly have found the antidote. Though I must say that’s a big “if.” Good luck.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

JUNO: Alright… alright, let’s do this stupid puzzle. I think I can feel my lungs curdling.

MICK: Uh… Jay? Did you look at this equation yet? ‘Cause… I’m a liiiittle worried.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I looked.

JUNO: Oh, god damn it.

JUNO (NARRATOR): And this was what the Proctor wanted us to solve:

A stick figure, minus a skull and crossbones, equals a picture of an open door.

MICK: Is that algebra? I was never any good at algebra.

JUNO: The door will only open when we’re not poisoned anymore.

MICK: Hey, that’s alright! How do we do that?

JUNO: I have no idea.

MICK: That’s… less good.

JUNO: Either that, or, the door will only open for someone who isn’t poisoned…

And we know one way to get the antidote.

MICK: Jay, come on, don’t…

JUNO: Here. Take this gun. I never should’ve taken it from you. Just shoot me and get it over with.

MICK: I mean, come on. This isn’t funny.

JUNO: Usually I’m very funny, Mick. Just not trying right now.

MICK: I’m not gonna shoot you.

JUNO: You should.

MICK: Well, whether or not I should, I’m not, alright? You shoot me.

JUNO: No.

MICK: Why not?

JUNO: That’s a stupid question and you know it. I know you’ve got your dumb danger thing or whatever, but it’s a fantasy, and this is real. Just take the damn gun already.

MICK: My whole point was that I didn’t like my life the way it was, alright? I’m not gonna like it any better if I gotta think about shooting you all the time, okay?

JUNO: Hmph.

MICK: Look. We’ve still got ten minutes for this to turn out okay. Okay?

(COUGHS) Anything can happen in ten minutes, Jay. Anything.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Or, nothing can happen in ten minutes. We spent our time kicking the door, coughing, searching the walls for a secret passage, coughing, scanning the room with the Theia Spectrum, and coughing. But that was it. No way through, no secret passage, no hidden antidote: the room was bare. Mick and I were the only things in it.

Oh wait – I think at one point, Mick might’ve puked in the corner. But besides that, there was nothing in the room but us.

SOUND: COUGHING, PANTING.

MICK: How much more time we got?

JUNO: Two minutes.

MICK: That long? (PANTS) Agh, this hurts.

JUNO: (GASPING) So whaddya think, Mercury? Is this how you expected to die? Yukking it up and wishing you’d killed Juno Steel?

MICK: Kinda, yeah.

JUNO & MICK: (LAUGH-COUGHING) Ow, ow, ow!

JUNO: So it turns out this job wasn’t just the biggest mistake of your life, Mick: it was the last one, too.

MICK: Hey, don’t count me out yet. I still got a minute and a hal– agh! Ah-ahhh—!

JUNO: Mick? Mick!

MICK: No, no, I’m alright, I’m alright. (COUGHS) Hey, Jay… why d’you think she goes through all this, just to kill people? I mean… if she wanted to just poison us and lock us in a room, she coulda done it at two minutes in. Hell, she didn’t even need to wait for you – she coulda poisoned me while I was napping in the closet. So… why? Why would you do all that?

JUNO: That’s… that’s a good question, actually.

Well, I mean, based on what was riling her up earlier, she probably just wants to prove she's smarter than us?

MICK: What? But she’s a genius! Why’s she gotta prove it?

JUNO: Being smart and feeling smart are different things, Mick.

MICK: I guess so. I just can’t believe… she cheated us, after all that.

JUNO: Cheated us?

MICK: Yeah. I mean, I thought her whole thing was that her victims can technically make it through her tests alive, right? How’s it prove she’s so smart if she just poisons us and locks us in a room? It doesn’t seem fair.

JUNO: No… it doesn’t.

Actually, now that you mention it, it’s not fair at all.

MICK: I mean, yeah, I’m upset about it too, Jay, but I don’t know how much complaining’s gonna do right now—

JUNO: And it doesn’t prove a damn thing, does it? If one of us has to die, she hasn’t proven she’s smarter than us. It doesn’t make sense.

Mick, I’m about to do something really stupid.

MICK: Yeah? Mind if I join you?

JUNO: Kinda. Just promise me something, alright? If this goes bad – and, trust me, it’s probably gonna go bad – promise you’ll try the door? One last time?

MICK: How come I get the feeling this isn’t gonna be the fun kind of stupid, Juno?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Mick got that feeling for a good reason. Because the man was a disaster, and a mess, and a klutz, and a… well, you get the idea. But here’s one thing he wasn’t, not really: an idiot.

So I took the pistol the Proctor had given me, and I pointed it right in between my eyes.

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

MICK: Jay! What’re you doing?!

JUNO: Later, Mick. See you on the other side.

MICK: Put down that gun!

SOUND: GUNSHOT.

Juno!

SOUND: THUMP.

Augh, Jay! Jayjay! Don’t leave me here, buddy, come back! You can’t just shoot yourself and leave me—!

JUNO: The other side of that doorway!

SOUND: GUNSHOT.

MICK: Owww! That smarts!

JUNO: Damn right it does. That’s what happens when you load your antidote into the barrel of a revolver, Mercury: you get all the fun of a shot with none of the cartoon band-aids.

MICK: But– hey, I-I feel better! The poison’s all gone! You did it, Jay! We made it! But how—?

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

PROCTOR (FROM COMMS): Well done, Mr. Steel. Now, as promised: the door.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

Come along, I’m waiting for you.

JUNO: I’ll tell you while we run. Got a mayor to save.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

Honestly, Mick, you figured it out before I did. The answer’s all in the motive. Why does the Proctor kill the way she does?

MICK: To prove she’s smart, you said.

JUNO: Exactly. And it doesn’t count as proving she’s smart unless there’s a way we could have figured it out. She said that if we made it through her tests, we’d be cured – which we assumed meant she’d give us the antidote, but she never told us we didn’t have it already.

MICK: But… she told us to shoot each other!

JUNO: And because I’m your friend and you’re a moron, she knew we’d never do it.

(PANTING) So if we had to have access to the antidote somewhere, and there were no hidden compartments or anything in that room—

MICK: That means she had to have given us the antidote ahead of time! Wow, Jay. You’re really good at this, huh?

JUNO: I get by. Barely. And usually with a broken leg or three.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

This must be the room.

SOUND: WIND.

MICK: And that must be the window you were looking for, right?

JUNO: Looks like it, but… where the hell is the Proctor?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Through the window I could see the Fortezza courtyard below: the crowd of people shuffling into their seats and Ramses O’Flaherty shuffling his papers at the podium. I checked my watch. 11:55. Only five minutes until the Proctor took out Ramses… and I had no idea where the hell she was.

PROCTOR: (LAUGHING) You’ve done very well to make it this far, Mr. Steel, Mr. Mercury. Better than expected, I will admit. But this is the end of the line. Welcome to your Final Exam.

JUNO: Where the hell are you?! Damn it, you really did lie to us!

PROCTOR: I didn’t lie to you. I said I was waiting for you, and I was… just not in the Fortezza. When taking an exam, always remember to mark up the questions – that’s how they get you.

JUNO: Where are you?

PROCTOR: I’m afraid that is the sole question on your exam, Mr. Steel. Question one: where is the genius murderer? (LAUGHS) On the windowsill in front of you lies a long-range laser rifle. Enough to kill me, certainly… if you can find me. (CACKLING)

MICK: A rifle? So do you think… she’s somewhere down there, Jay?

JUNO: Maybe, yeah, she’s got to be.

SOUND: MECHANICAL CLICKS.

But… the rifle doesn’t have a stun setting! I can’t kill random people in the crowd!

MICK: You’ll get it, Jay. I know you’ll get it! You’re a sharpshooter! The sharpest there is!

JUNO: Mick…!

MICK: So you better watch yourself, Proctor! He’s the best sniper in this city! They call him One Eyeball Steel!

JUNO: Mick, nobody calls me that—

MICK: One-Ball Steel, then!

JUNO: Nope, nope, went the wrong way on that one.

PROCTOR: Only three minutes left, Mr. Steel. Your answer, please. (LAUGHS) All the best tests instruct just as much as they measure, you know. I wonder what you’ve learned from this one?

JUNO (NARRATOR): That was a good question. In fact, it might’ve been the first good question the Proctor had asked all day.

So what had I learned from this test? The Proctor was working with someone, that was for sure. Even a genius couldn’t manage to smuggle in all of those weapons and mannequins without some serious help. I’d learned that she had confidence issues, too – that whoever had hired her had probably pulled on that, told her that she’d never be able to pull off what she did twenty years ago. Which meant whatever the answer was to this exam, it had to be perfect. It had to be flawless.

JUNO: …Flawless.

PROCTOR: And don’t I know it.

JUNO: It’s got to be flawless. That means the diorama down there has to be completely accurate!

MICK: But you told me the diorama said the laser must have come through this window.

JUNO: Straight from here to the podium, Mercury – but it never said which direction.

MICK: She’s hiding inside the podium?!

PROCTOR: Time’s up, Mr. Steel. You have five seconds to answer.

JUNO (NARRATOR): There was no time, and another problem to deal with: in order to shoot a laser from here to the Proctor, I’d have to send it through Ramses O’Flaherty’s head. So I fired a shot to break the window—

SOUND: GUNSHOT. SHATTERING GLASS.

—and I gave the best warning I could.

SOUND: RAIN.

JUNO: (CALLING) Ramses! Duck!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And either it was my first stroke of luck for the day or the old man had a hell of a reaction time, because he was down on the ground before I was finished shouting his name.

THEIA: Target locked.

SOUND: GUNSHOT.

PROCTOR: (GASPS)

MICK: Did it work? Did it work??

SOUND: DISTANT SCREAMS. STATIC CRACKLING.

JUNO: I… guess so.

PROCTOR: (COUGHING) Very well done, Mr. Steel. Perhaps I… finally did meet my intellectual match.

JUNO: Alright, at the start of this whole mess you said you’d tell me who you’re working for if I passed all your tests. Well, I passed ‘em; start talking.

PROCTOR: I suppose I must… I haven’t much time left…

You want to know who hired me to kill Ramses O’Flaherty? It was his worst enemy, of course.

JUNO: Oh, come on! No more tests, no more riddles. I won.

PROCTOR: Education… is its own reward. Now, here's your final question.

(COUGHS) In order to find Ramses’s enemy, you must go home again.

JUNO: Home?! How the hell do you know where I live?

PROCTOR: A frozen place, this home… a land the past, of heroes, of justice… a place further than the inky blackness of space, yet as close as the heart of every child… Home, Mr. Steel. You’ll find Ramses’s enemy, if you just go home.

JUNO: Damn it, stop babbling and give me a straight answer!

PROCTOR: You’ll never solve this. I can hear it in your voice! You’ve lost! I’ve won!

JUNO: Don’t die on me! I’m talking to you!

PROCTOR: I’m the smartest! I’ve beaten you! I could beat… anybody… (PANTING)

SOUND: STATIC FADES.

***

JUNO (NARRATOR): Ramses barked a few orders and the cops were off with their tails between their legs looking for a way to get us down through the Fortezza window. In the meantime, Mick and I celebrated. As well as you can celebrate in the dusty old attic of the person you just killed, anyway.

SOUND: HEAVY RAIN.

MICK: So… we made it! That’s somethin’, right?

JUNO: Sure, Mick. It’s really somethin’.

MICK: Got a little hairy there for a few minutes, but I always knew we’d make it through! Or, at least, I often thought we would. Sometimes, suspected. (CHUCKLES)

Hey… what do you think that riddle she said at the end meant? It sounded pretty tricky to me.

JUNO: I don’t know, Mick. But, if it’s all the same to you, I don’t really want to think about the Proctor right now.

MICK: I get it, I get it.

I-I just don’t understand, Jay. She was so smart. She made all those crazy traps and stuff while she was locked in a prison cell. And even if she did have help, she had to build all that so quickly, and so secretly… she must’ve been one of the smartest people on Mars.

So, why’d she have to prove that she was smart all the time? Why’d she have to kill people to do it?

JUNO: I don’t know, Mick. Why’s anybody hurt anybody?

MICK: I guess so. …I’m sorry.

JUNO: For what?

MICK: I don’t know. I just felt like one of us had to apologize, and you weren’t gonna do it.

JUNO: Yeah, that makes sense.

But look… Mick, maybe I should apologize. I gave you a lot of crap about your stupid danger theory, but… you were right. We made it out. Again.

(SIGHS) I wish you’d do something else, but who the hell knows? Maybe you’re onto something.

MICK: Wait, seriously? What are you, stupid?

JUNO: What?

MICK: Taking this job was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, Jay! I didn’t make it out ‘cause I’m lucky, or I’m good at dealing with danger. I made it out ‘cause you bailed me out. I’d be chalk dust without you!

JUNO: That’s… probably true.

And surprisingly responsible.

MICK: I don’t know why nothing ever works out for me, but you were right. I don’t think getting in danger all the time’s the answer either.

Maybe it doesn’t really matter anymore. I mean… I’m just gonna make myself miserable if I’m always trying to be the guy I used to be. So I guess the hard part… the hard part is, figuring out who the hell I am now? …Does that sound right?

JUNO: You could always just stay so busy that you don’t have time to think about it. That’s usually what I do.

But, for what it’s worth, Mercury, I think when you finally figure out who you are… you’re gonna make an impact.

MICK: Aw, Jay, that’s the nicest—

JUNO: Only question is whether the impact is the galactic-peace kind or the gigantic-smoking-crater kind. Could really go either way.

MICK: …Oh. That still might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

JUNO: You’re welcome.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The cops got us down a few minutes later. I told Mick to go home and then waited on the edge of the crowd while Ramses talked down the reporters.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the Proctor. About the sound she’d made on her last breath. It wasn’t that I thought I shouldn’tve killed her; I-I was… just a little shaken, I guess.

Because, if real evil exists, then the Proctor – a woman who killed twenty people without remorse – was it. But that means sometimes evil is just someone trying to prove to the world that they’re worth something. Or just prove it to themselves, maybe.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING.

RAMSES: Juno. You cut it a little close at the end there, but over all… nice work. Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.

JUNO: Home…

This isn’t over yet, Ramses.

RAMSES: Hmm?

JUNO: The Proctor said she’d been hired by someone to kill you. Your worst enemy, she said, and whoever they are, I don’t think they’re gonna let up.

RAMSES: Did she, now. Well. I suppose that’s what I have you for.

JUNO: Ramses, I don’t know—

RAMSES: What else did the Proctor say to you?

JUNO: It was some kind of riddle, I guess, I– couldn’t make any sense of it. Something about going home, a place of heroes, as distant as the stars and close as kids’ hearts…?

RAMSES: (CHUCKLING, THEN FULL-ON HOWLING WITH LAUGHTER)

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: What? …What’s so funny?

RAMSES: An interesting place to strike. I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

JUNO: You know the answer to the riddle?

RAMSES: I do, in fact.

SOUND: CAR PULLS UP.

My limo will bring you home. On second thought, I don’t think I’ll be coming with you. I have some calls to make.

JUNO: But Ramses—

RAMSES: Tomorrow morning, I think… no, no, I’ll send a car for you again tomorrow night. Rest up until then.

JUNO: Ramses, listen to me, damn it! Where the hell is she trying to send us? All this stupid stuff about my home?

RAMSES: (CHUCKLES) Oh, Juno. When she said ‘home,’ she didn’t mean yours. She meant mine.

SOUND: KNOCKING.

Bring him home, please.

JUNO: Ramses, you can’t start talking nonsense, too.

RAMSES: All in good time, my friend. Rest up. Tomorrow night… adventure awaits.

SOUND: CAR DOOR SLAMS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I watched him as the car pulled away – Ramses O’Flaherty, who hadn’t even existed thirty years ago, who had a good shot at being the next mayor of Hyperion City. Ramses O’Flaherty: the man who was all future and no past.

There was something appealing about that, I’ll admit. The thought that you could just shed your old self like an old skin and become someone new. Someone important. Someone like Ramses O’Flaherty.

So turn your back on the past, Steel. Tie yourself to the man of the future… and hope that what’s ahead is better than what you left behind.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you've enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you will receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from Noah Simes, co-creator Kevin Vibert, and actors ALlison Choat and Stefano Perti:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

NOAH: …I mean I think this is a testament both Kevin, to your writing of Mick and Stefano, your portrayal of him, but, y’know, I– I certainly can sort of identify with that feeling of like, I haven’t done… enough, or I haven’t done what I’m supposed to do—

STEFANO: Yes. Please don't have let that have been my greatest moment—

NOAH: Right, right, yeah!

STEFANO: —no matter what that moment is.

NOAH: Right, beca– right. You never know what the high peak is gonna be, and you just pray that it…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Jaimie Gunter, The Princess and the Scrivener, Hannah Tsim, and Elizabeth Miller for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Lesson Learned, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Matthew Zahnzinger as Ramses O’Flaherty, AlLison Choat as the Proctor, and Stefano Perti as Mick Mercury.

On staff at The Penumbra: Kevin Vibert is our lead writer and recording engineer. Sophie Kaner is our director and sound designer. Grahame Turner is our script editor. Noah Simes is our production manager. Alice Chung is our designer and financial manager. Original music by Ryan Vibert. Promotional art by Mikaela Buckley.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

I'm afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

[moonsdancer]

headcanons...

Okay, fam, I’m going to need about 40K fic of platonic soulmates (who occasionally make-out in non-serious and V. PLATONIC ways) roommates Toni and Jughead fic, STAT!

She gets locked out of her uncle’s house regularly and needs a couch to surf on, Jughead has that couch. So give me this...

housemates (trailermates?) jopaz

In which:

The two of them spend long nights lounging on Jughead’s lumpy couch, exchanging sarcastic one-liners and watching bad reality shows, late night infomercials interspersed with classic Agatha Christie and Twilight Zone reruns on a surprisingly quality flat-screen TV they technically stole.

They take turns on who does the cooking. When Jughead does it, it’s really slap-dash beans out of a can on toast with a hot dog (and a few hot dogs for the real Hot Dog) or an overcooked burger... basically, he ends up going to Pop’s and getting them the Duo Double Cheese Special (two double cheeseburgers, fries and some sodas). When Toni does it, she introduces Jughead to novel and revolutionary things like the concept of tasty vegetables and the importance of dietary fibre. Except, when Toni cooks everything tastes amazing - LIKE, restaurant level amazing. And Jughead’s not been to many fancy restaurants but he’s sure of this. Where did she get her skills? Right after her dad split, and her mom died, and she got stuck living with her uncle, her uncle’s girlfriend at the time was a chef at a local diner and she showed Toni everything she knew about a skillet. Jughead didn’t even know hot sauce and peas out of a can could do the things Toni makes it do. And jerk chicken? Toni makes the best jerk in Riverdale, he believes it. He wants to enter her chicken in contests but he’s too scared that other people will discover this treasure and STEAL IT FROM HIM! She also, weirdly, somehow, makes a gourmet grilled cheese that’s Jughead’s favourite. The two of them eat A LOT, it’s probably one of the cornerstones of their friendship.

NOTE: Jughead is ALWAYS on dish duty because Toni hates that shit, and it’s only fair.

Sometimes on nights when the both of them can’t sleep (more often than not for these two), they sit in the dark on Jughead’s trailer’s makeshift porch. Toni occasionally produces a blunt, or Jughead offers a root beer (or a real beer), that they share, while they ruminate on life, love and Riverdale’s latest lurid crime.

On days, mostly weekends, where they’ve got to do a drug/petty theft/whatever run for the Serpents, they spend the mornings oiling  and tinkering on their bikes. Toni’s better at it than Jughead is, and she shows him how to fix his busted oil gauge, where to source mostly decent old tires for when the rubber on his wears thin, and all that good shit. 

Toni’s also a faster and more skilled rider than he is, by far. She goes so fast sometimes, that she disappears on the long stretches of road in front of Jughead, and by the time he catches up, she’s idling by some tree, filing her nails, quirking her eyebrow to ask “What took you so long, Juggie?”

Jughead shows Toni all his favourite places on the Northside. She didn’t have any reason to explore it before, and now she gets to see it through his eyes, and see that maybe it’s not all bad asshole territory. The old drive-in’s totally gutted, and it’s mostly covered in a half-completed paved car-park and dusty construction crap, but they spend some nights out there anyway, throwing rocks at signs, and racing their bikes in circles.

Toni shows Jughead some of her photos, even the ones she’s never shown anyone, that she’s gathered in dusty albums as part of her portfolio.  She’s always dreamed of being one of those awesome travel photographers or maybe fashion or a hard-hitting journalista... anything that would allow her to get out and see the world. “It’s a dumb dream,” she says, with a wry twist of her mouth. “It’ll never happen, or whatever.” Jughead puts a hand on hers and says with confidence, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life, “It will - I believe in you.”

In turn, Jughead shares some of his stories with her. Short stories that he started writing when he was twelve, remnants of novels that he’s never finished, the Riverdale story he’s constantly writing now. The first time, he just shoved a sheaf of papers at her and ran away to his room, too scared to wait and see what her reaction to reading it would be. But then she gave it back to him, with a few notes in the margins, some really great feedback that helped Jug see where he could improve a couple of things, and a big smiley-crying face (:’DDDDD) with a few hilarious doodles at the end along with the words, You have a gift, don’t ever let anyone make you think different. Now he doesn’t get so shy.

They work on articles for the RED AND BLACK together. The newspaper’s held together with nothing but sticky tape and a wad of gum, and the school doesn’t bother to give them any funds to produce it - but they both believe in it so much that they turn it into an online blog (which is much better for Toni who takes care of all the photography). Riverdale needs to hear the voices of the Southside, to know that the town might step all over them but they’re not worthless or dead. They can still speak out about the shitty reality of their town. It starts with only a few clicks, but when they break a Ghoulie trafficking ring story - there’s no going back. Their “little blog” starts giving the official town paper a run for its money.

They share their war stories. Jughead tells Toni about the day his mother left with Jelly Bean. He tells her about what it was like growing up with his dad, and how he decided to run away and live homeless because he couldn’t take it anymore. About being the weird loner kid in high school whose only friends were good people but that he never could quite shake the feeling of being their charity case or something. The horrible feeling that he was a walking reminder that they might have terrible lives, but at least they weren’t having it as bad as Jughead and his shitty father and his absentee mother. Toni tells Jughead about the day her dad split - she can’t really remember it perfectly, she was five or whatever. She just remembers the sound of the door swinging on its hinges, the voices of her parents yelling at each other, and then her mom locking herself up in her room, crying. After her mom passed, she tried to find her dad. She even got an phone number, somewhere out in Tennessee or something. She hasn’t called it. She tells him about her uncle, who took her in with great reluctance. He wasn’t all bad, at least for the first few years. But then he lost a bunch of money (gambling addiction), and Toni got mixed up with the Serpents. She managed to keep him from getting his ass killed for not paying his debt, and he ends up locking her out of the house whenever the whim takes him because he blames her for all his shitty life choices. It’s whatever. She has a bed, and a roof over her head 1-2 days out of the week. Sweet Pea puts her up some nights, Fangs too, a couple of her on-offs as well. “That’s more than a lot of people can say, right?”

Toni’s the first person Jughead tells that he thinks he might be demisexual and demiromantic or something. That he feels like maybe something’s wrong with him because he loves Betty but sometimes he’s not sure it’s in the way she wants him or needs him to love her. Toni never laughs at him or tells him he’s weird, she just listens and accepts, and he appreciates that.

Jughead reluctantly co-hosts a party with Betty and Archie for the sole purpose of creating an opportunity for Toni to maybe, possibly, probably hit on Cheryl. And you know he must care for Toni a lot because Jughead + Parties is just NO. Anyway, Toni and Cheryl date for a while, and they’re really into each other even though they fight quite a bit. Jughead doesn’t think the weird curdling, burning feeling in the pit of his stomach is jealousy per se because him and Toni aren’t like that. But a tiny ugly part of him is relieved when Toni and Cheryl call it quits in the summer after senior year. “We’re just on different paths, y’know,” Toni says, her eyes are a little red, and Jughead cuddles with her for long hours and makes his infamous beans on toast. 

She’s right though: Cheryl’s off to Paris for something or other. Toni and he are taking a roadtrip on their motorbikes all the way across the country, then down the West Coast and maybe even as far as they can get through Central America (hopefully). It’s not the “responsible” thing to do, but neither of them is sure they want to apply to college like Betty and Veronica, hell, Archie did. And they definitely couldn’t afford it, so an adventure seems like a good idea. Sweet Pea’s coming along for most of the US-leg but he has to come back to help with his family’s shop. Either way, it’ll be awesome, Toni taking photographs, Jughead writing -- maybe they’ll both get their dreams after all!

I could go on. I really could.

But. Someone, please, make it happen. I might make it happen. I make no promises.

[nelson-riddle-me-this]

Rules: tag 9 people with excellent taste

Colour(s) I’m currently wearing

Mostly white - I’m wearing my bathrobe. My mom got it for me and it’s great. It’s not the softest but it’s good and it’s got cool blue and grey horizontal stripes on the bottom. Normally it’s very frustrating for her to try to get clothing gifts for me, but she hit the nail on the head with this one.

Last band T shirt I bought

I’ve never bought a ‘band’ t-shirt. The artists I really love don’t have much in the way of t-shirts and if they do, they look really corny. Like I’m not gonna get a Streisand t-shirt and look like some middle-aged empty-nester out grocery shopping.

Last band I saw live

I guess our evening Jazz Ensemble - it’s professional adult musicians - at my school’s Jazz Ensembles concert. They’re great. As for non-school performances, I think? the last concert I went to was a Brian Setzer concert at the Hollywood Bowl with my mom a while back.

Last song I listened to

I tried listening to some contemporary pop from the Love, Simon (2018) soundtrack today and it was really difficult so now I’m at the computer enjoying some tumblr-time and listening to my most-chill and most-favorite Doris Day album.

Lipstick or chapstick?

I used lipstick once for my Katharine Hepburn halloween costume last year and - tbh lipstick is so much work - makeup in general. Like it would be fun to be a girl and wear dresses and be super pretty and stuff - but wo-MAN it’s so much work!

So chapstick. The tube I use is some Burt’s Bees pink grapefruit that I really love. This might sound weird but I only have it because a boy I had a small crush on once asked me to hold it while he changed clothes and forgot to collect it from me..

Last movie I watched

I went to the movies last weekend with @adamsberg​ and another one of my best friends and saw Love, Simon (2018). I really really really really loved it.

I hadn’t even heard of it until a few weeks ago I saw a trailer on YouTube, but I thought it looked great and it was everything I hoped and more. I have this soft spot for angsty contemporary teen dramas like this [The Fault In Our Stars (2014) and The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012) are also in this micro-genre]. While I love my classics, I also love these great movies that are being made here and NOW! Sometimes I feel apart from the rest of the world - and not in a good way. I wasn’t friendless in high school - but I wasn’t anywhere near as close to any of my friends as any of these movie teens are... as accepted and loved as I am to/by an amazing, small, group of my friends now. I have no horror stories, but I don’t have very many stories and that’s just it - I could have had so much more, but I didn’t. Part of it was because I wasn’t out yet and this film so wonderfully explored that. I highly reccomend it - and not just for the good plot, it’s hilarious and an overall great experience.

Last 3 TV shows I watched

911 (2018-present) 

Sometimes my mom’s taste in first-run television is pretty bad (NCIS stopped being good like a decade ago) but in this case I am totally on-board. Angela Bassett [WAIT HOW IS SHE 59???????] is an inspiration (I WANT HER CHARACTER’S HOUSE!), the writing and production values are generally very good - it’s a solid, interesting show. Still, can anyone tell me what the deal with that middle-aged white lady (who’s a few years younger than Angela Bassett but lowekey looks 20 years older) who dresses like a suburban mom trying to dress like her teenage daughter - like what’s the deal with her dating that guy in his 20s? 

Frasier (1993-2004)

My mom and I watch this show somewhat regularly as it’s on like every flippin’ night on the scourge that is the Hallmark Channel (generally decent reruns, but I hate the channel itself and their original programming is complete trash). In a lotta ways I really love it - it’s hilarious, witty, sophisticated, adult, and has the power to  create a real poigniant moment like you rarely see so fully-realized in sitcoms. 

It has its issues though. Frasier and Niles (especially in early seasons) can get annoyingly whiny/snobby. I get that their characters are kinda built around that, but there’s a point at which they take it too far and it becomes disengaging. Also it’s a super white-people-centric show (I wonder why Hallmark likes it so much...) so diversity could be a lot better. Still, it’s generally a high-quality program.

Gosh I don’t remember what else I watched last. I haven’t had a lotta TV time lately so Imma use this opportunity to plug...

Stranger Things (2016-present)

One’a my best friends, Grace, introduced me to this show and I absolutely love it. The period’s really well done - not just accurate, but alive and real and relatable. The acting and casting is great. Winona Ryder is a treasure and I have a shameless crush on Joe Keery’s amazing hair and the person it belongs to. The scoring is effective, interesting, and very different from the kind of film music I usually am exposed to (I’m really making an effort to expand my horizons beyond classic orchestral sounds lately). The production values are great - it’s just an amazing show. 

Last 3 characters I identified with

1.) Simon Spier from Love, Simon (2018)

While there are some things about him I definitely don’t identify with (message me personally if you wanna know specifics- I don’t want to spoil anything), I very much identify with his coming out story and coming to terms with his sexuality on his own terms. 

I feel like there are people who will criticize the film based on Simon’s extreme normalcy - like he’s honestly a fairly stock white, middle-class, suburban teenage boy and, aside from his involvement in theater and ‘ya know liking boys he doesn’t do much that would be considered “gay” - but that’s kinda the point of the film. Being gay is just something that is and anyone can be gay - they’re not weird or whatever just for being gay - that was one of my fears - that I would be treated (or even just feel like) some strange unwelcome outsider just because of this one thing.

I had a long conversation tonight with an older kinda mentor’y friend of mine (though I’m more of the mentor) who’s gay and who was having a really rough night. Among the lotta things he said was that all gay men cheat that there’s no true monagomous love in the gay community and like lightning I shot him down with a fervor and wisdom and riteousness that would make Kate proud (wayto blow my own horn). 

That’s the exact kind of idiotic prejudice that makes people afraid to come out in the first place. It’s fear that kind of small-minded judgmental behavior which was most responsible for me remaining closeted in high school. It’s a hard thing to explain to someone who hasn’t been there because after you’ve been through it, it can kinda feel like nothing afterwards -  all this fear and conflict and it’s really kinda purposeless. You find that people still love you and the people who don’t are really not good people anyway. I wish I had come out in high school, I could have been happier. But I am happy now.

2.) Tracy Lord from The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Dedicated followers may remember I rewatched this one a few wks ago on what would have been a date with me and my crush until he cancelled. That time I saw Trace and Kate herself through lenses less tinted than ever before, but still she’s there in all her glory and all her not-glory. Tracy is riteous, despises drinking and gets very contemptful of what she views as weakness, such as her ex-husband’s drinking problem or Mike’s cynical view of the rich. I am often that way (in large part due to the second-generation effects of my mom’s own east coast catholic upbrining) which has it’s merits certainly - that specific east coast almost ‘puritan’ toughness (I think Dick Cavett, said Bette Davis and Kate both had it) can be a tremendous source of strength and sense. It can also easily become cold, prudish, snobbish, and condesending. I have tried to unlearn these aspects and I am still working on that. This is kinda what Tracy’s arc is about, learning to be human and be loved and to love others.

Though it’s not as recent, the next one that comes to mind is

3.)  Nancy Wheeler from Stranger Things

I already mentioned that my friend Grace got me into this show, but I didn’t mention that I only ever watch it with her. Not that I don’t really love the show - I do - but I like saving it for when we’re together - it makes it more special. 

Anyway, more than perhaps any other single character on that show, I identify with Nancy Wheeler. Regular suburban teenager who’s better - not just a regular suburban teenager - she’s aware of the sort of suburban ‘don’t do much with your life ‘cept rasie kids [not that there’s anything wrong with having and raising kids, that’s wonderful] trap. I also found the episode with her at Steve’s house really resonated with me. Barb telling Nancy “this isn’t you” really got to me. Part of me still has an internal ‘Barb’ that kinda ties in with the whole east-coast ‘puritan’y’ morality but there’s also the part of me that wants to be young and just a person and do cool things with my friends and kiss boys and watch great angsty contemporary teen dramas. They both have their merits and drawbacks - the young side has life but can be stupid and reckless - the old side is wise and careful, but can be paralyzing and stagnating.

Books I’m currently reading

I have a whole slew of books checked out that I’m supposed to be reading (for my own enjoyment).

The Unanswered Question: Six Talks at Harvard     by   Leonard Bernstien

I loved his The Joy of Music so I figured I would like this too. He’s a great music lecturer. I’m only like 5 pages in so far.

Elizabeth Taylor: A Private Life for Public Consumption      by    Ellis Cashmore 

This one I’m a little further on, though most of that was just the introductory timeline of her life with a key notating each illness/medical episode, marriage/actual or rumored romantic relationship, and neaar-death experience (her life is such ‘drama’).

I also have a book about motifs in Hitchcock’s films with the car picnic from To Catch a Thief (1955) on the cover. I haven’t started reading it yet.

And I have some book about Lerner & Lowe, the duo responsibly for My Fair Lady, Camelot, etc...

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

This was really really wonderful to participate in. Thank you, my amazing friends, so much for tagging me @adamsberg​ and @in-the-key-of-d-minor​. I’ve enjoyed lots of asks and tag games, but I’ve never felt this good about one before...

I tag

@hildy-dont-be-hasty @tyronepowerbottom @reluctant-martyrs @thevintagious @littlehappyrock @n2ninvisiblegirl @solasdisapproves @hepburnandhepburn and @her-man-friday

If I didn’t tag you but you wanna participate, have at it!

What’m I gonna do, fire you?

[sabraeal]

Promptathon: Obiyuki - the Tinder account. You know what to do.

(A modern version of this Seven Suitor’s B-side)

In hindsight, the Patron should have have been a dead give away.

“Gran Burdeos?” Obi sniffs, shaking his head like that might help clear the pressure building up in his sinuses. This might almost make up for him being sent home like a naughty dog, with explicit and fervent orders to rest. “Anejo? Isn’t this the stuff grown in that special hill in Mexico? Aged in barrels from chateau Bordeaux?”

Mitsuhide shifts in the hall, his shoulders taking up almost the whole of the jamb. “It is.”

His fingers are numb around the glass neck. “The kind that’s five hundred bucks, wholesale?”

Big guy coughs. “Yes.”

Six years ago, the only thing he’d ever held that was worth that much money was the TV he was stealing.

“Mister,” Obi purrs, leaning his hip seductively against the door, “if you wanted my pants off, all you had to do was a–”

“Just let me in already.” Mitsuhide shoulders past him into the penthouse, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Obi’s is already slung over the back of a bar stool, the first casualty of his arrival home, his shoes scattered haphazardly beneath it. “You reprobate.”

“Aw.” Obi slams the door behind him jauntily. “You really have missed me.”

“The view is nice here,” Mitsuhide observes, standing between a soft leather couch and one of Miss’s more picturesque cacti. Plate glass windows wrap around a wall and a half – a feature Obi protested when Boss showed it to him, for safety reasons, but it wasn’t like their other one had been much better, years ago – and from that spot is the perfect view of the LA skyline at sunset.

Almost. “Not as nice as our old one,” Obi says archly, pouring out a finger into the fluted glasses. Mitsuhide has the grace to blush.

“We didn’t –”

“Of course not.” Obi grins, pouring out another finger into both. “Congratulations again, by the way.”

“You were there,” Mitsuhide reminds him, “in case you don’t remember. You drank a lot of –”

“Dalmore, aged thirty years,” he hums happily. Any night with an open bar was a good memory in the making, especially with this crowd. “How could I forget?”

“It’s more impressive that you remember,” Mitsuhide mutters, winding his way back to the kitchen. “You know you told –”

“ANYWAY.” Obi lifts his glass in a salute. “Down the hatch!”

“It’s for sipping –”

“Damn,” he sighs, licking his lips. “That’s smooth. I can taste the wind from Jalisco. It’s like I’m there.”

Mitsuhide stares at him like he just jumped the velvet ropes at the Louvre. “You’re supposed to savor it.”

He grins, sliding the man his glass as he refills his own. “You know what this would go great with?”

Mitsuhide eyes him warily, glass perched at the edge of his lips. “What?”

He waits for the big guy to take a sip. “Pizza.”

Five hundred dollar tequila sprays across his kitchen island. “Pizza?”

“Aw, look,” Obi sing-songs, “you’re wasting it.”

“We are not drinking this with pizza.”

He waggles a finger. “Now, now, big guy. The only question left is Domino’s or Papa John’s.”

“Okay, you were right.” Obi groans, slumping back into the couch. He throws his chicken bones onto the foil, blinding grabbing for another wing. House of Wings containers litter the coffee table, enough to feed a small army. “Not pizza.”

“Oh god, how can you –” Mitsuhide downs his tequila, hand waving in front of his mouth – “How can you even feel your mouth?”

“Ahhh.” He pulls in a long breath through his nose. “I can finally breathe.”

Both their button downs are long forgotten, balled up on the floor as the apartment’s temperature steadily rose.They’re both down to undershirts – classic T-shirt for big guy, and a tank for himself, showing off all his impressive, illegally acquired scars – and black suit pants, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table.

“Do you even taste anything anymore?” Mitsuhide pulls a wing from the tray of honey barbecue. “I can’t even feel my face.”

“I know, isn’t it great?”

“No.”

He flicks on the TV with a snort, reruns of How It’s Made adding a pleasant layer of white noise to the background. “They’re called Danger for a reason, big guy.”

“You said I’d like them.”

“Ah, you’re right, sorry.” He grins. “I meant I’d like watching you try to eat them.”

“Obi –”

They get into a rousing argument about, of all things, the flesh-toned crayola crayon – the real danger of watching How It’s Made while getting gentle blitzed on good tequila – and it’s while he’s navigating to the crayola wiki – because of course, of course there’s a wiki – that Mitsuhide sees his home screen.

“Tinder?” He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were, uh, dating.”

Obi waggles his eyebrows. “Jealous, big guy?”

“Obi!”

“It’s all right, Kiki need never know about our love –”

Mitsuhide’s mouth pulls tight in a grimace. “Don’t think I don’t see you dodging the question. I didn’t think you’d be doing all that, with uh…” His hands flail uselessly in front of him. “…Circumstances.”

Because you’re in love with her is what he isn’t saying. Obi’s grits down on a grin.

“Don’t you worry, mister,” he says brightly. “It’s not my profile. It’s Miss’s.”

Some of the tequila misses Mitsuhide’s mouth.

“Wasteful,” Obi clucks.

“You have Shirayuki’s profile?”

He has a moment – a moment he has entirely too often, especially now that he’s met Miss – where he realizes he is going to have to explain a joke that, even at the time it was made, defies explanation. To Mitsuhide, who almost certainly expects a coherent answer, not it was funny at the time.

“She started it,” he blurts out. “She said I needed to date and just…made me one.”

Of course, only after he’d said something like, that sort of thing shouldn’t be left up to me, Miss, I have terrible taste.

“And you just…made her one too?” He’s not sure what that tone of mister’s is, but it’s not…pleased.

“It was funnier at the time, I promise.” He scratches at his shoulder, tilting his head back. “She deleted mine right after.”

“And you…didn’t?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, of course not. I like fucking with people who send me dick pics.”

“You use it?”

“Well, she sure isn’t.”

Mitsuhide frowns. “Isn’t that…catfishing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, you can make anything illegal if you say it in that tone and make it about money.”

“Obi!”

“C’mon, big guy.” He waggles his eyebrows, tapping open the app. “Wanna swipe left on some losers?”

“Naoki?” Mitsuhide blinks at the screen. “Just what age do you have this set to?”

“Twenty-five to thirty-five,” Obi tells him, taking another sip.

“Then how did Naoki Ito get in here?” The big guy stares. “He’s the President of his own corporation. And he’s eighty, at least.”

“Hmm.” Obi glances down. “Says he’s thirty-three.”

“Left. Swipe left.”

“Are you sure? I mean he’ll probably kick it soon, and the financial security –”

“Swipe. Left.”

“Oops, left on this one!” Obi laughs, putting his glass down to swipe at the screen.

“Hey, this one isn’t so bad!” Mitsuhide protests, knocking away his hand. “Yori, thirty, head of his own Silicon Valley start-up? He’s not bad looking either.”

“Oh, yeah, Yori’s a babe,” he agrees, swallowing down a snicker. “But you haven’t been reading the news, have you, big guy?”

“I mean, not – not religiously.”

“Google him.”

“Silicon Valley CEO suspected of suffocating wife?”

“You know,” Obi slurs; the tequila must be catching up with him. “I heard suffocation is the most personal kind of murder.”

“Oh god, you would have heard of something like that.”

“Hey.” He presses a hand to his chest, swaying. “I’m a professional.”

“How does he even still have a profile? He must have – he must have just made it!”

“What, like Tinder checks?” Big guy grimaces. “Aww, come on, mister. Even murderers need love.”

“Ugh.”

“That’s why they have conjugal visits.”

Mitsuhide squints up at the ceiling, pained. “Why are you like this?”

“How about this guy?”

Obi perks up from the fridge, where he’s digging out two Coronas from underneath a mound of fresh produce. All the Patron bottle is good for now is a very fancy, very expensive paperweight, and the night’s still young. “Who now?”

“Rikuto, age twenty-seven.”

Obi squints, trying to get his sluggish brain to pull out the information niggling at the back of his memory. “Just sold his social media platform to…what? Google?”

“Yeah, looks like.”

“Dead.”

“What?” Mistuhide stares at the phone like he might catch it. “How?”

“Sold his social media platform to google.” Obi grins. “Spent all the money on hookers and blow. Cheaped out on the blow.”

Mitsuhide groans. “All right. Next.”

“Swipe left?”

“Wha – yes!”

“Hey, no judgement here, your kink is not my ki–”

“Left, Obi.”

“Satomi?” Mitsuhide blinks. “That has to be some sort of mistake.”

“What’s the problem, big guy?” Obi bites down on a grin. “Not into silky black hair? Bottomless dark eyes? Luscious curves?”

“N-no, it’s just –”

“Ah, more of a blonde fellow, huh? Shirayuki, too –”

“No!” He grits out, exasperated. “It’s a woman!”

Obi stares. “And…?”

“Well, that’s not – Shirayuki’s not –”

He arches an eloquent brow. “Big guy. Come on.”

He can see Mitsuhide working through it: Shirayuki blushing when Kiki calls her beautiful, the way she chokes and stutters when Kiki dresses up in her elegant backless gowns, how disappointed she was when Torou hadn’t chosen to flirt with her all those years ago, back in Tanbarun…

He leans over Obi’s shoulder, squinting at the CFO of Fresh Face PR Management. “Swipe right, I think.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees enthusiastically, “swipe right.”

“Is there a reason all of these people make seven figures? At minimum?”

“Why, what are you trying to suggest, mister?” Obi smiles, so innocent. “I’m very good at search filters.”

“Is there even a field to sort for that?”

“Oh, mister,” he drawls, swiping left on a man with a wedding ring. “A gentleman never tells his secrets.”

“I’m just saying, if Miss is gonna leave the Boss,” Obi says loftily, angling his shoulders so Mitsuhide can’t see the screen, “it’s gotta be for someone who can keep her in the way she’s become accustomed.”

Big guy sputters at that. “So millionaires only, that’s what you’re saying.”

“Please, you date up. Billionaires only.”

“This guy looks so fuckin –” Mitsuhide stops himself, staring at his beer like it had answers for him. “He looks really familiar.”

Obi squints at the screen. “Oh, yeah, Tarou. He’s some…board member of his family trust or something. Hideo Vitsjo’s son.”

“Oh, shi –” The big guys swallows, rubbing a hand over his T-shirt.  “Wow. I mean…wow. That’s not so bad right?”

“We met him while we were doing fundraising back east. Nice guy, overall.” Obi puts his finger down on the screen and purposefully swipes left.

Mitsuhide stares. “Didn’t you just say ‘nice guy?’“

“Yeah, but his brother is an asshole.” At his questioning look, Obi adds, “Asshole looking to be an only child. While we were there, someone tampered with the breaklines on Tarou’s car.”

“Jesus.” Mitsuhide takes a sip. “Jesus.”

“Tell me about it.”

If Obi neglects to mention Shirayuki was in it at the time, well, it all worked out in the end anyway.  No use making the mother hen fret.

“You’re so smart, Obi.”

He rolls his head to look at Mistuhide, the room swimming wildly even when he stops. There is nothing about his level of drunkeness that feels smart.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ am.” he agrees anyway, because like, ninety percent of the time, he isn’t drunk now. Easy. Maybe even ninety-five. Miss has access to some very convincing livers when it comes to excess drinking. “But I think you are fucking wasted.”

“Nah,” Mitsuhide hums, slumping on the couch by his legs. “Naaah.”

“Yeah, you are.” He grins down at him fondly. “You’re like, blasted. Shwasted.”

“That isn’t even – is that a word?”

“If you weren’t drunk you’d already know.”

There’s no rebuttal to that besides a long, low groan. Obi tips his bottle in a salute. “Told ya.”

“Hey, Obi.” The words are slurred, but his tone is so earnest that Obi stares down, meeting the endless dark of his eyes. “Thanks. I…needed this.”

“No problem, big guy.” He clears his throat, looking away. “What brings to my neck of the woods anyway? Meetings with the Big Boss not going well?”

He’s silent so long, Obi checks if he’s passed out. He’s not, but his face is grim, lips pulled tight.

“Don’t…” He licks his lips. “Don’t delete that app.”

He blinks. “Mister?”

And of course, of course, that’s when he does pass out, legs hanging over the arm of the sofa and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

“Oh, just –” Obi shakes his head. “Just fucking great. Your wife better not come looking for you.”

Shirayuki stumbles in well after two o’clock, dog tired. The other attending had gotten stuck in concert traffic somewhere in the city – god knows where, there’s only a dozen venues, and every one of them on the route to the hospital – and hadn’t made it in until three hours after start-of-shift. By the time she arrived, Shirayuki had been mid-emergency C-section, and after that she still had all of her end-of-shift paperwork to complete, and file, and –

And she just wants to fall into bed. Any bed. God, even the floor would do.

It’s not until she’s bent down, taking off her heels that she hears it. The drone.

She freezes. Obi doesn’t – he doesn’t make noise, even when he sleeps, just the soft in-out of his breath and, in more rare circumstances, deep, stifled groans. But this…this is definitely someone snoring.

Obi’s name sticks in her throat, choking her, and she feels for the switch –

Oh, just – Jesus Christ on the Cross. “Are you kidding me?”

She surveys the state of the penthouse – empty Coronas litter the counter tops, and the living area looks like House of Wings tried to invade rather than deliver and –

And there’s two drunk idiots sprawled out on her couch. It looks like one of them tried to move the other one before passing out on the floor.

Her lips pull flat, and she leans over, meaning to wake up the clear instigator –

Only to knock over an empty bottle that is not beer. Not unless beer is five hundred dollars a bottle and was made from tequila.

She pulls back. There’s no way Obi would spend that much money on liquor. He balks at spending more that twenty for a twelve-pack, never mind that. Which means –

The other idiot started it.

A quick text to Kiki tells her, he’s your problem until a more reasonable hour.

With a sigh, she treks to the linen closet, bringing out and armful of blankets. If she has anything to say about it, they won’t be two sick idiots, at least.

[valkyrie-echo]

Project Echo, Part 2: Chapter 31 (Berny Barton)

Part 2 Summary: A new enemy surfaces with a team of the Avengers’ greatest foes, hand-picked for their destruction. Meanwhile, Inessa’s pre-Hydra past begins to surface, casting doubt on where her loyalties truly lie.

Chapter 31: Berny Barton

"Trusting a man to kill his own brother," Sin eyed Berny and shook her head. He was busy prepping the vials of gray serum, but he still caught her in his periphery.

Berny flashed her a sarcastic smile and went back to work. Albatross and Ryker made the same fuss initially, he was used to it. Any second one of his new allies would- "There is no love between them, I assure you." there. He silently thanked Albatross.

"If I thought there were I would have killed him by now," Sin continued to sharpen her knives- though where she was pulling all of them from was anyone's guess. "There is a large gap between not loving someone and killing them. Morris is putting too much faith in a feud between siblings."

"He didn't break my favorite toy," Berny said calmly, "he shot me in the face, left me for dead, and killed most of my friends. He's as much an enemy to me as Natasha Romanoff or Bruce Banner are to Albatross and the good General there," he nodded to John, reading as always.

Sin set down her blade and faced Berny. He finished mixing the syringes- taking very specific quantities from each vial. Once he finished he set them down with the utmost care and faced her as well, "Are we gonna fight or have sex because one won't fly with our employer and the other he just might want to watch."

"Neither, if you please."

"Aw, c'mon Albatross. We can't let you be the only one having fun with the super-women."

Albatross' eyebrows arched, "Just what are you implying?"

"You knew Romanoff a very long time and she is, soon to be was, a very lovely lady. Surely you at least got a taste." he winked.

"She had the physical appearance of a ten year old, and the last time I saw her she'd aged nearly twenty years then promptly stabbed me three times. No, we were never intimate in any way."

"Bummer."

"We were talking about you and your brother, not the sexual history of some two-bit assassins."

"Those assassins are older than you, and they weren't frozen when Schmidt died." John spoke up again, "Respect your elders."

Berny faced Sin full-on, "If you want the story, fine. Just listen carefully because it's the last time I humor you. Then, if you still don't trust me, kill me. But make sure you have a damn good excuse for Morris and his boss."

"All I expect is truth," Sin smiled dangerously.

"Gather round kiddos," he said sarcastically, "it's story time."

"I dislike reruns, no offense," Albatross excused himself and left to find Cul. At least around him it tended to be quieter.

"Once upon a time, in the magical land of Nebraska..."

Marco didn't like thieves. Well- thieves who didn't work for him. When the guards found Trickshot, Clint's old mentor, sneaking around back anyone could see where it was going to end. A bullet through the face. Berny, only 14, sighed as the man was dragged in. He was the junior-most member of Marco's small crew. He would be the one cleaning up.

Bang! Berny began pulling off his suit jacket, best get started. He heard something though- a shuffle from the wrong direction, somewhere above them. Surely Trickshot wasn't stupid enough to bring a deaf boy along for a heist- he was exactly that stupid, sanctimonious old fool. Berny turned and shoved Marco as hard as he could- knowing full well if he was wrong his brains would join Trickshot's on the walls.

An explosion of pain wracked his skull almost immediately. He tried to cry out- his mouth was open- but he couldn't move his face. The agony was ungodly. He fell, turning as he did to see Clint staring down from a skylight, gaping. Marco's men opened fire and he fled.

Berny tried to feel the damage, his mouth hurt so much, there was too much blood. He gurgled and tried to get a full breath, close his mouth, anything. One of Marco's bodyguards puked nearby. When Berny's hand found the shaft of the arrow, he knew why.

It had pierced just below his left cheekbone, blasted through bone, gum, and the roof of his mouth, destroying a full section of his teeth. The arrow pinned his mouth open and continued down at a sharp angle, pinning down the corner of his tongue, more teeth and gums on the lower right side, and finally it emerged out of the lower edge of his jaw, through his neck. He felt sick. He felt cold.

Wherever Marco had him taken, it wasn't a normal hospital. The doctors both wore odd logos on their coats- a red octopus with a human skull. He woke long after the surgeries to repair his face and begin reassembling his teeth. Over the years he'd go on to have nearly a dozen surgeries and as many false teeth grafted in.

"Subject is waking up," the doctor was pretty, young. She had long, dark hair that swung down almost far enough to touch Berny's face as she leaned over him. When she spoke, it was with an accent he couldn't place- European certainly. She smiled at him and he tried his best to smile back. His jaw was wired shut, and most of his face and neck were bandaged. What he managed looked more like a grimace.

"Stay calm, it's-" a young male doctor came over and muttered something in what sounded like Russian.

"Alright," the woman translated. "We are doctors. You're in a Hydra field hospital on the way to Alaska."

Berny thought at first the shifting and swaying of the room was something to do with painkillers. Now he saw it all for what it was- the hospital was shipping containers on some boat.

"Your employer pulled a few strings to bring you here. He said to tell you he always rewards loyalty. You will meet with him once we reach port."

"Is there any way I would be let to persuade you having improved jawbone?" the man's grasp of English wasn't the greatest.

"Anton!" the girl snapped, "I told you already. He is not Hydra. We do not augment, only heal!"

"Emilia," he switched back to Russian to plead his case but she put a hand up.

"I'm medical doctor. You are scientific doctor. This patient is mine, not yours."

"I am bored! They bring me no projects here!"

"If you ever want to get to Astana you will have to learn to survive boredom! Winter Soldier is being deployed. He will rendezvous with us in Alaska for diagnostics after his mission. Play then!"

Anton merely grumbled and vanished from Berny's sight to an adjacent lab, "He is new," Emilia said, as if that explained everything.

Berny was kept comfortable for the remainder of the journey, but he had far too much time on his hands to drown in the dull, constant throbbing of his jaw and the memory of Clint's face. He'd spoiled the side job Swordsman and Berny had going, and now his mothering older brother actually tried to kill him! The ass had everything going for him- athleticism, good looks, even super-peepers! Sure he'd been stone deaf since the car accident, but his binocular vision made up for that pretty fucking well in Berny's book. He was always inferior to Clint, he was sick to death of it.

Emilia- Emilie in English- kept him company and monitored his healing. He couldn't speak with his jaw wired shut (the few times he tried he sounded just like Clint), so she carried the weight of the conversation. He caught Anton sneaking glances every now and then. Berny was only 14, but he recognized a crush, especially since Anton didn't seem to have any grasp of subtlety.

After a few days Berny waved goodbye and was taken by skiff across a narrow channel to a waiting car. An especially terrifying man in a mask with a metal arm took his place on the boat and Berny took his in the vehicle. The drive was short- Marco was waiting for him in the restaurant of a cheesy hotel, the 'Prospector Inn'. Damned place was one of the tallest buildings in the city at only 5 stories. Berny sat nervously across from his boss and waited patiently for him to speak.

"I wanted to express my gratitude to you, Berny- I believe that is your name?" Berny nodded slightly. "You risked your life to protect mine. That's loyalty of an impressive caliber. Anything you want you will have. Money, position, twenty stunning hookers and a week in Vegas- at your age that probably sounds the most attractive, yes?"

A goon handed Berny a pencil and a pad of paper to write his reply. I want to repay my brother, he pointed to the bandages on his face.

"I'll have my men fetch him for you."

Berny tapped the table as Marco turned to get his attention. Can't. He'll know you are coming. He has abilities, he pointed to his eyes.

"The world is seeing more and more of these freaks," Marco mumbled to himself. He considered it for a moment. He could use a kid like Berny. "I know low people in high places. They may be able to help you. My operations are far larger than you know, Berny. Serve me, and as your reward I will help you become powerful as well. Then, as your reward for the heroics, I will see that you meet your brother again and guarantee you will get to pluck those special eyes right out of his head."

Berny considered it for as long as it took to pick the pencil back up. Done.

Nearly a decade passed. Marco was the mastermind behind seemingly unrelated gangs all over the globe- a true emperor of crime. He helped Berny meet researchers, participate in dozens of experiments. Most didn't stick, but the ones that did not only brought him on-par with his brother, they took him even further. Suddenly though, his new friends began to fall. Marco went first- it was dismissed as gang violence. Next was Ivanovich, Castro, Hidaki, Chau, Rodriguez- someone was cleaning house and the upper echelon were on the target list. Berny too.

He saw them well before he was anywhere near visible to their average eyesight- men in suits and tactical gear bearing an eagle crest. He pushed his eyes to their limits to read the fine text around the outside of the icon- Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement Logistics Division- SHIELD. They were the ones responsible for him losing his friends- the only family he recognized.

So Berny hunted SHIELD. At first it was sloppy guesswork- which associates they might go after. When he could, he killed. Like Marco, he quickly made low friends in high places. He eventually managed to track them with a certain degree of accuracy. He followed the heels of a trainee team to Belgium after some female assassin- but all he noticed was their leader.

Berny was a mile away using his enhanced vision to watch some guy and a cripple in a wheelchair scouting out a church from the roof of an adjacent building. The leader turned to watch as the assassin ran out of the church, stopped, and wandered down a side street. Berny's vision went red as soon as he saw the man's face. "Of course," he breathed. SHIELD was ruining his life and killing his friends- naturally among their ranks would be Clint fucking Barton. Sanctimonious piece of shit.

Berny barely resisted killing him then- he didn't have the tools he'd need- a bow or a sniper rifle. Clint would only finish what he started so long ago. Berny's face twinged with phantom pain. He needed the last serum- a sort of catalyst to take his powers to the next level. Then he'd be ready to eradicate the cancer that was his brother.

"Well? What next?" Sin waited.

Berny just shrugged, "One more year finding the drugs. Then I tucked it away somewhere safe until I could track down Clint again. One minute I'm sitting in a nice little Italian restaurant, the next thing I know I'm electrocuted and Clint's little assassin wench is throwing me into a cell. I had most of Marco's empire under my control, Clint could only evade my spies for a week, two tops, I had the last little push I needed to beat him," he held up the syringes, "then I'm rotting in a dark, cold cell that would make people in the stone age feel right at home. All because of Clint's girlfriend."

He waited to see if Sin was satisfied. She said nothing, but picked up her knife once again and went back to sharpening the blade. Ryker glanced over and shrugged. Berny rolled his eyes and settled back in the chair. Berny changed his mind- sex with this woman was out of the question. He wanted to fight the smug brat.

Save it for Clint.

Chapter 32: The Eve of Battle

[monstrousthingsrp]

Time Period Quick Reference:

Courtesy the lovely Erin (@incre-et-painture) we now have a handy-dandy little reference to help us all “flow with the times” without having to struggle between either spending precious time researching or winging it and hoping for the best! She actually lived in England during the period in which our game is set, so if you have additional questions about the setting she’ll be happy to help you out--

Although keep in mind that this is an alternate universe. As such, specific individual facts and historical events may be different. So don’t worry about getting bogged-down in the details; after all, this is a world in which The Cold War was replaced by The Worldwide Witchunt Wars. There probably was no Cuban Missile Crisis; there may not have even been a Space Race! We’ve left particular historical details vague enough that we can tailor them to suit whatever plot-points we all decide to develop.

So just as with the timeline, view the following as a reference guideline, not a checklist to obey!

Technology:

This is probably the most important one for us, as unlike most Potterverse games we’re actually playing in a world where your character very well might have access to the sort of technology that we take for granted in our current lives -- albeit several generations older than what we’ve got on hand now!

Most computers operate using ethernet cords to connect to the internet, laptops weigh an extremely portable 52 pounds, basically, and camera phones are cutting edge technology. The pictures taken with them are notoriously grainy at this stage and definitely not the crystal clear video we’re used to.

Most mobile phones operate on a “top up” method where you pay for minutes. They’re called track phones in the U.K. Also, most people are paying per text message sent, but it’s still a popular method of communication. You can top up your minutes in most convenience stores and by calling into your provider’s number. There aren’t any smartphones, apps, and other things like that. Public payphones still exist, although they are fading out by this point.

Travel is done by taxi, bus, and tube. Lyft and Uber do not exist. Londoners love the Tube and definitely travel that way frequently. For frequent travelers, Oyster cards are refillable cards that are similar to the Metro cards we use in the US. In fact, 2004 was the first year that Oyster cards existed. They can also be used on the bus and train, but not on taxis.

Please also remember that trains are a popular method of travel for Europeans. They’re also very reliable and a great way to get around. (As for whether people would be comfortable sharing a carriage with someone who’s got stars by their eyes, well...)

Pop Culture: Sport

As much as it breaks my heart, Manchester United won the FA cup in 2004. (Mod Note: her Erin, maybe in this messed-up world West Ham isn’t a total lost cause? I mean, sport doesn’t have to have happened the same as it did in reality, and we’ve got so many crazy things going on here already -- wealthy Weasleys, werewolf-friendly Blacks, a living Regulus...stranger things could happen, right?)

For those of you interested in talking football, here are the league tables for that season. Please keep in mind that different teams are in different leagues so, if your character follows a team, make sure you know who they play. :)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004%E2%80%9305_Football_League

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004%E2%80%9305_FA_Premier_League

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004%E2%80%9305_Football_League_Championship

Pop Culture: Telly

The Television lineup in Britain in real 2004-2005 contained the shows:

Little Britain

Spooks

Eastenders

Still Game

Dr. Who (the new series had just started, but the reruns were still extremely popular and well-loved by a majority of British people)

Casualty

The Doctors

Holby City

River City

Blue Peter

Strictly Come Dancing

And news is broadcast on the BBC News

For a comprehensive list, please see this article: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_television_programmes_broadcast_by_the_BBC

Please pay attention to the years listed for each program to make sure that it’s applicable...and feel free to make up shows of your own that might exist in this reality! Just keep in mind that TV in England was a much smaller, lower-budget, more contained entity than the overwhelming glut of channels going on in America.

Pop Culture: Music

This will be a painful trip for some of us. After all, I think we’d probably all rather forget that Kelis ever proclaimed that her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. However, it’s a sad fact that she did, and this is the time when it happened!

Now again, we are living in an alternate reality here, so feel free to make up other songs and singers and groups -- both mundane and magical; maybe the Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck don’t exist here (and maybe they do) but there are surely still some magical musicians (maybe some taking advantage of the “dangerous” aura their magic grants them, while others might try and downplay it) so please, let your imaginations run wild! Maybe this Brittany Spears never sang Toxic but rather Cursed...maybe this Goldie Lookin Chain wrote Wands Don’t Kill People, Rappers Do. Who knows, have fun! The following list is for reference so that you know what kind of music and what kind of bands (probably) exist in this world and this time. And, maybe, to give you all a trip -- pleasant or otherwise -- down nostalgia lane. Enjoy!

Here are the Top 100 Songs of 2004 in the UK:

01 Eamon ~ F**k It (I Don't Want You Back)

02 Eric Prydz ~ Call On Me

03 Anastacia ~ Left Outside Alone

04 DJ Casper ~ Cha Cha Slide

05 Usher featuring Lil' Jon & Ludacris ~ Yeah!

06 Frankee ~ FURB (F U Right Back)

07 Kelis ~ Milkshake

08 Mario Winans featuring Enya & P Diddy ~ I Don't Wanna Know

09 3 Of A Kind ~ Baby Cakes

10 Michelle McManus ~ All This Time

11 Britney Spears ~ Everytime

12 Michael Andrews featuring Gary Jules ~ Mad World

13 Destiny's Child ~ Lose My Breath

14 The Shapeshifters ~ Lola's Theme

15 Outkast ~ Hey Ya!

16 LMC vs U2 ~ Take Me To The Clouds Above

17 O-Zone ~ Dragostea Din Tei

18 The Streets ~ Dry Your Eyes

19 Busted ~ Thunderbirds / 3AM

20 Usher ~ Burn

21 Britney Spears ~ Toxic

22 Natasha Bedingfield ~ These Words

23 Ozzy & Kelly Osbourne ~ Changes

24 Boogie Pimps ~ Somebody To Love

25 Kelis ~ Trick Me

26 The Rasmus ~ In The Shadows

27 Band Aid 20 ~ Do They Know It's Christmas?

28 Nelly ~ My Place / Flap Your Wings

29 D12 ~ My Band

30 McFly ~ 5 Colours In Her Hair

31 Girls Aloud ~ I'll Stand By You

32 Cassidy featuring R Kelly ~ Hotel

33 Jamelia ~ Thank You

34 Peter Andre ~ Mysterious Girl

35 Maroon 5 ~ This Love

36 Eminem ~ Just Lose It

37 Rachel Stevens ~ Some Girls

38 Khia ~ My Neck My Back (Lick It)

39 Christina Milian ~ Dip It Low

40 McFly ~ Obviously

41 JoJo ~ Leave (Get Out)

42 Deep Dish ~ Flashdance

43 Lemar ~ If There's Any Justice

44 J-Kwon ~ Tipsy

45 Will Young ~ Leave Right Now

46 Sean Paul featuring Sasha ~ I'm Still In Love With You

47 Brian McFadden ~ Real To Me

48 Girls Aloud ~ Love Machine

49 Katie Melua ~ The Closest Thing To Crazy

50 2Play featuring Raghav & Jucxi ~ So Confused

51 Twista ~ Sunshine

52 Sam & Mark ~ With A Little Help From My Friends / Measure Of A Man

53 Robbie Williams ~ Radio

54 Blue ~ Breathe Easy

55 The Black Eyed Peas ~ Shut Up

56 Twista ~ Slow Jamz

57 Busted ~ Who's David

58 Ice Cube featuring Mack 10 & Ms Toi ~ You Can Do It

59 U2 ~ Vertigo

60 Girls Aloud ~ The Show

61 N*E*R*D ~ She Wants To Move

62 Christina Aguilera featuring Missy Elliott ~ Car Wash

63 Nina Sky ~ Move Ya Body

64 Anastacia ~ Sick And Tired

65 Maroon 5 ~ She Will Be Loved

66 Ja Rule featuring R Kelly & Ashanti ~ Wonderful

67 Goldie Lookin Chain ~ Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do

68 The 411 ~ Dumb

69 Usher ~ Confessions Part II / My Boo

70 Special D ~ Come With Me

71 Kelis featuring Andre 3000 ~ Millionaire

72 Keane ~ Somewhere Only We Know

73 Duncan James & Keedie ~ I Believe My Heart

74 Jamelia ~ See It In A Boy's Eyes

75 Natasha Bedingfield ~ Single

76 The 411 featuring Ghostface Killah ~ On My Knees

77 Franz Ferdinand ~ Take Me Out

78 Gwen Stefani ~ What You Waiting For?

79 Basement Jaxx featuring Lisa Kekaula ~ Good Luck

80 George Michael ~ Amazing

81 D12 ~ How Come

82 Kylie Minogue ~ I Believe In You

83 4-4-2 ~ Come On England

84 Jay Sean featuring The Rishi Rich Project ~ Eyes On You

85 Avril Lavigne ~ My Happy Ending

86 Rachel Stevens ~ More More More

87 Enrique featuring Kelis ~ Not In Love

88 Ultrabeat ~ Feelin' Fine

89 Jennifer Lopez ~ Baby I Love U

90 Green Day ~ American Idiot

91 The Streets ~ Fit But You Know It

92 Sugababes ~ Too Lost In You

93 Victoria Beckham ~ This Groove / Let Your Head Go

94 Ronan Keating ~ She Believes (In Me)

95 Shaznay Lewis ~ Never Felt Like This Before

96 Britney Spears ~ My Prerogative

97 Ashlee Simpson ~ Pieces Of Me

98 Busted ~ Air Hostess

99 Outkast featuring Sleepy Brown ~ The Way You Move

100 The Black Eyed Peas ~ Hey Mama

For the rest of 2004 in music in the real world, please go to this wikipedia entry: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_in_British_music_charts

Random Stuff:

Since the standard closing time for a pub is 11 PM, that’s when “Needles” closes. There are after-hours nightclubs, and people probably go to them, but Needles does its last call at 10:45.

Prostitution is not illegal in Britain, but running a brothel is. Basically, a person can sell themselves, but you can’t sell other people. (I just feel like this is useful information.)

Gun Control Laws had banned both automatic and semi-automatic weapons. Rifles were still allowed for those with hunting permits.

Courtesy Millie @theinvisibleboi: 2004 is also the year Facebook launched (although at that point it would have still been restricted to school e-mail accounts) and the Olympics were held in Athens, in case anyone wanted to feel old! (Probably wix would not be allowed to compete...but if anyone wants to create some kind of controversial Olympics history or event for this world, or otherwise alter history to conform to to AU, please feel free!)

Again, please use this wonderful collection of data that Erin has so helpfully provided us with for as general reference, not uncompromising and stone-set facts that you must know, utilize, and memorize! None of us are expert historians and unless you do something really obvious like reference an iPhone or One Direction, we aren’t going to call you out on it -- especially when an “error” might just be a difference between this world and our own. This is just to help you get in the “vibe” of the time period, not information that you’ll be tested on later. So don’t panic, stay loose, and feel free to get creative!

Thanks once more to Erin for putting this together for all of us, and remember that if you have questions about anything else regarding England in 2005, please feel free to message her and she’ll help out as best she can!