#i never usually post historical fashion things but this is damn interesting

[chuckaf]

Chuck Fic Rec List: Updated

So my fic rec post was in my notifs again the other day, and I noticed a while back that the formatting on the post has gotten all messed up and it’s also had like three reblog additions to it anyway meaning there are three versions out there lol. so, I wanted to do another list of chuck fic recs! I’ll keep the other one up still, so I’m not gonna repeat every fic here, just some I really recommend. I’m also adding the fic summaries, which I didn’t on the old post, and some more of my own opinions so, buckle up for a long post!

Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles | Steampunk.Chuckster

1896. A world powered by steam, where humans and machines coexist, and airships are the fashionable mode of transport. The US Empire's deepest and darkest secrets arrive at Chuck Bartowski's doorstep. Have they fallen into the wrong hands? Or will the inventor prove his mettle, even while he's forced to hide from the very people he's protecting? AU, ongoing chronicle, Charah.

A genuinely incredible AU story, with an entire crafted world and universe, so detailed it frequently blows my mind. There is heart and family and infuriatingly brilliant slow-burn, plus a buttload of danger and super fun historical/steampunk action. Oh how I LOVE it.

Chuck vs the Charade | somedeepmystery

When computer nerd Chuck Bartowski returns home to an empty apartment and a dead girlfriend he finds himself embroiled in a deadly game of espionage and deceit. Everyone around him is playing a part to get what they want and when he starts falling for the new woman in his life, he can't help but wonder if he can trust her or if she's the one he should fear the most.

An action and twist-filled AU based on the movie Charade, which is just such a brilliant fic concept I absolutely adored it from the start.

Two Sides of the Same Coin | dettiot

When you're a spy, there's all kinds of occupational hazards when you work with another spy. For Sarah Walker, though, one mission becomes a life-changing experience. Because working with Charles Carmichael leads to protecting Chuck Bartowski.

The first time I read this fic my mind was just blown to its genius. Such a brilliant interpretation of what the Intersect and its concepts set up in the show could be, and ooooof the Chuck/Sarah interactions, my HEART. Related to it, its companion piece:

A Flip of the Coin | dettiot

What made Charles Carmichael agree to become Chuck Bartowski? Well, to start, it wasn't as much of a change as you'd think. A companion to the early chapters of Two Sides of the Same Coin from Carmichael's perspective.

Chuck vs The Butterfly Effect | n7agentbartowski

Chuck Bartowski is a normal guy who just hit rock bottom. No girlfriend, no career and no super computer stuck inside his head. It isn't until Chuck meets a gorgeous stranger on the beach that he begins to think his life is about to change for the better. An AU Chuck fic without the Intersect. "Change one thing and it changes everything."

I said it on the OG post, but this story has one of my top 5 Chuck/Sarah fic meetings. So funny, so... very Chuck. The story is a little angsty overall, but a great read.

Chuck vs the Rogue Spy | Crumby

When a rogue spy from Chuck Bartowski's past shows up to help him during his first solo mission, Chuck hopes that he'll finally find out what happened to Sarah Walker. Post-S2 AU.

There’s a lot of Season 3 fix-it fics out there, which I don’t usually read bc I actually love season 3 lol, but this one’s a good one! A twisty deviation from canon, but still feels really true to character.

Chuck Versus the Nerds Rewrite | Steampunk.Chuckster and David Carner

What happens when two nerds talk endless hours about their favorite TV show? A new take on the show you know, but with the flair, twists, and turns you've come to expect from Steampunk . Chuckster and david . carner. Somewhat canon. Charah.

As the summary says, a different take on the show, which honestly makes a couple changes I would too, but also adds a bunch of fun twists and plots that make it totally new and fresh. Seeing Chuck and Sarah’s thoughts in the more canon sections is just delicious, too.

The Trapped Assassin | SarahsSupplyCloset

After a mission goes awry, the CIA's most lethal assassin is ordered to take vacation while her superiors figure out what to do with her. But when she meets a disarming tourist, their immediate connection only adds to her disillusionment with the agency and her career. Will he be enough for her to finally take the plunge and leave the only life she's ever known? Charah AU

A warning for the very justified M rating if you don’t like that sort of thing, but this is definitely a plot-heavy fic, too. A really neat Sarah-heavy AU, with a whole lotta Chuck/Sarah fancy French vacationy goodness.

Chuck vs the Second Chance | malamoo

AU from mid-season 2 and onwards. Chuck and Sarah part ways only to be reunited years later. COMPLETE.

Literal, crying-at-my-screen angst. Not even a super happy ending. But a brilliantly written, part-reflective/flashback fic, exploring what would’ve happened if Chuck and Sarah’s relationship really was an assignment all along-- and the aftermath. It’s heartbreaking. But if you want a little heartbreak, this is your fic.

Ready at Your Hand | dettiot

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, a Catholic plot against the queen comes to the attention of spymaster Sir Francis Walsingham. To protect Elizabeth, he develops an unusual plan: hide the passing of intelligence between two agents by a false romance. When Lady Sarah Walker and Chuck Carmichael meet, though, their pretend flirtation becomes much more.

I love Chuck fic for the very reason that it’s inspired such adventurous and totally unique AUs. Here’s some Elizabethan fake-dating Chuck and Sarah! They have to be so Proper, it’s like that hand moment from Pride and Prejudice but Elizabethan and times a billion. The pining!!

Sarah Versus Getting Married | Steampunk.Chuckster

Sarah Walker is getting married. Canon. Charah.

I’d recommend all of SC’s fics if I had the room, and I’m already recommending a ton sksks but most of my fic recs are AUs, and this one isn’t! It’s canon, and covers some of in the gap in 4x24, with Sarah just before the wedding itself. Super sweet, heart-tugging, brilliant.

A Chuckmas Carol | Mikki13

A new twist to Dickens' beloved "A Christmas Carol". When Sarah begins to shut out the world around her, three spirits come to show her the error of her ways. Season 3 AU.

Another Season 3 AU, this one written pre-series so it definitely doesn’t fit to canon, but it’s still wonderfully rich in character depth and angst and it also made me cry. Plus, festive!

Chuck Versus Thin Ice | Steampunk.Chuckster

On the doorstep of the Olympics, top American curler Sarah Walker has lost her mixed doubles partner and her boyfriend in one fell swoop. Her coaches throw newbie Team U.S.A. curler Chuck Bartowski onto her team and thrust them into the Olympics, hanging America's curling hopes on two people who only have a short amount of time to learn to trust one another. Charah AU.

Do you like curling? Or the Winter Olympics? It doesn’t really matter because somehow this fic made me extremely invested in both of those things, as well as Chuck and Sarah and them being INSUFFERABLE. Catch me now knowing a ton about curling thanks to this fic.

Walker’s Eleven | Moonlight Pilot

Not the same plot as the movie. Sarah Walker never got out of the con game or became a spy, and now she's on her final con. What happens when true love and betrayal get added to the mix? Twists, turns, and Jeffster!

Con!Sarah always interests me, and this fic is full of her. Lotta con plot, lotta Chuck and Sarah.

The Detective and the Tech Guy | thecharleses

Sarah Walker is a Pinkerton detective. Chuck Bartowski is an electronics genius. They wouldn't have met except for a case of mistaken identity and murder. Will the detective and the tech guy solve the mystery, distracted by the riddle in their own hearts? An homage to The Thin Man film series. Formerly co-written by Steampunk . Chuckster and dettiot, now ONLY Steampunk . Chuckster.

Everyone in this fic is so damn cool. There are so many martinis. But also great heart and family and like, standing up for who you love, and later also Chuck with Baby Clara content which frankly the show robbed us of. Also, PI!Sarah!!!

Gravity | Poetic4U

AU. Sarah makes a decision that altered her life forever.

This is just a one-shot, which many of these stories are not, so a good one if you don’t fancy a big read! Just because it’s short, though, doesn’t mean it’s lacking; a really awesome what-if AU, and heavy on the Chuck and Sarah.

A Yuletie Tale | Steampunk.Chuckster

Sarah Walker was dumped the day before Christmas Eve, and her Plus One at her work’s annual Christmas Eve Soiree is now officially a Plus Zero. Her best friend Ellie Bartowski has a solution to her problem, and Sarah finds she isn’t quite as sure about it as Ellie is. AU Christmas Charah.

I’m particularly in love with this fic because, instead of beginning with a meet-cute, it involves Chuck and Sarah already two years into a friendship-- Sarah is Ellie’s best friend. And she’s been crushing harrrd on Ellie’s brother. Also Chuck is in a tux. It’s pretty.

Set, Spike, Dive! | Frea O’Scanlin

Chuck never expected to even make it to the Olympics. Everything is working against him: he's too tall for a diver, too inexperienced for a medal, too much of a wildcard to really make his mark. But an unexpected meeting at the airport, some intriguing new friends, and a whirlwind romance on the sand just might set up London 2012 as the time of Chuck Bartowski's life.

A London 2012 AU, because why not. This is just a fun Olympic-y ride!

OTP (One True Pairing) Prompts | David Carner

A series of Prompts I found online about different times and places in Chuck and Sarah's life. Mostly AU, mostly one-shots. I assume mostly fluff, but I might get deep. I doubt it, it's me. Charah...ALWAYS (It says complete, but if an idea strikes me...)

If you’re not so into long stories, this fic is perfect. Individual set-ups and stories, all Chuck and Sarah, and all super cute. You could dip in and out and just pick a scenario you enjoy.

Chuck vs The Frontier | ninjaVanish

AU: Chuck was enjoying a simple life as a 19th century watchmaker until an encounter with a beautiful Secret Service agent thrust him into a world of intrigue and adventure he never wanted. But then, with Agent Walker around, it can't be all bad, can it?

This fic gets props for being historically-set but still including the Intersect. Again, a historical AU, so the pining!! the need to be Proper!!! But besides all that, there’s a lot of action fun as well.

Chuck Versus The Crosswalk: Remastered | WvonB

Will a last minute mission help our two favorite characters finally get together? This is the remastered version of my first story.

The original version of this fic is on my first list; this is the updated version! It’s not a complete AU, instead a story that diverges from canon, so if you’re more into canon characters and setting than a new AU scenario, this is a great fic for that.

Little Girls, Paper Wreaths, and Choc Chip Cookies | DanaPAH

Very AU: Sarah Walker is a single mother whose Christmas spirit needs a boost after a tough divorce. She isn't quite ready to go looking for romance, but her little daughter's affection for their new neighbor may lure it right to her doorstep, anyway.

An incredibly sweet AU one-shot where Chuck and Sarah are new neighbours, and Sarah has a super cute little girl. So much sweetness and love and hope. I love this fic so much it literally led me to write my own neighbour-kid-AU, so, not to toot my own horn but I’ll link it here anyway.

May Your Walls Know Joy | halfachance

Looking for a fresh start after some tough times, Sarah and her three-year-old daughter move to LA. When they meet a sweet curly-haired nerd who lives next door, though, Sarah realizes they might just find more happiness than they'd ever imagined, if only her past doesn't catch up to her first. AU.

It’s what the summary says; if you wanna read, feel free!

Chuck vs the Sound of Music | quistie64

AU. Chuck, nerd extraordinaire, is a man with seven children and Sarah must protect them all from Fulcrum's evil designs. Warning: there will be singing.

I mean. Not much mystery as to the concept with that title and summary lol, but this is a super fun, soft ride with a lotta sweetness, and yes, singing.

Just Two People | David Carner

Meet Sarah Walker PhD, Psychologist, specializing in personality traits. Meet Chuck Bartowski, man who has left THE electronic company of 2020. When Burton Consultants tries to figure out what is wrong with the morale of Orion Industries, what happens when a guy named Chuck meets a woman named Sarah. I'll give you a hint, it's me writing.

David’s done something pretty special with this fic. It’s Chuck and Sarah centric, but very much an ensemble piece, too, with a lot of Team Bartowski and other familiar faces throughout.

Chuck Versus the Con Game | Steampunk.Chuckster

AU. Chuck and Sarah are partners in the con game. It's an existence wrought with danger and violence. Every day could be their last. Every mission could be the end of the line.

This is where I freak out SC and declare this fic the reason I ever got hooked on Chuck fic and then wrote Chuck fic, and the reason I still love it today but. that is true lol. Just so. so good. It’s also written with the chapters out of chronological order, which is super fun from a reading perspective. But con!Sarah AND con!Chuck?? Best. The kind of fic you will be thinking about for days (if not, y’know, years).

As you can tell by the repeats, I highly recommend just about anything by Steampunk.Chuckster, dettiot, or David Carner, but there are a TON of amazing Chuck fics and authors out there. I’ve never known a writing community so wildly creative-- there are so many unique AUs and canon explorations and story concepts that this show has manifested, and it’s all so much fun.

Most of the Chuck fic community is still over on FFN rather than AO3, so if any of these whet your appetite, feel free to have a browse there for more stories. I’m sure you’ll find something great. Personally, all the incredible writing there has also led me to write a buttload; I’m at halfachance on FFN, so if you see any of my stuff or wanna chat fic, feel free to message me there or here.

Happy reading, folks!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #384

“watch your tongue or have it cut from your head”

Do you post to say happy birthday on other people’s walls? Sometimes. Depends on my mood and the person. When was the last time you saw a rainbow? Idr. What’s your favorite television commercial? I don't watch TV enough at all to have one. And who has a favorite commercial, anyway? Do you trip a lot? I don't really trip a lot, but kinda fumble over my footing and stray a bit. I'm horrible at walking straight, and it's gotten worse as my legs have. How old is your television? The one in the living room is god knows how old. My parents were still together when they bought it. When did you last talk on the phone with someone? A couple days ago for my appointment with my psychiatrist. Are you currently sleepy? I'm quite convinced I'm permanently tired. Are you hot or cold natured? I am ALWAYS fucking hot, ugh. Do you take any advanced classes? I took mostly Honors classes in school. Do you have weak upper body strength? My body is just weak as a whole. What is the worst insult someone can call you? Emotionally weak. Are you good at sketching? If we're talking meerkats, haha. They're the only complex thing that I can freehand no problem without needing a reference, honestly. Ever play Angry Birds? Nah. I thought the movie was cute, though. Have you ever been to the zoo before? Yeah. Has anyone ever been weirdly obsessed with you? No. Are you afraid someone might steal your identity someday? It's not something I actively worry about at all. Like, you don't want my identity, I promise. Do you have any talents that come naturally? Growing up, adults always told me I was a "gifted" artist and writer. Also that I seem to have an unnaturally strong connection with animals. I've always been that person where a pet's owner is like "omg ____ never lets people do that" and whatnot. Have you ever had plastic surgery before? I haven't. It's funny though, how opposed to it I used to be... Like goddamn, I was such a fucking stupid and honestly judgmental teenager, regarding many things. I look back on her and cringe. Like damn dude, if you have a safe surgical procedure to help you enjoy the body you're stuck with the rest of your life, you go for it, boo. Are you afraid of airplane rides? Not really. What’s the best Valentine’s Day gift you’ve gotten? There was this one year where Jason had to go to work on Valentine's Day and I was super bummed, yet he still surprised me with a heart-shaped box of chocolates, roses, and a game I really wanted, Heavy Rain. I thought it was the sweetest. What is something you lose often? My phone. ;-; Do you enter a lot of sweepstakes? I don't enter any. Do you consider yourself physically active? *chuckles nervously* Do you have Netflix? Yeah. Favorite salad dressing? That Olive Garden replica you can buy at the store. Do you enjoy dancing? Once upon a time I did. My body could never handle it now. Have you ever considered writing a novel? Many times. Snow or sand? Snow, by twenty thousand miles. It is VERY hard for me to walk through sand, and I also hate hate hate hate HATE the sensation. Do you like sour candy? Heeeeeell yeah man. Have you gotten any injuries lately? If so, what & how? Nothing notable. Are you a clumsy person? Like you would not fucking believe. Last male you talked to in person? I think my primary physician's nurse. Are you thinking about asking anyone out? No. Pink lemonade or regular lemonade? Pink lemonade, for sure. But I love both. Chocolate or strawberry milk? CHOCOLATE. Strawberry milk is disgusting. Have you ever won a contest on the radio?No. Is there a song that reminds you of your best friend? There's quite a few. Has a book ever made you cry? Yes. Do you automatically check your phone when you wake up? Yes, for the time. Do you know anyone who has a pet bunny? Not that I'm aware. What store or website would you most like a gift card for? Rebel's Market. How do you feel about wolves? I adore wolves. Beautiful, majestic creatures with very interesting social dynamics. Name your top 3 favorite musical instruments. Electric guitar, violin, piano. What was the last book(s) you bought at a bookstore? At an actual bookstore, I think it was The Fault In Our Stars, which I never actually read. Do you use Pinterest? Yes. Do you know any sign language? No. Do you have a favorite poem? No. Do you have a dog? No. The one we were pretty much stuck with has a home now. Have you ever read The Little House on the Prairie series? I haven't. Have you ever gone on a service trip to an underprivileged country? No. Have you ever performed in front of more than 100 people? Yes, for dance. When (if ever) was the last time you went to church? Forever ago, I don't even remember the last time. What's a quote you think is really powerful? There's a whole lot. The first one that came to mind was, "An eye for an eye will leave the world blind," which I do believe has great depth in it. Have you ever had to do your laundry at a laundromat? Yes. Are you the oldest person who lives in your household? No. My mom is turning 60 (... I think?) this year. If you have tattoos, how long have you had them? I got my first the day I turned 18. Do you and your dad have similar personalities? We're alike in some ways, imo most notably in that we have NO fucking common sense, embarrassing as that is to admit. We're both kinda slow at understanding things, too. What were the last three things you had to drink? Mountain Lightning, milk, and water. What did your family usually do for Easter when you were a kid? Us three kids all got Easter baskets full of stuff, and we'd go egg-hunting when we were all awake. My little sister Nicole would always wake our parents up in excitement, haha. My parents hid plenty throughout the house, and there was always this one "special" egg that was actually from Mom's childhood and was extremely intricate and beautiful. You basically "won" the hunt if you found it, and it was extremely well-hidden. When you have house guests over, where do they sleep? Historically since living here, my two half-sisters and their spouses (the only people who've stayed over) slept in what is *technically* Mom's room, but for whatever reason this woman still insists on sleeping on the couch in the living room, I guess because she's used to it after all the years she didn't have her own room and bed. Are you emotionally stable? LOLOOLOLOOLLOLOOLOOLOLLOOLOLLLLLLLLLLL Do you still talk to the very first person you had sex with? No. Are you an atheist? No. I don't quite know how to define what I am, but since I believe there's SOME higher power, I don't think it's fitting to call me an atheist. What’s the largest bug you’ve ever found in your house? Hm... I'm unsure. Probably a male mosquito, 'cuz them bitches are big'ins. Would it annoy you if a stranger called you "sweetie?" If it was a man, I'd be creeped out. Are you into fashion design? Not really. What’s the worst thing you’ve gone through in the past year? My leg muscles continuing to degrade, honestly. I have to do something about this shit. How did you get your last bruise? I fell when stepping over the stupid dog gate. Have your parents ever forgotten your birthday? Yikes, no. Would you rather have some bacon or beef jerky? Bacon. Do you like your orange juice with lots or no pulp? NONE. Do you wear skinny jeans? Back when I wore jeans, they were the only kind I wore. What projects are you doing now for school? I'm outta school. What’s the most number of comments you have on a Facebook picture? What is the picture of? I have no idea. Do you like coconut flavored things? No. Have you ever met a famous author before? No. Do you know anybody who has been raped before? No, thank god. I know someone who might've almost been, though. I don't know what the fucking pig was going to do to her if my sister and I weren't there. Have you ever wished for bigger boobs? No. Being overweight, I just want smaller ones now, haha. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? I've gone many days without it. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four, if you're counting everyone that had the "boyfriend" title. Where were you going the last time you were on a plane? Home from Illinois. Where were you going the last time you were on a train? I've never been on one. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? Holy fuck, yes. You would never guess now that I was perfectly healthy in high school especially, yet I still thought I was kinda fat. It hurts so much to look back on. When growing up, did you parents keep the house very tidy? I mean not excessively, but Mom was pretty dedicated to keeping the house in decent condition. With three kids though, of course the house was somewhat messy with toys and all. When you shop at IKEA, do you always stop to eat a snack/meal in the cafeteria? ... There's a fucking cafeteria in a furniture store? o_o I've never been there before. How many watches do you own? None, save for one in my "treasure box" from when I was a kid. I was SO SO SO obsessed with Finding Nemo that I kept my broken one. I did the same with my horribly aged sneakers, like the soles were coming off and Mom finally made me stop wearing them, ha. Are there any ways in which you greatly differ from everyone else in your family? I do fucking nothing and am useless to society. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? Yes, because emergencies happen. I personally think it's best to maybe have your cell phone flipped over on the corner of your desk or something and on vibrate, that way the noise isn't too disruptive and the teacher can see you're not just using it for other purposes. Do you have any gay relatives? Yes. Have you ever had to have a pet put down? Sigh, multiple. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? If so, what was the reason? Not recently. How many cups of coffee do you typically drink per day? None. Do you know what your vocal range is? No, but it's not very broad. What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? I haven't been in this position before. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? I wanna say over a month while we were technically homeless. How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? Oh dear, it was rough. Like there were people who had it worse than me, but ya girl was lookin preeeetty rough lmao.

[queenbirbs]

surrender | Edward Mortemer x f!MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x Elena McTavish

Word count: 7.5k+

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: N*FW

AN: In the words of Kacey Musgraves: I’m alright with a slow burn. But when you want to speed it up a little, that’s what fics are for, right? Takes place pre-chapter nine and also kind of skirts around the very end of chapter eight.

**Re-post due to my dumb ass trying to edit the original on mobile and it wiped the whole damn thing. Cool. Cool cool cool. 

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“Good evening, Miss McTavish?”

The words aren’t so much of a greeting as a question. It’s silly, then, that her breath catches a little. She hides it with a stretch, raising her arm above her head and letting out a throaty noise of content when her spine lengthens. Dropping back onto her heels, she watches Edward finish his ascent up to the crow’s nest where she stands watch.

“Nothing but sea and sky,” Elena replies.

“Aye, should be more of the same on through ‘til morning.”

He settles at his preferred spot, just a few feet from her. She wouldn’t be surprised if his boots have worn divots into the wood from the amount of time he spends up here.

“I’m no Al Roker, but I’d say the nice weather will continue. The sunset was as gorgeous as ever.” She tips her head to the side and bites down on her lip, trying to pull a script line from her memory. “What’s that saying, ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight’?”

“Al Roker?” he repeats the name, his brow furrowed.

“He’s... a person who predicts the weather. Sort of.”

Edward’s gaze flickers from the sea to her, and then back again, huffing out a short laugh.

“It seems that you speak another language, sometimes.”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.” Elena shrugs. “What with being a twenty-first century transplant and all.”

She doesn’t miss the quick search he does of the ship below, looking out for any wayward pirates with curious ears, but she knows, just as well as he does, that most everyone is tucked away in the galley below deck. The only other soul around is Maggie back at the helm, who makes a show of feigning interest towards the starboard to give them more privacy.

“I hope you don’t find me rude, that I still don’t know what to make of your… claims.”

“No offense taken,” she assures with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I thought about what I would do if someone suddenly appeared in my house, claiming they were from your time.”

“And what would you do?”

“Call the cops and then threaten to sick my dog on them.”

“The dog wearing the life preserver?” he lifts a single eyebrow at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “Aye, a truly terrifying sight to be sure.”

“Was that a joke?” she asks, her eyes wide as she makes a show of looking him over.

“You didn’t care for the one about falling in battle, so I thought I’d try out another.”

“Not bad. But I wouldn’t give up your day job quite yet.”

Edward hums his agreement and turns his sights on the ocean before them. Elena understands why he enjoys being up here -- she likens him to a king, high in his tower, or a lion, perched atop his rock; all the world is an oyster from such a height.

Tipping her head up, she takes in the night sky’s view. With little to no light pollution, especially this far out at sea, the stars come out in droves. The Milky Way is a cloudy, violet river that commandeers the horizon. It’s almost dizzying, the amount of stars visible, layers upon layers of them blooming across the sky. Elena’s never seen anything like it. Even when she and her sister would skip their Friday classes, drive up to the nearby state park, and spend the weekend up there, pretending they knew how to camp.

She thinks of the text on her phone from Gabby and the plans they were in the process of making for her to come visit Elena in Los Angeles. When she dropped out of college to follow her dream, the few family she remained in contact with ceased their feeble attempts at communication. When she made it to LA (or, rather, to the one-room hovel she could barely afford), Gabby was the only person on the other end of the line, trying her best to cheer her up. The pang of loss strikes her hard, somewhere behind her ribs. Other than her sudden departure from the set, Gabby might be one of the only people that notices her disappearance -- which is kind of sad, when Elena thinks about it, given that her sister still lives back in Austin.

That thought launches a thousand others. How long has she been gone? Is time moving at the same speed in the future? Is she even going to make it back home?

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Edward’s voice jolts her from her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she agrees, clearing her throat of the emotions that clog it. The railing is steady below her hands; she clings to it, trying to ground herself as best she can.

“Tis... not the same, where you’re from?”

“Where I live, it’s hard to see this many. I feel like if I could get a little bit higher, I could almost touch them.”

Edward looks back to the east, where the moon hangs low in the sky.  

“I don’t see why not,” he murmurs, making a show of leaning close to continue, “if what you say about the moon is true.”

“The stars are a lot farther. And the moon isn’t exactly suitable to live on. At least, not right now. Or,” she pauses, her lips twisting into a grimace, “well, not in my time, it’s not.”

“I’m glad, then, that I’ve made the sea my home.”

If his words are tinged with melancholy, Elena doesn’t mention it. Though she could encourage him to elaborate, she doesn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment. The thought brings with it the memory of their afternoon swim: of his arm wrapped tight around her waist, of the hungry look in his eyes as he took his fill, of the ache in her chest when their moment was broken by the need to surface.

The crystal-clear, turquoise water of the cove brought its own reminder of the summer before her sophomore year of college. It was Gabby’s idea to use their open water diving certifications for something other than taking up space in their wallets. Having spent so much time after her gender affirming surgery entertaining herself with shipwreck documentaries, she booked the trip to the Florida Keys, flights and all, before informing Elena -- in typical Gabby fashion.

“I would never get tired of the views, that’s for sure,” Elena sighs. “Or the constant opportunity to explore whatever island I sailed upon. Like that tiny island we stopped at, I would love to dive there, spend some time exploring underwater.”

Glancing over, she spots Edward’s furrowed brow; she sifts through what little historical knowledge she has of diving. Have those weird, space-age looking suits even been invented yet?

“Sometimes, Miss McTavish, I wonder if I have not happened upon a selkie, with the things you claim.”

“Selkie?” she repeats, rolling the word around in her head, but recognition never comes.

“Aye, a creature of myth, though some people believe they do exist. My mother used to tell me stories when I was little, of the women who came from the sea. Once they reach dry land, they shed their seal skin and transform into a human.”

“So... kinda like a mermaid?”

Edward tips his head in consideration. “In a way. But selkies are usually considered to be gentler. Unless their seal skin is stolen, they favor their time spent among humans. And, when they tire of us, they return to their skin and resume their life under the sea.”

“That sounds sad, in a way. But I promise I went down in a diving suit, not a seal skin.”

“I’ve heard rumors coming out of England, of a man who salvaged sunken ships by trapping himself inside of a barrel. I assume that is not what ye mean, though.”  

“No, not in a barrel,” she grins, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I can show you, though, if you’d like to see.”

“Ah, the black box of witchery.”

He moves closer as he speaks, though, clearly interested in taking another look at it. If he was truly frightened of it, she supposes, he could just lob it into the sea. Her grip tightens on the phone at the thought.

Navigating to her photos, she taps at the folder (embarrassingly titled we’re in miami bitch!!) and turns the phone so the images can expand into greater detail.

“Some of these I took with a disposable camera, so they aren’t the best,” she laments, swiping her thumb across the screen every few seconds. “But my sister -- she has this fancy underwater housing, so her pictures are nice and clear. I would message her for more, but I don’t think Verizon has that great of service.”

She can’t help but chuckle at her own bad joke. Edward, it seems, couldn’t care less -- entranced as he is by the colorful images of the coral reefs and the sponges sprouting from the USS Spiegel Grove’s rusted frame.

“These paintings are exquisite.”

“Pictures,” she corrects.

“You say that as if I’m to know what it means,” he counters.

She swipes to a selfie her sister had taken, the image capturing little else but their masks and the blue world around them. The next photo is better: a full-body shot of Elena in her wetsuit and gear, a cloud of bubbles floating above her head. “I suppose this explains you being such a strong swimmer, when you jumped in after Ginny.”

She shrugs at the veiled compliment and returns the phone to her pocket, avoiding his intense look that she can feel burning into the side of her head.

“Well, swimming in thirty-foot waves is a bit different from the calm waters of Key Largo, but thanks.”

Edward reaches down and skims two fingers under her chin. He tips her head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes flashing with certainty.

“Make no mistake, though: I am to see that you do not perform such a stunt again.”    

Elena knocks his hand away; irritation bubbles up inside her, heating her cheeks and neck.

“I wasn’t performing. I’m not the Wonder Twins. And I’d do it again, if Ginny or anyone else went overboard. Even for you.”

His expression sharpens, his mouth twisting into a frown. She crosses her arms across her chest and serves him a look right back. Whatever he’s about to say, she cuts off as she continues, “Just because I haven’t been sailing the high seas or… or crossed swords with some real buccaneers as long as you all have been doesn’t mean I’m not capable. I fought Robert and won -- I even got his fancy-schmancy sword -- and I sailed our ship through a storm, didn’t I? You need to learn to trust me and-- and… why are you smiling?”

The irritation fades from his face in one fell swoop, there and then gone, replaced by a soft smile that he seems to reserve only for her.

“Something you said, Miss McTavish.”

“I said a lot of things,” she points out. Despite the opening she leaves dangling for him, he doesn’t elaborate. She’s not sure why she expected him to; the man is stubborn to a fault. “Okay, fine. You can keep your charming and mysterious act. You certainly have it down pat.”

“As you do with your… turns of phrase.”

The tension between them cools, aided by the winds that blow towards them from the north. Elena settles at his side once more, the railing at her back. He gives a cursory glance over the horizon.

“You know,” she says, “I realized today that I never said thank you.”

“For what?” he returns his sights to her, curiosity warming his eyes.

“For getting me the hell off the Admiral’s ship. I knew he wasn’t a stand-up guy when he shot one of his own men, but knowing what I know now, I’m especially grateful.” She reaches out to touch his wrist, squeezing it for a long beat. Edward brings his other hand up and covers hers. “I know you took a risk, not knowing if I was a navy spy, but you brought me aboard anyway.”

“Even when we made you stand trial to prove such innocence?”

“Do you think I would’ve been given such a chance on his ship?” she asks, her tone thick with sarcasm.

“No, I do not.” Edward’s face darkens for a moment. “A man capable of such depravities would have treated you… terribly, no doubt.”

“Hey, like I said: white dude of high rank in the eighteenth century? He’s got about a two percent chance of not being an awful person.”

“You--” Edward pauses, lowering his voice as he continues, “are things… different, in your time?”

Elena bites at her lip, wondering how much she should divulge about the twenty-first century. Hope works much better if the outcome is still uncertain, and she doesn’t want to dash any he has for his own future.

“Different, sure, but also very much the same. There’s a famous expression: ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.’ It’s -- let’s just say it’s been accurate more than once or twice.”

“I’ve never heard of such a phrase, but I understand its meaning rather well.”

“And, hey, that’s the second time now that you’ve referred to my ‘situation,’” she marks the term with air quotes. “Does that mean you believe me?”

Edward makes a show of heaving out a sigh. “I am making a valiant effort to do so. Your box certainly helps your case. It -- all of it -- ‘tis still rather wonderful and strange, though.”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Edward, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“You’ve read Hamlet?”

“I’m an actor by trade. Of course I’ve read it. And by read it, I mean that Shakespeare’s works were forced on me in every English class in school.”

That gets an exasperated chuckle out of him. She can’t help the smile that forms; she really enjoys the sound of his laughter. For as much as he tries to play up the stoic, unfeeling pirate captain, he seems to lose the battle whenever she’s around. “It’s all right, you know, if you don’t believe me. I know this is kinda crazy.”

The humor on his face is there one second and then gone the next.

“’Tis… not that.”

“Then what is it?”

No answer comes.

“Charlie was right,” she teases, knocking her elbow into his. “You’re really not great at changing the subject.”

That gets her a snort of amusement, but nothing more. Before she can prod, a cold gust of wind sings through the rigging, whipping up past them and sending her hair into disarray. Despite the residual heat of the sun-warmed railing, Elena can’t help but shiver, and hugs herself to conserve what little heat she can. Edward wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close, his hand running up and down her back with gentle strokes. Her heartbeat quickens at the gesture, now familiar since he helped pull her up out of the raging waters.

“I apologize, Miss McTavish. I shouldn’t have kept you up here so long. You should go down to the galley -- you missed dinner, after all, while on watch. Can’t have you on a chameleon diet. And you’ll be much warmer down there.”

Elena shakes her head and reaches up, placing a hand on the warm plane of his chest where his shirt parts. His breath catches under her palm.

“No, I’m alright. I’m glad you were the next on lookout duty, actually. I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you really think the Admiral cares about getting his property back?” Edward’s body tenses under her touch; she shoves down the wiry ball of nerves in her stomach at the movement. “That lieutenant I ran into, he didn’t mention anything about--”

“Need I remind you of what I promised on our walk from the mayor’s estate?” he interrupts.

Confusion sweeps through her. Elena quirks her head to the side, trying to connect the dots between that conversation and her current fears. “You are no man’s property,” he spits, his voice gone rough from obvious fury. “And for as long as you are here, you are under my protection.”  

The wave of realization hits her.

“I was, uh, talking about the compass.”

“Ah.” He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. The hard line of his shoulders softens. “I… see.”

“But it was interesting, to say the least, to see you puff up like that. I’m sure it would make any other lass swoon. I mean,” she lifts her hand from his chest and holds her thumb and pointer finger inches apart, “I was this close.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Aye, I’d pay top coin to see you swoon.”

“I can think of a few things you could do to make that happen,” she teases.

Edward takes her hand in his and drops a kiss to her knuckles. Before that familiar swell of longing in her chest can rise, though, he shakes his head.  

“I will not risk it.”

“You would sail your ship into every storm across the Caribbean, but this,” Elena glances down to their entwined hands, “you won’t take a chance on?”

“That should tell you how serious I am.”

“I can’t follow your line of thinking, Edward. Do you think the Admiral will suddenly know? That he’s some omniscient god, overseeing all that goes on?”

“People are fond of gossip.”

“Who? What people? Because if it’s the crew, I trust them with my life, just like you do, and I don’t--”

“Not them. But anywhere we’d go, we’d have eyes on us -- eyes that could report back to the Admiral. And if we were -- there would be no world where I wouldn’t want to have you by my side.”

“But we--”

“Jealousy is a hideous trait to have, but I’m afraid I would not be able to stop it from affecting my actions. I’ve seen the people at port, the way they flirt with you.” Edward frowns at the dark sea ahead. “You don’t think I wouldn’t challenge anyone who tried to -- to woo you? I would not be able to stand idle while--”

Elena barks out the short laugh she’s been holding in. “What is so humorous?”

“Because you already do all that.”  

Self-awareness rushes in like the tide, flooding his brain. His jaw goes slack, as does his hand in hers, before he collects himself. Elena feels pinned under those eyes of his. She watches them drop down to her lips before returning to her gaze.

“May I?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Aye, of course.”

He starts to say more -- probably a long-winded explanation about his gentlemanly values -- but she’s waited too long for this to be delayed another second. Elena leans up and silences him with a kiss. He doesn’t turn and flee, like she expects; when he breaks the kiss for air, she gets but a second to collect her own breath before his lips return to hers. She hums her encouragement when he lets go of her hand to sink his fingers into the loose wave of her hair.

His lips, cold from the ocean breeze, warm under hers. Elena finds that his kisses are exactly like him: brash, and quick, and intoxicating, with the slightest hint of steel. When she draws her tongue against him, she can taste spiced rum and saltwater. He growls from the deep well of his throat when she bites down on his heavy, bottom lip. His arm cinches tight around her waist and hauls her against him; their bodies meet in a delicious roll of pressure.

“Miss -- Miss McTavish--”

“Elena,” she corrects, her hand skating up his back, searching for purchase so she can drag him closer.  

“Elena.”

His breath is hot against her skin where his lips trace the line of her jaw. The world dips and sways suddenly, the railing digging into her back. She clings to him when the sensation of weightlessness shoots up her spine.

It takes her a moment to register that it's only the ship underneath them, crossing over a rough wave. Concerned that she’ll end up pitching over to the deck eighty feet below, he picks her up and spins until her back meets the mast. Elena reaches for the lapels of his coat, but he’s faster, and snatches her hands in one of his and pins them above her head.  

“I have dreamed of this,” he murmurs, skimming the pads of his callused fingers along her throat, his mouth trailing behind with fervent, open-mouthed kisses.

She swallows back the moan that wants to form. A shiver dances under her skin, now damp from his attention.

“I have too,” she admits with a sigh. “Except mine deserve an NC-17 rating.”

“You know I don’t understand what that--”

“I certainly fuckin’ can!” someone shouts from below.

The wonderful spell they’ve found themselves under shatters. The voice might as well have been a gunshot, with the way Edward leaps back from her. Elena mourns the loss of his mouth on her as she adjusts her waistcoat and smooths down her hair.

Flipping and tumbling their way across the deck, Ada and Ax continue their argument about who can reach the top of the main mast first. Charlie, Jonas, and Ginny trail behind them, wagering their bets. Maggie’s thick accent carries across the ship, telling them off for circusing about, and ordering them to stay away from the rigging.

It’s not as if their tryst could have continued much longer, Elena considers, given that the crow’s nest wasn’t exactly a secluded spot. The twins make a good show of pouting, but eventually head for their quarters, Ginny giggling as Ax twirls her round.

“Maggie deserves a raise,” Elena tells him.

“Because she knows how dangerous ‘tis for them to be climbing about with no light?”

“Because she knows they would’ve caught us up here, making out like a pair of horny teenagers.”

“Ah. You--” his hand lifts in an aborted move towards her before he redirects it through his tousled hair. “--you should get down to the galley. I’m sure Henry is waiting on you, by now.”    

“Okay,” she says, because it’s the only thing to say. Swinging down onto the rope ladder, Elena starts to descend but pauses, peeking over the railing to catch his eye. “But don’t think this conversation between us is over.”

“Aye.” A wry grin flickers across his face. “I know much better than to assume that.”

+

Edward is right -- about the food, at least.

When she makes it down to the galley, Henry sits her down with a covered plate. Well, as covered as it can be with the dirty rag he’s thrown over it. She’s learned not to make a fuss, though, especially to the man cooking the food.

“Thanks for keeping it warm for me.”

“Took ye long enough,” Henry huffs, but makes a show of looking over his shoulder at her. His face, streaked with ash that he sifts with a makeshift poker, makes it easier to spot his sly grin. “Find somethin’ interestin’ up there, hmm?”

“I was distracted by the view.” Which is the truth, although she doesn’t include that Edward’s lips were part of said view.

“Nothin’ beats a clear night at sea, to be sure.” Swinging the stove door shut with a satisfied grunt, he jerks his chin towards a small barrel on the nearby shelf. “Charlie made some punch, if ye want more’n water to wash yer food down.”

She shakes her head; she’d made the mistake once of drinking their ‘punch.’ It put the jungle juice she drank back at college parties to shame. Charlie now called it Caribbean moonshine, thanks to Elena and her fiery round of swearing after taking a sip.

With the comforting noise of Henry’s humming as he cleans up, she takes a seat on the tin-lined floor and eats her dinner. Not for the first time, she notes Maggie’s touch in the confined space. Fitted across the shelves are iron bars to keep the contents from taking a tumble in rough waters. Tied round the necks of bottles with twine, scraps of parchment label each oil and spice in her spidery handwriting.

“I worked up a new dessert for ye to try, if ye’d like.” He produces a bowl of something that might come out the other end of her garbage disposal back home. Elena inspects the concoction with interest. “I boiled some hard tack in a little bit o’ rum and brown sugar, and then boiled mangoes with some sugar to mix in with it.”

“Ooh, like a compote?”

“Aye, sorta.”

In another world, three hundred some-odd years in the future, she could easily imagine Henry with a cafe or food truck, selling ‘deconstructed desserts’ and other kitschy items. Scooping up a sample, she’s surprised at the delicious flavor of it. The enjoyment on her face must be obvious, because a grin appears behind the ash. “Good, init?”

“Really good! Except, and this is going to sound weird, but maybe add a pinch of lime juice? I think it would really bring out the sweetness of the mango more.”

“Yer right, lass. That might do. And then maybe I can finally get the others to try it.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” she promises after sampling another portion. “Unless I die of food-poisoning tonight, and then you’re shit outta luck.”

Henry shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Edward’d have my head first.”  

“Did he at least try it?”

“I doubt he would’ve, if he’d come down for dinner at all. Too busy broodin’ in his cabin, I suspect.”

Elena hands off her empty plate when he motions for it. Curiosity, instead of hunger, gnaws at her insides.

“Can I take this with me?” she gestures to the bowl in her hands.

“Aye, have the rest of it -- and see if ye can convince the cap’n to get in a few bites, hmm?”

She doesn’t bother asking him how he knows where she’s going; the rest of the crew isn’t as blind as Edward claims them to be. “But if ye break it, yer buyin’ me a new one.”

“Deal. Thanks, Henry!”

+

Elena climbs up to the deck carrying her pilfered bowl.

From where she’s manning the wheel, Charlie throws her a two-fingered salute from the bridge. High overhead, Jonas wishes her goodnight from his post in the crow’s nest. Grateful that she won’t have to try holding onto the bowl while climbing up the rope ladder, she continues on towards the stern.

“What can I do for you, Miss McTavish?” Edward asks before his door is fully open.

“How’d you know it was me?”

He shoots her a deadpan look. Moving aside to allow her entry, he shuts the door behind her.

“No one else would dare bother a captain’s sleep, lest there was an emergency.”

“Henry told me you skipped dinner, so I brought you something to eat.” Elena gestures to the bowl in her hand. Stepping close to give it a thorough once-over, Edward grimaces.

“I will take my chances with starvation.”

“Hey,” she scolds, “it isn’t that bad.”

He does a double-take between her and the food. “You ate it?”

“In college, I once ate stale Wheat Thins drizzled with an expired bottle of honey mustard. And before you say anything,” she holds up a hand to stop the statement she knows is coming, “I know you don’t know what either of those are, but trust me: it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“And this bowl of slop is better than that?”

“If it weren’t, would I be forcing you to eat it?”

He mutters something under his breath, too faint for her to catch, but seems to concede. After a brief hesitation, he takes the bowl and spoon she offers him and shovels in a mouthful of the mixture. His eyebrows pinch down at the initial taste, and then lift in bewilderment.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not… horrible, no.” He sounds just as surprised as he looks. “This is one dessert of Henry’s that I may live to tell the tale of.”

“Good. But that’s not the only reason I came.”

“Aye, would it have anything to do with continuing our conversation from earlier?”

“All that time, Robert was accusing me of being a witch, but here you are, able to read minds.”

Edward gives a soft snort at that, collapsing into his chair. The desk in front of him is littered with maps and parchments and various trinkets. Elena crosses the room and comes round the side of the desk, taking in the starry view from the windows. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the spoon swirl round and round in the gruel as he assesses her.

“Ye would’ve been a good jester, Miss McTavish, in a previous life.”

“It’s just us,” she murmurs. “You can drop the surname.”

“No, I can’t.” The grief in his voice is as clear as a bell. “In another life, yes, but here--”

“--here,” she interrupts, turning at the waist to study him, “in your cabin, alone. Not even then?”

Edward sets the bowl down onto the desk and glares at the floorboards. “We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgement.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she lifts a single brow at his attempt to backtrack.

“Says the man hell-bent on playing cat-and-mouse with an enemy to exact revenge on him for something he clearly feels guilty about? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

His gaze shoots up to her, those dark eyes of his flashing in the candlelight. “That phrase I indeed do know.”

“Then you should know that you can’t kiss me like the world is ending, and then shoe-horn me back into a neat, little box, Captain Mortemer.” Elena doesn’t see it coming, she’ll admit that. She’s too busy ranting at the starry night, too pissed off with the man beside her, too afraid she’ll lose the runaway train of her thoughts if she focuses on him and sees all the emotions he claims to be above, all that longing and heartache and desire, painted across his face. “Since you’re so insistent on using surnames to avoid--”

In the second it takes her to draw a breath, Edward surges out of his chair and crosses to her. In the next, his lips are on hers. That passion she saw the mere beginnings of up in the crow’s nest roars with intensity. He cups her cheek and tilts her head just so, deepening the kiss; she can taste the mango’s sweetness on his tongue.

All at once, he pulls away. She mourns the loss of him with a quiet moan.

“My -- my apologies. I’m--”

Before he can worry himself into the ground with another fit of propriety, Elena holds up a finger to his lips.

“Stop being so polite and kiss me again.”

That familiar grin breaks free, lighting up his face with a naked delight that sends her heart racing.

“As you command.”

His mouth claims hers again. A muscled arm circles her waist, one hand splaying wide across her back to pull her close. She comes easily, readily into his embrace. His shirt twists in her hand where she holds on for dear life, parting for a quick breath of air, before diving back in. His other hand strokes a molten path up from her waist, brushing over the beaded point of her nipple. The moan she releases is louder this time, wanting more than anything for him to do it again.

For all his faults, he’s no fool. Sure, he takes his sweet time with it, dragging his fingertips along her collarbone and up into her hair to push the blonde curtain back, but he eventually makes his way back down. Cupping her breast, his thumb rubs circles against her -- even through the layers of lace and cotton, Elena’s breath catches at the immediate flare of pleasure.

Emboldened by her response, Edward backs her up against the cool, glass panes, his mouth leaving hers to suckle at her throat. Elena tips her head back, her lips parting as his stubble prickles against her skin. His thumb works steadily over her and she’s dizzy with the primal need to have him.

Braced by the window behind her, she hooks a leg up and around his ass. He needs no more encouragement to invade the space she’s created, his hips rocking tentatively against hers. Frustrated with the buffer of all her layers, Edward retreats to the buckle at her waist, his eyes searching hers.

“May I?”

Elena swallows to free the words from her throat, but they won’t come; instead, she nods her permission. The belt hits the floor with a thwack. Her waistcoat comes next, which she tosses off with a flourish. Edward captures her hands and tugs off her gloves. Spotting the gleam in his eye, Elena distracts him with a roll of her hips and frees her hands, chuckling when he mutters a curse at her.

“You’re a cunning lass.”

“I can’t wait around for you to strip me of my garments.” Her fingers making quick work of the corset’s laces. “Besides,” she drawls, “between the two of us, I’m probably the one with more experience taking off a lady’s corset.”

His eyebrow raises in response to her claim. The image of her and another tangled together plagues him; his jaw clenches tight at the thought.  

“That may be so,” he growls, reaching down for his own shirt and tearing it off, “but it won’t be their names you’ll be calling soon enough.”

Her blood flash boils at the promise. She grabs the hem of her blouse and yanks it up over her head.

“Jealousy is a good look on you,” she teases, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingernail.

Seizing her hand, he laces their fingers together and presses a kiss to her wrist. Goosebumps raise across her skin as his mouth trails from the tendons in her forearm to the curve of her shoulder. Nudging her bra strap down, Edward continues his trek to the rosy flush blooming across her chest.

Not one to play the passive participant, Elena cards a hand through his shoulder-length locks and nudges him down. He takes the cue and moves further south; she whimpers at the wet heat of his mouth closing over the lace of her bra.

“God, stop teasing and--” her gasp echoes across the cabin at the sharp bite of his teeth closing around her nipple. His tongue darts out, soothing any hurt, and turns to lave at her other breast.

Once she regains motor control, Elena unlatches her bra and flings it to what might possibly be the furthest reaches of the universe -- she doesn’t care, as long as Edward will keep doing wondrous things to her with that mouth of his.

“Miss McTavish,” he rumbles, tilting his head to run his stubble along her naked flesh, enjoying the ragged, little noises she makes. “You are well on your way to looking thoroughly ravished.”

Her wandering hand smooths over the tight curve of his ass and grabs hold. She smirks as he bucks up into her.

“Then get on with it, Captain.”  

Deft fingers pop the button on her pants and dip down below the waistband. Elena stretches up and rests her bare shoulders against the glass, tipping her hips up to encourage his exploration. She cries out when he slides two fingers inside of her. He gives her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, nuzzling the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I’ve long wondered,” he murmurs, his tongue skimming across the salty sweat of her skin, “what you taste like.”

At the sudden loss of his hand, Elena opens her eyes to tell him off for his teasing -- but her throat goes dry when he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. It’s a long moment before her world centers on its axis once more for her to ask.

“How do I taste?”

“Decadent,” he growls.

Crowding against her, he props himself up with one hand spread wide against the window above her head, while his other draws a wet trail down her belly. A short grunt of pleasure sounds from both of them when he slips back inside her.

Elena reaches a shaky hand up to hook around his arm, her nails digging into the muscles there. Arousal clogs her veins like molasses -- slow and syrupy and sinfully sweet. The movement of her hips turns clumsy and erratic. Sweat beads across her forehead as his fingers work her open, the heel of his hand circling her with delicious pressure.

“Edward -- fuck, I--” she cries out.

“Will you come for me?” he asks, his gaze snapping to hers. Desire clouds his eyes, the brown irises eclipsed by the black of his pupils.  

“Please--” he cuts off her begging with a kiss.

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she answers with a gasp.

Covering his hand with her own to guide him exactly where she likes, she stretches up for another kiss and grinds down against his hand. The heat inside of her reaches its critical point, flaring to life and scorching through her bloodstream. Clenching tight around him, her hips convulse as she rides out the quake of her orgasm.

Edward slides his fingers out, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she whines with oversensitivity. He brings her into his arms, smoothing a hand over her hair as her body shudders with the last of its tremors.

“Fuck,” she sighs, a delirious sort of giggle bubbling up. “Well, how do I look now?”

“Exquisite.”

Leaning down, he captures her lips with a kiss. She blames the blush from her recent orgasm.

“I think it’s my turn, then, to ravish you.”

“We don’t have to--”

Elena silences his gallant protest with a heady kiss, raking one hand through his hair. Her other runs along his side, where she hooks two fingers into his waistband and yanks him closer. Continuing down, she runs the flat of her palm against the obvious sign of his arousal. Edward groans into her mouth; he ropes an arm around her waist and carries her to the desk. With a wide sweep of his arm, he knocks documents and equipment to the floor before depositing her atop it.

“Careful!”

He jerks back at her yelp, casting a worried eye over her form. “Have I harmed you?”

“No, no -- I promised Henry I wouldn’t break his bowl.”

Edward rolls his eyes and grabs the dinnerware before she can reach for it, then tosses it to the floor.

“I will buy him a new one when we stop at the next-- why are you laughing?”

Elena shakes her head at him, avoiding any explanation by dragging his mouth back onto hers. It’s a rather effective technique, as she’s finding out tonight. Their remaining clothes join the messy pile on the floor. Edward huffs a laugh at her threat of injury if he rips her underwear, but seems to heed her words and takes care to drop them onto the desk. Moving into the space between her thighs, he grabs two handfuls of her ass and drags her closer. The soft giggle that sounds from her delights him; he leans down and savors the taste of it on her lips.

Elena’s hand wanders over his stomach and down the trail of coarse hair to take hold of him. He thrusts into her touch with a grunt, choking on an inhale when she twists her wrist on the next upstroke.

“May I have you?” he manages to rasp.

“You may,” she purrs, and guides him to her entrance.

With a surge of his hips, he plunges into the slick heat of her. At her gasp of encouragement, he slips out and then back inside, grinding his teeth against the clench of her. Pleasure is a ripple on the surface, building into a wave that banks higher and higher as they move together. The world outside slips from its perch, losing what little control it has over the confines of the cabin. There is only the two of them, lost in the frantic rocking of their bodies.

A shameless staccato of moans falls from her lips as he fucks her. Edward wraps a fist around a length of hair and pulls her head back, exposing the long line of her throat; he nips at her pulse point and then at her bottom lip, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

“If you shout any louder, the whole ocean’ll hear you,” he playfully scolds.

Spotting her opening, Elena tightens her legs around his hips and digs her heels into his lower back. Retaliation sings its sweet tune as she jerks him forward on top of her, the both of them crashing back onto the desk.

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“Nay, I would never.”

Edward props himself up with one hand next to her head, his other clamped firmly around her thigh as he drives into her, the angle somehow that much sweeter. “God, but yer a pretty sight, spread underneath me.”

It’s impossible -- that she’s here, that the desk underneath her is scattered with papers that would be considered treasure in her time, would be framed in a museum and ogled by historians. A quill digs into her spine and she’s certain they’ve spilled a pot of ink, but Elena can’t find it in herself to care. If she’s lost in time, then at least she has Edward to guide her through it; her beacon of light, keeping her adrift, illuminating her way through the confusing, treacherous world she’s been transported to.

“Elena,” he gasps, his chest gleaming with sweat in the candlelight. “Elena.”

His hold slips from her thigh and down to where they’re joined, rubbing quick circles against her bundle of nerves. Whatever he’s asking of her, she gladly surrenders. The wave of her climax rushes over her, flooding her veins and drowning her with euphoria.

The sight of her lost in the throes of pleasure is an anchor; he sinks.

Edward curses with his release, collapsing beside her onto the desk. Their sweat-slick bodies heave as they catch their breath. Something catches flame in Elena’s chest and simmers there when he folds her into his embrace, his palm cradling her head against his chest. His heart thunders against her temple.

She sees no better time than now, lying naked in his arms.

“I have a question.”

He hums with what little strength he can gather for her to continue.  

“When we were up in the crow’s nest, after discussing our love of Shakespeare--”

“--as I recall,” he interjects, “I am the only one who willingly read his works.”

Elena makes a waving motion with her hand, which would prove more effective if his fingers weren’t laced with hers.

“Whatever. What I want to know is, when I said that it was okay if you didn’t believe me, why that made you…?”

“Disquieted?” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

She can feel the weight of the sigh that empties out of him.

“Because I do believe you. Your mannerisms, your accent, your magic box with its…?”

“Pictures.”

“Pictures, aye. Everything about you should not fit here. But it does, you do. You’ve adapted remarkably well, given what’s happened to you. You are a strong woman, Elena.”

“I would blush, but I’m too tired from our activities.”

He brushes a kiss against the crown of her head and huffs out a laugh.

“Yet, despite how well you’ve adapted, I know that this is not your home. Your true home, that is. I promise you, once we stop the Admiral, I will do everything in my power to send you back home. But, I confess, I will be… terribly upset to see you go.”

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes; she shuts them against the fading candlelight.

“Me too.”

His palm skims up and down the soft skin of her back, marred here and there by the cuts and scrapes from life aboard his ship.

“Stay.”

For a terrifying moment, Elena isn’t sure what he means -- and is terrified all the more that she isn’t sure if she wants to return home, at least not so soon. Realizing that he’s probably (hopefully) meaning for the night, she musters up a reply.  

“The crew will talk.”

Edward scoffs. “They do little else.”

Her shoulders shake from her smothered laughter.

“Is this what passes for pillow talk in the eighteenth century?” she wonders aloud, making a show of stretching and enjoying the noise of interest he makes. “But yeah, okay, I’ll stay. I might even make it worth your while.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

+

+

+

References: an LMFAO song (it was between theirs or Will Smith’s “Miami,” but MC skews younger to me, so I went with the former), a line from Peter Pan, the ‘those who forget history are doomed to repeat it’ is actually a misquote, but I consider it enough of a ref to list it here. There’s a few slang terms from 17th/18th century and various pirate research sprinkled throughout. The USS Spiegel Grove is a real artificial reef, located off the shore of Key Largo. You can dive it with an OWD certification, though it’s recommended to have an AOWD to properly explore it. ~~the more you know~~

Thanks for reading!

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Now or never

(Hayffie ff ❤️. I initially shied away from this prompt because I didn’t think I could write it in a way that felt interesting. But I ended up having a great time with it, so much fun that this became one of my longest one-shots. — I make no apologies for the length of my posts in the feed or in the tags. I don’t apologize for any aspect of my free expression. For personal reasons, I write on my phone using the tumblr app, and the limitations are what they are. Like the limitations of my disabled body are what they are. For prompts, I reblog the prompt along with the link to my fic in case anyone wishes to reblog something shorter. — I write for myself, for my love of the characters and the process. When people comment on, like, or reblog my posts, I view those interactions as unexpected gifts. I have such love for writing that I’d do it old-school like Anne Frank, without any audience beyond my journal itself. This blog has been that for me for over 5 years, my space for coming of age and processing intensities in a strained and oppressive midlife. — I’m inspired now by prompts much more than I have been in past fanfiction efforts. So, thank you to everyone who offers them. And when people are willing to slog through my long fics and other posts, that is fabulous devotion to the characters/issues that are important to me, and I feel good to know I’m not caring alone. — 💛 Kim)

***

His facial hair was rough against her lips. The sensation triggered fantasy which played out more readily if she didn’t have to look at him. So she kissed him with her eyes closed whenever they fucked around. He was the same height as Haymitch. When she wore 5-inch heels, those added to the feeling of intimacy. It wasn’t entirely real, but it felt better than loneliness.

Their relationship was discrete, of course. Mutual discretion was a condition she established before getting involved with anyone, especially someone as high-profile as Seneca Crane.

As far as Capitol society was concerned, their connection was primarily professional, with occasional dinners at expensive restaurants. It was an image they’d been comfortable projecting, and it wasn’t far from the truth.

In moments that weren’t overly physical, she enjoyed his eyes. Blueish-grey with a streak of emotion, they were familiar enough to help her pretend. That’s why she’d first invited Seneca up to her apartment in the fall — to have sex with Haymitch in fantasy.

The sex was good enough. He was gifted with his hands, though he smelled too much like her. She wondered if he wore the same cologne as she did. And his body frame was smaller than the one she actually wanted intimacy with. By November, they’d become a regular *good enough* thing.

A dozen years earlier, they’d been schoolmates at the Academy. He graduated two years before her. She was softer then but already a force to reckon with. He was shorter in those days, sharp, obsessed with tech design. Ambition was an attribute they shared, perhaps the only one.

By 30, he’d become one of the youngest Head Gamemakers in history. He enjoyed the rush of adrenaline he experienced when executing the Games, and he relished the opportunity for artistry. The thrill and beauty he saw in death made Effie uncomfortable, but she viewed it as part of the job. He carried out the president’s wishes, though he confided in her that he didn’t fully agree with the way Snow ruled Panem.

On an evening in late December, they walked along a garden path covered in trellises draped with strands of fairy lights. Effie kept her hands warm in her pockets. It had been a long day, and she was ready to be home in bed, asleep, alone.

“What do you think about marriage?” he asked. The question was slightly more inspiring than if he’d asked her what she thought about the weather.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” she answered honestly, leaving out her occasional ludicrous fantasies about having babies with tiny purple wigs and predispositions for alcoholism.

“A union could be advantageous for both our careers. The publicity could improve your chances of promotion to escort for an inlying district.”

“And what do you stand to gain from a *union*?”

“You’re iconic, Effie. You represent the Capitol with style and positivity, and you execute your work flawlessly. You’re in good favor with the president. You could be a wonderful ally for me,” You could be a buffer for me, he didn’t say.

“Is there anything more?”

“Like what?”

“Really, Seneca, is THIS how you’re proposing??”

“Well, our families would support us. And there’s the matter of sentiment.”

“Sentiment?”

“I like you. I care for you, of course.”

She thought of Haymitch’s words from last summer, the night they almost... but didn’t.

‘I like you too much,’ he’d said, ‘I can’t fuck around with you and pretend it’s nothing. And that’s how it would have to be. That’s the only way it could be.”

Venia and Octavia insisted Haymitch loved her, but she believed that was still a pipe dream. She could keep waiting in vain, or she could choose a more sensible path.

“And there’s this...” From his coat pocket, Seneca pulled a black velvet box and flipped it open. Effie’s jaw dropped. The diamond was huge. It was far and away the loveliest ring she’d seen. She looked in those blueish-grey eyes that reminded her a bit of everything she wanted that wasn’t accessible to her.

Seneca pressed, “Say yes, and the wedding can be one of the biggest events of the year, rivaling even the Games.”

She imagined what her dress would look like. He was saying the right words to tempt her. They didn’t love each other, but maybe she could look past that inconvenient reality. Sometimes people married for other reasons.

“The press would go crazy,” he continued, “There would be red carpet interviews. We could invite everyone who’s anyone: stylists, victors, even Snow.”

Victors... Would he show up to watch me get married? 6 months ago, Haymitch had asked her what she wanted. He’d unzipped her dress and touched her body. He’d taken off his shirt and shown her his scars. Then he effectively told her a relationship between them was never going to happen, and he held her hand as she fell asleep.

Damn him.

She took her left hand out of her pocket. “Let’s see how it fits.”

Seneca had investigated her ring size, so the fit was perfect.

“Let’s show him,” she said.

“Show who?”

“Them. Let’s show them all.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Let’s get married. ...This spring.” She could plan a wedding in 5 months, no problem. Isn’t this the time couples usually cry and leap into one another’s arms? Shouldn’t this occasion call for a show of passion?

“This spring it shall be then.” When Seneca kissed her, she closed her eyes and embraced the same fantasy as usual.

***

Haymitch rarely received mail beyond his compensatory income from the government. In March, when the post delivered an envelope addressed to him in gold ink, he almost tossed the thing straight into the trash, recognizing it as an invitation to a Capitol party. Then he saw the name “Trinket” and the return address of Effie’s family home.

What’s this? He opened it right there on the porch with uneasiness gnawing at his stomach.

“You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of

Euphemia Rosalind Trinket -and-

Seneca Lucius Crane

Saturday, the first of May

At 3 O’Clock in the afternoon

Palazzo Annaeus”

What the hell is THIS! His stomach churned, and he vomited up a pint of white liquor on the ground beside the porch.

Memories flooded in... tracing up the seams of her stockings, unhooking her garters, feeling her body without a corset, running his fingers through her hair as she curled up in bed, so soft. So damn soft. Fear had screamed warnings about getting attached to her. Fear was always screaming.

When those Games were done, he’d left the Capitol with a strained sadness between them, like a rubber band stretched too long. Today it snapped and smacked him in the face. He felt the sting of annoyance and regret.

Damn her.

He couldn’t fix this. The only thing left to do was decide whether or not he was willing to watch it happen. He would have burned the invitation in the fireplace if not for the P.S. in her obnoxiously perfect handwriting.

***

Seneca had been right about one thing. Effie’s parents were thrilled that she’d decided to marry one of *the Crane boys,* especially the Head Gamemaker. Historically the Cranes had been part of the old guard of the wealthy from the Capitol, and they’d successfully diversified their financial interests in the years following the Dark Days.

Her parents spared no expense for *the wedding of the decade.* Effie spent the winter so caught up in the comfort of validation and the thrill of event planning that most of the time she evaded the sense of dread that nagged her when she startled awake in the mornings.

When she’d addressed the invitations, she considered adding a postscript to Haymitch’s, either “Fuck you” or “I love you.” Both feelings were nonsensical and nonetheless true. In the end she’d written,

“H — Please come. — E”

She checked the mail each day for his response card among hundreds, but it never showed up. Figures. He probably threw it away.

She didn’t need anyone to *rescue* her from the fate she’d chosen. If she wanted to call off the wedding, she’d simply come up with a logical explanation to save face; she’d apologize to Seneca and her parents; she’d put a stop to all plans, and that would be that.

The phrase “Mayday mayday mayday” was a distress signal used by Capitol troops during the Dark Days. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d subconsciously scheduled her wedding on the first of May because, apart from the fine details, opulence, and attention, her heart wasn’t in this.

***

“We’re here at Pallazo Annaeus,” Claudius reported from the red carpet which had been rolled out along the walkway to the galleria of the Crane family mansion. “Just a short time from now, fashion icon and District 12 escort, Effie Trinket, will wed two-time Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane.”

“Isn’t this exciting!!” Caesar was in typical form. “The air is positively electric!”

“So much so that my hair is standing on end!”

“As is mine!! Thank goodness for hair products.”

“And wigs! We’re seeing all of the ABOVE as the guests arrive. What a crowd!”

Their interviews with attendees were concise, asking which stylists designed their gowns and suits, and if they had particular wishes to share with the couple.

“Now here comes... Is that?... It is! Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the second Quarter Quell.”

“How touching. One advisor for District 12 supporting the other on her special day.”

“I LOVE it!! Haymitch, do you have any words for the happy couple?”

Haymitch stomped past them without pause. He hadn’t entirely sobered up from the bottle of whiskey he drank on the train, and he didn’t even try to resist flipping Caesar off when asked the question.

“A man of few words,” Claudius covered for a shocked Caesar. “We never know what to expect from that one.”

“He certainly does keep us on our toes.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we have stylish shoes!”

“Indeed!” Each of them spun around on tiptoe, and the cameras zoomed in on their footwear as a distraction from Haymitch’s persistent middle finger.

Just beyond the entryway, the galleria was packed already. Guests were dressed in yards of fabric and large hats. Floral arrangements lined marble walls covered with paintings, some of which were probably older than Panem itself. Haymitch slipped into the first empty chair he spotted, ignoring the usher who asked him, “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”

The question pestered. The bride. Shit. I’m here for the bride.

***

With every detail attended to, Effie curled her fingers around her father’s arm in the vestibule. Flower girls and bridesmaids entered the galleria first, then it would be her turn.

“My princess is getting married in a palace.” Her father kissed her cheek.

“Daddy! Careful of my makeup. Photos aren’t being taken until afterward.”

“Of course. It’s YOUR perfect day.”

Effie had certainly made everything perfect, except for this unrelenting nausea and desire to run away. She forced herself to breathe slowly. The last thing she needed right now was to throw up, ruin her white gown, and have the press start a false rumor about pregnancy. She had no desire to have children with Seneca. She’d made that clear, and he agreed.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Her father calling her “sweetheart” made every discomfort worse. Clearly she thought of Haymitch.

“I’m trying to be alright... but I don’t know,” she confessed.

Her father wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s almost time to walk down the aisle. Is that what you want to do?”

He asked it like she had a choice, but it was too late for choices.

“Let’s go pay the piper!” As Effie started down the aisle on her father’s arm, she didn’t notice the splendor and fullness of the room, nor the oohs and aahs from standing friends and family. She didn’t notice the rose petals on the floor, nor her fiancé sweating like a pig about to be roasted alive with an apple in its mouth.

All she saw was Haymitch.

He stood at the edge of the aisle, in the middle of the room. In the years that she’d known him, he’d been clear about his disdain for Capitol events, yet here he was, no RSVP and very much himself in his regular clothes from District 12. She’d probably be irritated if she hadn’t missed him so much. He was standing right here, and she was still missing him. It took every ounce of restraint to not tell him so.

“Great dress, sweetheart.” He offered a subdued smile as she passed.

She looked back at him once, and her eyes felt like old glass, holding tears too hardened to fall. Then there was nothing to do but look forward.

***

Fear was screaming different words now at Haymitch. Stop this. This wedding. Stop this!

As she walked away from him, he could see that her dress had an open back from her waist to the top of her shoulder blades. The gap was bordered in ornate jewels, stitching, and fancy shit. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her skin, and he couldn’t stop thinking about touching her.

She glanced at him again as she handed her bouquet to a bridesmaid. Her eyes were pleading. He knew the look because of all the times he’d tried to ignore her feelings for him ...and his feelings for her.

The officiant addressed the audience, “We are gathered here today to join Effie and Seneca in matrimony. Family, friends, and honored guests, do you support this union and affirm that these two should be married today?”

Haymitch looked around as the audience responded in unison, "We do."

I don’t.

The officiant continued, “Will you surround this couple in love, offering them the joys of your friendship? Will you support this couple in their relationship? At times of conflict will you offer them the strength of your wisest counsel and the comfort of your thoughtful concern? At times of joy, will you celebrate with them, nourishing their love for one another?”

The automatons responded together again, "We will.”

Like hell I will.

“If any of you has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Haymitch sighed and shook his head. Someday he’d be the death of her, or she’d be the death of him. Maybe today was that day.

This felt like now or never. The bit of whiskey still in his veins helped it be now. He stood up and moved quickly down the aisle to the sound of gasps and murmurs all around him.

***

“What are you doing?” Effie was stunned as he gripped her wrist.

“Excuse us,” Haymitch said directly to Seneca, then he pulled Effie out of the room down a long hallway.

She went willingly, chastising him in hushed tones along the way. “Haymitch! This is highly inappropriate!”

“More inappropriate than us having this conversation in front of the entire Capitol?”

“What conversation?”

He pulled her into a room down the hall.

“Not so tight!”

He loosened his grasp on her wrist but didn’t let go.

“What are you doing, Effie?”

“Do I need to state the obvious?”

“Marriage?? Why are you even WITH him?”

“I don’t owe you explanations — or anything else for that matter.”

She was right. She owed him nothing. His edge softened, and he stroked her wrist with his thumb. “Why are you marrying somebody you didn’t even look at as you walked down that aisle?”

“I LOOKED at him.”

“For about five seconds, and what did you see?”

She hesitated, “He’s wearing a tie, not an ascot. We had a dispute about it this week, and I insisted he wear the tie.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about on your wedding day when you see the man you’re about to marry — a goddamn tie?”

“Why are YOU giving ME the third degree! What are YOU thinking about on my wedding day?”

“I’m thinking about how much I hate Seneca Crane. I don’t want him marrying you. I don’t want you fucking him.”

“Well, that ship sailed! We’ve been having sex for months, not that it’s any of your business!”

“Not my business?”

“Absolutely not!”

He was burning with a mix of emotions: anger, jealousy, frustration, confusion, desire, fear. “If it’s not my business, then why did you ask me to ‘please come’ today? What am I doing here? ...If it’s not my business, then why did reading your wedding invitation make me puke. Why can’t I stop thinking about you? ...If it’s not my business, then why do I want to be the one to take this dress off you. I keep holding your wrist because if I let go, I’m gonna touch you, and what would your *fiancé* think about that? What would YOU think about that?”

He’d never confessed so much to her all at once, and she was in a mild state of shock about it. “Last summer you told me if we ‘fucked around’ then you’d have to pretend it means nothing. You told me you can’t pretend that, so where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I think you do. ...Let go of my wrist.”

“I told you what’s gonna happen if I let go.”

“Then let it happen.”

In a duality of reluctance and eagerness, he let go of her wrist and caressed her through the open back of her dress. She shivered and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

The wig she wore resembled her actual hair color, light golden, like wheat before harvest. In this moment, she was an angel. He’d kiss her if she’d just shut up, but she had things to say too.

“If it’s not your business, then why am I still here with you instead of out there marrying Seneca?” Her tone softened. “Why do I close my eyes and picture you every time I kiss him and every time we have sex? ....If it’s not your business, then why do I miss you so much?”

“Jesus, Effie. What are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I think you do.”

***

From the doorway, Seneca cleared his throat. He’d been listening awhile. Effie tried to pull away from Haymitch, but first he had to untangle himself from the back of her dress.

“This isn’t quite what it looks like,” Effie laughed nervously.

“It looks like unfinished business,” Seneca said.

“Then it IS what it looks like,” Haymitch told him.

“Will you please excuse us?” Seneca asked, proper as fuck. “Effie and I have some things to discuss.”

“I’m not leaving.” Fear and desire for her wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll handle this,” she insisted. “Please wait in the hall.”

This was the Gamemaker’s house, his wedding, and his girl for god sake. What else could Haymitch do? Pull out his knife and slit the guy’s throat?? This was Effie’s world, not his. Without another word, he stepped out of the room, and he hated that she closed the door behind him.

Seneca confronted her, “I’ll say this quickly because our guests have already waited long enough. A marriage of convenience is prudent when the motivations for such a union are stronger than the desire for love. I’ve realized that’s not the case here. For me, and apparently not for you either.”

“Are you in love with someone else?”

“Someone my family regards as unsuitable. I’m sorry I didn’t speak about it sooner. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.” He glanced at the door, “But I see that you do. Frankly, this interruption is an enormous relief.”

Effie was slightly miffed to realize that Seneca would not be pining for her, but the interruption did lift her feeling of dread. “I apologize as well. I haven’t been forthcoming with you, or with myself. What do we do now? The Capitol is expecting a wedding.”

“The Capitol is expecting a show, and they’re getting that. Let’s walk out there together and announce that we’ve decided to cancel the nuptials and move straight to the reception. It can still be the party of the year.”

“But my parents...”

“I’ll reimburse your father for his investment in this. It’s the right thing to do. I do care for you, Effie, but I should never have discussed marriage as a hypothetical, let alone proposed and let it get this far.”

He held out his hand. “Shall we? Before any more time passes.”

She threaded her fingers with his in solidarity.

When the door opened, Haymitch was still there in the hall, fuming now at the sight of them holding hands.

“Seneca, give me another minute,” she said.

He let go of her and took several steps away.

She touched Haymitch’s arm and spoke into his ear, “The wedding is off. But we need time to appease our families and everyone else. Meet me at 9 o’clock at The Popina on 6th St. Do you know the place?”

He’d never been there, but it was a good call. He doubted the press would look for him at a swanky wine bar. “I know the one.”

She whispered, “I said I don’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe me anything either. Regardless, this feeling between us isn’t going away.”

Seneca told him, “Keep following this hallway as it bends to the right. You’ll eventually reach a side door you can take out of here if you want...”

Haymitch didn’t trust him and didn’t want to leave.

“...Unless you’d prefer a walk back down the red carpet with the other guests.”

I don’t.

Effie urged him to go. “I need to set this right. Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

“I don’t wanna run out in the middle of a pile of shit.”

“Language! This wedding is not a pile of anything. It’s an event we need to finish differently than expected. Will you trust me?”

“Fine.” He answered without conviction, turning away so he wouldn’t have to watch them link hands again. Holding the handle of the knife in his pocket, he followed the hallway to the side door and left all that nonsense behind him. Did he trust her?? If she walked into that bar tonight without a rock on her finger, then maybe he just might.

***

Afterward, the red carpet commentary indeed made for a more interesting show.

“The only thing more exciting than a wedding,” said Caesar, “Is a kiss at the altar between the bride and groom after they’ve CALLED OFF the ceremony!”

“You may now kiss the woman in white who is no longer your bride!”

“Oh, Claudius, you’re so cheeky!”

“I can honestly say I’ve never seen a couple more happy to be NOT married.”

“Did somebody bring the sun INSIDE the palace? Because they were positively glowing.”

“The reception is still on, and did you hear their words about it?”

“Caesar, I was on the edge of my seat, and I couldn’t miss them, but say them again.”

“Seneca began, ‘May 1st, May Day, is not just one of folktales. Mayday was a cry of distress during war, terrible war. The Capitol responded and transformed that distress into peace.’

“Then...”

“Then Effie continued, ‘Instead of celebrating a wedding, we’ve decided to transform the reception we’d planned into a festival honoring the glory of the Capitol. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.’”

“Don’t you just love that?”

“I DO! I absolutely do!”

“Well, that’s the only ‘I do’ that we’ll be hearing this afternoon!”

Hysterical laughter ensued between the two.

“Claudius, the question on everyone’s mind revolves around the influence of a certain mentor from District 12.”

“Yes. Haymitch Abernathy interrupted the ceremony.”

“He pulled Effie away, and Seneca followed. When the couple returned hand-in-hand, they called off the wedding. The mystery is, what happened in between?”

“As you said earlier, we never know what to expect from Haymitch. That one is a wildcard.”

“We’ve been waiting for him to emerge from the palace so we can ask him, but as we noted before, he is a man of few words.”

“Maybe we’ll catch him at the reception.”

“The festival!”

“The festival, of course!”

***

By 10 o’clock, Haymitch had read the sign on the wall a hundred times. “Hedone says, ‘You can drink here for one; if you give two, you will drink better; if you give four, you will drink Falernian.”

‘Hedone’ he recognized as the Roman goddess of pleasure. He thought pleasure would be a fine devotion if it wasn’t pursued at the cost of other people’s lives or pursued to chase away demons. He was already chasing one bottle of Falernian with another. “Damn Capitol wine doesn’t get you drunk unless you chug two bottles. And this is the best they’ve got?”

He’d been there a couple of hours. During that time, his attention was divided between that sign reflecting on hedonism and the screen showing footage of Effie’s non-wedding reception.

They were *saving face* alright. Haymitch had rarely seen Effie kiss anyone, and tonight he’d watched her kiss her *former* fiancé every time someone clinked a glass. The kisses were pecks mostly, a game they were probably playing to host a fun party and show the Capitol there were no hard feelings between them. But as the kisses added up, Haymitch’s dislike for Seneca Crane became more palpable.

“Slide a bit,” she said, showing up beside him. She was hiding in a simple dress and a light layer of makeup. Her hair was pulled back beneath a scarf instead of a wig.

He scooted over, making room for her at his booth in back. “You’re late, sweetheart. Did Crane kiss all that makeup off your face?”

“And you’re drunk.” She caressed the back of his neck, content to be with him right now, drunk or not.

“Wasn’t drunk an hour ago after the first bottle of this Falernian shit. But the more you drink, the better it tastes.”

She drank from his glass, and he didn’t object. From his perspective right now, she could drink straight from his mouth or off his body.

He encircled her waist, pulling her as close as the setting allowed. He was relieved to see that she wasn’t married. His inhibitions were reduced, so she could do just about anything to him right now, and he wouldn’t object. He tried not to think about her having that kind of power.

She stroked his arm wrapped around her. “There’s a rumor circulating about you.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?” He kissed her neck after each question. “Do they think I’m fucking you?”

She giggled because the hair on his face tickled her skin and because she was anticipating his response. “Not quite, honey.”

“What then?”

“They think you’re fucking Seneca.”

“What the hell?!!”

“Caesar and Claudius predicted ‘the mentor from District 12 is having a torrid affair with the Head Gamemaker,’ and you pulled me away from the wedding in the hopes of taking my place at the altar.”

“They’re lunatics.”

“It’s a risky move breaking up a wedding. Who knows what people will say.”

“What do YOU say?”

“I say you look at my breasts far too often for you to be interested in Seneca Crane,” she chuckled.

“And what do you say about me breaking up your wedding?”

As she looked into his eyes, there was no approximation, no almost. It was a relief to not have to *pretend* that he was the one she wanted, but to just KNOW it. “I say, thank you. ...Sweetheart.”

What fantasies and real desires would be accessible with him? She’d know more in time.

[photiniainsummer]

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (1/?): The Lede

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor

Rating: Teen and Up

Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor.

They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back.

And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality.

Small goals.

(Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader)

Chapter Summary: The one where your cheeky coworker convinces you to check out the old Markiplier Manor with him.

Word Count: 5372

Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75244647

The Lede

You watch amusedly from your desk as Jonah, your coworker-slash-mentor and partner in crime, comes bustling through the door to the reporters’ bullpen. He’s late, as usual, his half-open messenger bag slung across his rumpled self. Scribbled-on papers and even his laptop haphazardly jut out from the bag as he struggles to balance a breakfast sandwich on his thermos. Sometimes, all he had to do was exist to make you nervous. He starts to make his way across to you and your neighboring desks but is intercepted by the resident office mom for what she calls a “good old fashioned talking-to.” She’s always trying to tenderly bully him into being a better example for the junior reporters like yourself, although you have to wonder why she keeps it up despite its clearly limited efficacy. It’s not even that Jonah’s particularly stubborn - he’s just one of those people who, no matter how early he leaves home or how hard he tries, something just so happens to make him late. You can see how it would seem intentional, but you know Jonah’s too honest and, frankly, not creative enough to come up with the plethora of scenarios that conspire against him. You’ve just learned to tell Jonah to show up at least half an hour before you actually want him to.

Eleanor, however, is committed to whipping Jonah into shape. In the midst of her chiding, Jonah catches your gaze and pulls an awful face, startling a laugh out of you. Eleanor, of course, seizes on this and switches to berating him about listening when spoken to as you try to pull your attention back to scanning the morning news. He really knows how to dig himself in deeper, you think, chewing your lip to keep from laughing at the memory of his terrible expression.

“Don’t even start,” Jonah grumbles when he finally extracts himself from Eleanor’s chastising, sliding into his desk across from you. “You heard it, she already ran the full gamut this morning.” You give him your best shocked look.

“Who, me? No idea what you’re talking about,” you reply coolly, punctuating your tease by exaggeratedly returning to your work and clattering at your keyboard. “I was just going to ask how your morning went.” Jonah groans, but his lips tug upward in his typical crooked smile. At least he’d managed to shave without cutting himself this morning, you note.

“Ugh. Just because you were born able to wake up five minutes before your alarm doesn’t mean the rest of us were. Besides, I was up listening to the scanner.” Now it’s your turn to groan.

“That thing again? It’s barely legal for you to have one here, even Walker said as much.” Your boss and head editor had given Jonah his patented disapproving brow-furrow and pressed-lip combo when it had come up in conversation, but he hadn’t explicitly told the crime reporter to get rid of it, either. Jonah argued it kept him ahead of the curve on his beat, but with as many connections as he had, you suspected he used it more for the thrill of it than bettering his job performance. “What was so interesting last night, anyway? Any high-speed chases?”

“Not in our limits, unfortunately.” Jonah chuckles at your unamused expression, popping the lid on his thermos. “Kidding, come on. No, it was quiet last night, except… well.” He pauses, something changing in his expression. It’s enough to pull your attention away from your inbox. Jonah’s a goofball, but he’s a damn good reporter with a mind like a whip. He has to be, to be head of the crime division. So you take it seriously when he casts his eyes around the office before leaning in conspiratorially. His voice is hushed as he murmurs to you. “Someone called in that they saw a suspicious person skulking around the old Markiplier Manor.”

You immediately lose interest. That was news to him? The Manor had been abandoned as long as you had been alive, long since off the market after being passed from renovator to developer for most of its nearing-hundred year existence. Even with calls for it to be turned into some kind of museum, it had never been able to shake its grisly past or tendency for the strange. You’d heard the stories of the few historic maintenance crews dealing with randomly exploding lightbulbs and eerie spectres, disembodied voices and footsteps - but that’s all they were, stories. Stories from a creepy, old, run-down house on the edge of town. It was a hotspot for teenagers wanting to prove their guts - hell, you had even gone with a couple of friends back in high school, although you had been busted by a roving patrol car. You sigh at the memory of just how badly your mom had berated you about breaking curfew and fix Jonah with a disappointed look. He was immature at the worst of times, but you thought he’d at least be able to tell a lead from normal shenanigans. “That was exciting enough to make you late for the third time this week? You’re supposed to be a senior reporter around here, you know.” Jonah huffs, leaning forward on his desk and closer to you. He seems intent, despite your skepticism.

“Well, if you’d let me finish explaining, then you might know why such an on-time and dedicated individual such as yours truly would have let the time slip away from him,” he replies, sarcasm curling his tone. A quip rises on your tongue that he was the one drawing it out so much, but Jonah has a certain glint in his eyes. Something had his attention. You finally turn from your computer monitor and to face him, only slightly exasperated.

“Okay, okay. Listening.”

The man grins slightly and shifts his weight further forward on his elbows, keeping his voice down as he continues. “All right, so, PD gets this call from a neighbor that they saw someone wandering around on the property, yeah? They send an officer to check it out - of course, nobody’s around by the time he shows up. But the weird thing is… they found all the lights on inside.”

You blink, sure you missed something. “Like. Shop lights, right? There’s some construction crew working on it, or… they called in an appraiser and they forgot to turn them off.” Jonah shakes his head.

“Nope. Light fixtures. Every single one with a bulb in was blazing. And no crews or anything, I called the agency that owns the place. The last pro they had in there was over four years ago. There’s a security guard that checks it out regularly, but the power’s been off for years.”

You furrow your brow and sit in thoughtful silence for a moment, hunched and staring at your desk as you puzzle over the details. Jonah watches you intently while you think, taking the chance to work on his massive thermos of coffee, so strong you could smell it across your desks. He’d done this since you’d joined the paper, assuming the role of your mentor, at least informally. He would offer you the details of a story or curious anecdote that he’d started with and watch your mind run. You had always appreciated the exercise - it kept you sharp in dealing with local politics and its various mealy-mouthed players - and he appreciated getting a second pair of eyes on the issue at hand. Sometimes you picked up on things he hadn’t, ran rabbits he might not have. Working the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you roll the details over in your mind, hunting for another explanation as Jonah hunted for the bottom of his thermos. Something didn’t sit right with you about the details, but what?

Suddenly, you land on it, sitting up suddenly and turning to Jonah, who lifts his eyebrows at you. “The neighbor that made the call, did they mention the lights, or just someone wandering around outside?” His face breaks into a pleased smile, eyes dancing with the curiosity of the problem before the two of you.

“Nice catch. They didn’t mention the lights at all, just the trespasser.”

“So the lights got turned on between the neighbor making the call and the officer showing up.” Jonah’s smile turns into a real grin, cheeks split with it.

“Exactly. But why?” The other reporter leans back in his chair with a sigh. “That’s what kept me up, and made me late. Again.” He sips his coffee idly. “And it’s why I’m going to check it out for myself tonight.”

“What?” Jonah jumps in his chair with the volume of your exclaimation, quickly shushing you as he looks around in a panic. He can’t be serious, you think, but lower your voice. What is he being so low-key about? “No, Jonah, you absolutely can not go poking around some abandoned house.” He settles somewhat, content that nobody cast a glance your way after your outburst. Most of your colleagues are already out on assignments, anyway, given the later hour. But he’s determined, unfazed by your forbiddance.

“And why not? I’m just following a lead.” You open your mouth to protest further, but he interrupts. “Oh, come on, you aren’t a little curious to see what’s going on? What’s the harm, the cops just checked it out, it’s totally safe.” That gleeful glint is back in his eyes. How it thrills and infuriates you in equal measure.

“Seriously? Someone could be squatting there, and the cops just didn’t find them. Someone tapping a neighbor’s powerline and clearly not in their right mind, if they’re turning every light on in the place. Besides, even if it is empty, they could have a patrol posted on it now.” Jonah’s excitement begins to fade in the face of your barrage of facts. “If that agency still owns it, then it’s private, posted property, and you’d be actively breaking the law.” He sucks his teeth and slumps back in his chair, somewhat defeated.

“You’re no fun. Where’s your reporter’s spirit, your drive!” You turn back to your computer, shaking your head as you try to refocus on catching up with your inbox.

“Getting arrested for trespassing and/or breaking and entering isn’t ‘reporter’s spirit,’ Jo. You’re not Nancy Drew, you can’t just start poking your nose around abandoned buildings. It’s not safe.”

Jonah pauses for a moment, then gets an annoyingly knowing grin on his face. He leans forward again, good humor returning. “Ohhhh, so you’re scared is what I’m hearing.”

You huff in exasperation. “Literally how is that the conclusion you’re drawing from what I just said? I told you--”

“You’re the one who said ‘safe’! That means you think it might be dangerous and you’re scared.”

“Yeah, for your job and general well-being. Seriously, Jonah, I’m not scared of some abandoned house. Just because a couple of people happened to get murdered there--”

“Ah ah ah, they only found one body. The Mayor and the District Attorney were missing, assumed dead. Same for the killer.”

“Okay, Mr. Nitpicky. You you that’s even less scary, right? But, regardless, none of that makes the place inherently dangerous or scary. Hospitals aren’t scary, at least not like that, and people die there all the time.”

Jonah doesn’t immediately reply, giving you the opportunity to hammer out a reply to a scheduling issue and push your lunch meeting with the Senator back an hour. How did her assistant manage to double book her? you wonder as your reply zooms off. When you get the chance to look back to your coworker, he has a wry, sneaky little smile on his face. “What?”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” You shake your head. He really isn’t giving this up. “Fine, if you’re soooo not scared, then I dare you to come check it out with me tonight.”

“Absolutely not, did you forget about the illegal part? We aren’t kids, this isn’t just messing around after school. It could look bad for the paper, and you know Walker as well as I do - there’s no second chances.”

Jonah pauses. Mulling over your words, the threat of being fired. Then, “I’ll buy you dinner from that new Japanese place uptown.”

Visions of high-end sushi dance enticingly in your mind. Your stomach threatens to growl, with it being the end of the month and your bank account looking dismally light. Jonah always knows how to hook you, damn him. It doesn’t help that you knew from that look on his face that he knew you were already burning up inside with curiosity. The two of you were peas in a pod, and he had seen that since your first day at the paper. It was exactly why he’d gotten you set up as his desk neighbor, why he’d taken it upon himself to play mentor for you, probably why he was telling you any of this in the first place, despite how low-profile he clearly wanted to stay. You were going to be at that Manor tonight as soon as Jonah had heard the cop call in over the scanner. You sigh quietly through your nose, letting the decision sink in before you make it official.

“Fine. What time?” you ask, not looking away from your screen. Despite trying to ignore him, you could still see Jonah’s joyous fist-pump out of the corner of your eye.

What’s the harm in a little urban exploring, anyway? At least I’ll be there to keep Jonah from going too far with it, you muse to yourself, already planning your celebratory dinner.

What’s the worst that could happen?

---

Even after three years of working closely with Jonah Scott, you still managed to underestimate just how late he could be. You had agreed to meet at the foot of the Manor’s drive at Jonah-time 5:30, 6 sharp for normal people. However, it’s already pushing half-past with no apology text or update to speak of from the crime reporter. Wasn’t this his stupid plan? you mentally grumble, fruitlessly checking your phone again. At this point, your text conversation was fully one-sided, your messages over the last thirty-ish minutes taking up the entirety of your screen. With a defeated sigh, you flick the app shut and slide over to your ridesharing app. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to stick around, and with the sun setting quickly, like hell you’re going to willingly hang around the abandoned Manor longer than you have to.

As you scan available drivers, you consider just how to make Jonah pay for standing you up. You mentally upgrade your promised sushi meal straight into a sushi boat, and although you know you don’t have the heart to commit to such an egregious attack on his wallet, the thought brings a smile to your face. At the very least, you decide to charge him the cost of your rides to and from the massive property - the place is barely in the city limits, not to mention situated up a long road that only led into an almost equally long driveway. Your already light bank account was begging for mercy as you select a nearby driver. Of course it was surge pricing, to boot. The estimated ride cost is enough to make you pause and hope beyond hope that Jonah and his old jalopy were right around the corner. Maybe his phone had just died. Or maybe he was being a particularly safe driver and ignoring his texts. You decide to give it another couple of minutes, if just to make sure you had no other option but to pay through the nose for a ride home. With a sigh, you turn back towards the Manor itself, its exposed-rock exterior catching the burning sunset.

It doesn’t even look that creepy. Really, with the warmth of the setting sun, it almost looks inhabited, just in limbo between relying on daylight and its residents needing to turn the lights on for the evening. The grounds are well-maintained, too, likely thanks to a strict HOA. You figure that if neighbors are paying enough attention to report people wandering around the property despite how spaced out the houses are here, there’s likely a resident weed-measurer who complains as soon as the yard breaches an acceptable length.

That being said, the building itself barely looks like a home. Although you had brushed up on its appearance and floorplan online, images couldn’t prepare you for just how much it really looks like a castle. You knew its creator, Mark Iplier, had been a fabulously wealthy actor back in the day, building his first house to match, but good lord. There’s still such a thing as too much. It has turrets, for crying out loud. Not to mention Google Earth showed that the massive patio that wrapped around practically the entirety of the backside of the building was home to some kind of natural waterfall-looking pool and a life-sized chessboard. It had been impressive online, but in real life, the place is enormous to the point of ridiculousness.

I guess it matches its creator, then, you muse, considering what you had gleaned from a scan of a few biographical entries earlier in the day. He was a local legend, to be sure, but you had never learned more about him than surface stuff and the details of the murder case that had basically ended his career. Before all that, though, Mark had been the embodiment of every stereotype you could muster about early 20th century new-money creatives -- massive personalities with a penchant for equally massive parties. As beloved as he had been on stage and film, he’d been even more so in social circles, known for all-night ragers with massive multisection big bands, ample liquor even in the height of Prohibition, and occasionally the exotic animal or two. Famously, Mark had once arrived at a costume party on the back of an elephant, led by four retainers and dressed like a prince, swathed in silks.

In that context, the house seemed to make a bit more sense, although it had clearly seen better days. The paint on wrought-iron fence surrounding the grounds needs a fresh coat, peeled off in places; you can see a few shutters hanging lopsidedly from their hinges. It’s almost sad, the longer you look at it, especially knowing the revelry it had once hosted. Mark’s own life mirrored the place, as cliche as it was. After the incident, Mark never seemed able to recover. Even the few pictures you had found of him afterwards looked different - he seemed thinner, his eyes haunted, his smile forced. He’d appeared in a handful of films after the fact, but something had changed in him, and he ended up becoming somewhat of a recluse until his death. It was horribly tragic, really. Just trying to put yourself in his shoes had your throat tightening up a bit. Your childhood friend goes off the deep end and goes on a rampage out of nowhere with the rest of your closest friends as casualties - a freak incident right as you’re hitting your stride--

Suddenly, your phone breaks out into its ringtone, startling you out of your empathetic wallowing. You fumble the device in your hand just to keep a grip on it, cursing as you manage to maintain your hold. You check the screen - a local number, but you don’t recognize it. You answer anyway, crossing your fingers it’s not just a spoof call. “Hello?”

Jonah’s voice crackles through on the other end. “Kid! Hey, I’m so sorry-”

“You better have a damn good explanation lined up, Scott,” you snap, interrupting. “Where the hell are you?”

“God, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to get home for the last hour to call you. My car practically blew up in my face on my way home from work, and it must have been something electrical because my phone was connected and charging and got totally fried. It was kind of working for a second, but I just had to give up and come home in a taxi. I’m having to use an emergency landline, I can’t believe the damn thing even works.” The annoyance drains from your body, his tone so disappointed and clearly stressed that you can’t keep a hold on your frustration.

“Oh, Jo. I’m sorry. Are you okay, though? It didn’t shock you or anything, right?”

“No, thank god, no hospital bills on top of everything else. Look, I’m really sorry. Are you still out there?”

“Yeah, I was just about to get a ride home when you called.”

“Oh, awesome, so have you gone in?!” You scoff out of reflex, stunned at his emotional 180. If he was here, you’d give him a good pop on the head.

“What? No, Jonah, of course I didn’t go in! This was your plan, I was waiting on you to roll your goofy ass up this stupid hill. You’re lucky this place is out of the way, I bet the neighborhood association would have called the cops on me by now if the houses were any closer,” you grump down the line. Jonah’s laugh crackles on the other end.

“Lucky’s my middle name, especially today, right? Look, I know I already owe you big, but can’t you just slip in and take a look around? Like hell I’m gonna be able to afford getting a ride out there any time soon, and you’re already there… Just see if the door’s unlocked or something, look in some windows?” He’s really begging, now, and his tone melts your resolve. How does he do that every time? You sigh heavily, crossing your arms and peering up at the manor. Its large, dark windows stand out against the lighter stone as the sunlight truly begins to fade. They feel like eyes, looking down at you from the top of the hill. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“Jonah, you know I value you as a dear friend and colleague, but... Fine, look, this place is creepy, I admit it, I’m a chicken, I’m scared of the creepy murder house, can’t we just come back some other time when we’re a we and not just a me?” Although your rushed confession is half joking, it’s obvious Jonah isn’t fully engaged. He only gives a short laugh in response before you hear him shift the phone a bit, pausing. Thinking. It feels like an age before he speaks again, the crickets beginning their evening song in the interim.

Then, “Look, Vivian, I. I haven’t been straight-up with you. Yeah, the scanner was going off last night, but the truth is I’ve... been thinking about that place for months. Remember that puff piece about Mark, the retrospective Devontae put up a couple months ago?”

You shift your weight, turning away from the manor and its looming walls to focus on your friend’s voice. His tone had seriously shifted. This is Real Talk time. “Yeah, sure. The board killed it. It was weird, especially since it was his death-iversary, right? But… I dunno, Jo, that’s not enough to--”

“I talked with my friends at the Star, their board nixed a retrospective, too. So did the Inquirer, the Daily, and the Herald. Not to mention anything having to do with Mark for at least the last couple of years. I checked Walker’s record cabinet, too. Anything mentioning Mark, that night, his life after… hell, even the Manor, everything is heavily edited. Anything even adjacently referencing his existence is lucky if his name doesn’t get cut.”

You draw up short. A bit of concrete is loose underneath your feet, rocking slightly with you as you shift your weight from foot to foot. What is he getting at? “I mean. Yeah, okay, that’s pretty weird, but maybe… I dunno, maybe the board doesn’t want to bring up a dark moment like that, or more likely, they don’t wanna openly admit the town hasn’t been able to get their shit together about the Manor and make it into something other than an eyesore all this time later. You know at least half of them take board work as their victory lap after a glorious public service career,” you offer, laying it on thick. Jonah hums, considering it.

“Could be. But still, kind of a personal bent for an editorial board to take, no? Even for them. And it’s not just our board, it’s consistent across the papers.”

“But nothing that awful happened to warrant this. I mean, sure, his buddy killed a detective and presumably a couple of friends in his house, that’s sad, but… Mark wasn’t involved. He didn’t do anything, at least, nothing bad enough to make everyone decide it’d be better if he just didn’t exist.”

“Nothing that we know about,” he offers, quieter. Your blood chills.

“...you think something else happened? Something worse?” Jonah is silent for a moment. His next words are careful.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I think what happened at the Manor has more to do with Mark than he wanted people to think, more than reports let on. And that, whatever really happened, it’s something bad enough that even now, this long after everything and even him passing over two decades ago, someone’s keen to keep it covered up.”

You’re quiet, mind reeling. You were a local, you knew as well as anyone that all of this stuff is treated more like an urban legend than true local history. It’s almost larger than life, at this point; you had heard the story told and retold a thousand times over until the telling itself was smooth and simple. Mark, fresh off a successful play’s run, had invited over his old university buddies for a night of good old fashioned revelry and reconciliation after years of petty disagreements had crescendoed with his wife cheating on him with his oldest friend, the Colonel WIlliam J. Barnum. However, little was resolved, and adding alcohol to the mix turned out to be deadly. Tensions between the group came to a head the next day, and the Colonel snapped. His rampage ended in the death of the city’s leading detective and, presumably, two of the original group’s members, although their bodies were never found, seemingly dumped in the woods behind the Manor. The Colonel’s attempt to cover up his crime left the others a chance to escape and alert the police, but the killer, too, disappeared, and was never heard from again.

It feels like a well-worn path in your mind. Nobody ever questioned Mark’s innocence in everything - it was assumed. He had just been there, equally terrorized by the killer as the other victims. But exact details had never emerged to the public, and Mark had been reticent to ever speak of things. The missing guests, too, were just so easily presumed dead at the hands of their friend, their mysterious disappearances more like eerie window-dressing on a ghost story than a suspicious hole in an otherwise tightly-woven story.

Maybe not so tightly, since now that you can see the holes, it’s hard to ignore them.

The tender inside of your cheek aches from your teeth worrying it, bitten raw. You swallow your thoughts for a moment, trying to return to the conversation. Jonah’s been equally quiet, letting you puzzle. “...and you think the Manor has some clue to that? To what might have… really happened?”

“...that’s my working theory. Mark left the place so quickly after everything, it’s still full of his stuff. He didn’t want anything to do with it, wanted to start fresh. Technically, the local historical society owns it all, now, but you know what their funding is like, so it’s all just sitting around. I figure, in his rush, he left something behind that can give us an idea of what we’re missing. Besides, reports of weird stuff happening there has been on an uptick.” You suck your teeth, feeling some of the edge of the conspiracy theory-laiden tension fade.

“Massive media blackout, I can run with. But, what, you think there are ghosts that have something to do with it?”

Jonah groans. “I never said ghosts, specifically, but… come on, kid, you have to admit it’s weird.”

“It’s practically a hundred-year old house, of course it’s weird - the wires are probably all way out of code and nobody’s been in the place in ages.”

“Okay, okay, maybe it’s a stretch,” he admits, retreating from the point. “I’m just looking for patterns. We don’t have a lot to go on, in terms of hard information. Which is why getting in there is so important.” He’s turning toward pleading again. “Please, kid, it’d mean the damn world to me if you’d just take a look around. I’ve got no idea when I’ll be able to get out there myself. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.” You know he wouldn’t, he’s always been considerate of your time and comfort. Really, Jonah is one of the best friends you’ve had, coworker element aside. It makes it horribly hard to say no to him. Which is why whatever reservations you’re still holding on to cave in the face of his honesty.

“...okay. I’ll go poke around. But you seriously, seriously owe me for this one.” You can practically hear Jonah smile on the other end.

“Seriously, I do. Thank you, kid, honestly.” He sounds relieved, taking a steadying breath. Was he really so worried you’d say no? “And take pictures if you see anything!” he quickly adds.

“Only if you call the cops if I don’t call you back in an hour. If there’s someone in there, Jonah, I--”

“Hey, hey, I promise. I’ll stay right by the phone. Cross my heart.”

You sigh quietly to yourself. “All right, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, kid, and seriously. Thank you.” He sounds painfully sincere. You can’t summon up the spite to gripe at him anymore, so you let yourself be equally honest.

“I’ve got you, Jo. You know that.”

“Yeah. I know. Okay, I’m gonna let you go. Just be careful.”

“I will be.”

Then the line goes dead and your phone beeps dully before returning to your ridesharing app. You stare at it for a second, before you swipe up and close the app completely. No way you were going to chicken out now. Apart from Jonah’s confession, your mind was on fire. Sure, you could go home and just apologize to Jonah, but you know you’d be awake all night, tossing and trying to turn over the truth thanks to your limited information but unlimited curiosity. It wasn’t just his skepticism polluting your mind, either, there was definitely something missing from the narrative. Almost like the incident was too well-put-together, the reports from back then too careful with their words, what they didn’t say. Real crimes were messy because people were messy - their memories faulty, their behavior unpredictable and sloppy, even more so when under duress. But everything about the case and its retelling was clean. Neat.

It might as well have been wrapped up with a bow.

With nothing else between you and the Manor besides the peeling gate, you turn back to face its imposing exterior. Although the house had glowed softly in the setting sun, the rock reflecting the light so warmly, it had faded to a soft gray in the twilight. The windows are obviously dark and empty, now, their size exaggerated by the deepening of shadows as the sun slipped behind the horizon. You stare up at them, watching them back through the locked front gate from your tottering bit of pavement. You take another breath in, out. Then you square your shoulders and step up to the gate.

“It’s just a creepy old house,” you mutter, worming yourself between the wide bars. “Nobody inside, just a weird… big house. ” Nonetheless, a shiver goes down your spine when you’re through and the lawn stretches out before you and up to the front door. You crane your neck towards the nearest neighbor, but their windows were dark, too.

So why does it feel like someone’s watching you?

[simtrospective]

congratulations on your follower mile stone! I only recently started following your blog but I love that you share your thought process behind your sims and your posts. I really enjoy reading them! can I hear more about your inspiration to do a historical-vintage blog? what are your favorite time periods to recreate with the sims and why?

Thank you so much @wirefiish!

First, a little tangent: I started playing this series 20 years ago. There have been some gap years since then: my computer couldn’t handle TS3 when it came out so I only notched a few hours of total play time before sticking with TS2; I’d heard bad things about TS4 and myself wasn’t wowed by the base game so I put it aside for a long while. I’ve never had a simblr before this year (I started one in March, almost immediately deleted it, and then resurrected this account in May after someone on reddit asked me for a download + CC list of a sim I’d shared there; I needed somewhere to put all that info and so…). I never had any account for simming no matter which platform was popular: no Livejournal account, nor a Dreamwidth account, nor a GoS account, nor an MTS account, on and on and on. I only ever lurked the community though I felt like I knew everyone in it! But this year, I wanted to keep track of other simmers on tumblr who I liked, and I needed a quarantine distraction from work + panic, and so here I am. Operating this account has been an exercise, too, in managing myself and self-esteem: not letting myself fall into some of my kneejerk behaviors like trying to please others, apologizing (for nothing; for “me”), putting myself down, comparing myself to other people who I imagine are all perfect and talented and objectively better. My inclination, when I write wordy posts or give “too much information” about my sims is to delete and keep it simple, and that certainly gets me more notes, but… this is who I am. Not that it’s that deep! But it’s good to have perspective and behave accordingly: it’s just a blog with pictures of sims. It’s just a game. I felt like writing, it’s my little blog, who cares? I’m not doing it for notes or likes or whatever. What do I have to apologize for? What do I have to fix?

All this to say thank you that you are enjoying reading about my process. I enjoy writing about my process, whether mundane or not. I enjoy treating this blog like a blog when I feel called to do so.

Now, to your questions!

Can I hear more about your inspiration to do a historical-vintage blog? 

Sure! 

If you’d like to read more about my save and my plans for it, I have a link to that featured in my navigation menu. It is HERE for any and all who are interested and includes references and pictures I’m hoping to use as inspiration for world-building and character creation.

Basically, why I’m doing this is very simple: I like old stuff. I like vintage stuff. I like retro stuff. I love old photographs, old furniture, old music, old clothes, old movies. I love references and inspirations and art. I hate the internet. I hate my sims taking out their phones every two seconds and stuntin’ for the ‘gram and whatever else. I am forced to use too much internet and social media at work but in real life I have this blog and a neglected Pinterest account and a neglected reddit account and that is it and that has always been it, with the tumblr and reddit accounts only begun this calendar year. I’m not a luddite; I mindlessly scroll more than I should and I have favorite Vines (RIP) just like the other girls and how else can I stuff my game with CC if not over WiFi, but really, there’s so much of the *NOW* in TS4 that takes me out of and away from what I love about this series because it’s so invasive. This is where I could go on another tangent about how--through what EA, et al purports is endless gameplay possibilities--TS4 actually gives us less choice when it comes to overall gameplay but that is not the question I’m answering.

Beyond wanting to return my sims to a simpler time in terms of technology and their personal interactions, I’m totally doing it for the aesthetic. If I had my way, if I could choose the world’s aesthetic, the world’s advances in terms of, again, the technology in our pockets, it would span between 1920 and, like, 1995 and how exciting that I actually can build a little world that does just that. I can dress my little dolls exactly how I want and make some of them use the washboard! I can’t curate planet earth but I can make damn sure that all the teenage girls in Brindleton Bay wear circle skirts to the diner.

Also, related to doing whatever I want, I get to have the things I love, the world and gameplay I love but apply more progressive values to it. Yes, all the teenage girls in Brindleton Bay wear circle skirts to the diner but the teenage girl who prefers to wear a mechanic’s jumpsuit isn’t going to be looked at askance or be isolated or teased or made to conform or beat up or, best case scenario, need to shoulder the burden of trailblazer or need to shoulder the burden of being The Girl Who Wears A Mechanic’s Jumpsuit even if everyone thinks it’s cool, she’s just… herself. And yes, the world looks like 1955 but it isn’t 1955, or, it’s a parallel 1955. This girl wears a jumpsuit but her girlfriend wears a circle skirt and none of my sims bat an eye.

I also love, love, love looking at other simmers’ historical stories and gameplay. They’re consistently so clever with both CC and in-game content that it’s impossible not to be inspired, and that got my wheels turning.

And, lastly, I’m a CC addict. Limiting my aesthetic and applying rules to my save goes a long way to cull my collection and to keep me from going on a tear that might make my computer explode. It’s much easier for me to delete a bunch of dresses that aren’t appropriate for the parameters of my game than to delete a bunch of dresses because I “should,” because I have “too much stuff.”

What are your favorite time periods to recreate with the sims and why?

I’m partial to the 1950s because it is the easiest. It seems that so many creators make a lot of content that--even if it’s only described as “vintage”--is from the 50s. I mentioned circle skirts above. How many times have I done a broad search for vintage or retro and got circle skirts back? The 1950s isn’t my favorite time period, though; again, it’s just so easy to recreate. Lately I’ve enjoyed making a range of 70s sims and hope I can find a home for them all. I like, too, trying to fit content that I don’t usually use or which I think I don’t like into my version of a particular decade’s or era’s look because it often changes my opinion of the content (especially non-CC) so that I see it with new eyes/better appreciate it, and this practice helps me to hone my abilities and increase my comfort and familiarity with whatever time period I’m working with.

In real life, although I had a long art deco phase, my absolute favorite design aesthetic is mid-century modern. I’ve always loved it, and that love intensified and deepened a few years ago when I started writing my novel--not to sound like a jerk, but it’s true!--which is set in the mid-to-late 1960s. I started doing research and putting together inspiration boards which included, in part, house plans and interior design and for my tastes, I’m sorry, mcm just cannot be beat. I cannot get enough! TS4’s art style is so complementary to the mcm aesthetic that it’s impossible not to fall in love with how it looks in the game, whether it’s CC or not, so that’s my favorite in-game decorative period.

When it comes to clothing and fashion, I have a little bit that I like from every era, really, but if we’re speaking generally and I’m being forced to choose, I (think I) like best male/masculine looks and styling from the 1950s to about… 1963? 1965?, although I prefer a slimmer cut to the suits and pants; and feminine/female looks and styling from the 1930s and 1970s. I perceive a similar combined sensuality, ease, and sportiness in the 30s and 70s silhouettes as well as the prevailing attitudes and approach to fashion that speaks to me. I just love it--but I need more of it for my sims, so I can’t say it’s necessarily my favorite to try and recreate. Yet, anyway.

Thank you again for this question and thank you to all who read this entire answer!

[queen-susans-revenge]

Ingrid Seward and her Smear Campaign Against the Duchess of Sussex

The astonishing and unabating waves of vitriol and misogynoir directed against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex in the British tabloids are really something; yesterday Elton John took to Twitter to denounce “these relentless and untrue assassinations on their character that are spuriously crafted on an almost daily basis.” He was including Harry in his remarks, but the truth is that the vast majority of the press attacks are directed at Meghan.  They began when her engagement was announced, with such odious headlines as the Daily Mail’s “Harry’s Girl Is (Almost) Straight Outta Compton -- Gang-Scarred Home of Her Mother Revealed - So Will He Be Dropping By for Tea?” and they have never let up. (As it turns out, yes, the Duke and his mother-in-law visit frequently. She usually comes to them though, because they are a prince and a princess who live in a frickin’ castle--okay okay, on the grounds of a frickin’ castle--and can’t go anywhere without a paparazzi mob.) Both the elegant and impressive Doria Ragland and her equally elegant and graceful daughter have borne the onslaught in silent dignity. It has been so ugly and unjust that the American press, and many in Hollywood, are now pushing back: Vanity Fair, The Washington Post, and Harper’s Bazaar, among other outlets, have published stories that all come to the obvious answer:

One interesting thing for Sussex fans, is that when you read the latest trash hit against Meghan, it’s often the same people saying the terrible things. Which then the other tabloids will pounce on and regurgitate and spin up into a fresh cycle of “controversy.” Piers Morgan is perhaps the most obvious culprit. A lot of the Meghan-bashing stuff comes from that douchebag. But he at least has been appropriately challenged: Jameela Jamil accurately called him “a slut-shaming, fat-shaming, misogynist, irrelevant shit stain, smeared across our country.”  Friends, netizens, fellow blanket goblins. I am not here to talk about Piers Morgan. I am here to talk about someone that I don’t think has been named and shamed enough, because just as many of these ugly stories planted in the press turn out to come from her. This is a callout post for Ingrid Seward.

Who is Ingrid Seward? She is a wretched fucking harpy, and also the editor in chief of Majesty magazine--which seems to be an online-only webzine with about the same production values as your local supermarket flyer? Anyway, nine times out of ten when a “royal expert” launches an attack on Meghan, it’s Ingrid Seward. Here’s a gallery of her greatest hits: *  Remember that whole business when Meghan came out after Archie’s birth for Trooping the Color, and people noticed she’d changed up the band of her engagement ring? At the time Ingrid Seward had a lot of sneering things to say about that, quotes that got picked up and cycled through a bunch of different outlets: “I find it a bit odd Meghan would want to alter a ring that her husband had especially designed for her...A royal engagement ring is a piece of history not a bit of jewelry to be updated when it looks old fashioned.” The implication of course here being that Meghan is not really one of us, she doesn’t understand the significance--Harry designed that ring with Diana’s stones, she’s desecrating it! (Never mind that it’s her damn ring, and that any alterations Meghan makes to her jewelry will simply add to the heritage and historicity of the pieces.) But it gets better! * So then it came out that Harry had the band changed, actually, because he gave her a second ring when Archie was born and he wanted her to be able to wear them stacked. Was there any apology from Ingrid? No, of course not. She’d successfully planted one wave of bad stories about Meghan, and she’d moved on to the next wave--the christening. * Right, remember all the kerfluffle around how Meghan and Harry wouldn’t allow press photographers at the christening? I’m not gonna say this one was entirely orchestrated by Ingrid, but man does it have her fingerprints all over it: she was very intentional about fanning up the flames of criticism, and very successful at it too. Here’s a quote from one representative bitchy piece in the Express: “Ingrid Seward, editor-in-chief of Majesty Magazine, said she felt that people were becoming a 'bit jaded' by 'stylised' pictures of the newest royal. 'I think what people want and what people are used to seeing are lovely family images of the baby in the royal Honiton lace christening gown. They won't want an arty Instagram shot of Archie's foot three days later if it's left up to the couple themselves to take pictures and release them,' she said, referring to a Mother's Day shot issued by the couple of their son on social media." * She doesn’t name Meghan directly here, but it’s exactly the same implication as before--Meghan doesn’t understand the significance. Her Hollywood, Instagram, American style marks her as not one of us. * And as usual once she’d successfully planted one negative quote somewhere, it would get picked up and amplified by other outlets. E! Online ran a piece that quoted her appearance on the Today show: "I've covered five or six christenings during my royal career and I've never come across such secrecy," Majesty magazine editor-in-chief Ingrid Seward said on Today.” The headline for the E! Online article was “The Archie Christening Controversy: Why Meghan Markle and Prince Harry Are Under Fire Yet Again.” Like yeah okay they are, but at some point don’t we get to talk about the fact that it’s always the same little squad doing the firing? * Of course in the end what Meghan and Harry actually released were lovely family images of the baby in the royal Honiton lace christening gown, just like Ingrid Seward said she wanted. 

* Was she happy? * No. Her success at generating negative coverage for the Sussexes has only made her bolder. “I would think it might bother William a little bit, because he might see the way that Harry and Meghan do things as being detrimental to the business of the monarchy as a whole,” Ingrid Seward revealed in the British documentary titled ‘William & Harry: Princes At War?’ as reported by UK’s Daily Mail on Monday.” * You can see how she gets the media machine to spin up and regurgitate and repackage her smears. That quote was actually from a Fox News piece: “Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s ‘detrimental’ behavior ‘might bother’ Prince William, claims royal expert.” * So one bad quote from Ingrid Seward generates negative TV and press coverage along many outlets. And she’s usually just referred to as a “royal expert,” which makes her fly under the radar more than Piers Morgan. But she is the news here! There’s no actual story about William: this entire news cycle of negative coverage is generated by Ingrid Seward, just like previous bad news cycles have been spun up by her. * She never retracts her criticisms even when repeatedly proven incorrect (as with the ring and the christening photos), and other journos never stop quoting her, either. * Here’s more from her: “And of course William and Kate would have quite naturally thought, ‘Oh, she’s been married before, she’s older than Harry, I hope she’s going to make him happy.’ Anyone would think that.” No, you fucking harpy, normal people just thought “what a lovely young couple!”

* I think it is honestly very reasonable to ask why the editor in chief of Majesty magazine appears to be orchestrating a smear campaign against the Duchess of Sussex. Isn’t she supposed to be a royal fan? Aren’t we all supposed to be celebrating the pretty dresses and the sparkly tiaras? Because that’s what I’m here for. But not Ingrid. Ingrid is here for something very calculated, and very ugly.

[meeedeee]

Vidding Linkspam July 19, 2019

Conventions/Challenges

 Connexions

Multi-Fandom Convention in Maryland is seeking vids for their vid show. Submit your vids by August 1

https://sites.google.com/view/connexions-south/programming/vid-show?authuser=0  

  Fall Equinox 2019 will be a costume party!

Theme will be:  Fictional sources in any format that are set in earlier eras than they were produced/released in -- e.g., costume / period / historical dramas and comedies.   Deadline for Signups:  July 21 - 28  https://equinox-exchange.dreamwidth.org/27045.html  

Convention Vid Show Question

I'm now getting a little worried... would submitting 3 premieres to fanworks con be considered a dick move? I don't wanna take time away from anyone, but I also really wanna show these vids to people.    https://findmeinthealps.dreamwidth.org/7949.html   

 VidUkon Eurovison 2019 Vid Show ....this year's Eurovision show listing showcasing European vidders & source and celebrating the diversity of the European vidding community across all platforms.  

https://amnisias.dreamwidth.org/59043.html

VidUKon 2019 Feedback Notes

It's been a little over a week since VidUKon, so it seems like a good time to post up some of the feedback notes from the final panel of the year and the end-of-con feedback session. First up: panel notes!   https://vidukon-cardiff.dreamwidth.org/39561.html

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________ MetaVidshow Discussion Post: Be Gay, Do CrimesVidUKon is a vidding convention held in the UK. This year they're trying something new - inviting people to watch one of the vid shows online and then comment.   The vidshow is "Be Gay, Do Crimes "   https://vidukon-cardiff.dreamwidth.org/39913.html

 Vidding Chatter July (vid_bingo)

What is your least favorite thing about vidding as a hobby?  What is your favorite thing?    https://vid-bingo.dreamwidth.org/4373.html

Vidding Chatter  June (vid_bingo)

Have you ever been to a vid or fan-focused convention? Which one? What was your experience like, etc?    https://vid-bingo.dreamwidth.org/3623.html  

 Vidding Chatter  May (vid_bingo)  

Are you a vidding plotter or a pantser?  If you use storyboards, how do you approach them? Are they vague or detailed, handwritten or a google doc?    https://vid-bingo.dreamwidth.org/3441.html  

  Fanvids- Vids that you think of every time you hear the song

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/378261.html?thread=2216111765#cmt2216111765  

 Vid Me Closes (on building our own vidding platform)

This article is about why the site VidMe closed, but provides fascinating insights into the state of things; particularly hilarious TO ME are the "Insights for Newcomers," i.e. what they learned for people who want to try to do this: If you’re considering building your own video platform, here are a few suggestions....  https://cesperanza.dreamwidth.org/594255.html  

 YouTube Vidding Contest Strategy

Vidding strategy is not a thing I usually think about in those terms, but here we are. I entered a youtube vidding contest and the first round was scored and "The Engineer" finished tied for 13th out of 19 entries.   https://seekingferret.dreamwidth.org/307266.html  

 Vids With Dialogue

I hate, hate, hate all these vids with the dialogue left in.   

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/374581.html?thread=2192738613#cmt2192738613  

  VidUKon Vidshow Discussion Post: 2009 Retrospective

This is a new thing we’re trying - we love talking about the vidshows at the con itself, but we think there’s scope for further discussion here on Dreamwidth, where folks who weren’t able to attend the con can get involved too. Anyone who’s interested is welcome to watch the show and join in! We’ll be running these posts roughly once a month, initially featuring shows from VidUKon 2019.  https://vidukon-cardiff.dreamwidth.org/39170.html

 FanVid Recs Thread: Special Request

Nonnies, please give me funny crack vid recs? Any fandom, any ship. I need something to laugh about today.  

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/374457.html?thread=2190469817#cmt2190469817  

 Good Omens FanVid Takedowns

I've never understood how fanvids persist against takedowns at all, especially the popular ones.  

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/374457.html?thread=2189939641#cmt2189939641  

 FFA FanVid Recs Thread

music vids, AMVs, edits, supercuts, mashups, etc. Ask for recs or just drop a link to something you like!  

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/374060.html?thread=2189690924#cmt2189690924    

 Newbie: I'm a newcomer to vidding and wondered if I could have advice to learn the ropes.

If someone could help me learn the ropes that'd be lovely.   https://vidding.dreamwidth.org/395455.html  

 The evolution of #vidding trends be like

2012 - heavy colorings, catchy songs, crossfades, overlayers, texts 

2019 - almost to no coloring, clean cuts, minimal editing, trailer-ish instrumentals 

2020 - no coloring, no editing, no music, just play the damn episode would ya?  

https://twitter.com/anJaaXx/status/1139404158820220928  

 Do you ever have an amazing idea for a vid but lack the confidence to actually make it

cuz you’ve never done something like it before and don’t want to screw it up? Now try having that for like 4 different ideas...so frustrating #Vidding #VidderProblems    https://twitter.com/hollywoodgirl05/status/1137771341635964928    

You know the feeling when start project so inspired and then get to some part of song and you just can't move past it? For weeks... And then start to hate whole song and part of project you already finished. Yeah. #Vidding #Viddingproblems   https://twitter.com/TheMica993/status/1134759868605390848  

 Reading it made me think of lumi_nation and other fellow vidders who see & hear music as movement & color, hear color as music, and so on. There are many of us. We don’t often talk about it outside of con suites and panels, but we exist in our special little universes. #vidding   https://twitter.com/Bonibaru/status/1132780458494910464

 Vidding and/as Pedagogy Vids explore themes related to the source material(s) they remix and rework. In a vid, the juxtaposition of moving images and music, as well as careful sequencing, cutting, and pattern construction, work together to communicate the vidder’s messages.

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/324065471_Vidding_andas_Pedagogy   

Vid Society: discord server dedicated to editing/vidding We are a friendly content creator-based community, mainly for video editors (but also for various other artists), with a passion for anything fandom and art related. Join our humble family and feel free to stay as long as you like!  

https://meeedeee.tumblr.com/post/186406012376/discord-server-dediacted-to-editingvidding  

Vidding Styles There is a difference between completely ripping off a style to the point it's just the same video with a different song and taking inspiration, then adding your own spin. While nobody has 'ownership' over a style.... I'm tired of seeing basically the same videos everywhere.  

https://twitter.com/xOurConnections/status/1150547423841771520  

 Current vidding status: 

Vid for which I have clipped that seemed fun: now seems silly and tropey. 

Vid I have most excellent song for is for a show I thought was ok, but for which I'd need to learn new vidding software. 

Vid I've pottered with for years now has corrupted files.  

https://twitter.com/BrokenMnemonic/status/1149750471156015106  

 Your favourite well-made music vid.... I am an old and don't listen to music radio, so in the last twenty years, my main way to discover music less than thirty or forty years old has been through very well-made fan videos. So please rec me yours with the appropriate link 

https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/373194.html?thread=2181417674#cmt2181417674  

  #viddingpetpeeves 

When someone vids ship and uses voiceovers or scenes related to the competing ship on that show. I just always think to myself Bro, that's off-limits" Is this super petty of me. Don't hate me. What are some of your pet peeves, #vidding community  

https://twitter.com/IATFirstGlanceI/status/1146041935074922496  

 VidRecs.com

#vidding friends, for the last couple of weeks I have been exploring (link: http://vidrecs.com) vidrecs.com! (Some of you may remember I mentioned it briefly at #vidukon.) It's very new but it looks as though it could be a really cool resource!  

https://twitter.com/llintrek/status/1144966906690134016    

I just posted my first #fanvid to #Instagram. 

It is an old VCR-era #Titanic vid #Titanicedit #fanedit #vidding (link: https://ift.tt/32FnCPR) instagram.com/p/BzKUNThjCZr/ https://twitter.com/morgandawn6/status/1143897561394110464 

  nothing has demotivated me from vidding more ...

...than youtube and twitter. lost channels on youtube 5 times and twice on here. i know i can unlist, but i don't like doing so. now i'm just waiting for july 27th so my strikes can clear off.

https://twitter.com/RuksarCreation/status/1148686654904983557  

 call me old fashioned but I am really not a fan of the youtube vidding trend..... of putting dialogue over the whole fucking thing. I can deal with a bit here and there but for a 3+ minute song?? I imagine you picked the song for a reason, let me hear the lyrics!!  

https://twitter.com/leanwellback/status/1140679467406376961   

 ...fanvideo styles getting more & more reduced, 

is it even fanvideo editing in some cases anymore....  i guess vidding is living on borrowed time anyway.    https://twitter.com/disasxter/status/1139406005723230208

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

 Technical 

VIDDING TECH: WHERE SHOULD I GO FOR HELP?

After a decade as a Mac vidder, I am about to buy my first Windows machine and start vidding on a PC.   https://laurashapiro.dreamwidth.org/382846.html Sharing Your Fanvids To Instagram

 Instagram limits the number of external links you can use in a post. Up until last year, they didn't  support longer vids or links to external websites, preferring to keep the material "in house." If you have a streaming vid on Youtube, Vimeo or your own website, you can still promote it on Instagram    https://morgandawn.dreamwidth.org/1667645.html

Mac Vid Encoding Vids on Mojave

LlamaEnc is not currently compatible with macOS Mojave.  

https://fanworks.dreamwidth.org/10195.html

 Request: Vid Tagging Assistance, Vid Streaming Alternatives  

Requesting assistance in tagging vids using Excel (2013/2016/2019). If you have Office 365 this would be ideal as we can collaborate in real time similar to what you see in those ads for Google docs co-authoring where you see the names of people typing as flags. Additionally, if you have ever wanted to get up to speed with Excel for work or to get work this could be one way of doing so while also watching and tagging vids. I teach Excel as well  

https://vidding.dreamwidth.org/394837.html

 Video Analysis Software

Any idea if any vidders have played with this (or related tools) yet? #fandom #vidding ML-powered automatic video editing app released recently   

https://twitter.com/arnicas/status/1143800870896832512 

  Quick question #vidding community

Is there any other way besides rewatching the source materiel a hundred times to connecting clips to the lyrics? Is there some sort of trick I'm missing?

https://twitter.com/IATFirstGlanceI/status/1139669286581092357  

  Vidding friends, I'm about to make the switch from Mac to PC vidding.My better half is building me a machine. What should I know? How much RAM/what kind of hard drive? Is there a solution for converting iTunes source? (feel free to DM me) Thank you!  

https://twitter.com/killabeezish/status/1145014452552515584   

  comments x-posted to morgandawn | comment there Anonymous commenting enabled or use OpenID to log in to comment.

[norafinds]

ATWWV - Karolina Żebrowska

It is very exciting for me to click publish on this interview with Karolina. I first spotted her exceptional style on Instagram, but almost immediately found her YouTube channel (which brings me so much joy!). I really wanted to get to know her so I just had to feature her on the Around the World with Vintage series. This lady has a great sense of humour and her vibrant personality really shines through her photographs and videos. She’s definitely one Instagrammer I’m dying to meet because I think we will get along like a house on fire! On top of her great personality I am in love with her versatile fashion choices - she wears anything from Victorian to reproduction and damn she pulls them off really well! 

What did you study in Scotland?

I studied film and specialized in film directing. I did my bachelor on film studies back in Poland, but I was missing the practical aspects of filmmaking.

You said you started wearing vintage when you moved to Scotland, what decades did you start with?

As many people, I started off with being fascinated by 1950s and then realized I enjoy the 1940s styles and silhouettes more. So my wardrobe at the very beginning was sort of a mix of both – turtlenecks and circle skirts, buttoned up blouses with A-line skirts, depending on the mood. I think finding your style when it comes to vintage can be a long and confusing process that many people don’t realize!

Photo by Klaudia Balazy

What decade do you wear day-to-day now?

Now I’m leaning towards the more simple styles of the 1940s. I like going a bit extra every now and then, with hats, heels and matching accessories, but my wardrobe is a mix of original and reproduction/vintage style clothing at this point, so usually it’s not so over-the-top. I also hate heels, which in terms of creating an authentic 1940s look is a little bit tricky!

I know you originally fell in love with 19th c costumes and started making historical costumes, do you also sew other decades? How do you come up with the pattern and the details? Do you think it’s important for your sewing techniques to be authentic?

At this point I pretty much sew whatever I feel like at the moment, though the 19th century is usually a priority. For some reason sewing more modern clothing, such as 1940s style dresses, is much more difficult for me than making, let’s say, a Victorian bustle era dress. It might have something to do with a fact that it’s much easier to find free old patterns, because the copyright have expired and a lot of them are available online. On the other hand, 1940s and 1950s dresses and clothes could often pass as “modern”, so I feel like there’s a big interest in vintage patterns now, which makes it harder to obtain them. That’s why I often improvise when it comes to 20th century patterns, and that is also why it’s more tricky. When it comes to the sewing techniques, I used to choose whatever gives the fastest results (haha), but now I tend to focus more on how the garments were made back in the day. The techniques and tricks they used were usually thought through, often created especially for the particular silhouette, and affected the fit of the garment. That’s why they give you the most authentic results.

How do you find the confidence to wear antique or antique-inspired pieces when you’re out and about? How do people react?

I don’t wear my historical costumes every day, it’s usually only a matter of getting to a particular spot where a historical event/photoshoot/meeting is held, though it does require a bit of courage. It’s always a lot easier when you go around the city with a friend or a group of friends who are also dressed like it’s 1894, because the chances are you aren’t all insane. When I’m on my own though – it get’s a bit tough. My favorite method is pretending there’s nothing unusual with the fact that I need to lift all four of my petticoats when getting on public transport. My resting bitch face usually scares people off quite well, though there are times when strangers are chasing you with a camera without asking for your permission to take a picture. It’s moments like this when I think to myself “Well, this is why you don’t dress like that every day”.

Is there a big vintage community in Krakow and in Poland?

I think it’s growing really fast. I used to recognize most of the people that dressed vintage or were retro/pin up inspired, but there’s more and more of them. Same goes for vintage themed events, vintage shops and fairs and so on. It’s actually very exciting.

How did you decide to use YouTube as your main platform? Do you have any background in video production or acting?

I actually started out with my own blog, just like you – but then gradually realized that YouTube and it’s format fit my needs best. I had some doubts at first, mainly concerning “putting yourself out there” – internet critics can be harsh and while you can pick your best shots for the blog, you’re suddenly becoming very self-aware when on a video. Do I do something weird with my face when I speak? Will they hate my voice? Is my English even good enough? I did some acting, filming and editing back in my high school days, so I had some background, which I think helps tremendously when you’re starting out with YouTube. The thing I’ve learnt though is to constantly stay up-to-date with the newest content, even if it doesn’t have anything to do with what you specialize in.

You successfully inject humor and popular culture into your videos - how did you decide on what kind of content you want to produce and how do you regularly come up with ideas for new videos?

I remember myself a couple of years ago, thinking “I love vintage style, I love the elegance, but there’s no way I could ever be like all those sophisticated Instagram ladies – I’m just too goofy for that”. What I used to think was my weakness turned out to be what some enjoy the most about my channel. They like to see vintage style being “normalized” or “modernized”. All the beautiful models we see on Vogue covers from 50s and 40s can give you a very wrong idea of what these eras looked like. Also, there’s no point pretending it’s not 2019. I can dress up all I want, but I will scroll through Instagram in my 1940s suit, and I will eat a cheeseburger in a Regency dress, because I’m hungry and have no time to change. I think it’s the contrast between the eras I’m talking about in my videos and the fact that I’m doing it now, in the age of memes and pop culture, that makes it all so funny.

When it comes to particular ideas, it’s usually pretty random. I sometimes come up with an idea and write it down on my phone. Then, when I have the time I dig the ideas up. Either that or I just start setting up the camera thinking about what I’ll be shooting today - unless it’s a topic that requires some deeper research or preparations.

Tell us a bit about the process of your video productions? Do you have a regular cameraman or audio person etc.

No, I do everything on my own. I think as long as it doesn’t lower the video quality significantly I’ll keep doing it myself, because working with other people always slows down the whole process. My sister is my camerawoman sometimes when we go outside, and it’s hard enough to work around our schedules. Most of the videos I do are also quite spontaneous. Very rarely I do some actual planning – usually I wake up and think “Hm, it’s been a while since the last video. I should probably shoot something today”.

How did you decide to do YouTube full-time? Does it free up your time to pursue other interests as well? Tell us about your book and any other project!

I never really decided anything, it just sort of lined up with what happened in my life – I just finished my master’s degree, moved back to Poland, didn’t have the slightest idea what’s happening next. But I kept doing the videos, because there were people out there waiting, and after a little while it was enough money to keep me going. To be honest I still see it as a sort of a “side job” – I’m hoping to be still working on other projects while “youtubing”. Last year it was my book on Polish 20th century fashion which I started working on around March and it came out in December. This year I have a couple of things lined up, but I’d rather not say yet. You’ll have to wait and see

Photo by Klaudia Balazy

What is the one thing you’d like the readers to know about you?

That I often dress up especially for my videos. Same with Instagram - I only post pictures of myself when I’ve actually put an effort into my outfit, which is not too frequently. The internet lies, I’m not that fancy every day!

[roses-are-blue16]

Novels-Random order

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Fave: 5/5

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation/Mo Dao Zu Shi

Genre: Action, Adventure, Comedy, Drama, Historical, Mystery, Romance, Shounen Ai/Yaoi Other Unofficial tags: Smart Protagonist, Shameless Protagonist, Smart ML, Love interest falls first, Devoted Love Interest,  beautiful couple, power couple, wuxia, interesting supporting characters    

Status: Ongoing 

Art: 1 2 3 4 5 

Other things: there is an Manhua & Donghua out, all posts tagged by name here

Official Summary: As the grandmaster who founded demonic cultivation, Wei WuXian roamed the world in his wanton ways, hated by millions for the chaos he created. In the end, he was backstabbed by his dearest shidi and killed by powerful clans that combined to overpower him.He incarnates into the body of a lunatic who was abandoned by his clan and is later, unwillingly, taken away by a famous cultivator among the sects—Lan WangJi, his archenemy.This marks the start of a thrilling yet hilarious journey of attacking monsters, solving mysteries, and raising children. From the mutual flirtation along the way, Wei WuXian slowly realizes that Lan WangJi, a seemingly haughty and indifferent poker-face, holds more feelings for Wei WuXian than he is letting on…

My Thoughts: First chinese novel I stumbled upon and I fell in love with. To me everything about this story is absolutely perfect, from characters, to plot, romance, mystery and worldbuilding...everything was so unique and beautiful. And the translation group Exiled Rebels does an excellent job portraying it in english as best they can. There are some hurdles tho: for example if you haven’t read any chinese novels before you have to adjust to terminology a lot- especially names (everyone has like three names). So if you’re like me who stumbled into it with no idea what expect you’ll probably get confused a lot but if you stick out you’ll get used to it and rereading the first few chapters later after adjusting is probably a good tip. Unlike other BL/Yaoi stories that I’ve seen (mostly japanese manga) the romance actually blends and makes sense; and not fetishized or forced, even if you don’t like the genre it won’t get in the way of the story (especially with china’s censorship).    

   2.  The Legend of the Sun Knight 

Genre: Action, Adventure, Comedy, Fantasy, Mystery  Other Unofficial Tags: Shameless Protagonist, Anti-Hero Protagonist, Strategy, Hilarious interactions, War, Neocromancy, Leader, Loyalty, Elemental Magic, Black-Bellied Protagonist, Demons, Sarcasm abound

Status: Complete  Other things: Manga-(Discontinued?) 

Official Summary: I am a knight. To be precise, I am the Church of the God of Light’s Sun Knight.The Church of the God of Light worships and serves the God of Light, and theirs’ is one of the three largest religions on this continent.As the whole continent knows, the Church of the God of Light has the Twelve Holy Knights, and each one has his own unique personality and features.To be the Sun Knight is to have shining golden hair, sky blue eyes, a compassionate nature, and a brilliant smile.“The benevolent God of Light will forgive your sins.”I must have said that line at least a million times in my time as the Sun Knight.However, the greatest wish in my life is to be able to stand before the entire continent and roar, “Damn your ‘the whole continent knows’! This Sun Knight just doesn’t feel like smiling! I just don’t want to forgive these human trashes! I just want to pepper my sentences with ‘f***’!”Unfortunately, even to this day, I continue to wear a smile as I say, “The benevolent God of Light will forgive your sins.”

My Thoughts: Actually read this years ago (5-6?), and I always thought it was a japanese novel but I guess it isn't(?)-anyways not important. This story was absolutely hilarious, you won’t meet a more entertaining guy.  The contrast between how he’s forced to act as the leader of the religion- belevont, kind, smiling, pure- is the total opposite of his real personality so much so that it gave a shock (of pure delight) cuz of the drastic inner and outer faces. There’s 12 knights in total ,each is totally unique and you get introduced to them super fast. There is different conflicts that occur, that fall on Grisia’s ( the mc) shoulder to solve as he is the leader and while it starts off lighthearted, in the end some serious stuff occurs. This is a very warm hearted story about brotherhood i think overall. (Also heard that Grisia falls into the legendary trinity of shameless protagonist: Wei Wuxian from GDC is one of them and I agree lol). Very unique storytelling, it twists all kinds of classic tropes and plays with them, overall a very fun read.

   3. Eight Treasures Trousseau 

Genre: Historical, Josei, Romance, Drama Other Unofficial Tags: Arranged Marriage, Calm/Lazy Protagonist, Ambitious ML, Politics, Power Couple, Royalty, Doting Love Interest, Beautiful Couple 

Status: Complete

Official Summary: Everyone in the City of Jing thinks that bestowment of marriage between Xian Junwang and the daughter of the Yi’an Marquis House is to insert a fresh flower into manure.Xian Junwang was that fresh flower and the di daughter of Yi’an Marquis House was that manure that was not liked.It is said that what is heard is false, seeing is believing. Who knows what the truth really is?

My Thoughts: A really nice story set in Ancient China, and in my opinion the best one written. The story has both the female lead and male lead on pretty equal field in terms of their relationship, you won’t see any weak-willed person in this couple. This story also portrayed realistically the difficulties of living in Ancient China as a woman, by showing us many different kinds of people. The villains make you feel complicated emotions even when you hate them, which shows you great storytelling. No-one is excessively stupid and the mc is just stomping over them with her “cleverness” in this story which I liked. The MC is actually very lazy and this gave the story a very relaxed feel, which lead to time just flying by. I’ve just recently reread it which rare for me to do.  

   4.  A Slight Smile is Very Charming  -Side Stories

Genre: Romance, Comedy,Josei,School Life, Slice of Life   Other Unofficial Tags: MMORPG, Gamers, College/University, Power Couple, Beautiful Female Lead, Handsome Male Lead, Smart Couple

Status: Complete 

Other things: Adapted to a drama: Love 020

Official Summary:What is it that makes a man fall in love with a woman at first sight? Appearance? Aura? Wealth? NO, when campus prince and gaming expert, student Xiao Nai first saw Bei Wei Wei, what made him fall in love was not her extraordinary beauty; but her slim and slender fingers that were flying across the keyboard and her calm and composed manner!!! Embarrassing, no?At the same time, gaming expert Bei Wei Wei was on the computer methodically commanding a guild war, and won a perfect and glorious victory despite being at a disadvantage; completely unaware of the fact that cupid is nearby.Soon after basketball player; swimmer; all-around excellent student; and game company president, Xiao Nai, uses tactics both on- and offline to capture this beauty’s heart. Therefore this romance slowly bloomed.

My Thoughts: This is a very quick, lighthearted story. It gets straight to the point with no drama, if you just want a nice, quick romance to read then I highly recommend. When I was debating whether to read it or not, one of the reviewers on novelupdates said it had a drama, and I usually hate drama’s but they recommended it, so I went to check it out before I started reading and I surprisingly loved it. I usually hate cheesy but they managed to pull it off real well, so I was squealing and cringing at the same time (lol), it’s probably because the actors are really good looking so you can’t help but let it slide. The drama added some drama not a lot but some to the story. When I went back and read the novel I realized how quick it was compared to the drama. I recommended both honestly, if you’re looking for some fun. 

   5. Rebirth of a SuperModel

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance, Slice of Life, Yaoi  Other Unofficial Tags: ShowBiz, Transmigration, Black-Belly Protagonist, Love Interest Falls First, Clever Couple, Talented Couple, Power Couple, Celebrities, Acting, Media 

Status: Complete    

Official Summary: In his past life, Ming Yu struggled in the European and United States fashion circles, eventually becoming the well deserved king of the catwalk.After dying from a serious illness and being reborn, Ming Yu was surprised to find: Huaxia stars shone brightly, there were successful names everywhere!In this better world, on a more vigorous and brilliant stage, the first supermodel tries to reproduce the glory of another world! Interviewer: May I ask Mr Xi, this year Ming Yu said he would surpass you. As the number one global supermodel, what is your opinion on this? Xi Ze: This is a bad question. My family has very strict rules. Home Owner Ming Yu: …….  The pair of black-hearted husbands will sweep the fashion industry, conquering the world. 

My Thoughts: A really fresh story, I never got bored. It focuses more on the MC and his rise as a supermodel, and sprinkles in the romance with ML. While reading it (before it got completed), it felt like me and other readers were cheering on the MC as fans as well, which was a lot of fun. I’ve read some other showbiz transmigration stories but I got annoyed or bored real fast, this one I found real fun, no matter how many days until the next chapter you could pick it up and feel happy. Some things people might not like: there a lot of photoshoot scenes (he is a model) so some might get tired of that, but they go by pretty quick. While MC was the number one model in his old world, it doesn’t make him OP, he has his own flaws and he grows a lot which makes him more interesting. 

   6.     Sansheng, Wangchuan Wu Shang

Genre: Action, Adventure, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, Josei, Romance, Supernatural, Tragedy   Other Unofficial Tags: Goddess, Gods, Mythology, Heavenly Tribulations, Honest Protagonist, Protagonist loyal to Love Interest, Reincarnation, Beautiful Couple  

Status: Complete

Official Summary:  This is a story that follows the courtship between a stone from Hell and a god from Heaven that begins in the underworld and spans for three lifetimes in the mortal realm.

My Thoughts: Honestly was suprised how much I liked it. Despite the MC being naive, and ready to throw it all away for the ML, you can’t hate her. This a very fast story (about 15 chapter and 3 bonus stories), which adds to its charm. If it was longer I might have not liked it as much. There are overwhelmingly positive reviews about this story on novel updates which made me give this story a chance and I agree with them. If you like romance definitely check this out.   

    6.  The Earth is Online 

Genre: Action, Adventure, Drama, Psychological, Sci-Fi, Supernatural, Shounen Ai/Yaoi   Other Unofficial Tags: Game Elements, Thriller,  Survival Game, Special Abilities, Calm Protagonist, Clever Protagonist, Slow Romance, Modern Day

Status: Complete       

Official Summary: Six months ago, tens of thousands of black phantom towers appeared all over the world, floating above the cities. Chemists, physicists, religious people… all of them could do nothing.Six months later, people became used to the towers and no longer paid them attention.One day, Tang Mo saw a flying insect crash into it instead of going through it. The next day, a sharp and clear child-like voice issued an announcement to all humans. “Ding dong! November 15th, 2017. The earth is online.”  The black tower’s three iron-clad rules: 1. Everything is explained by the black tower. 2. 6 o’clock to 18 o’clock is the game time. 3. All players, please strive to attack the tower.

My Thoughts: You won’t find a story more unique than this. I doubt there’s anything similar to this story. Something that might come close might be the manga Tomodachi Game, but that's only the doing games for survival bit. I don’t know how the author came up with this, the games are so smart, that you may feel like you’re getting smarter by the end of it or that you’re IQ is hopelessly low. And it’s not the fact that rules are ridiculous and don't follow logic either, when the answers are revealed they make sense.. Honestly reading this I’m glad something like (probably ;) ) won’t happen because I doubt I would survive. I have a real admiration for the author for coming up with this. The story is good at keeping you wary and on edge that something is going to happen at any moment. Some issues?: The romance was so so slow burning that it became a background character, and there wasn’t a big payoff moment like the author gave us this weird analogy when they finally did the deed, that I was burning with indignation, just thinking about it pisses me off, but it probably has to do with the censorship in china. Also there were too much straight explanations that kinda got annoying but could be ignored. I think with how well the author set up the survival element that you could ignore the flaws pretty quickly. So glad I found this novel.      

   7.  Quickly Wear the Face of the Devil - Side Stories

Genre: Action, Adventure, Comedy, Drama, Romance, Sci-Fi, Yaoi Other Unofficial Tags: Acting, Apocalypse, Artificial Intelligence, Episodic, Mob Protagonist, System, Virtual Reality, Cunning Protagonist, Devoted Love Interest, Possessive Characters, Hacker

Status: Complete       

Official Summary: A top hacker was chosen by the Lord God to be reborn into countless worlds, always as an expendable villain.With no free will, every world became a dead end. Every one of his lives ended tragically. Finally, after wresting control of the Villain System, this ace hacker decided to enact revenge. Even if his very bones were rotten, he’d choose to occupy the very heights of morality, if only on the surface.Thus, he would change his fate as an abused slag.

My Thoughts: If you’re on novelupdates you’ll hear about this story at some point, it has become infamous on the site. And for good reason, this is the top written System transmigration into multiple world stories, or just system stories. There a multiple worlds and each one has it’s own flavor you’ll definitely have your favorites. It’s a very fun story to read and if you’re new to system stories like I was when I read this, you’ll inevitably compare all others to this one.  

    8.  The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage

Genre: Historical, Josei, Martial Arts, Mature, Romance Other Unofficial Tags: Betrayal, Politics, Military, Royalty, Scheming, Revenge, Beautiful Female Lead, Handsome Male Lead, Cunning Couple, Slow Romance 

Status: Ongoing 

Official Summary:  Shen Miao, the Di daughter of a military lineage, pure, amiable, quiet and yielding, foolishly in love with Prince Ding, threw herself into the role of a wife. After assisting her husband for six years, she finally became the mother of the world (Empress).She accompanied him to fight for the country, flourished the country’s territory, took risks to become a hostage in another country. When she returned five years later, there was no place for her in the Inner Palace.The beauty in his arms smiled brightly, “Older sister, the country is stabilized so, you should retire.”Her daughter met with a violent death and her son the Crown Prince was deposed. Her Shen family who sacrificed themselves for the country and the Emperor, not a single one of them were lucky enough to escape. With the change of one dynasty, everything was overturned. Her clan perished and she had to mourn for her children.Shen Miao never thought that being a married couple who have gone through trials and tribulations and mutually assisted each other was just a stage joke to him! He said, “Seeing that you have followed Zhen for twenty years, Zhen will grant you an intact corpse. You should thank this kindness.”Under the three Chi (1 chi = 1/3 meter) of white silk, Shen Miao made a malicious vow: In the time to come, she will take part in each and everyone’s end!Upon rebirth, she returned to the time when she was fourteen, when the tragedy had yet to occur, her family was still alive and she was still the pure, amiable, quiet and yielding Di daughter of a military lineage. Relatives hiding a black heart, Elder and younger (female) cousins are ruthless and malicious, the new Yiniang is like a tiger watching its prey and the disreputable man who wants to repeat the events?Her family must be protected, the huge enmity must be avenged, the Imperial seat of the country must also be a part of the trophy. In this lifetime, let’s see who can beat the others!

My Thoughts: I’ve tired to read numerous novels with the reincarnating to get revenge trope and I’ve never been able to complete them for variety of reasons but ultimately it’s because they end up sucking. This novel however is like a ray of light for this trope. Whatever way you think she’s gonna resolve something you’ll never guess right. I’m always pleasantly suprised. That’s something I can say for the whole novel it’s always surprising even with the current chapters with story almost at a close we readers just got shocked yet again. You’ll definitely experience a variety of emotions watching the story unfold, right now I’m pulling a napkin between my teeth (please author put us out of this misery already T.T). I doubt you’ll be disappointed.    

Great: 

Everyone Thinks that I Like Him 

Genre: Comedy, Romance, School Life, Shounen Ai/Yaoi  Other Unofficial Tags: Uni, Dense Protagonist, Slow Romance 

Status: Complete 

Official Summary: From infancy to maturity, what Ye Zhou dislikes the most was “two”.The reasons were: he was ranked second at home, he had been forever ranked second at school, no matter how diligently he worked and tried, he couldn’t shake off that “second” curse. What was more exasperating was that, at University, not only was he ranked second, but even his appearance that he was proud of had to be classified as second best! Why can’t I obtain the first place!The eternal second will rise!Then, Ye Zhou, after his vigorous efforts finally rises and the result was… the first became his boyfriend.This is the story of a man who has been forced to be “second” and how he became the first, most popular.Protagonists: Ye Zhou, Shang Jin.

My Thoughts: Cute, Fluffy, Funny. As you can see there is no drama tag so if you’re looking for an explosive story this is not it. But it is a very realistic story especially in regards to the acceptance of the couple how it differs for the younger generation vs. the older generation. The story is very natural and the characters believable. If you a cute story this is it.  

    2.  Empress with no Virtue 

Genre: Adult, Comedy, Drama, Josei, Mature, Romance, Smut Other Unofficial Tags: Arranged Marriage, Bickering Couple, Politics, Misunderstandings, Politics, Royalty, Imperial Harem, Power Couple,

Status: Complete

Official Summary:  The free-spirited and brutally honest Ye Zhen Zhen was unwillingly chosen as Empress to the playboy Emperor Ji Wu Jiu. Their very first wedding night, she kicked the Emperor down from their bed and he sought out his concubine instead. This completely disastrous start was only the beginning of their eventful life together.

My Thoughts: Although not especially memorable, I enjoyed reading it. It was fun watching the couple act petty to one another. Honestly their relationship reminded me of boys pulling on pigtails to get the attention of their crush. There are a lot of funny and fluffy interactions, made for a fun read.   

tbc.... Posted 2/13/19

[sunshineoptimismandangels]

Not Another Ghost Story - Chapter 1

Pairing: Klaine Status: WIP Author: sunshineoptimismandangels Summary: When Kurt Hummel began an online ghost investigation show with his best friend and his step-brother he never expected to find himself alone in an abandoned and reportedly haunted hotel, but one stormy night Kurt finds more than he ever expected in the derelict and chilling Whispering Wolf Hotel. In fact, Kurt may have found exactly what he’s has been looking for. A story of romance, comedy, and sinister plots. Author’s Note: I named this “Not Another Ghost Story” because anyone who has read any of my other stories knows I like to write about magic, and ghosts, and otherworldly tales. This story isn’t that… not exactly at least. FF.net | AO3

Parked in front of a timeworn and abandoned roadside hotel the pale blue pickup truck looked out of place; the only sign of life for miles and huddled under the flickering light of the lone street lamp as if it was seeking warmth against the howling wind outside. Years ago, the Whispering Wolf Hotel was a bustling high-end establishment, wealthy guest, important businessmen, and fashionable ladies stayed here. It was gorgeous, elite and pricey… and then the interstate was built a few miles west of the hotel. The whole landscape of the area changed as traffic was diverted elsewhere and slowly, in time, no one came to the Whispering Wolf anymore

Of course, that was why Kurt Hummel was here. Hunched down in the front seat of the blue pickup and grumbling under his breath as the wind beat into the side of the truck. Kurt glared at the text message that'd just came in from his supposed "best friend".

We're on our way! Set up without us. Be there soon.

"Damn it, Rachel!" Kurt growled glancing outside at the hotel. To say the hotel had seen better days was an understatement. Most of the windows were busted out, the paint on the siding had long faded away, and the roof sagged causing Kurt to worry about the safety of the entire structure. Watching the building it almost seemed to sway with the harsh wind and Kurt wondered even if his friends got here soon if it was safe to go poking around a building that looked like it could collapse as easily as a house of cards. He had certainly never planned on going into this deserted and decaying building alone. Kurt's long-time friend Rachel and her boyfriend, Kurt's stepbrother Finn, were supposed to be here with him. Then Rachel got held up at her day job and Finn said he'd pick her up and bring her when she was done. They asked Kurt to pack the equipment and head out there himself, Rachel swearing they'd be right behind him. Now it was nearing nine o'clock, the sun had set, and Kurt was left outside a creepy old hotel by himself while the wind wailed and the damn street lamp flickered as if it was a dying soul about to be snuffed out. To top it all off, if the rumbling in the air and the heavy clouds above were any indication it was about to start pouring down rain.

Kurt wasn't a naturally fearful person. In fact, out of the three-person Ghost Investigators team, Kurt was typically the unflappable one, but here alone, looking out at the looming and decrepit Whispering Wolf (and who named a hotel something so menacing anyway?) Kurt felt a bit apprehensive… and very frustrated.

You owe me big after this. Kurt texted Rachel back. And you better actually be driving here on your way, not I'm thinking about getting to the car soon on your way.

Kurt slipped his phone into his back pocket before Rachel had a chance to answer and hopped out of the truck before he could change his mind. At least he could get inside and set up before the rain started. He was having a particularly good hair day and there was no point in messing that up by getting caught in a downpour. Especially when he was about to be in front of the camera.

Kurt lifted the cover off the bed of the truck and started taking out what he needed. A generator and a couple collapsible set lights. He would grab the big camera if Rachel and Finn were here, but without them Kurt would probably only need the hand-held steady cam. He'd let Finn haul in the heavy camera when he got here. Which had better be soon. Kurt may be an amateur ghost investigator, but he did not sign up to wander around a building that could topple down on top of him all on his own.

"This was Finn's idea in the first place," Kurt grumbled under his breath as he lugged the heavy generator towards to the hotel. "It will be fun! We can post videos online. We could become famous!"

Rachel had jumped on board at the word "famous".

Kurt had only agreed because his school and his part-time job working the switchboard for a car dealership was boring as hell and there was little interesting to do even in his time off around Lima, Ohio. With Finn's wild idea of starting a ghost hunting show, there was at least a small opportunity for acting. Kurt was at his best when performing. Besides, he was only doing this until he was done with his second year at the University of North Ohio and then he was transferring to NYU and getting out of Lima for good.

The Whispering Wolf wasn't the first 'haunted' sight Rachel, Finn, and he had explored. They filmed episodes at a couple old houses in Ohio and their last exploration had been an old abandoned restaurant, where purportedly someone had died a few years back. Rachel had declared they been murdered! Poisoned by some deranged cook that used to work there… though the information Kurt dug up said heart attack.

 Of course, when they investigated, they found nothing, no ghosts or otherworldly apparitions. They never did – but as she did with everyplace they investigated, Rachel had acted scared and enthralled and had faked a few ghost sightings. Finn was easily impressionable and swore he felt a chill every time they turned a corner. Kurt went along with it all for the acting challenge. After some editing and some music and sound effects were added, the episodes weren't so bad. They might not be believable exactly, but Kurt could at least say they were entertaining. The Ghost Investigators even had a decent online following.

Kurt lugged the generator and his backpack to the front door of the dilapidated old building and tried the rusted metal handle. The door only opened half an inch before jamming. Kurt sighed and placed the heavy generator on the ground before shouldering the door a couple times, it took all his strength to get it to swing inward wide enough to grab the generator and slide through.

It was pitch dark inside the hotel of course. Kurt turned on his handheld camera, mostly for the small beam of light projected in front of it and swung around the light. It was a typical hotel lobby. If Kurt used his imagination, he could almost picture how it must have looked once upon a time, plush red carpet, blue and gold damask wallpaper, polished wood check-in desk, and a sweeping staircase to the second floor. Now it was nothing more than a sad monument of a forgotten golden era, the carpet was ripped up in parts leaving the rotting wood floorboard beneath, the wallpaper peeled off the wall and hung lifeless like the petals of a dying flower and the check-in desk was covered in dust and cobwebs. Worst of all, the entire place smelled of mildew and decaying wood.

All in all, Kurt had to admit, it was the perfect location for a hunting. Rachel and Finn would be thrilled.

If they ever got here.

Kurt sat the generator down and began shooting some b-roll of the lobby – first just with the attached flashlight and then in night vision mode to get that green eerie lighting that was a hallmark of a good ghost hunting video. Thunder rumbled outside and Kurt's spine tingled as he was reminded of the impending rain. He went back outside to grab the lamps he'd left leaning against the truck and made sure the bed cover was secure so none of the remaining equipment would get wet. He glanced up at the sky as he headed back in, dark storm clouds covered the moon and the wind was picking up. It was going to rain any second now; he really hoped Rachel and Finn got here before it started.

Kurt took a few minutes setting up the lights and hooking them up to the generator. If Rachel wanted some shots of herself in the lobby before the lights were set up, well then she should have gotten here on time. After that, Kurt did a few takes of himself standing in the lobby and introducing the hotel, his camera on a tripod in front of him. "Built in 1921 the Whispering Wolf is a protected historic building, which is the only reason the whole place hasn't been torn down. It hasn't been in use since 1970." Kurt had actually enjoyed looking into the history of the old building.

The Whispering Wolf was on the outskirts of Westerville, Ohio. A couple hours' drive from where Kurt lived in Lima, but he'd heard about it before. Of course he had, since its closure in 1970 it had been a hangout for teenagers, a place for transients to lay their head, and most of all – the center of ghost stories and urban myths. The story was that someone had been murdered here and their spirit still-hunted the hotel even as it sat empty all these years. The story had very little continuity, some said it was a 1920s mobster killed shortly after the hotel opened, others said it was a 1960s hippie girl murdered after running away from home, and there were many other claims as well. The only thing locals seemed to agree on was that the hotel was definitely haunted.

 When Kurt did some research, looking at old newspaper articles and police reports, what he found was that someone had been killed there. Not a hippie or a mobster, just some unnamed young man killed at the Whispering Wolf in the 1950s. Kurt was happy with just finding out that, it was a lot more than Rachel, Finn, and he usually had to go on when exploring a 'hunted' structure. His research also uncovered that at one point in the 1950s the hotel had been used as a convalescent home. Rachel and Finn had been ecstatic about that fact.

"Holy crap! It was a loony bin?"

"You can’t say 'loony bin', Finn." Rachel chided him. "It was an insane asylum."

"Mental hospital." Kurt corrected with an eye-roll, "Not that it matters, because it wasn't one. It was more like an upscale spa for rich people recovering from minor surgery or illness."

"Kurt you have no imagination. For our purposes, tortured mental patients and the spirits of malevolent doctors roam the halls of that hotel! That's way scarier."

"But there was a murder-"

"Malevolent doctors, Kurt!"

"Oh yeah, the crazy house spin is perfect." Finn had agreed and Kurt didn't fight them on the idea even if he thought the killing in the 1950s made a better and more accurate story. It wasn't as if anyone took the show seriously anyway. People didn’t watch for historical accuracy.

Now that Kurt was alone in this god-forsaken hotel, he was glad to remind himself that it had never been a mental hospital and he tried very hard not to imagine anyone being killed here - or dying here in any way.

It was just an empty building. It wasn't scary, haunted, or sinister. It was just… old. The howling sound was just the wind outside, and the creaking sound was just an old building's shifting foundation, and he did not believe in ghosts.

Kurt pulled his phone out, no messages from either Rachel or Finn. Traitors.

You better be here in the next five minutes or you're dead to me! Kurt texted them both.

There was a loud boom of thunder outside followed almost immediately by the bright flash of lightning through the windows and the hair on Kurt's forearms stood on end. "Shit," Kurt swore as he fumbled with his phone in surprise.

Even with the light provided by the lamps he had set up the lobby was still dim and ominous, he looked around the empty room, the few pieces of old furniture and the check-in desk casting long shadows in the light of his lamps. He gasped as he thought he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye and spun to face a broken window, there was nothing there, nothing outside, all he could see was his truck sitting alone under the fading streetlamp.

Kurt shook out his shoulders; he was letting himself get spooked over nothing. Maybe he should just go sit in the pickup until his disloyal ghost hunting partners finally arrived. He started towards the front door when, with another crack of thunder, the storm clouds finally opened and sheets of rain came roaring down. Water splattered in from the broken window frames, but it was still far dryer here than it would be racing out to the truck in this torrent. Kurt chewed on his lip. Fine. He'd wait inside. At least until the rain died down a bit and at that point he might just pack up and leave. This was becoming more of a fruitless endeavor by the minute.

He glanced at his phone again, caught between anger and worry that neither Finn nor Rachel had texted him back yet. He had a couple options here; he could wait in the lobby until the rain lessened, or he could make good use of his time and actually go exploring a little, taking some shots and seeing if there was anything here for a good episode of Ghost Investigators. Kurt sighed, he was Kurt Hummel and the Hummels didn't just sit around on their hands and wait.

 He grabbed the handheld cam off the tripod and slowly crept past the check-in desk, the stairway looked solid enough, it wasn't going to give way under his feet at least. He could probably poke around some empty rooms upstairs. The rain rattled against the side of the hotel and the wind wailed, Kurt's spine tingled and he had to let out a long deep breath before he started for the stairs. This was silly; he was not scared of the dark. He turned the camera on and pointed it towards the staircase. "I'm going exploring while I wait for the untrustworthy Rachel Berry and her bumbling boyfriend. ‘We're on our way!'” Kurt rolled his eyes as he whispered to the camera, “Yeah, right." He started up the first few creaky steps. "No reason not to get a look around just because my partners have become completely undependable."

Kurt smoothed down his designer button-up shirt; it was midnight blue with little white crescent moons all over it. It had seemed appropriate for ghost hunting, besides, Kurt knew he looked really good in it and he never passed up a chance to look good on screen. Kurt turned the camera to face him as he paused on the stairwell."Rumor has it that the  Whispering Wolf is haunted by the spirit of a young man who died here in the 1950s after being shot and killed by a jealous ex-lover. James Doyle was barely older than me when he met his grisly death."

Rachel and Finn had forfeited their right to fight him on the main story for the Whispering Wolf episode when they hadn't even shown up. The made-up mental hospital was out. The real-life murder was back on.

Kurt looked up the long staircase not able to make out the second floor in the heavy darkness. He licked his lips nervously, the camera still trained on him. It was okay to let some of his nerves show on camera; it built suspense, as long as he didn't let himself actually get too scared. He was a professional after all. "I guess I should go up there?" Kurt said into the camera before turning it around to view the dismal staircase that led up to utter blackness. He did not want to go up there.

There was a loud crash and a bang from behind him, Kurt spun around with his heart in his throat. The set lights had crashed to the ground, light bulbs popping as the curtains on the front windows flew outwards floating in the air like luminous specters. Kurt let out a startled shriek and then barreled up the rest of the staircase.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Kurt panted once he reached the second floor and rounded a corner so he couldn't even see the lobby anymore. He leaned up against a wall and caught his breath turning the camera to face him again. He covered his mouth with a hand and laughed nervously through his fingers before letting his hand drop and taking a deep breath. "I better have gotten that on camera." He joked with his future viewers as he tried to breathe and calm the beating of his heart. "Did you see that? Sure it was probably just the wind, but you would have freaked out too if you were here alone while your co-conspirators are safe and warm somewhere probably making-out having forgotten all about you."

Kurt gently smoothed back his hair and took a deep breath, time to be brave. "I guess I'll check out the second floor now that I'm here." He turned the camera around to face the long dark hallway in front of him. "This is where the murder is said to have taken place. In one of these guest rooms." Kurt looked from the hallway down to the image of the hallway on his camera, "If there is a spirit haunting this place it-" Kurt stopped talking, his throat going dry and a cold chill running down his spine.

There was something in the hallway ahead of him. Just out of sight, he was sure he'd seen something move.

"Hello?" Kurt called out, but his voice was barely above a whisper, "Is… is anyone there?" In the back of his mind, he was just starting to think that if this was a prank by Rachel or Finn he was going to murder them – when something in front of him in the darkness moved again.

"Oh god." Kurt glanced back at his camera; the night vision making out more than his eyes could in the darkness, just as something stepped into frame. Kurt took a stumbling step backward, a scream choked in his throat, as the green night vision revealed the grainy outline of a young man.

Kurt gasped audibly and looked up from the camera to the form standing in front of him, donned in slacks, a snuggly fitting button up shirt, suspenders, a bowtie, and looking like he'd just stepped out of the 1950s to personally haunt Kurt.

Kurt screamed.

The ghost screamed back.

 [Chapter 2]

[acsversace-news]

Step-touching his way through the halls of the fictional Dalton High School—the hair perfectly parted, the navy blazer impeccably tailored, and amplifying an a capella rendition of a Katy Perry song through the sheer wattage of his all-American smile—a then-22-year-old Darren Criss, fresh out of college and making his debut as Blaine Anderson on a 2010 episode of Glee, was the epitome of the teenage dream.

Now, he’s the 30-year-old stuff of nightmares.

Well, he isn’t, exactly, but the serial killer he plays on The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story certainly is.

In many ways, Criss’ revelatory performance as Andrew Cunanan, the 27-year-old gay man who, after murdering five people including the famed fashion designer, became one of the most wanted serial killers in American history, is all the more unsettling because of its stark contrast to the genial crooner we were introduced to on Fox’s burned-fast-and-bright musical dramedy.

But then again, the surprise of a certain clean-cut progressiveness has been the hallmark of Criss’ still-young career.

“I think it’s really given me an alley-oop,” Criss says, referring to the initial shock a Glee fan might have to watching the actor as Cunanan, say, bind a rich john who hires him as an escort with duct tape and then gauge him with a hammer. “I’d like to think [audiences] would be interested and compelled anyway,” without this lingering image of Criss as Blaine, the consummate Nice Guy. “But I think it’s an extra nudge when you have that to juxtapose against.”

When we first met Darren Criss several years ago, he was wearing a thigh-length kimono and tending to his favorite blonde wig, remnants of sweat-sticky glitter smudging just about everything in sight—aided and abetted in its mission by the runoff from his sparkling go-go boots. We were in his dressing room backstage at the Belasco Theatre, high off the energy of his stage-scorching performance in as the titular transgender rocker in the 2015 musical revival Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

It was Criss’ first major gig after wrapping his run on Glee, and a thundering opening salvo in proving the breadth of his talents, let alone taste in projects.

Things are decidedly bleaker, or at the very least chillier, when we reunite two-and-a-half years later at a café in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York to talk Versace, inarguably the biggest and certainly darkest project of his career thus far. Still, Criss’ fashion choice is doing its part to dial up the fabulousness of the morning: a knee-length, forest green mohair overcoat he pets with pride when we compliment it. “One of the kids from Boy Band on Good Morning America this morning was like, ‘Yo bro, it looks like you skinned the Grinch!’” Criss laughs. “I’m like, that is indeed an apt observation.”

Just as when we talked before, Criss bubbles over with the kind of giddiness, but also navel-gazing introspection, that one might expect from a lifelong theater kid—which the 30-year-old actor absolutely is, having grown up attending performance arts schools and raised in the San Francisco theater scene he joined at a young age.

And so there’s a certain amount of objectivity and pragmatism as we discuss the arc of his career, not to mention a pinch-me enthusiasm in promoting a leading role in Ryan Murphy’s follow-up to the blockbuster The People v. O.J. Simpson series. There’s also a refreshing eagerness to engage thoughtfully in conversations about his sexuality and sex appeal—oh yeah, we talked about those nude photos—especially in relation to the coincidence that, though he identifies as straight, the three defining roles of his career have been gay characters.

For all the talk of teenage dreams and historical crime nightmares, Darren Criss is nothing if not woke.

The fact of the matter is that, while Versace’s 1997 murder is the catalyst for the series and crucial in instigating the conversations about sexuality and fame in ’90s America that it explores, Versace (played by Edgar Ramirez), his longtime boyfriend (played by Ricky Martin), and sister, Donatella (Penelope Cruz), are all minor characters. This is almost exclusively a showcase for Criss as Andrew Cunanan, the highly intelligent sociopath with tortured feelings about his own sexuality, driven to murder.

“The thing I keep saying is I feel like I made varsity,” Criss says, about leading the starry ensemble. “I feel like I’ve been lucky enough to be invited into the school, into the program. I put in enough games on J.V. Now they’re like, alright kid, it’s your shot.”

Murphy first floated the idea of playing Cunanan to Criss three years ago. Their working relationship on Glee only bolstered a purely superficial argument for the casting: Criss and Cunanan look uncannily similar, and share almost identical Filipino-American backgrounds. “I would have been happy to audition,” Criss stresses, grinning sheepishly. “I masochistically relish that process.”

He’s fully aware that people are fascinated by the idea of the Tiger Beat cover boy thwarting that image playing the sociopathic serial killer, just as they were by the idea of the straight cisgender teen idol actively pursuing the role of a transgender rock star when he booked meetings for Hedwig when Glee was ending.

“I keep telling reporters that I’m curious what the conversation would be if I started with Versace and then three years later I do this musical comedy,” he says. “And I do think the questions would be the same: ‘Darren you’re sort of this dark brooding dramatic guy and that’s what you’re known for. It must be such a departure to be playing this happy go lucky. When I was watching Versace I never thought I’d be watching this guy singing and dancing on Broadway.’ But we have to categorize. It’s how we keep ourselves sane.”

He chuckles. “My goal in life in all respects is to keep people as off-kilter as possible.”

Well, speaking of throwing fans for a loop, let’s talk about that naked Instagram photo.

While Blaine on Glee was certainly made out to be a handsome, crush-worthy romantic lead—all the more groundbreaking, of course, because the romance was a same-sex teenage one—there was something chaste and sort of juvenile about it. Not anymore. Now, Darren Criss exudes sex.

He’s damn hot, too, and clearly leaning into it. Ryan Murphy, god bless him, is nothing if not the Patron Saint of Sexualizing Male TV Stars, and thus had Criss shooting in nothing but a red Speedo very early on in the Versace shoot. One particular day ended with a sunburned Criss as red as his skimpy wardrobe. So, after getting the blessing of his girlfriend of seven years, Mia, Criss thought it would be funny to post a nude selfie, covering his naughty bits with the crumpled up bathing suit, on his Instagram.

The gay community collectively gasped in unison.

“I learned what the word ‘thirsty’ meant after that,” Criss laughs.

“My favorite part of the post was the caption, which was completely upstaged,” he says.

Uh, there was a caption?

“Exactly! That’s what’s so funny about these things. When something goes viral, all context gets thrown out the window.” (For the record, the caption mocked his sunburn: “So what’s more red? My sunburn, my Speedo, or YOUR FACE???”)

Criss takes it all in good humor, of course. “It tickles me, and I think it’s, in a weird, twisted way, endearing,” he says when we mention that his nude scene from the Versace premiere—a lingering look at his naked body and butt from behind—has already leaked and is circulating on gay porn sites. But he gets a little weary when all that becomes the focus of discussion around Cunanan. At the premiere in Los Angeles, for example, gossip rags bombarded him with questions about how he got into shape for the show, the usual tired questions about an actor’s exercise regimen. “I freaked out,” he says. “Like, no, no, no. Andrew’s not supposed to be a sexual object.”

You can take sex appeal out of the conversation, of course, but you can’t take sexuality out of it. And it’s an interesting, if complicated, conversation in relation to Criss’ career. As we mentioned earlier, Andrew Cunanan marks the third time Criss has played a LGBTQ character, after Blaine on Glee and Hedwig.

At a time when the visibility and normalization of gay characters is trumpeted in tandem with a cry for opportunity for LGBTQ performers and creators, it’s a coincidence that invites a certain amount of scrutiny for a straight actor whose career has benefited from these characters.

“I’ve been really fortunate in that, while I almost bizarrely invite that, there hasn’t really been any scrutiny,” Criss says. “As a straight, cisgender white guy, I can definitely see how people in the LGBTQ community could be a little weirded out about the consistency of these roles. But it’s not conscious. I’m not going, ooh, I’m going to go after all these queer roles. It’s sort of no different than a gay actor only doing straight roles. I think in our political climate those things are important to talk about and important to notice.”

“Especially for a community who’s had to fight for its voice to be heard and recognized for so fucking long, I completely understand the sensitivity to what my approach or reasonings are,” he continues. “But I think hopefully the art transcends the politics in that I’m an actor. Just plain and simple. Maybe that sounds pandering, or maybe it sounds like I’m trying to put that curiosity down. I’ve been thrilled that no one’s ever really given me grief for this. Because I think we all agree the stories are more important than the pieces that make them.”

Rather than shy away from questions about this, skittish that something he says might be deemed controversial, Criss actually continues to elaborate, saying “there’s so much to unpack here.”

“I like talking about it,” he says. “Because I feel like the gay community has embraced me when it really didn’t have to. I am aware that I’m an outsider. I didn’t grow up gay. I didn’t go through the same journey that a lot of gay men and women went through. That is something that binds the gay community together in a very real way. I would never deign to say that I deserve to be included, but I’ve been so touched and privileged to be a voice and connected to a part personally and professionally that I’m just thrilled there hasn’t really been any visible or audible backlash.”

Plus, he reaps the benefits of being a satellite member of the community, such as trusting whoever encouraged him to wear that fabulous—and hardly heteronormative—green overcoat.

“That’s true!” he laughs.

It reminds him of a joke that was in Hedwig at the expense of an actor, whom he’d rather not name now, talking about how he enjoyed “all the privileges of homosexuality and none of the responsibilities.” It always got a big laugh, to the point that when co-star Lena Hall filled in for him as Hedwig, he suggested that she make the same joke but using his name instead.

“I tend to step outside my body and look at this all from the back seat. I was like that is a really, really funny joke,” he says. “Because it’s true. I’ve been really lucky to have all the privileges, all the fun things of the gay community without all the responsibilities and burdens that come with it. And I’m so aware of that.”

He then launches into a story that he apologizes several times for having told before to other media outlets, but which seems to so genuinely reflect his attitude about his place in the gay community as an outsider who plays these characters.

“This is the nerdiest analogy,” he starts, before likening the experience to being given the Green Lantern ring from some LGBTQ powers-that-be and being told to be a symbol for the community, thinking in response: “Me? Are you sure?”

“But I’m glad it was me,” he says. “I’m glad that these things have fallen on my plate, and that things have happened in my life that I think actually make me a good candidate for being put in the position that I was put in, having grown up like I did in San Francisco, being raised basically by gay twentysomethings in theater. These are people who I looked up to. These are people who I wanted to be around. These are people who raised my adult consciousness without them even being aware of it. So later in life, yeah, fuck yeah, those are the people I want to be connected with. It is really cool. I really lucked out.”

Teenage dreams grow up, and even become realities. Darren Criss is in the midst of his.

[mithrilwren]

1, 3, 7, 11, 12, 15, 25, 30?

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

This kind of doesn’t answer the question, but I am MOST PROUD OF Ten Reasons Makishima Yuusuke Does Not Buy Cheap Shampoo. Out of its eleven chapters, I wrote nine of them 3 years ago, and then couldn’t finish the last two, and it hung at the back of my mind for all that time. So finally, this month, I sat down and actually finished it, and I’m so happy with the end result. It’s the only WIP I’ve ever successfully revived after an absence, and it gives me hope for doing the same with others in the future.

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

My favourite scene is from a fic I haven’t yet published, and I won’t get into details here because it’s for a friend who might read this post ;). But it’s the climax of a story that took me half a year to write, and I was terrified I’d get to the end of it and realize I couldn’t pull it off. I wrote the chapter half-drunk on exhaustion, and it ended up with a much darker tone than I expected or intended, but everything fell together in the last few lines and it was a huge relief to be both done AND satisfied with the end result.

7. longest completed fic you wrote this year

Same fic I mentioned in 3 - it’s actually the longest thing I’ve ever written. It currently clocks in at 40899 words, but I think it’ll be longer once I get done my last round of edits - there’s a scene or two I need to expand still. Almost everything I’ve written has been less than 10,000 words, and my average fic runs around 3500. I’m still learning the ropes of multi-chapter fics, they’re a completely different animal than one-shots, but I hope as I move forward I’ll become more comfortable with the intricacies of plot and character arcs.

11. fandom you enjoyed writing for the most this year

I tend to dabble in a million fandoms and never write too much for any single one (Supernatural being the historical exception) but dipping my toe into the world of Voltron with Paragon was really fun. It’s a massive fandom in a way that I haven’t seen since SPN, so getting to interact with that huge base readership and author pool was really cool.

12. favorite character to write about this year

Cullen Rutherford, my unexpected Dragon Age darling. What I loved in writing him in the gossamer thread you fling was being able to phrase things in a more proper, almost old-fashioned way. Fun to get into the mindset of an older, more mature, more formal character than I usually write.

15. something you learned this year

FINISHED NOT PERFECT. Seriously, I know I keep repeating it, but this is the most useful phrase I’ve ever heard. It’s my mantra and my creed. I could have never finished most of the things I did in the last month without it.

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

Based on the stats, apparently everyone and their mother read this one before me, but Bargaining was pretty damn amazing. It’s a Loki-central canon-divergent gen 100K+ masterpiece of character growth and it reshaped my understanding of the character. It’s the first thing I’ve read in a while that made me re-evaluate my life in the post-fic afterglow.

Other favourites:

Hand in Talon, Heart to Heart - Mass Effect. Fluffy Shakarian, which is my favourite thing.

we are all stardust - Star Wars. poe/finn, broke my heart in the best way.

Stuck on the Puzzle - Dragon Age: Inquisition. This is both a couple - cullen/iron bull - and a topic - bdsm - that I’d NEVER have expected to be interested in, but oh my GOD, this fic is incredible. It’s Probably 90% of the reason Cullen went from boring to oh god he’s my new favourite in the space of about of a week. I even wrote cullen/iron bull as the focal point of the gossamer thread you fling because of this fic’s influence. Seriously amazing.

30. favorite fandom to read fic from this year

I honestly didn’t read all that much fic this year, but it’s probably a toss-up between Loki-centric Marvel (thanks, Thor Ragnarok), Dragon Age (2 and Inquisition) and the new Star Wars universe.

[fapangel]

So why are people still touting Hillary Clinton like she is still relevant and why she brings herself to the public spotlight? Is it because Trump supposedly doing awful? Is it because they are shilling for a 2020 election ? Or is it because she thinks she dindu nuffin and the electoral votes didn't matter but popular?

Because the Democrat’s bench is incredibly thin, and judging from Google, everyone knows it. Some put it in starker and more eloquently direct terms than others, but aside from a single demographics-based argument (that seems pretty thin to me) I can’t find any pontificating on the ‘net as to why the Democrat’s bench is still this thin. 

In that caffeine-fueled rant of mine a few posts down, I opined that the thin bench has much to do with how Democrats engage in idol-worship and form personality cults around their politicians, and that this, in turn, explains why they nurture multi-century political family dynasties, like the Kennedy’s (currently making another comeback,) and the Clintons. And apparently some Democrats see it, too. But even with that... why aren’t there any hungry up-and-comers at the low levels of state politics? State governors, and such?

A very interesting statistic I learned in my Campaigns and Elections class is, the average President wins office only seven years after their first significant electoral victory. That’s right - seven. George W. Bush is a typical example - he became Governor of Texas in 1994, and won the Presidency in 2000. There’s a reason for this - the ideal President is one who has some fire, who can put some Energy into the Executive, as Hamilton argued in Federalist Paper #70. In short, the American people do not like wishy-washy Presidents with lots of compromises and skeletons in the closet - which is exactly what long-serving senators collect, and why they very, very rarely win elections (note that Obama hand’t finished his first Senate term when he beat McCain like a drum.) The upshot of this is that Presidential candidates often come out of relative nowhere. My high school journalism teacher - a hard-core, old-school liberal and the person who instilled more journalistic ethics in me than anyone else - told me to keep my eye on Obama in 2005. And she wasn’t the only one watching him then... but by the same token, he was actually in the US Senate by then, having just won the Illinois election. He’d been a state senator in Illinois since 1994, but who pays attention to them? There’s so many, and they’re rarely noticeable till they start flexing towards gubernatorial aspirations. And just as often they’re beaten by a city mayor, or even a first-timer businessman, as many governors were before running. 

And yet despite this, the Republicans were able to stack up Ted Cruz (Texas Solicitor-General and still-first-term Senator,) Marco Rubio (state senator, then US Senator, much like Obama,) John Kasich (sitting Governor of Ohio and retired US Representative,) Ben Carson (neurosurgeon, no prior political experience,) Jeb Bush (former Governor of Florida, family history,) Rand Paul (another recent Tea Party senator, like Cruz,) Chris Christie (Governor of New Jersey, lawyer before that,) Mike Huckabee (former Lt. Governor, then Governor of Arkansas, Carly Fiorina (CEO of Hewlett-Packard, of all damn things,) Jim Gilmore, (Governor of Virginia, no political career before that,) and Rick Santorum, (US Senator from Pennsylvania.)

Compare this to the Democrat’s 2016 primary roster: Hillary Clinton versus Bernie Sanders, with only one dropout during the primaries (Martin O’Malley, former governor of Maryland - did you ever hear of him? I sure as hell didn’t.) Fuck just compare the Wikipedia pages; the long-shot candidates that announced for President, but withdrew before the primaries began: Republicans, and Democrats. Conservatives had Rick Perry, Scott Walker, Bobby Jindal, George Pataki (all Governors,) and Lindsey Graham (Senator,) and Democrats had Lincoln Chafee (Governor,)  Jim Webb, (Senator,) and Lawrence Lessig (Harvard professor.) Five to three, and Lessig never had a snowball’s chance in hell, so make that five to two, just among the left-field hail-mary mixed-sports-metaphor candidates. 

Even if we can’t see them coming, they should still be showing up - so either they’re not out there to begin with, or they just can’t clear the hurdles. And my money’s on the latter. During the primaries we saw the same breathakingly elitist, high-handed hubris from both sides - even from (especially from) Ted Cruz, who was a neophyte and elected in the populist “Tea Party” surge... but Democrats, unlike Republicans, had actually rigged their party’s electoral apparatus so the establishment could enforce their clannish dictates. In Republican primaries, the votes are the votes, but Democrats use “superdelegates” in their party nominations - delegates that aren’t linked to any popular vote outcomes whatsoever. About 15% of the Democratic Convention’s delegates are “super-delegates,” which is a huge amount when you consider the usual margins in primary elections - to overcome them voting in lockstep against you, you’d need to defeat your opponent with huge landslides in a majority of states. And who do they give those seats to? The party’s old guard, of course, including such luminaries as Bill Clinton himself (naturally, he voted for Hillary.) And you have to understand that politics, like most things, function on the classic iceberg analogy; i.e. 90% of it is below the surface. Consider the culture amongst the Democratic party that’s required to support the creation and sustainment of this kind of system. 

And also recall how urbanized the Democratic power base is - and then remember that the leftists have been gaining power in the Democratic party since 1969, and in the last decade (or longer, depending on whom you ask) their power has become dominant. Major urban centers like Detroit, Flint, Saginaw (MI,) Yongstown, Cleveland, Dayton, Toledo, Cincinnati (Ohio,) Pittsburg, PA, Charleston, WA, and even Milwaukee, WI - are all rust belt cities that have seen their blue-collar, working-class union Democrats trickle away from the Democratic party as the left, rather than liberals, gain ascendancy. That results in fewer electoral “incubators” for Democrats - now it’s pretty much just Chicago. And Chicago (where “machine politics” was invented,) is an example of why cities are important for Democrats; even if you’re running for Governor, not Mayor, the city is where you build your network of supporters (remember, Obama started as a “community organizer,” which is just a polite term for a rabble-rousing hell-raising instigator in the fashion similar to union strikes and street demonstrations.) Historically, unions and leftist/communist ideology shared lots of common ground (which is why unions were always attacked by conservatives as DEM GOL ’DERN BOLSHEVIKS), but now the leftists are concerned with “social justice,” which often holds forth - stridently - on the evils of privilege enjoyed by those fucking white males, who happen to constitute the majority of former and current union members. We’ve seen a precipitous shift in the left wing’s support base from union support in the northern Rust Belt to more hip, educated, and wealthy college towns that support a new demographic, and especially cities with new money - Silicon Valley and Seattle being the goddamned defining examples, as well as Madison, WI and Ann Arbor, MI. And not only do these places tend to not produce or elect the kind of candidates with broader appeal to a more rural, redder America, but I very much doubt they produce the kind of support structures - the political machines - that old-school union politics did. Remember, unions did - and still do - fucking kill people. The Mob was balls-deep in the unions and vise-versa, which is why the FBI still digs up a field here and there in the Detroit suburb cities looking for Jimmy Hoffa. These people worked different kinds of jobs, faced different kinds of enemies, and lived in a different kind of culture - they, and their culture, evolved out of the 30s, when big companies often hired mercenaries (excuse me, “private detectives”) to fucking machine-gun striker’s camps. They meant business, and they worked at it - and nowadays, the last remnants of those structures are only seen in real, effective evidence in Chicago, Illinois, which might explain why Democrats keep talking about how weak their state-level campaign infrastructure and support networks are. 

Rural Democrats exist - hell, they used to define Democrats (”Dixiecrats”,) but that’s going back even further, to the 20s, the Dust Bowl, and Democratic patronage and defense of farmers, which culminated in FDR’s New Deal. You’ll still find those sentiments running strong in Iowa, but it’s more like “union politics for farmers.” And god knows they needed it - the railroad companies (which wined, dined and lobbied the fuck out of Congress) were often several miles of land on either side of their tracks, for free, when they built their lines across the sprawling West... and then the greedy bastards charged the farmers a fucking road toll to bring their grain to the fucking railhead to sell and ship it. You can still see the big community-crowdfunded silos built right at the edge of “railroad property” so people could “carpool” their grain shipments and split up the tolls a bit. But rural democrats are even rarer now, and it’s more of a lingering sentiment than a political reality, as anyone looking at the map can tell: 

So the old union-politics incubators are either dead, dying or just plain depopulated and the rural democrats are either extinct, or too moderate to vote for the kinds of Social Justice Warrior candidates the coastal hipster kingdoms tend to produce. 

“But planefag,” you say, “who says those hippie kingdoms can’t grassroots the fuck out of things? Just look at how much they’ve already done!” And that’s true - I could (and would) assay an argument that the nu-Democrats are more interested in virtue signalling and moralistic back-patting on Facebook than their gruff tuff blue-collar forbears were, but arguments that boil down to GIT OFFER MUH LAWN are pretty thin. The real problem is, the party old-guard is still ruled by the old guys with their roots in the union-era politics. There’s a reason the Democratic old-guard basically shut down Hillary’s primary challenge to Obama in 2008 - Obama came from Chicago, inside their system, whereas the Clintons had their own very strong power base they built a significant chunk of themselves... and besides, Bill was from Arkansas. They probably called him Farmer Bill the Centrist Shill. This violent culture clash was exemplified by the BernieBros - and Bernie himself, who’s a candidate that self-described Communist Michael Moore aptly labeled “an old socialist with neither a clue nor a comb.” He’s literally the Ron Paul of the left; a candidate that only dipshit millennials with more self-gratifying emotional zeal than common sense or practical concerns could love. 

Not all is lost for the Democrats - a few of my friends, the ones I look to as an example of the people who could save the Democrats from themselves - told me flat-out that Hillary didn’t deserve to win. There’s a real grassroots movement to finally clean house; kind of a Democratic tea-party surge... but a lot of the people gunning for those offices are not liberals, but leftists. Young, hot and hungry ones. 

Take note, liberals - your last, best chance to save your party is in front of you, and it’s about damn time you seized it with both hands. 

[tamboradventure]

Here Lies America: An Interview With Jason Cochran

Posted: 01/27/2020 | January 27th, 2020

In 2010, I decided to spend the summer in NYC. I was two years into blogging and was making enough where I could afford a few months here. Still new to the industry, NYC was where all the legends of writing lived and I wanted to start making connections with my peers.

It was that summer I met Jason Cochran, a guidebook writer from Frommers, editor, and the man I would consider my mentor.

Though we never had any formal mentor/mentee relationship, Jason’s writing philosophy, advice, and feedback, especially on my first book, How to Travel the World on $50 a Day, has been instrumental in shaping me as a writer. Much of his philosophy has become mine and I don’t think I would have grown to where I am without him.

Last year, he finally published the book he’d been working on about tourism in America, called Here Lies America. (We featured it on our best books of 2019 list).

Today, we’re going to go behind the scenes of the book and talk to Jason on what does lie in America!

Nomadic Matt: Tell everyone about yourself. Jason Cochran: I’ve been a travel writer for longer than I’ve felt like an adult. In the mid-‘90s, I kept a very early form of a travel blog on a two-year backpacking trip around the world. That blog became a career. I’ve written for more publications than I can count, including for a prime-time game show.

These days I’m the Editor-in-Chief of Frommers.com, where I also write two of its annual guidebooks, and I co-host a weekly radio show with Pauline Frommer on WABC. For me, history is always my way into a new place. In many ways, time is a form of travel, and understanding the past flexes a lot of the same intellectual muscles as understanding cultural differences.

So I have come to call myself a travel writer and a pop historian. That last term is something I just made up. Dan Rather made fun of me once for it. “Whatever that is,” he said. But it seems to fit. I like uncovering everyday history in ways that are funny, revealing, and casual, the way Bill Bryson and Sarah Vowell do.

What made you want to write this book? Before I began researching, I just thought it would be funny. You know, sarcastic and ironic, about Americans going to graveyards and places of suffering just to buy lots of tacky souvenirs, eat ice cream, and wear dumb t-shirts. And, that’s still in there, for sure. We’re Americans and we like those things. Key chains will happen.

But that changed fast. For one, that would have become a very tired joke. It wouldn’t carry for three hundred pages. Things clicked for me early on, on the first of several cross-country research drives I took. I went to a place that I wasn’t taught about at school, and it clicked. I was at Andersonville in rural Georgia, where 13,000 out of 45,000 Civil War prisoners died in just 14 months. It was flat-out a concentration camp.

Yes, it turns out that concentration camps are as American as apple pie. The man who ran it was the only Confederate officer who was executed after the war. Southerners feared the victors would hang their leaders by the dozen, but that vengeance never materialized. Not for Jefferson Davis, not for Robert E. Lee—the guy who ran this camp poorly got the only public hanging. And he wasn’t even a born American. He was Swiss!

But that’s how important this place was at the time. Yet most of us have never even heard of it, except for a really bad low-budget movie on TNT in the ‘90s in which all the characters bellowed inspirational monologues as if they thought they were remaking Hoosiers.

So just getting my head around the full insanity of Andersonville’s existence was a big light bulb—our history is constantly undergoing whitewashing. Americans are always willfully trying to forget how violent and awful we can be to each other.

And Andersonville wasn’t even the only concentration camp in that war. There were a bunch in both the North and the South, and most of them had survival rates that were just as dismal. So that was another light bulb: There’s a story in why our society decided to preserve Andersonville but forget about a place like Chicago’s Camp Douglas, which was really just as nasty, except now it’s a high-rise housing project and there’s a Taco Bell and a frozen custard place where its gate once stood.

And did you know that the remains of 12,000 people from another Revolutionary War concentration camp are in a forgotten grave smack in the middle of Brooklyn? We think our major historic sites are sacred and that they are the pillars of our proud American story, but actually, how accurate can our sites be if they’re not even fairly chosen?

What was one of the most surprising things you learned from your research? In almost no instance was a plaque, statue, or sign placed right after the historic event in question. Most of the monuments were actually installed many decades after the event. In the case of the Civil War, most of the memorials were erected in a boom that came a half-century after the last bullet was fired.

If you really get close to the plaques and read past the poetic inscriptions, it quickly becomes clear that our most beloved historic sites aren’t sanctified with artifacts but with propaganda placed there by people who weren’t even witnesses to the event. There was a vast network of women’s clubs that would help you order a statue for your own town out of a catalog, and they commissioned European sculptors who cashed the checks but privately grumbled about the poor taste of the tacky kitsch they were installing all over America.

We’re still dealing with what they did today. It’s what Charlottesville was about. But most people don’t realize these statues weren’t put there anywhere near the time of the war, or that they were the product of an orchestrated public relations machine. By powerful women!

I wrote a line in the book: “Having a Southern heritage is like having herpes—you can forget you have it, you can deny it, but it inevitably bubbles up and requires attention.” These issues aren’t going away.

Places we think of as holy ground, like Arlington National Cemetery, often have some pretty shocking origin stories. Arlington started because some guy got pissed off at Robert E. Lee and started buying corpses in his rose garden to get back at him! That’s our hallowed national burial ground: a nasty practical joke, like the Burn Book from Mean Girls. Dig a little and you find more revolting secrets, like how the incredible number of people buried under the wrong headstone, or the time the government put the remains of a Vietnam soldier in the Tomb of the Unknowns. They pretty much knew his identity, but Ronald Reagan really wanted a TV photo op. So they sealed all the soldier’s belongings in the coffin with him so that no one would figure it out.

They eventually had to admit they’d lied and gave the soldier’s body back to his mom. But if a thing like that happens in a place like Arlington, can the rest of our supposedly sacred sites be taken at face value at all?

It goes a lot deeper. At Ford’s Theatre and the surrender house at Appomattox, the site we visit isn’t even real. They’re fakes! The original buildings are long gone but visitors are rarely told that. The tale’s moral is what’s valued, not the authenticity.

What can visiting these sites teach us about how we remember our past? Once you realize that all historic sites have been cultivated by someone who wanted to define your understanding of it, you learn how to use critical thinking as a traveler. All it takes is asking questions. One of the most fun threads in the book kicks off when I go to Oakland, a historic but touristy cemetery in Atlanta. I spot an ignored gravestone that piqued my interest. I’d never heard of the name of the woman: Orelia Key Bell. The info desk didn’t have her listed among the notable graves. She was born around the 1860s, which was a very eventful time in Atlanta.

So I took out my phone and right there on her grave, I Googled her. I researched her whole life so I could appreciate what I was seeing. It turned out she was a major poet of her time. I stood there reading PDFs of her books at her feet. Granted, her stuff was dreary, painfully old-fashioned. I wrote that her style of writing didn’t fall out of fashion so much as it was yanked down and clubbed by Hemingway.

But reading her writing at her grave made me feel wildly connected to the past. We almost never go to old places and look deeper. We usually let things remain dead. We accept what’s on the sign or the plaque as gospel, and I’m telling you, almost nothing ever reaches us in a state of purity.

I figured that if I was going to probe all these strangers, I had to be fair and probe someone I knew. I decided to look into an untimely death in my own family, a great-grandfather who had died in a train wreck in 1909. That was the beginning and the end of the tale in my family: “Your great-great grandfather died in a train wreck up in Toccoa.”

But almost as soon as I started looking deeper, I discovered something truly shocking—he had been murdered. Two young Black men were accused in rural South Carolina for sabotaging his train and killing him. You’d think at least someone in my family would have known this! But no one had ever looked into it before!

Here Lies America follows their trail. Who were these guys? Why would they want to kill him? I went to where their village used to be, I started digging into court documents from their murder trial. Let me tell you, the shockers came flooding. Like, I found they may have killed him because they wanted to protect a sacred old Cherokee burial mound from destruction. There was this crazy, larger-than-life forgotten story happening in my own damn family.

My experience with that poet’s grave has a happy coda. Last week, someone told me that Orelia Key Bell and her companion are now officially part of the guided tour of Oakland. The simple act of looking deeper had revived a forgotten life and put her back on the record. That’s what visiting these sites can do—but you have to look behind the veneer, the way I do with dozens of attractions in my book. This is the essence of travel, isn’t it? Getting to a core understanding of the truth of a place.

A lot of what you wrote showed how whitewashed many of these historical sites are. How do we as travelers dig deeper to get to the real history? Remember that pretty much everything you see at a historic site or museum was intentionally placed there or left there by someone. Ask yourself why. Ask who. And definitely ask when, because the climate of later years often twists interpretation of the past. It’s basic content analysis, really, which is something we’re really bad at in a consumer society.

Americans have it drilled into them to never question the tropes of our patriotism. If we learned about in grade school, we assume it’s a settled matter, and if you press it, you’re somehow an insurgent. Now, more than any other time in history, it’s easier than ever to call up primary sources about any era you want. If you want to go back to what our society really is, if you want to try to figure out how we wandered into the shattered shambles we’re in today, you have to be honest about the forces that created the image that, until recently, many of us believed we really were.

Do you think Americans have a problem talking about their history? If so, why is that? There’s a phrase, and I forget who said it—maybe James Baldwin?-but it goes, “Americans are better at thinking with their feelings than about them.” We go by feels, not so much by facts. We do love to cling to a tidy mythology of how free and wonderful our country always was. It reassures us. We probably need it. After all, in America, where we all come from different places, our national self-belief is our main cultural glue. So we can’t resist prettying up the horrible things we do.

But make no mistake: Violence was the foundation of power in the 1800s, and violence is still a foundation of our values and entertainment today. We have yet to come to terms with that. Our way of dealing with violence is usually to convince ourselves it’s noble.

And if we can’t make pain noble, we try to erase it. It’s why the place where McKinley was shot, in Buffalo, lies under a road now. That was intentional so that it would be forgotten by anarchists. McKinley was given no significant pilgrimage spot where he died, but right after that death, his fans paid for a monument by Burnside’s Bridge in Antietam, because as a youth, he once served coffee to soldiers.

That’s the reason: “personally and without orders served hot coffee,” it reads—it’s hilarious. That is our national mythmaking in a nutshell: Don’t pay attention to the place that raises tough questions about imperialism and economic disparity, but put up an expensive tribute to a barista.

What is the main takeaway you’d like readers to take away from your book? You may not know where you came from as well as you think you do. And we as a society definitely haven’t asked enough questions about who shaped the information we grew up with. Americans are finally ready to hear some truth.

Jason Cochran is the author of Here Lies America: Buried Agendas and Family Secrets at the Tourist Sites Where Bad History Went Down. He’s been a writer since mid-1990s, a commentator on CBS and AOL, and works today as editor-in-chief of Frommers.com and as co-host of the Frommer Travel Show on WABC. Jason was twice awarded “Guide Book of the Year” by the Lowell Thomas Awards and the North American Travel Journalists Association.

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There’s No Such Thing as Owning Too Many Button-Downs

New Post has been published on https://www.claritymakeupartistry.com/theres-no-such-thing-as-owning-too-many-button-downs/

There’s No Such Thing as Owning Too Many Button-Downs

I’m thoroughly convinced that button-downs have been unfairly maligned over the years. They’ve been relegated to the land of pantsuits and treated like office-appropriate pieces we wear because we have to—not because we want to.

Say the term button-down and words like crisp, structured and proper come to mind. Words that evoke a kind of sterility—a workspace that’s all productivity and no fun.

The thing is, these words don’t capture the true essence of button-downs—at all. Button-downs are stylistic and interesting and versatile. Some are fun statement-makers that steal the sartorial show. Others are sleek staples that pull looks together, acting as a kind of glue that unites disparate pieces into fashion harmony.

Either way, they serve a purpose, and that purpose is usually as fun as it is functional.

A quick glimpse at my closet would reveal that I love button-downs. Let’s be real—I’m obsessed. They’re the clothing item I’m most apt to stock up on; I routinely have to remove button-downs from my mental wishlist because I want so many, and space is a finite resource. (If my closet were an ever-expanding thing, at least one-third of it would be dedicated to button-downs. Not one-third of the tops, mind you—one-third of the whole damn thing.)

Button-downs are the one clothing item I’ve never regretted buying. Not just because they’re timeless and (typically) high-quality, but because they’re incredibly versatile.

A single button-down can take you from job interview to date night to casual weekend errand running—all within the same week. The potential for styling button-downs is nearly unending, which is particularly exciting for someone who loves outfit assembly as much as I do.

It’s a shame we’ve historically typed these incredible pieces as “strictly for officewear.” Because that assumption is myopic, at best. But we can right this wrong—by shopping the hell out of the chicest button-downs on the market right now.

PS by Paul Smith Button-Down Shirt

Paul Smith makes the case for coloring directly on the lines.

PS by Paul Smith button-down shirt, $214 at Farfetch

Photo: Farfetch.

Oversized Shirt

Somehow simple, bold and versatile at the same damn time.

Oversized shirt, $45 at ASOS

Photo: ASOS.

Balenciaga Oversized Paneled Shirt

Who said your button-down’s collar had to fold down?

Balenciaga oversized paneled shirt, $1,190 at Net-a-Porter

Photo: Net-a-Porter.

Julianna Bass Lanny Blouse

The ultimate statement-maker.

Julianna Bass Lanny blouse, $790 at Shopbop

Photo: Shopbop.

Sacai Oversized Paneled Shirt

It looks like Sacai deconstructed the button-down and haphazardly reassembled it. But we’re into the result.

Sacai oversized paneled shirt, $855 at Net-a-Porter

Photo: Net-a-Porter.

Lazy Oaf Colorblock Corduroy Jacket

A button-down you can wear as a jacket. (Or a jacket you can wear as a button-down? We’ll never know.)

Lazy Oaf colorblock corduroy jacket, $129 at Urban Outfitters

Photo: Urban Outfitters.

Gucci Silk Shirt

Proof that frilly and bold aren’t mutually exclusive.

Gucci silk shirt, $1,400 at Neiman Marcus

Photo: Neiman Marcus.

Striped Shirt

Excellent on its own. Even better in its matching set.

Striped shirt, $40 at Zara

Photo: Zara.

Dries Van Noten Raffia Long-Sleeve Blouse

Texture is totally on the table.

Dries Van Noten raffia long-sleeve blouse, $1,055 at Neiman Marcus

Photo: Neiman Marcus.

Kenzo Floral Silk Pocket Shirt

An elevated take on your dad’s go-to Hawaiian shirt.

Kenzo floral silk pocket shirt, $259 at Neiman Marcus

Photo: Neiman Marcus.

Palmer//Harding Asymmetric Shirt

With a hemline this dramatic, you’re sure to turn heads.

Palmer//Harding asymmetric shirt, $685 at Neiman Marcus

Photo: Neiman Marcus.

Ports 1961 Metallic Button-Down Shirt

The most literal application of Rihanna’s “shine bright like a diamond” lyrics.

Ports 1961 metallic button-down shirt, $815 at Farfetch

Photo: Farfetch.

Sabatia Button-Down

So cute we’re tempted to put it on and never take it off.

Sabatia button-down, $218 at Anthropologie

Photo: Anthropologie.

Asymmetric Poplin Shirt

Button-downs don’t have to go straight down.

Asymmetric poplin shirt, $125 at Topshop

Photo: Topshop.

Pointed-Collar Silk Shirt

So sleek you’ll want to wear it with everything. So versatile you actually could.

Pointed-collar silk shirt, $119 at & Other Stories

Photo: & Other Stories.

Patchwork Chain-Print Blouse

Photo: Zara.

Striped Twill Button-Down Shirt

Photo: Urban Outfitters.

Metallic Colored Shirt

Equal parts sleek and cozy. (Talk about a win-win.)

Metallic colored shirt, $40 at Zara

Photo: Zara.

WHIT Dada Silk Blouse

Bright, graphic, colorful—an unstoppable combination.

WHIT Dada silk blouse, $398 at Anthropologie

Photo: Anthropologie.

Dakota Shine Button-Down

Because button-downs are more fun when they’re covered in sparkles.

Dakota shine button-down, $189 at Anthropologie

Photo: Anthropologie.

Line & Dot Skylar Shirt

Proof a bold element can go a long way.

Line & Dot Skylar shirt, $83 at Revolve

Photo: Revolve.

L’Academie the Classic Shirt

A velvet button-down—need we say more?

L’Academie the Classic shirt, $148 at Revolve

Photo: Revolve.

White Blouse

Not your average white blouse.

White blouse, $90 at ASOS

Photo: ASOS.

Striped Twill Button-Down Shirt

Cozy up in this colorful button-down over the weekend and prepare to turn heads everywhere you go.

Striped twill button-down shirt, $54 at Urban Outfitters

Photo: Urban Outfitters.

3.1 Phillip Lim Oversized Shirt

Part scarf, part button-down—all cool.

3.1 Phillip Lim oversized shirt, $795 at Net-a-Porter

Photo: Net-a-Porter.

Double Rainbouu Hawaiian Shirt

The coolest way to wear a button-down on vacation.

Double Rainbouu Hawaiian shirt, $99 at Revolve

Photo: Revolve.

Citizen of Humanity Kayla Button-Down Shirt

Let’s not beat around the bush here: Oversized pinstripe button-downs are a must-have in any closet.

Citizens of Humanity Kayla button-down shirt, $150 at Anthropologie

Photo: Anthropologie.

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18 Gift Ideas for Friends at Every Price Point

Source: https://stylecaster.com/button-downs/