#it was like 3 bucks and a dollar shipping anyway
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How be the birbs?
there's something about these girls and I'm not sure what yet
oh and I got a sticker of them recently (fishandchirps on etsy)
#birdvado#novembird#budgie#talk to me tag#Anonymous#bravado has turned out to be a weird little bitey gremlin#which is a problem cuz I think she's overpreening#also just for transparency I bought the sticker before my account overdrafted#it was like 3 bucks and a dollar shipping anyway
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The entertainment industry is not my area of expertise so I could be completely wrong... But I really do feel like Tim saying "[fanfic writers] don't have network notes. You don't have studio notes", then in the next paragraph saying "I don't really plan out endgame so much" and in the next article acknowledging "Eddie also has very complicated feelings...about his place in the world" when asked about Buddie, has a pretty straightforward (pun intended) interpretation when you splice them together:
Buck's storyline in 7x04 may be a Buddie audition or test run for the studio/network execs. (narratively and societally Buck's coming out arc is so much more than that but from the lens of the C suite? However much they say they care about messaging and inclusion we live in a capitalist hellscape: they're looking at the dollar$.)
More under the cut.
I just - I don't see the value in my fellow buddie stans venting their spleen via rage-bombing IMDb ratings or stating that they're not going to watch the show any more. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. Ultimately, it's everyone's individual choice on how they choose to react, but I have serious doubts that Network execs are going to look at a ratings/ranking/other metrics dip and go 'oh, clearly the issue is that Buck is with the wrong dude lets give him a different one.' They're more likely to say 'Tim pulled an Icarus and we need to rein it back in.' Which is bad for queer rep in general, and not just this one ship.
You want Tim to be able to march into his boss's office and sell them on Buddie? For continued focus on queer narratives? Give him the numbers to back it up - and we know the homophobes are peacing out so let's not compound it? Please?
Anyway, you don't even need to move mountains or do something wild but here's what I'm doing: - Texted all my Destiel and Merthur friends. <3 They walked so we could run, or something. - Convinced my sister to watch/stream the show (even if it's just on in the background as she does other stuff. Shout out to the best sis ever). - Leave kind (but fair) IMDb rating on the episodes, especially queer forward ones. Seriously - I see posts on Tumblr all the time with more notes than an episode has ratings. You can even write a review (and include your continued hope for Buddie) if you're feeling frisky.
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You seem to be on neutral ground about the ship war (I try to do the same) and you also seem relatively well caught up on all 911 news. So I wanted to ask, do you think Buddie might actually still go canon?
Personally I don't think it's likely for several reasons, but a lot of other fans seem pretty convinced it's still on the table maybe even soon.
when it comes to shipping itself i am pretty neutral, yeah, when it comes to fandom behaviour... idk i have a bunch of people blocked and muted on both sides, so make of that what you will.
i will say that though that i personally have not seen death threats and slurs thrown around that much on one side, while on the other it's... yeah. we all saw how the common talking point is either "well he's a bad person so i am clearly a good person if i wish terrible suffering on him" or "we've always been hateful, but it's just for fun so you should all lighten up" and i'm not exactly down being associated with people like that.
the way i see it is that Tim wanted to (maybe still wants to) take the show into the direction of canon buddie eventually, (but this is where i remind everyone that we might get 7 more seasons or s8 might be the last, cuz you never really know)
i think he was setting things in motion for a lot of different things this season and that was supposed to be one of them, especially if you go by the interviews and how he talked about just doing what he wanted to do, without letting the fans' interpretations get to him... however that was before he was receiving death threats over a 3-minute cut scene that would've cost thousands of dollars in licensing fees to release, according to him.
it was before bt gained quite a sizeable fanbase, before people started to lean into his accidental invisible string theory, which is frankly a writing goldmine to stumble upon. he was incredibly excited for the bi Buck storyline according to Oliver and that storyline will forever include Tommy, as both Tim and Oliver mentioned as well (Oliver going as far as saying he hopes the character stays around regardless of where the relationship ends up going, because Tommy is now a core part of who Buck is).
certain part of the fanbase seems to think they know the actors personally and know exactly what they think and how they feel about each other and the storyline
(see: people saying that Oliver is upset about where the bi Buck storyline is going, even though he literally didn't comment on it at all since he's been on hiatus and now isn't contractually obligated to promote the show and give interviews.
also claiming that Oliver doesn't like Lou which may or may not be the case, though he only ever said majorly positive things about him, so did the rest of the cast and Tim. but even so, do they think Oliver is such a bad actor that he can't be a professional and still work with him? genuine question. it's a part of the grownup world to work with people you don't like, but actors aren't their characters and whatever Oliver feels about Lou, Buck still likes Tommy, so that's the end of that discussion imo)
anyway, my point is that Tim and Oliver and even Ryan to some extent were talking about not giving in the hysteria of buddie fans and just keeping the story on the track they want to set it on and only going into that direction if it makes sense for the characters and is a truthful way of telling their stories.
again, that was before the overwhelming aggression, general homophobia (which, wow), death threats made against Tim and Lou and (seemingly) chasing Lou off of social media.
i'd say it all depends on Tim and if he feels petty enough and enjoys writing for bt enough to take it away or if he wants to go with his original vision (which, obviously i don't know him or what goes on in his head, but i personally get the sense that canon buddie was the direction he wanted to go into)
all in all, it's all speculation, but the behaviour shown by some people in the fandom is truly disgusting and disturbing and i really don't think it's justified over some fictional men dating or not dating.
and as a sidenote: acting entitled towards a queer ship becoming canon is the dumbest fucking thing in fandom history. you do know that the ship that started it all, that appeared in countless media over the last 60+ years is still not canon, right? what makes you think that we "deserve" canon buddie? especially based on everything i just outlined above.
#sorry it got long but i feel like this a pretty nuanced topic#even if nuance is like holy water to satan on this site smh#911#911 abc#ask#anon#buddie#i guess
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Remember how the pandemic social distancing made everyone go a little nuts?
Animal shelters were emptied, horses fresh off the track were being snatched up sight unseen for thousands of dollars, and state and national parks' traffic has surged to the point that it's harming them.
And then you have the Houseplant Hobby.
The demand for houseplants was already on the rise before COVID-19, and it shot up another 18% during the pandemic. And vendors responded by increasing prices 15%, with plans to continue to do so for at least 2021.
You see this vine? Pretty, isn't it?
Rex begonia vines (Cissus discolor) were always kind of an intermediate-level (Glasshouse Works considers them difficult) houseplant, which is what they are half the year if you live north of Zone 9. None of this has changed, except now more people want them and are willing to pay more.
When I bought my pair of vines back in 2016, they were maybe...eight bucks apiece for a 3" pot? Seven years later, they seem to average about twice that for a plant of the same size, and the 2" is eight bucks. Remember what I said about the price inflation?
While browsing live plants at a reptile expo, (Same one where we picked up Mulberry) one of the vendors had a single cutting on display for....$15. Not a starter. Not a rooted cutting. A string of vine fresh off the plant, for 15 USD.
If that seems like bullshit, it is. Look at Mulberry's stupid face to cleanse your brain:
For clarity, I don't recommend paying for the majority of cuttings, at least not beyond shipping expenses. There's always the chance they'll just fail, especially when you tack on the stress of transport. Buying cuttings is popular on Etsy, where vendors will charge you starter plant prices for each one, in addition to shipping and sometimes handling charges.
Anyway, I was so pissed off at the blatant price-gouging that instead of putting the overwinter clippings in the compost, I'm going to try to propagate them all.
I've never tried to propagate this species. We'll see how they do.
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I'm gonna say something extremely controversial (hi, we've met).
I love Taylor Kelly.
I love her.
I love her unabashed sexuality.
I love her drive for finding the truth (even when she does it wrong, even when it hurts people she loves.)
I love how fiercely she cares about her job.
I love her.
When I did school for a while I was a communications major and I ran 3 school papers and I have worked for an actual honest to God local newspaper and when I did those things I would have MURDERED A MAN for a cohort like Taylor Kelly. Someone who CARES about TELLING THE TRUTH. No matter how ugly or uncomfortable it is.
I have another controversial thing (shocker, I know): 911 is a good show, but it's a Fox procedural and it's copaganda, no matter how diverse the cast is or how liberal the storylines are.
There is a reason why the Journalist/reporter character is written the way Taylor Kelly is. You are supposed to uncritically side with the characters you love when Taylor does something (arguably, in the case of breaking the Jonah story) shady.
The narrative leads the viewer to automatically side with members of the 118, but I'm sorry, on-shift firefighters being high (even through no fault of their own) is a story (yes, ethically using the footage of Bobby would be fucked. That's why her editor said no, and yes, she did learn from that experience. She wanted to, and she wasn't allowed. Buck does that in his job every other episode.)
Taylor is RIGHT when she says the information about Jonah would have gotten out anyway. Oh, the poor woobie fire department wanted to break the story themselves for damage control 🥺🥺🥺. Boo hoo.
In the context we're shown she didn't use any information from the conversation prior in the episode that she, a seasoned reporter, would not have found on her own in half an hour of googling.
She didn't quote anyone. She had a name first, that's it. A name any other reporter would've gotten from land records or a neighbor or any other one of a dozen sources 20 minutes later, once on-scene. Reporters are supposed to break stories. It's their JOB. They aren't supposed to regurgitate press releases from the fire department like it's news.
Uncritically hating Taylor Kelly because shes Wrong For Buck (she is, that's okay) without considering the fact that public institutions that are paid for with tax dollars (like police and fire departments) SHOULD be critically analyzed is lazy, and there's whole other kettle of fish to talk about regarding hatred female characters paired with part of a popular m/m ship. (It used to be called Bashing, and it's so fucking boring y'all omg).
Taylor's arc is crafted to make the journalist, and journalism, and investigative reporting, look shady.
Listen to the voice-over at the end of the blackout episode! It's all about how, now that the blackout is over, the only violence and property damage still occurring is in the autonomous zone. It's not subtle.
The Fourth Estate is IMPORTANT and the current real world state of it is a SHAMBLES. There are serious problems with the state of journalism but there are serious problems with the state of public entities too, and the way characters that are members of the 118 are allowed to make mistakes (you know, like people) while the House is held up as a bastion of perfection while still being part of a problematic institution, but a character like Taylor, because she is a Journalist, is given NO QUARTER, is galling.
A reporter like Taylor Kelly is Worth Her Weight in GOLD. She's got some things to learn but she's young and she's hungry and she CARES.
I love Taylor Kelly.
#taylor kelly#911 show#fandom shit#like y'all i get she's not for everyone but the people out here stanning Lucy with her 30 seconds of characterization while hating taylor#make me INSANE#lucy is great!#taylor is ALSO GREAT#leave taylor kelly alone 2k23
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okay so my family isn't religious or anything, never has been never will be, if anyone in my family is religious it's by their own choice. so it doesn't really make too much sense why we celebrate christmas, but at this point christmas is more of a commercial holiday than a religious one. anyway, every year the rule is everyone gets $20 per person to buy gifts with, and it's more of an unspoken rule but definitely understood that you have to get at least one thing for each person. anyways, my mom's already broken the $20 rule, which like whatever ig, she's dropped like 80 bucks on just shit for my older two siblings. so like with her spending problem i was like 'ooh she's going all out for them, i wonder what crappy excuse for a gift she's gonna get me' and also a little bit like 'ooh maybe she'll get me something good to pretend she loves me' y'know? and like i'm not spoiled, i grew up lower middle class, christmas isn't always like "spectacular" but i'm thankful for what i get, i'm not expecting people to like drop $60 to get me a new game or anything, like i'd be fine with just some cheap stuffed animal or something y'know? this isn't about money at all. but my mom finally wrapped all her gifts for people and me and my sister sorted them under the tree and y'know what she got me? me neither because there isn't a single present under the tree addressed to me from her. everyone has six or seven gifts to their name because she splurged on people, but i have 4 gifts to me and one of them is for both me and my sister. and like i'm not trying to be greedy or anything, i could have like 2 gifts address to me and i'd still be happy, as long as those two gifts were from everyone. like one christmas i think my brother got like 3 things cause everyone chipped in to one of his gifts cause it was expensive and he really wanted it. but there's not a single gift to me from her. and i think it hurts more because she splurged on everyone else. she really shows her love through gifts this time of year and i got nothing. nada zip zilch zero. and i'm not upset because of the missed out potential for what she could've gotten me. i'm not like 'oh man i could've had more stuff but now i have less!' i'm upset because she couldn't even bother to fish something out of a dollar bin for me. she couldn't even be bothered to haul her ass down to the dollar store and pick something at random. and it's not like she didn't know what to get me. i gave a very long list because in the past people haven't known what to get me so i've been writing stuff down for months, and half of the stuff on there are categories, not even specific things. like one of things i put on there was sanrio stuff, she couldn't even be bothered to buy some random shitty hello kitty thing and wrap it? and she spews shit about how she doesn't know what happened between us, where she went wrong, she spews shit about how she doesn't understand why i don't talk to her, how she still loves me, how she wishes we could have a relationship together. but then she does shit like this! and christmas eve is tomorrow, if theres a present it would've already been wrapped. and i can't even pretend that whatever she got me is still shipping or something because we have a tradition with that where we print out a picture of it and wrap it because then it still looks like you have stuff under the tree. and my dad and sister are mad about this, and so tomorrow they're going to target to buy me a couple gifts. and like i appreciate the thought, i really do, but i don't want my dad to have to spend more money on me, i was raised a penny pincher y'know? and i don't really even deserve more gifts. it doesn't matter, i shouldn't even be upset about it. i feel like an idiot. idk idk. and like i held my tears in front of my dad and sister when they were getting mad about it, because it's really not a big deal. but now i'm sitting in my room writing this and i'm tearing up. idk idk. this was a really long way to explain that my mom doesn't love me. who cares? not me, it whatever, rant over
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why does everything in this shithole of a country takes a billion useless steps that don’t even work? I just want to but one (1) book online and get it sent to my house!! is that so fucking hard?!
#i have to be inscript into like 5 things and thankfully it's just a book#otherwise i would have to pay like 65% of the price in addition to the price of the thinga AND the shipping...#oh and 50% more of whatever goes over 50 bucks#like if my calculations are correct#if i want to buy something that's 40 dollars plus 20 shipping (which is normal)#i would actually be paying...#104 dollars...#plus like 2 or 3 more that's the post office fee thing#so 107 bucks#yaay argentina! wooo#(:#i hate it heeeereeee#pleaseeeee kill me noooow#kdfhgkdfg#anyways tomorrow i'm gonna consult it with my math genious brother#and see if i can spend my hard earned money to buy a cool leyendecker book :')#kdfjhgdfg#angel talks#personal
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i don't think i've ever posted about my car (the fuckmobile 9000) here, but it's the car of all time, so you get to be subjected to my experiences with vehicles.
so, for context: i own a car from 1996 (because I don't make any money). however- and this is important- i do not own a beater car. i own a car that was, at the time, a fairly high-end vehicle.
the car i have, specifically, is a top of the line '96 nissan maxima. bought early in the january of that year. the color as stated in the owner's manual is "gold" but the department of motor vehicles has ruled it as "beige". the paint on the roof is peeling off; the cover for a small piece of one of the headlights has gone missing somewhere. the hubcaps are beginning to rust, and the paint on the windshield wiper holders has been rubbed clean away, making them clean steel that reflects the sun directly into my eyes whenever i'm driving home at sunset.
the first indication one might gain that this car was worth far more than three thousand bucks back in the day is when, before starting it up, one opens the gas tank. on the internal cover, there is a warning saying to only use premium fuel (93 octane or better) for necessary engine performance.
(it gets 87 octane because that is what i can afford and it likes it. however, as protest, the gas tank refuses to indicate the proper fuel level until i hit half empty. such is life.)
despite the car insurance being 24 dollars a month, once you actually start the vehicle it roars to life as if it's fresh off the lot. completely overkill for a consumer vehicle, it's outfitted with a v6 engine that makes the thing shake so much that it needs a special doohickey called a harmonic balancer on the crankshaft to make it stop doing that.
i discovered, incidentally, that it requires a harmonic balancer when the rubber on the original manufacturer one wore out and the car threw 6 belts before the mechanics figured out what the hell the problem was. essentially all the rubber and plastic on the vehicle has worn out from age. this is, in fact, the only engine problem i have ever had.
one interesting piece of plastic in many vehicles is a little bolt-shaped thing that indicates when the brake light should turn off; a brake light is actually a dead man's switch, in that the switch is always on when it is not receiving electronic signal, as opposed to always off. anyway, the brake light's plastic bit broke in half last summer and my car battery died repeatedly until i figured out i needed a replacement for it, which cost $3 plus $18 shipping from missouri. the dashboard odometer mechanism is also plastic-based, so it is a 1/3 chance that it increments on any trip (but the internal odometer works; strangely, despite this discrepancy, there's only a 3,000 mile mileage difference between them.)
the radio/media system fuse burnt out in 2019; interestingly, unlike in more recent cars, this is not connected to the clock, so I can still tell the time. i do miss my cassette player, though, even if i mortifyingly found out recently that half of my old cassettes are from joe biden's favorite band.
either way, you're not here to hear about my car trouble (summing in total to just under half of the vehicle's current retail price). you're here to hear about its performance. well, i'm happy to tell you that even with 87 octane, it gladly goes from zero to sixty in about 6.7 seconds, nearly the same timespan as the 2022 maxima (5.7). how do i know this? i live in a town where the lovely non-permanent residents significantly enjoy showing off the power of their cars' motors. it's similarly excellent at maintaining high speeds, keeping 80 even running up steep grades in the appalachian mountains.
now, as for miles per gallon, it's not great. it's a car from 1996, and i'm feeding it low-octane fuel so it's doing even worse than it should be, but it can still run from the WV/SWVA border to DC on 2/3 of a tank. (it takes 3/4 to get back, because of the uphill/downhill differences, but it's still easily manageable on one tank.)
now you're definitely saying "whoa, hold on man, think about the emissions on that thing!"
luckily, my car's registered back in fucking lockheed martinville, so it's gotta go through emissions checks every two years. it's passed every single one with flying colors- by better margins than my next door neighbor's brand new audi. fuck that guy for doing donuts outside at three in the morning, by the way. of course, CO2 is an issue, but electric cars cost forty grand and as previously mentioned i live in appalachia. so this guy's staying around until it turns 30 or i leave the united states, whichever comes first.
in conclusion: the fuckmobile 9000 will never die. also don't tailgate me for your own safety, this thing's got a steel body and you've got crumple zones. if you rear end me at a traffic light, you're the one who's getting totaled, not me.
(as for me you can rest assured i'm not rear-ending you, i don't want a door through the head)
anyway if you have no money and want an alternative vehicle before getting enough to go electric, consider an ancient and immortal creature from the 1990s. and maybe try downloading some mp3s on your phone to listen to on trips; you never know when your radio will spontaneously fail, after all.
#i am not by nature a car person#but my car is very stupid and very functional and i want to show her i appreciate her#here you go fuckmobile 9000#'lockheed martinville' for those not in the know is northern virginia
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Santa’s Babies (OT3)
AO3
Ship: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer (Pre-Slash)
Fandom: Leverage | Missing Scene(s) from s5 e14 ‘The Toy Job’
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (for swearing and an implied bj)
Words: 7,571 (One-Shot)
~*~
The team is on another job.
Corrupt toy CEO this time.
A puppy plushie with a level 3 choking hazard of all things. Turns out the material its nose is made out of will expand significantly in contact with bodily fluids, risking infant deaths upon swallowing… And we all know it will get swallowed by some kid. 'Get that out of your mouth' is just as common a phrase to new parents as it is pet owners.
Eliot's even growled the phrase more times than he can count with Things 1 and 2 under his wings. Mostly in regards to the junk they try to pass off as food but the sentiment stands.
Parker's breaking into one of their vaults to get the safety inspection records but if Eldon was fired for not cooking the books chances are they just got someone else to do it instead.
Nate's voice brings him back to the conversation over coms, "I'm saying that we, ah, we went overboard on Christmas gifts last year."
"Nate, I love my Ecosse motorcycle from last Christmas. Compliments of my Santa-baby," the distinctive sound of Parker's drill starting up.
Eliot barely suppresses his eye roll. "You spent $100,000 on a motorcycle?" he hisses at Hardison next to him. It's not the money Eliot's frustrated about, though the 25 dollar Walmart waffle press he received stings just a tad stronger, it's the arrogant indulgence. Parker has perfectly functional bikes of varying calibers and in the year she's apparently had it he hasn't seen her use it once. With her obsession with money it's probably sitting uselessly in a vault, Hardison customizing aforementioned functional bikes for her anyway.
Speaking of customization, Hardison just continues to solder more equipment like it's a regular Tuesday and it's no different than knowing their coffee order. "Don't hate the gift. Hate the elf."
"I do hate the elf." Well, Eliot really really wants to hate the elf, but Parker deserves to be spoiled. They're good for eachother and Eliot shouldn't be judging.
It's not his place, he'll get over it.
"So, are you saying no Christmas presents at all? Not even something small?" To Parker, 'small' could mean anything form a lollipop to a diamond, and they'd yield the exact same positive response.
"No gifts," Nate stands his ground.
"But… How are we supposed to do Christmas without any presents?" Parker sounds like she'd about to genuinely get upset. Eliot hates the hurt tone in her voice.
He's about to crack and pipe in when Sophie beats him to it, "Let's just put a limit on spending."
Sounds like a reasonable compromise, if they weren't thieves who would just steal it anyway.
"Say $1,000 a…" she'd cut off by Nate pointedly clearing his throat.
"$100 a.." she tries to correct before cut off again.
"50 bucks a person." she rushes before anyone else can but in.
"Fine, whatever. I'm in," the conversation is well and over as Parker finishes up the heist, getting in and out with no trouble at all.
Eliot's just tired.
So he does what he always does when the teams finally safe and on standby until further notice, makes his way to the kitchen and distracts himself with fixing up the disaster that is Hardison's brew-pub menu ideas.
~*~
Yup, the books were rigged; unusable and irrelevant.
Nate cooks up a scheme with a rival toy, "We're gonna steal Christmas."
Parker ignores the Whirlie-Glee-Glee in retaliation but also because it just looks dumb. Even with her admittedly messed up childhood she'd never known a kid to get exited over a frisbee. Boomerang maybe. Eliot taught her how to use one of those when she asked if they'd really started out as weapons. He'd been very patient with her, never using the anger she knows he's struggled with. It was inspiring to finally let go of the anger she grew up with herself.
She finally understood what if felt like to be safe, that no matter how much she pushed those boundaries and anticipated that familiar anger, it never came. Family was never supposed to mean pain. Eliot would never be angry with her, even when she looked back and though he had the right to be. Maybe he'd had just as much trouble identifying and sharing emotions as she had.
She looks to the left of the Wobgly G-Whatever and knows, without a shadow of a doubt in her mind, 'This is it.' She wants 2. One for herself and one for Eliot's Christmas present. She can't cuddle him, since apparently that would be weird, or so she's pieced together from other interactions and similar topics in Hardison's coaching, but she can cuddle Mini-Eliot as much as she likes!
It ends up being the toy they feature in their con but she hopes the sentiment will translate all the same when she gets to present it to him in person.
Hardison thinks it's stupid, so for now she maintains that he's stupid. How dare he doubt her.
"Anything can be sold," Eliot defends her over the com, so she settles down for now. But it still hurts…
No Mini-Eliot cuddles for Hardison! He can cuddle Hardi, Parker 2.0 or whatever, this week.
~*~
"Look, it's happy. It's not so happy, but then it's happy again. It changes moods. It's pretty cool, right?"
Of course Nate would try to get the toy out there with the drug dealer approach. Because why the hell not. It's not like Eliot has been to this Farmer's Market before.
He couldn't look more like a stereotype, handing out free toys to random kids on the corner with his long hair, hoodie and rough appearance. He's generally pretty good with kids but today's just a bad day.
"No? Hey, here, take it. It's free." Any hesitation the girl had quickly evaporates as she takes the doll and excitedly shares with the other kids she sees.
He's cranky; he's uncomfortable. He's out here while the crew is talking as if he's not even there, because he's not.
He's just lonely.
They're already moving on, arranging the next steps in the con, things they don't need him for.
The dolls are all handed out and he's technically 'done' for now.
There's a cute Hawaiian kid working in one of the vendor stalls a little ways down. He'd passed by 4 times already, probably to see if Eliot was going to be a threat to their little market, but seems to have deemed him safe. Even sent a few stray kids his way toward the end there.
He caught Eliot looking his way and smiled shyly when he noticed the empty booth.
'To hell with it,' there's nothing wrong with Eliot taking a moment to his downtime.
He welcomes the distraction.
Making his way over with a suave smile Eliot peruses through what's left of the vegetable selection.
"Hey there," he maintains eye contact as he lightly teases his forefinger down the length of a rather girthy carrot. "What time you gettin off today handsome?"
"You tell me Sir," the young man boldly lets slip before blushing profusely and babbles a bit correcting himself. "I mean, I guess I'm almost done for the day. This is usually when the crowd dies out and there's usually some stuff left over that people didn't want when I pack up. Wh-what did you have in mind?"
"Shame to let it go to waste, I'll take the lot of it," Eliot finds the rambling cute and tries very hard not to let it remind him of another stuttering darker skinned young man. "What say you, wanna help me with my load?"
The double entendre isn't lost on him as Eliot notices pupils widening and plump lips parting with a hitched breath.
"T-totally," his grin widens to take over his whole face and nervously condense everything down in to two crates.
Eliot slides behind the booth and slip the cash into his back pocket, gently palming the soft globe. Before they can get distracted and in trouble for public indecency Eliot swiftly manhandles the larger of the crates, letting his arms flex more noticeably than necessary, leaving the tiny crate for his new friend. Swaying his hips Eliot walks a few feet in the direction of his car and does his best 'come hither' expression. The man nearly trips over himself in his haste to flow, almost forgetting the second crate.
"I'm Alex, by the way. Alex Parker."
'Oh fuck me!' Eliot decidedly Does Not Think About It.
"Carl," Eliot leaves it at that. He tries not to leave anything he can be looked up by but he's pretty sure that's the alias he's been using lately.
~*~
Alec throws himself into his paparazzo persona watching Sophie sneak the demented doll into Sandy Matteo's bag. He does not worry about Eliot's absent commentary. He's fine, the man can take care of himself. Hardison has work to do. He has to focus so that he doesn't miss his opportunity or his shots.
'There. Got em. Done. Time to go.'
He does not check his systems again for signal from Eliot's com. The seven previous checks were for everyone's coms and perfectly rational intervals. The mark's career used to be in weapons.
'Can't be too cautious.'
Eliot's own rule.
So where the hell is he? Surely the dolls had all been handed out by now.
~*~
Eliot's a gentlemen first and foremost. So once the produce is safely in his car he offers to help clean up Alex's booth and they put away all their equipment like the rest of the vendors as the market closes for the day.
Alex seems pleasantly surprised and loosens up a bit, not rushing for anything and enjoying each other's company.
Splitting for a moment in the parking lot, Eliot pulls around and picks Alex up to finally drive back to one of his places. He has four scattered around the city, all staged to appear lived in as he rotates which pantry to keep freshly filled.
He rushes around to the other side after parking to open the door as he had when picking Alex up, receiving a gentle kiss for his efforts. The tension builds as they navigate around the entry way and down the fall., exchanging heated glances and more daring touches.
By the time Eliot's door is closed and locked behind them they're pressed flush against eachother.
He's long since turned off his com but his phone volume is up in case there's an emergency. No one's contacted him yet and he plans to take his time. He might look like a flirt around his team or on a job but it's been months since he's had the pleasure of taking care of someone.
He can't even recall the last time he'd gotten off but it's never really been about that. He's given out so much pain in his life, he can only balance it out by giving pleasure.
It's like an itch.
The one addiction he can't seem to curb.
Doesn't really want to.
Doesn't want to think either, so he doesn't.
He turns 'Eliot Brain' off and 'Carl' sinks to his knees, as easily as breathing. Breathing in the musk of the arousal he's caused. The pleasure he eager to give.
~*~
They're all back in the office after another day of grinding their gears. Plotting and conning and all the meticulous prep work Alec prides himself in providing for his family.
Their numbers still aren't high enough.
"Santa's little helper here is right. The doll's a bust," Eliot still sounds a little stand-off-ish but not nearly as bad as he had before the Farmer's Market so at least there's that.
Alec refuses to ask where he went afterwards and no clues have presented themselves.
"Whirlie stupid thing would have done worse," Parker on the other hand is sounding more irritated but the minute. She's stood unusually strongly about her doll.
He get's it that she's got some trauma and stuff going on upstairs but he can't get the memory of the fallen look off her face when she tried to present a second doll to Eliot in person but he'd already headed out for the night. Usually they finished off long nights with him cooking for them and escorting them to either Parker's warehouse or Hardison's penthouse suite; but that night they'd been left to fend for themselves.
"And you're an expert on this because?"
"GUYS!" Even distracted with the con Nate tried to cut the atmosphere.
"Because I was there. It spoke to me!"
"It spoke to you?"
"It reminded me of a toy my social worker used to make me do exercises with."
"You kidding me with that?"
"Oh, like you always do what you're supposed to?" Sophie didn't like the new tension either.
"E-exercises... What kind of exercises?" Nate redirects.
"Identifying emotions or something like that."
Well now Alec felt like shit. It made so much sense now. He could see the lightbulb go off in Eliot's head and winced in sympathy.
There's no way his self-sabotaging ass isn't going to add this to whatever redemption list he's compiled.
Alec won't even be mad when his anticipated steak dinner get's replaced with Parker's favorite Eggplant Lasagna tonight. Maybe they can put on one of her Christmas movies and crash on his couch, reconnect and make it up to her. Lord knows those two need all the anger-healing bonding opportunities they can get.
It's a different lightbulb that goes off in Nate's head. "That’s it. That's it. It's obvious. We can't con a 6-year-old. You know who we can con? Their parents. Okay, so, Hardison you get on that lecture thing, Eliot you get on the mommies," and the con evolves.
"And he doesn't mean that literally," Hardison can't help himself, trying not to sound bitter.
"That joke is never funny," Eliot sounds angry again as he gets up to storm out. There's something in his tone but Hardison can't place it.
"It's always funny."
"No, it's not. Comedy's about timing, and you don't have it!"
Good thing Hardison's studied early childhood development in the past, he's about to need it.
~*~
Right. Cause that's apparently who he is in the others' eyes.
Just a horndog. No self control. Not able to understand the directions Nate gives him.
It was One stinking time!
'Take them out Eliot.'
'Like, on a date or …?'
Eliot storms down to the kitchen on autopilot.
Basil. Ricotta. Tomatoes. Eggplant.
His consciousness resurfaces to the setting of a timer and dish safely in the oven.
Hands absent of further distraction.
Picking up a knife Eliot goes through the motions of a meditative exercise. He keeps his movements fluid and practices techniques to pass the time while his mind is already planning arrangements to make it up to Parker. He didn't stick around to walk them home after the long night stealing the toy and he regrets that now. He just needed the night alone. He was torn, defend her interest and initiative was basically rewarding disobedient behavior when his training demanded she stick to the plan.
Divergence was messy and risky.
He'd had the urge to spread her across his lap for a spanking.
There was no way he'd let himself carry out that thought, so he nipped the impulse in the bud and left.
Looking back he wouldn't be surprised if his counselors had tried to use something similar with him. Then again he got enough shit for his 'feminine interests' like cooking, tailoring and medicine. Relevant skills he'd defended himself but he'd still been forced into sports, history and mechanics. He didn't mind them and they'd all proved useful; he still wishes he'd at least had a say in it.
By the time the young couple made it to his kitchen he'd just finished setting the table.
It was a rather quiet affair with everyone deep in thought.
Parker's mood seemed to lift somewhat with her favorite dish.
Hardison didn't make a peep about the routine dinner selection's change, probably anticipated it long before Eliot even decided. Smartass.
When they'd finished Hardison quickly took over cleanup without any prompting, pointedly declining offers to help.
Eliot took the opportunity to pull Parker in for a hug, physical comfort being something new they had both been slowly warming up to.
"Wanna talk about it?" he gently asked into her temple.
Shaking her head slightly she gave him a small smile. "I think you get it," she whispered back.
He spotted Hardison observing from the doorway, kitchen and table clean, lights ready to be turned off for the night. Waited for the moment to end he prompted, "Movie night? My vote's on Elf."
Parker's eyes lit up further as she dragged Eliot with her through the door. With each of the boy's hands in one of hers, no one let go the whole way there.
With credits rolling and twin snores coming from his chest-turned-pillow Eliot let himself relax.
It wasn't a good position for either to stay in long but he could wait and carry them each to bed after his 90 minutes of shut-eye.
'It's so right. It' not enough. It's too much.'
He'll take what he can get.
If he happened to stay knocked out for roughly 150 minutes, well that's no one's business but his own.
~*~
Hardison wakes up slowly and groggily. Parker curled up on his left with the demented baby-doll sandwiched between them.
His heart stops momentarily in fear that the doll has eaten and replaced Eliot between them before his brain catches up with his nose. Coffee and turkey bacon.
He and Parker's stomachs let out simultaneous loud gurgles that wake the blonde up.
"Morning," she whispers into his lips before her head swivels around in search of something. Not finding whatever it is in his room she drops a quick kiss to the dolls cheek and darts off the bathroom to start her morning routine.
He doesn't know why he's still laying there, basically cuddling the doll but he is.
Waking himself up further he makes the bed, tucking the thing in since he thinks it'll make Parker happy, he then makes his way down to the kitchen in nothing but his sweats.
He doesn't remember changing but it's not the first time Eliot's taken some liberties after they've fallen asleep on him. He originally thought the line about only sleeping 90 minutes a day was bullshit but turns out the guy was rounding up for their sake. It was more like 40 any time Hardison caught him and accidently woke him up breathing too loud from another room altogether.
Speaking of liberties, looks like the laundry has been done, plants watered, den put back together and local news playing lowly from one of the speakers.
Megabyte walked, fed and sleeping soundly by the door to his room. The dog somehow has already learned that he won't be getting table scraps and instead guards over him while Eliot and Parker are preoccupied.
Alec really wishes he could get them to move in already.
He gets that they need their own safehouses for peace of mind and all that but he never feels this settled and complete when he wakes up alone or to his admittedly horrible housekeeping habits.
He's gotten a set of drawers and closet space set aside for things Parker's left over and Eliot has 2 emergency bags, one in the closet one in the back of the secluded garage unit. There's a drawer dedicated to nothing but new, unopened, toothbrushes in the bathroom since both of them are weird about letting 'theirs' out of their 'sights'. The kitchen is pretty much off limits to the couple in fear they'd burn down all the hard work stealthily customized for the brute. The ventilation shafts were one of the first things he'd looked into before signing.
He may or may not have put the lease in the names of each of their three aliases, it's not like they pay that close attention to his paperwork anyway. He'd be insulted if the blind faith didn't do funny things to his chest.
He doesn't even care how long the day is about to get, the morning was perfect enough to carry his good mood through.
Or… so he thought.
~*~
"All right, cut," Eliot turns off the camera after Hardison's educational bit. "Dude, how do you come up with this crap?" He'd be impressed if he wasn't avoiding the 'Hardison will make a good dad - wait that means Parker would be a mom - who would I be to them' train(wreck) of thought.
"I studied early-childhood development. Look, man. Video's done. I make it seem like I'm talking to hundreds, upload it to the blogger mom sites, we're good to go."
"Dude, the blogger moms?" He knew it was gonna come up, Nate told them the plan last night. It was going to continue being a thing, doesn't mean he's looking forward to it.
"Yes, blogger moms. They talk about parenthood, schools, life at home. You get one of these sites to endorse you, your toy's gonna go viral. Trust me."
So not helping avoiding the 'Hardison's gonna be a good parent' topic.
An example of said blog is brought up with an attractive enough woman in the profile.
"That's a blogger mom?" he can't help but ask, not because she'd pretty, even though she is, but because of her eyes. She doesn't look tired, or proud; just like she knows she'd pretty and that's enough to give her a platform. The cheerleading job was enough to remind him that that's all that people really need, unfortunately, but with what he's seen his life he wouldn't give her the time of day for any level of credibility. Maybe not even an avocado toast recipe.
"Ah, Chardonnay Mom? Yeah, that's Allie Stanbrook. She runs one of the top blogger sites in the nation. She's local, too. PDX, baby," there's something in Hardison's tone that suggests he's on the same page as Eliot about her but when he looks over it's obviously not that.
Chardonnay Mom? Yeah, he can see her towing the line between believable caretaker and wine-snob.
Here we go, not like he has many choices here.
"All right, look, listen to me, if I'm gonna do this, all right, I want to be tough dad. You know what I mean? Cool dad. Just enough to turn her head. Don't go overboard on this. Keep it simple. You know, someone who's not afraid to make a PB&J, but still wants to go out in the yard, get dirty, kick the soccer ball around. Strict... but fair."
He's projecting, he knows it.
But my god he can't avoid the downward spiral of his thoughts.
If Hardison and Parker ever do want kids, that's the kind of uncle he want to be.
~*~
"After my wife passed, it was, um, it was very tough for me and my son, Dashiel, to communicate."
Well, it's been hard for him to communicate. Period. Let alone with the two adults he's unceremoniously adopted, but the best lies lie closest to the truth. Even if the imaginary kid's name is a nightmare in and of itself.
"But, that's when Baby Feels-A-Lot came into our lives. And, yeah, listen, don't get me wrong. I’m-I'm one of those dads, I had a problem with my son playing with a doll. But… I'll tell you something. It worked. We were talking again. You know, we were father and son. And I felt the duty. I had to get this out there. I had to let the other dads know what this product did for us. So, I started a blog."
Well, Hardison started a blog, and put his face on it.
Eliot feels creepy talking to these women. They all have kids, those kids have fathers, and they're looking at him like they want more. They think that he'll be for their kids what he appears to be for his own. And the widower persona hits a little too close to home remembering his own dad.
There's no way he'd have lived in an area like this growing up. He doesn't think he'd want to. One of their kids is probably name Skyler or Fennel or some crap. Sam. Sam was a good name for Nate to choose.
They still don't know what Parker's birth name is, and that's fine with him. He doesn't know if Alec is short for anything either. It's kind of Sophie's thing that Nate doesn't know her name, or pretends not to?
He's never thought one way or the other on his own. He tried to go by Spencer for a bit but felt to militaria.
Eliot doesn't even know why he's thinking about it.
It's never been a problem before, not since high school.
Since Aimee…
'Time to go.'
~*~
Alec can't believe this is his life right now. Sending Eliot off to mingle, and probably hook up flirt with the Desperate Housewives of Portland while he stews at his computer over what kind of parent Eliot would make.
Not just think about it, write it.
He listened to the few directions Eliot gave him, he swears he did. It was said with such conviction, like he'd been thinking about it. Like he wanted it.
Alec wanted it for him too one day, he does.
But selfishly he doesn't.
That would mean letting him leave.
Be something else for someone else.
Would he still protect and coddle he and Parker?
He knows they'd stay in touch, that they're stuck with eachother. He already had the schematics set aside and started for their next lives together as robots. Even though Eliot said he didn't want it, he's getting it.
Alec always knew he'd have kids one day.
Multiple, whether they were little carbon copies of himself or adopted like he was.
But now he has Parker, and they actually have to talk about those kinds of things.
'Fuck. Does Parker even want kids one day? It's a big enough deal she sees them as family now. Focus! Stew later, blog now.'
So he starts to reminisce about the father he wanted. The man missing from his life until Nate and Eliot came along.
He thinks about the adventures they've already been on, like finally trying the sandwich named after the guy after his evolution into loving baseball. It was almost as good as the sandwich he stole out the fridge so long ago. The one he thought was made for him after realizing how close attention Eliot paid to each of their preferences.
Firmly pushing any identity confusion into the 'never to be touched' folder of his mega-brain, Hardison let's the words flow freely.
It's an emotional roller-coaster, knowing that the team will be reading this, but it's also freeing. An outlet he didn't realize he needed right now. There are several entries he locks away not to ever be shared but he eventually edits it down into creative entries that highlight Eliot as he would be.
In another life. One untainted by the violence of his past.
'If only they'd met far sooner.'
Indulging himself with gummy frogs and orange soda Eliot's voice echoes in his head.
That they're not food.
That food is life and he needs to care more about what he's doing to his body.
He doesn't notice he can't finish the bag, replacing the urge for more by sucking on his thumb in between typing sessions.
He's barefoot, last year's Christmas present wrapped securely around his shoulders. A black and blue blanket Eliot had obviously crocheted himself, even if he hadn't verified the fact. Megabyte curled up on his right and Baby-Feels-A-Lot in his lap.
It's growing on him, sue him.
Parker pointed out how similar his scowl was to Eliot after he caught her calling it Mini-Eliot and now he can't un-see it.
Blogs posted and queued up Alec remains in his little bubble for a while, enjoying the floaty headspace he's slipped into while it lasts. Soon they'll be back on the grind and this will all have been just another project for the job. They'll move on and forget he'd blended up his projection of 'Future Parent Eliot' with 'Father He Never Got to Have' all balanced and stuck to stern but protective 'Daddy Eliot' caricature.
Trying not to startle himself into being big enough to analyze any of that Alec cuddles his doggy and his girlfriend's dolly and falls into an uneasy sleep.
~*~
"Okay, I've written 3 months' worth of blogs for our sensitive dad over here. I got prices for the braces, Dashiel's chess club…" Alec still feels a little out of it after his impromptu nap earlier but the change of scenery into the office and Nate's intense presence help pull him back.
"You put in there we went to the Super Bowl?" Eliot sounds incredulous. Why? They were supposed to go together before job got in the way. Alec suspects he wasn't supposed to know Eliot had gotten them tickets but what did he expect when Alec was the wizard behind their identities and finances. It even helped him build a few files on Eliot's mysterious 'buddies.'
"Oh, yeah, man, yeah. You even met some of the players. Now, what I was thinking... Tell me what you feel. Ah, you guys go on like a-a road trip cross-country, you do a tour, something like that." Parker will still want to jump off of stuff but Eliot's been trying to get him to go camping. This is kind of his way of breaking down and agreeing to go, without the humiliation of actually having to say it.
"Yeah, I like that. I like that. Or... And I'm just gonna put this out there... What if I took him on a tour of all the ball parks in America? Hardison, huh? Or maybe took him to the opera or the moon, huh? Believable father-and-son stuff!"
"A little focus," Nate tries to intervene.
"Look at the picture he used, man!"
'What's wrong with the picture?!' It's one of Alec's favorites. He barely has any pictures of Eliot's truly infectious smile. He feels himself bristle and get defensive. He's not in the place he needs to be to have this conversation. It's like dry ice being pursed down the back of his shirt in less than 3 seconds flat.
"Hey, hey. Excuse me, man. I'm sorry if this kind of writing opens me up creatively. I'm stuck looking at codes all day. Maybe I was writing the father that I wanted one day," woops. He stutters to carry on, "What's the problem with getting emotionally butt naked?" Please shut him up!
"Oh, please, don't. Please, we-we don't want to see that," Nate's presence is both a blessing and a curse.
"I'm trying to share my feelings on paper," Hardison lets that be his final piece.
"Please, please don't. Now listen, Hardison, I'm very happy with your creativity and everything, but what I want to know is, what do you have on the blogger moms about Eliot?"
'Whoop-da-dee-fucking-doo…'
"Oh, what did the mamas say? Oh, what are they saying about the sensitive dad? I got something for you. I got something for your ass," he pulls up the tabs he couldn't bring himself to close after reading. "Boom. Chardonnay Mama. She cute, though, ain't she fine? Look what she says. 'Oh, this week, I was introduced to an amazing new toy called Baby Feels-A-Lot, thanks to a gentleman who couldn't be more kind, more handsome, or more sensitive single dad.' You don't deserve none of that!" Hardison pointedly ignores Eliot preening. It's usually kind of cute but today it just sucks.
"Now how are we doing with the toy's popularity?" Nate moves the conversation along.
"Saturation indexes are ticking up 'cause I did my job."
And just like that they're moving on to Sophie's update.
~*~
The job wrapped up rather nicely. Hazlit publicly humiliated, dangerous toy not going to market, Eldon getting his dream job. Eliot even got to avoid the blogger moms, only reaching out for the safety study and basically labeling himself celibate when their interest pressed past his boundaries.
Eliot watched Parker play with another of the same doll. He and Hardison had been given their own for Christmas, "Promise me those things will never hit store shelves."
"Ah, I'm keeping them all to myself. I've got them lined up in my warehouse like an army of joy and rage."
"You don't ever want to be in that warehouse alone. Ever," Eliot doesn't doubt that for a second, thinking back to wonder when Hardison might have been. Parker's still very peculiar about the privacy of her things.
"I think it's really sad that we're so cynical about gifts. I used to, ah, I loved Christmas as a child," a nostalgic warmth spreads across Sophie's face.
"Yeah, well, nothing's genuine anymore," Eliot can't help himself from pointing out.... rather hypocritically.
"That's not true, no. I've been thinking about this, and yo-you know what is genuine? Trust."
"Trust?" Parker sounds so confused. Poor thing's struggled with trust is no secret to the room.
"Yes, trust. I think, no, seriously. I think we should give each other some trust for Christmas."
"What, like that exercise where you fall back and someone catches you?"
"No, not like that."
"Good, because I did that once, and I dropped the person, and they had to get stitches."
"Still hurts."
"I know."
Eliot winces in sympathy, he'd been the one to administer the stitches.
It wasn't a few, over a small area. It was 11 down the back of his shoulder, 3 blending in with his eyebrow and 5 in the left V of his hip. They still wont tell him 'where' they'd tried it.
"I just think that, well, we've been through so much together, all of us, and we should give each other something personal this year, like, um, I don't know, a story or a secret."
Does he really need to be here for this? Eliot looks at his empty wrist pretending to check the time. Like he's got anywhere to be after this besides another movie night at Hardison's.
Thing is, he still got them presents.
Not everybody, but he saw them displayed in the window while they'd been out and couldn't help himself. He knows they'd been bummed and stressing over the 'Stealing Christmas' mess. What was he supposed to do? Continue watching the frown? He'd rather chop off hit foot with a spoon. But that's for later.
"No, come on. Bear with me, please. Please. Who's gonna go first?"
"Eliot."
'Really Parker?' Eliot can't help puffing out his chest a little bit, of course she saw the opportunity and snatched it.
Nate takes the 'head of the table' role upon himself to go first. Eliot doesn't let it bother him since he is kind of like a surrogate parent to the couple with Sophie having made the suggestion.
"All right. When I was a kid, I wanted a trumpet one Christmas. My father played Sinatra all the time, and, ah, Sinatra had this trumpet player named 'Sweets' Edison, Harry 'Sweets' Edison. Great sound, amazing. I wanted to sound just like him, you know? Christmas rolled around, and, ah, there was no trumpet, just a pack of baseball cards. My father said that Santa must have had a-a rough year at the track. So, there's... Anyway, a couple of days later, I wake up in my bed, and at the foot of the bed is, ah, is a trumpet. It's all tarnished and dinged up, my dad probably rolled somebody for it, but-but there it is. And I, ah, I played that trumpet every day for 10 years. You know, I never, I never ah, ended up sounding like ah, 'Sweets' Edison, but…"
Hardison looks down and Eliot want Nate to finish up so they can move on.
"So, I gave it to, um, I gave it to Sam on his 8th birthday."
Now Parker's looking down. Does he not see what reminding them of the child he's pretending to replace with them does? How fucked up it is? They probably don't even realize they're trying to live up to the ghostly parody of a dead 8 year old.
"And that was, um, his, um, first trumpet lesson was scheduled for the day, as it turns out, that he went into the hospital. And I, so, he… I don't have anything left from my childhood, but I did keep the trumpet. I keep it on the boat."
Sophie looks sad but Eliot can't tell if it's the atmosphere that's been created or sympathy for the man she loves. Maybe both. He get's it, kinda, but the guy could at least acknowledge that they don't have to be his replacement. That he's still proud of them as they are.
"Okay, who's next?" Eliot hold his tongue and instead settles on a story that'll bring the mood back, lest Sophie start waxing poetic about Fort Devereaux or some shit.
"I've got a nephew," Eliot bites the bullet before he can chicken out.
All eyes around the table snap to him and jaws hit the floor.
"Sorta," Eliot closes his eyes and leans back as if to look through the ceiling. "J named me their son's godfather just a few months before that first job. It's why I'd tried to retire before Dubenich sent me that offer. One last score before goin straight, or as close to it as I would have let myself get. Set up a nice college fund. I still touch base maybe once a year. Never on a holiday and never on a birthday. But if anything happens to me, I trust him with you." He makes sure to look both Hardison and Parker dead in the eyes with his final statement. Leave himself open, just for a moment, to let the sincerity and desperation shine through. Prove to them that they're enough, that they're perfect the way they are.
They may live in the shadows as thieves but he won't let them live in the shadows of the dead.
They're the light he'd once lost.
And one of these day, he will die to protect them.
~*~
Parker's too choked up to share much, not even sure she's doing this trust thing right.
"I blew up my house once to get back my bunny. They said to either be a better kid, or a better thief. It's obvious which one I chose." She's quiet and a little scared, but Eliot reaches below the table to squeeze her hand and she thinks she sees pride in his eyes. "He… He's snuggled up in the middle of my money, in one of my vaults."
She did it.
She said it.
And she'd not going to lose them over it.
The same feeling she has when she's jumping blooms in her chest.
She's freefalling and knows she's safe.
She… She thinks it's safe to retrieve bunny, and let him snuggle between Mini Eliot and Hardi.
~*~
Hardison feels emotionally wrung out. First the blogging, and the accidental little-space and now this. He knows little-space is what happened the other day, it'd happened before but not that deep in a long long time. It's almost what he shares, he's dying to freely be as little as Parker sometimes lets off. But not here, Not 'yet'.
Instead, "Hell… I've been arrested in drag."
Sophie sprays Nate in the face with the water she'd been sipping.
He chuckles a bit and reminisces, "It was actually the highlight of my night. I'd gone out to this nightclub but had already been banned for 'stealing peoples cards' even though it's not my fault the bartenders couldn't remember who was who and each one thought I was a different person. I hope they got to keep the generous tips! Anyway, I liked the place and wanted to go back, decided to experiment. Turns out I was pretty convincing until I opened my damn mouth. Not too tolerant for what later turned into a gay bar. The cop that came on shift later that night was cute and asked me to teach him how I did my eyeliner. They'd accidently mixed me in with the girls cell and we had a good ol time. I think one of em left their abusive ex and settled down with eyeliner cop's partner."
He'd avoided eye contact through the whole reveal but looking around now, he couldn't suppress his grin at the variety of responses.
Parker seemed cool with it, as if it were no different than saying 'I didn't wear green on St. Patty's, what A rebel.'
Nate looked similar to when he'd tried the first beer he'd tried to brew but wasn't disgusted. More like he was going down memory lane looking for clues he'd obviously missed. A blow to his mastermind ego but not uncomfortable.
Sophies face was brighter than the Christmas tree Parker put up in his den, and the building's electricity bill had effectively doubled that day.
'Oh god! I've just doubled the opportunity of characters for her to write! I should have gone with the little-space reveal, or that he's got a new foster sister that's trying to rival him on the web, or lie about a tattoo…'
He looks to Eliot for help and…. He thinks he broke Eliot.
~*~
Sophie better pipe the fuck up before Eliot does something very inappropriate!
His lips are dry and his vision has zeroed in on Hardison's features, imagination spinning. He sees mascara and blush and lip gloss and long legs propped up and crossed as a dress skirt teasingly falls up to reveal shaven thighs. Heels. Hardison is already taller than him, everybody is, but in heels he'd tower over him. And fearless Parker would climb that like the Empire State Building. Freefalling for him to catch and sandwich between them….
'SOPHIE?!'
His soul sister finally comes to his rescue, "Tara and I first met pretending to be lovers. My cover had gotten really rocky and in walks this confident hot blonde, just my mark's type. So I rushed over and kissed her, praying she'd play along. She did, far more effectively than I was ready for, and without any prior coordination we'd convinced everyone we would have been married by then had the laws been different. Our backstories were a little rocky at first but was easily covered up with the 'having a story for the closet' excuse. We immediately got competitive once we figured out eachother were grifters, but it took a few weeks to 'come out' as it were."
That actually makes way more sense than he wants it to. No wonder Tara was so particular when judging Nate.
Eliot finds his footing again and beams around the table. This was actually a pretty good idea.
And Nate's face was PRICELESS!
"Merry Christmas you guys."
~*~
Parker and Hardison wait (im)patiently on the couch. No sooner had they made it through the front door had Eliot pointed to the couch and told them to sit and wait a moment before disappearing into the attached garage unit. Tonight feels like a fever dream, like any moment now they'll wake up in the middle of March to go after a new mark, business as usual.
They don't want to wake up.
Before their nerves become too much, out walks Eliot, in the Santa suit!
Hardison is so glad he put security cameras in the den. He WILL have pictures, videos, of this!
Parker wiggles excitedly by his side.
Rolling his eyes and opening the Santa Sack he passes them each a perfectly wrapped box. His is blue with a black ribbon and Parker's is green with a red ribbon.
They each scoot to a side and pull the man down between them, waiting patiently for the go ahead.
Hardison's already given them their upgraded phones and personalized art pieces. After all the forgeries he's done they encouraged him they'd cherish his original work as well should he chose to pursue it. He doesn't really remember what he gave Eliot last year but he hopes he'd like it.
Parker gave them each a sketch she's made from memory how the three of them looked when they first met. He plans to mount it either over the fireplace or in the master bedroom.
Reclining back with his legs splaying out and arms resting behind them across the couch cushions, the hitter waves his hand in a smug 'what are you waiting for' gesture.
It's a race to open theirs first but happy tears spring to their eyes as they look inside.
Wood carvings stare back at them.
Beautiful mahogany whittled and grooved and polished to display a small wolf pack.
Three wolves encompass the majority of the center, two playfully teasing the third while he stands vigilant, tails wagging. What are presumably the alpha pair in the background watching fondly and a variety of animals mixed in with the surrounding foliage. The forest community if-you-will.
The pair look to eachother in wonder, turning to the man between them and reaffirm then and there:
They're never letting him go.
They don't think he'd mind.
#roseknightred#leverage#ao3#ot3#alec/eliot/parker#preslash#alec hardison#eliot spencer#parker#spoilers#missing scenes#cannon complient#archive of our own#sophie devereaux#nathan ford#angst#fluff#christmas#Leverage OT3#oops i did a thing#fanfic#fanfiction#swearing#cursing
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Hey, how much paper have you used so far in binding Choices. To the point you've reached. I want to see if I can afford it.
THIS WILL BE AN OVERALL GUIDE TO CHEAP BOOKBINDING
I don't know where you live, but in Canada...the paper is by far the cheapest part.
For the record,
Book one is around 620 pages
Book two is around 800
Book 3 is (so far) 680
BUT divide all those numbers in half and that's how many pieces of paper you'll be using. (Nobody better come at me for paper consumption. Walk into a chapters, you already hold no credibility)
I use a Canadian based eco recycled brand and I buy in bulk (it's like 10 bucks & free shipping for 4 things of that and each thing is 500 pages and will last you at least 3 or 4 rounds of choices itself)
In my experience, the expenses are Ink and Glue.
Ink. I am very lucky and have access to Costco through my dad's membership (I ask for his card, he rolls his eyes and gestures vaugely it's wonderful) I have very very good ink cartridges. One set of them will last me at least all 3 books. It's for an HP office Jet printer. I have this printer because I stole it from my parents when they retired.
Glue. You can use craft glue? Like you genuinely can, but it'll frustrate the living hell out of you. If you can afford PH neutral PVA glue go for it, if you can't any old glue will indeed work. BUT make a book press (further down)
Other Supplies and how to go about prices:
Davey Board. By far the most frustrating thing to find. I rarely turn to Amazon and I had to for this.
Invest. In. A. Circle. Needle. They are probably one dollar more than straight needles and in the grand scheme of things So So worth it.
Fuck bookcloth. It is a stupid capitalist myth that you need it. Go to Fabric Lands discount section and make sure it's not too stretchy. I bought enough cover material to last me a year for 30 bucks Canadian and they're pretty
String. 100% Nylon, Walmart maybe 3 dollars and it'll last you at least all 3 copies. DONT USE COTTON YOULL HATE YOURSELF FOR IT. It'll break and you'll have to start over 300 pages in.
Make a book press. There's a great tutorial on YouTube and all it takes are 4 big screw things, 4 wing nuts, and 2 cutting boards. If you are using Regular glue make sure you have something separating pages and stuff, and while the cover is drying put it in there. It'll warp less
Specialty things:
You don't need a bone folder, I have one but I only use it for folding pages which the book press does anyways. I still find them helpful just because I get really really bad brain fog, so the bone folder helps me make sure the pages are straight
Fuck using one of those saw things. Get 2 smol but extendable clamps for 3 dollars and draw your punch holes on, and if you want, use an exacto knife, I'm impatient, I don't. I wing it from there signature by signature.
Headbands. They're cheap but you can make them with a piece of twine and tissue paper. Even a cloth ribbon will do. It's really fucking tempting to skip this step. Do not. It's how I fucked up Manacled. There's no coming back from that.
Bookbinding can be expensive, but it's kinda like traveling in that way. You can find cheap tools & paper the same way you can find cheap food and accommodation.
But Printer Ink? Glue? Those shits are like the price of the airplane.
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A Response to a Commenter: Corperate Capitalism
I generally just try to put out good information on things we can do to help when and if we can (because corporations are not on Tumblr reading my blog), but apparently, this brought criticism of me and my shop, so I am going to address that criticism.
The article this is about is the only one out of 121 articles written so far that has somehow gone viral. You can read it HERE
The person who mentioned this had a few things to say about me, so let's start off with this:
"Corporations are personally responsible for the majority of all industrial waste including textiles. the og post is written in a way to make you feel socially guilty and obligated to do minuscule acts to "help" (just like all the cutesy water conservation tips that blind us to the fact that corporate farms and golf courses use more water in a week than a human uses in a year)."
I 100% agree that the main issues are a result of corperations and governments. I talk a lot about how we need systemic change and how the governments are to blame in my article on overpopulation.
"Living an eco-friendly lifestyle ourselves is a good starting point, but the governments and corporations make the majority of the trash and environmental harm. Do not harm minorities because you have an ignorant misunderstanding of how the world works. Do your part, and force the people who are causing this problem: rich folk, corporations, and governments, to do theirs."
I talk about this all the time, both here on my Tumblr, but also over on Medium. I am not trying to make anyone feel guilty about their life while giving corporations an out. I am calling out corporations, while also providing nifty tips that I have learned about myself to help in what little ways that we can. We need both systemic change and social change.
Hold companies and government accountable, but also live ourselves in a way that we want to see the world. This is how I personally live my own life.
op then punctuates the post with adverts for her shops: where she'll make money off of concepts that are supposed to help mitigate needless consumption. it doesn't take into account that interstate transport has a shitty "eco footprint" too and thus shipping via Etsy or Poshmark is adding in new pollutants.
Yes, at the end of most of my posts with links to my shops where I sell secondhand and salvaged materials. I do this so that if anyone is going to buy something anyways, they can buy it in a more sustainable way.
I only sell within my own country or the one country adjacent, and I only ship using longer shipping times (no 2-day shipping if I can avoid it), and I only use the US Postal Service as they are heading to your home to deliver your mail anyhow, so it is a greener option and easier for me to implement.
I also know that all things shipped has a carbon footprint, which is why I buy carbon credits, and donate 5% of my rather low income to intersectional climate activist group 350 dot org.
And as I often state: Don't buy from me if you don't need anything. I sell used clothing, destash fabrics, salvaged materials for crafts, and upcycled products that I make. If you are going to sew anyways, buying salvaged fabric and the like is far better than buying brand new fabrics that are often made using harmful chemicals and poor labor rights.
it's remarkably clever, the monetization of "wokeness", and OPs post is a fantastic example of it.
I am a trans woman, pansexual, disabled, neurodivergent, and live in poverty. I know very well what "wokeness" is, and I doubt what I am doing is anything close to that.
i'd be amazed if they didn't take any business or advertising classes because the setup of the OG post is nearly textbook... and I do mean textbook, as in "I personally have textbooks that describe using the methodologies OP is using in the OG post to make herself money".
I did not take any business or advertising classes at all. I suck at advertising. I have been writing blogs and the like for myself for over 15 years on a variety of different topics, and that is the only way I know how to promote my business. I write about something I am fascinated in and want to learn more about myself, or else share knowledge with people who don't know what I have learned via research, and then link my upcycle shop if anyone is interested in finding some things they may need without the impact of buying new.
And I love how they make it sound like I am striking it rich. On Etsy, over the last 3 months (after fees), I made about 235$, or about 80$ a month. On Mercari over the same 3 month period, I made 66 dollars, so 22$ a month. On eBay, 90 day total is 242$, or about 80$ a month. Poshmark has my most income, at 377$ since January 1st, or almost 4 months. That is, again, about 80$ a month. So for all of my "monetization of wokeness" I make about... 250 bucks a month. And that is about half to a little more than half of my monthly income. The rest I get through what few freelance writing clients that I get in a month.
I live off 400-500 USD a month in earnings. I get by with this, and I am happy to do what I love, such as dumpster diving, disassembling clothing, and selling or reselling what I make or find. It also allows me to work from home, as someone who is a trans woman, pansexual, disabled, neurodivergent, and in poverty.
I am not trying to trick anyone, I am simply trying to survive in a Capitalist hellscape. If selling salvaged handbags and scarves made from T-shirts is my sin, then burn me at the stake.
I will be writing a new article soon about more eco-friendly craft supplies.
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Guerrerita, Part 3
<- Part 2
Summary: The first time you met Nevada Ramirez was also in a dark alley.
1,577 words
“You owe me.”
“What?” you hissed, whipping around to face the threatening voice. You kept your face hard, showing no sign of weakness, even as you saw the three intimidating men who had followed you into the alley outside a shady, semi-legal MMA tournament.
“I had a lot of money riding on that fight,” said the shortest of the three, tsk-tsking. His shoes were shiny black leather—expensive, but tacky. He held a cigarette between his teeth when he wasn’t speaking and wore all black except for the gold cross flashing around his neck, pendant resting in a bed of dark chest hair. The two flanking him were bulky heavyweights, over six feet, at least two hundred-fifty pounds a piece, which meant you probably couldn’t take them. Not both at once. They dwarfed the center guy, but they were waiting on his signal to do anything. The small one was the brains. The boss. He was the one you had to keep your eyes on.
“So what? Not my problem.”
You shrugged your gym bag over you shoulder and turned to leave, but his goons stepped forward sharply, ready to grab you, and you thought better of it. As much as you’d rather not show them you were scared, this was the kind of dangerous you didn’t turn your back on.
“Oh, sweetheart. You think I’m playing? You come into my town, looking like a nervous mousy little rookie. Oh, pobrecita bebita, que tierna,” he mocked baby-talk at you, pouting his lips. “Get everyone betting against you, then the bell rings and you turn into a wild fucking animal. You run a hustle on my turf? Way I see it, that is your problem.”
Your left nostril began to twitch and the corner of your mouth curled into a snarl. “Then get some fucking glasses.” A small voice inside begged frantically, don’t do this now, calm down, but it was already drowned out by a dark, reckless pulsing in your ears. You didn’t like being threatened. Somewhere along the line your stubborn refusal to take any more shit from assholes turned into a fury you couldn’t control, that overrode your own self-preservation. Your bruised fists curled for another fight.
The boss just laughed, a harsh, barking, sarcastic show of power. His men stayed put, for now. “What a dirty mouth. Little warrior here, huh? I like that, I like that.” He prowled toward you, a crooked smirk without teeth bending his neatly trimmed stubble. If he wasn’t such a scumbag you would have called him handsome. Maybe that was what kept you at bay, apart from the knowledge that the second you launched yourself at him in a hail of fists, the two big guys would kill you—because his face was too pretty to bloody up. “Guerrerita, you don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
“You want money, go after the bookies. They’re the ones making bank,” you challenged, taking a few backwards steps to keep distance from him. “I don’t know what kind of hustle you think I’m running, but I bet my last fifty bucks on myself and I’ll still be lucky to make rent. I am not giving a cut to some wannabe gangsters.” You planted your feet at the spot where the alley curved and some old shipping crates created a pinch-point where your smaller size might afford some advantage, and refused to back off another inch.
He stopped, keeping several feet of distance, too. Taking one last drag, he threw his cigarette butt down and crushed it out.
“I’m the King of the Heights, sweetheart,” he explained, as if that should mean anything to you. “Nevada Ramirez.” He extended a hand to shake, and you dropped into a defensive stance. You didn’t like the way he looked you up and down, scrutinizing you with a gaze that made goosebumps rise along your arms. Your muscles twitched in anger and terror, and you tried to balance the two emotions so you could maybe get home in one piece.
“Alright, Mr. Ramirez. Why don’t you and your boys back the fuck off and let me go home. Because you try to follow me, rough me up? I promise it won’t be worth your time. You watched me fight. Before your boys back there can take me down, I’ll have your balls shoved down your goddamn throat. And yeah, you can have your boys shoot me dead.” You noticed the muscle had reached for concealed weapons the moment their boss got within range of your fists. “But what a waste. I’ve never done anything to you. I’m not a threat to your… kingdom? Not unless you attack me first. So why don’t we both just go about our merry ways in peace?”
He laughed again. Dry. Harsh. Your defiance entertained him, but he was growing impatient.
“What makes you think you can tell me how to run this town?” The hard edge to his voice raised the hairs on the back of your neck. As much as you liked to think you’d hit rock bottom and didn’t give a damn anymore, you’d never been murdered. As many impulsive fights as you’d gotten yourself into, you had never been so sure that losing would result in your body in a bag. He smiled when you had no more snappy comebacks, relishing the growing fear in your eyes. His posture opened up, suddenly all friendly. “You’ve got me all wrong. No one’s gonna kill you, guerrerita.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to know what’s a high-class broad like you doing here?” He raised his eyebrows. His knowing grin sent a jolt down your spine, and he looked satisfied by your reaction, which confirmed his assumption.
Nevada could read people, and he could smell suburbs on you. Nice house. Good family. Educated. White picket fence and a dog. Apparently he couldn’t smell the trauma or the failed stint in the Marines thanks to your occasional but fun penchant for sucker punching assholes without thought to rank.
“What’s it to you?” Your teeth ground together. Like hell you’d ever tell him that story.
“You owe me for that stunt in there. And I know how you can pay me back.”
Now it was your turn to laugh. “Good luck if you think my family will pay you ransom. You think I’d be here if—”
“Work for me.”
Your mind went blank. For several seconds you stared, wondering if you’d heard him right. Finally you blurted incredulously, “What?”
“Come work for me, and we call your debt even.” He looked you up and down again with a smirk. “Bet you clean up into some nice arm candy, classy girl like you.”
You took another step back despite yourself, stomach turning. “No fucking way. I don’t need a pimp, and if you even think of touching me I swear to fucking god...” Your voice turned into a threatening snarl as disgust turned to rage. Your muscles twitched, ready to do as much damage to his handsome, jeering face as possible before being killed. You would rather die than go through that again.
“Whoah, easy,” Nevada laughed, putting his hands up in surrender, but with enough dripping mockery to make it a power move. “Nothing like that. Security.”
“Security?”
“You get knocked in the head too many times?” he raised his eyebrows over his shoulder back at his guys, and they laughed along like trained seals. “Think about where you are. You just won a contest for beating the shit outta people. Security.”
“You want me to be a bodyguard?”
“Now she gets it,” he smiled, and it was pure delight. “Enforcers that look the part are a dime a dozen—face full of scars, covered in macho tats. They send a certain message, don’t they? Usually the intimidating shit is what you want. But some situations call for a bit more… nuance than these pendejos.” He jerked his thumb toward the giant brawlers still lurking behind him. One of them sulked. “You could be subtle. When business requires I don’t advertise I brought muscle. Imagine it,” his tongue darted over his lower lip. “Put you in a dress two sizes too small, and nobody sees you coming until your fist is through their skull. I bet folks underestimate you all the time.”
You almost laughed that the idea of protecting him when he must have known you’d just as soon put a fist through his skull. Working with criminals didn’t sit well with you. Though your life had been one downhill spiral since all the shit that kicked you off your shining life trajectory, you had never done anything illegal. If you didn’t count misdemeanor battery. Which you didn’t. You only punched assholes who deserved it. And you were fairly sure this Nevada Ramirez character deserved it. You didn’t trust him, and you did not take well to being shaken down.
But then he said people underestimated you. His eyes were the color of the sky before thunder: bright, ominous, and flashing dangerously. And when he said it, his bright eyes locked straight onto yours, like he knew. For the first time in your life, it felt like someone was seeing you, the deepest parts of you, and actually liked what he saw.
You didn’t have much of a choice, anyway. It was either accept the job, or have some drug kingpin sic his enforcers on you for your last dollar.
“What do you need me to do?”
• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •
Tags: @beccabarba @caked-crusader @itsjustmyfantasyroom @thatesqcrush @dianilaws @permanentlydizzy @eclecticreader2020 @mrsrafaelbarba @da-po
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what nendoroids to buy next hm hm hm i obviously have to reorder giorno first and foremost bc he got LOST IN THE FUCKING MAIL but i still hold out hope maybe the first one will show up anyways and we will have duplicates we already have 2 kakyoins for some reason they just shipped us an extra so idk. i want hinata but shes like 200 bucks everywhere i looked and i dont love any anime character even my dearest most beloved waifu 200 dollars *hides my 200 dollar itachi figurine with the light up moon* no but like she doesnt even have any exciting props just her twin lion fists which is cute but come on. literally if se just came with like a a little cup or knife or something idk i would be more willing to consider dropping 200 big ones on her but she doesnt so. speaking of can you imagine how perfect a sai nendoroid would be like hes literally perfect nendoroid material he only really makes 3 iconic expressions and he has so many fucking props like can u imagine him with a little scroll and pen or even his book omg omg omg *passes out* *then wakes back up* or should i start collecting the nendoroid akatsuki bc even though i dont care abt sasori his nendoroid comes iwth fully articualted back blades how fucking bdass is that plus then i could make my jojo nendoroids fight the akatsuki wouldnt that be funny but luckily i dont really need any naruto nendoroids that urgently ig i should just contine chronologically on my quest to collec tall the jojo nendoroids mayb i should get part 1 dio bc he comes with the stone mask. he does come w the stone mask right thats not a preorder only part bc if it is and i have no chance of having a cute adorable little mask to put on my nendies to turn them into cute adorable little nendoroid zombies ill idk do something drastic. or should i just save up to get them cars.
#personal#i wonder if ill regret spending all my money on nendoroids at some point........no.#lexi rambles#lexis nendy diary
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Twitch/Cav for the ultimate ship meme pleass? Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day!
of course!!! and thanks anon, i hope you have an awesome day!!
General:
Rate the Ship - Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs
How long will they last? - FOREVER BITCH
How quickly did/will they fall in love? - it was love at first sight babe
How was their first kiss? - vv romantic, a building was collapsing behind them and cav, thriving on that post-mission adrenaline rush, dips twitch and they have a very sweet lil smooch
Wedding:
Who proposed? - twitch! she presented taina with the most beautiful ring she’d ever laid eyes on. during his best man’s speech, rook tells the story of how he and emmanuelle convinced seamus to forge the ring
Who is the best man/men? - for twitch: rook, for cav: buck
Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - for twitch: finka, for cav: valk
Who did the most planning? - twitch! cav helped whenever she could, though
Who stressed the most? - neither! they were both confident this was the right choice for them
How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.
Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - twitch’s sister’s wife, as cav was not invited to their wedding. it’s an ongoing bit between the sisters that they believe their s/o’s will try to get them to have a civil conversation, no competition, no prize. unthinkable. what would they even talk about?!
Sex:
Who is on top? - cav! y’all already knew that tho
Who is the one to instigate things? - twitch is a horny lady and you cannot convince me otherwise
How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now
How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head
How long do they normally last? - AGAIN WITH THIS ONE!!!!!!! LONG ENOUGH!!!!!!!!
Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - yes, unless they’re doing play that specifically requires a difference between # of orgasms
How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.
How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.
Children:
How many children will they have naturally? - none!!!!! they are cool aunts!!!!!!
How many children will they adopt? - NONE!!!!!!! SEE ABOVE!!!!!!!!!
Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - yucky
Who is the stricter parent? - twitch. regulations and structure got her where she is now!
Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - twitch, but cav encourages the child responsibly
Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - twitch. she’s literally so organized what the fuck
Who is the more loved parent? - NEITHER WHAT THE FUCK
Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - twitch, since cav has been banned for flashing a shank at judy when she commented on “that poor child, no father to learn something actually worthwhile from” but it’s not like twitch is any better, using her shock drones on a civilian after taina told her about judy’s sins
Who cried the most at graduation? - cav! she realized she had become the person she needed most in her life when she was the kid’s age, and she was so overcome with joy she burst into tears
Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - cav. she hates cops
Cooking:
Who does the most cooking? - cav! twitch’s french ass does NOT get to cook snails in cav’s brazilian kitchen, no ma’am!
Who is the most picky in their food choice? - twitch. she fucking whines if taina makes her eat vegetables
Who does the grocery shopping? - cav. twitch got lost and store security had to make an announcement over the intercom for taina to come get her wife
How often do they bake desserts? - whenever taina can find the time, she makes twitch double fudge brownies
Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - twitch prefers salad, and cav goes downright feral whenever she eats meat
Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - cav. twitch is not allowed within 10 meters of kitchen appliances
Who is more likely to suggest going out? - twitch. she’s a legend among the staff at their local buffalo wild wings for how fast she devoured a bucket of wings after a particularly tough mission
Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - TWITCH!!!
Chores:
Who cleans the room? - twitch! she’s very organized
Who is really against chores? - cav lives for chaos, so .
Who cleans up after the pets? - cav, but only because they’re her snakes and goats
Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - cav
Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - twitch!!! perfectionist check!!!!!
Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - cav, and she used it to bet tachanka she could drink more than him before passing out
Misc:
Who takes the longer showers/baths? - twitch. perfect skin-having bitch. i love you
Who takes the dog out for a walk? - uhhhh do people take snakes out for walks?? idk but cav takes the snakes and goats out for a walk every other day
How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - taina refuses to admit it, but she watches the world cup religiously if brazil is doing well. i’m talking flag face paint, flags everywhere, brazilian snacks, the whole she-bang. if france ever beats brazil, taina will be extra rough during their......... late-night activities
What are their goals for the relationship? - happiness, comfort, contentment
Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - cav. the night life blood is still in her veins. at any moment, she is ready to attend a rave. her combat face paint? it glows neon under blacklights
Who plays the most pranks? - cav!!! she’s too sneaky for twitch’s heart. one of these days she’s going to give emmanuelle a heart attack, i swear
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Tacoma is on sale for just a few bucks up on steam (like 3 dollars? 4?) and if you like space, story driven games, unraveling narratives, AI, and gays, and also hate corporations and capitalism, please give it a whirl
The basic premise is this: the year is 2088, and you are a space contractor named Amitjyoti «Amy» Ferrar, sent by the Venturis corporation to the Tacoma research station to retrieve the AI still aboard the deserted ship. You are supposed to get in, collect the AI data, and get out, no snooping. Instead, using the station’s augmented reality system, you are able to piece together what happened on the station prior to your landing, who worked here, what they meant to each other, and why none of the crew members are to be found
It’s such a neat game, the story is very good and the mechanics are as well. It’s a small story-driven exploration game from Fullbright, the same people who made the iconic lesbian game Gone Home, and personally I think it’s just as good as its predecessor. It’s stand alone, it’s beautifully animated, it’s got such a cool narrative tone, and such a fun way of exploring that narrative, and it’s also super diverse. Fuck me up. Half the crew you’re investigating are confirmed lgbt. There’s also body diversity. In a video game. I didn’t know video games were allowed to do that.
Anyway please get Tacoma it’s so good
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2. What scene did you first put down? and 5. What part was the hardest to write? + In Which Daisy Causes More Chaos and Hunter Owes A Lot of Money :D <3
If that’s a subtle hint that I need to write the second installment, it’s on my radar ;)
*cough* ALSO THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS ASK BECAUSE I RESISTED THE URGE TO SCREAM ON TUMBLR ABOUT HOW I PREDICTED TWO PARTS OF SEASON 7 WITH THIS FIC AND NOW I GET TO SCREAM ABOUT IT HERE.
First, we have Miss Alya!! About half of the agents in the base bet on the FitzSimmons baby, including Piper and May (and Daisy and Yo-Yo if memory serves). So. I saw the future.
Also, the entire premise of this fic was ‘SHIELD agents being chaotic and betting on ships’ and I have to point out the ‘Yo-Yo owes me twenty bucks’ line completely makes this canon.
Or. Kinda canon. I don’t know. I was v excited though. *cough*
ANYWAY...
The first scene that I put down was the beginning one! I had a pretty clear vision of where I wanted this to go, and I knew what I wanted to happen. And I definitely wanted it to be Skye/Daisy’s fault. Hence the first line: “It is Skye’s fault, really, when it starts. She will never tell it that way, but it is.”
The first scene I had in my head... that one’s different.
“The bet is versus Hunter, on the subject of you and him getting together. The total’s six hundred eighty-seven dollars and twenty-three cents, fifty-two bottles of eighteen-year-old Macallan, fourteen boxes of various cereals, and one unicorn,” Skye reads.
Bobbi spits out her drink. “You guys bet that much on me and Hunter in less than twenty-four hours of learning of my existence?”
Mack grins. “Barbara, you know better than that.”
Bobbi laughs. “The hellbeast again, huh?”
Skye feels bad for Hunter at that point, because how could you not like Bobbi even if she is your ex, and besides, she doesn’t know where he’s going to find a unicorn, so Skye decides to try to petition the agents to let Hunter off the hook - but only if he’ll go on record saying he still loves his ex-wife.
Skye being matchmaker, a ridiculous bet to pay off for Hunter, Bobbi being iconic, Mack also being iconic... that’s the first scene I had in my head!!
(I’ve had many queries about the cereal. It was like five in the morning when I wrote this. I was hungry. Besides, how much money do you think they spend on food at the Playground?? With everything else they have to pay for?? I’m betting Lucky Charms isn’t on the grocery list).
The hardest scene to write... the ending. I wasn’t sure how to end it. I wasn’t sure where to end it. I like the way I did though - at the end of season 5 so 6 and 7 could be updated in the next chapter.
Thank you for the ask, you know how much I love this fic @aleksandrachaev <3
(send me asks about my fics!!)
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