#of whatever effects meaning that given enough trees technically you could use her for living log farming

[arolesbianism]

Some very lazy concept doodles for my swap au Wendy

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Rapunzel and the Great Tree Part 2

Continuing on with the midseason finale of season two.

Part 1 is here  https://rachelbethhines.tumblr.com/post/628826170657570816/tangled-salt-marathon-rapunzel-and-the-great

Summary: After Adira saves Rapunzel and the group from the hurt incarnation, Cassandra makes her suspicions of Adira known which causes a falling out between her and Rapunzel. Meanwhile Hector uses the dormant power of the tree to try and attack everyone. 

Cassandra’s Motivation Doesn’t Aline With Her Later Actions 

If you’re going to have a character do a complete 180 from her original goal, than you need a better reason than just mommy issues; or validation issues, or career problems, or just simply having a falling out, or jealousy, or a ghost girl whispering in your ear, or whatever the fuck they’re trying to do with Cassandra.  

Going from ‘protect’ to ‘murder’ is a huge moral alignment shift that needed clear and reasonable justification. Cassandra is never given that. Instead they just throw everything at the wall that they can think of in the hope that something sticks. 

Only it never does because her original story was re-written at the last minute.   

Well That Was Pointless

Max and Pascal wind up saving Eugene and Lance from the man eating plant. Which adds nothing to the story. It happens and is then never brought up again. It’s just an excuse to write Eugene out of the Cass and Raps conflict and not an extension of either his or Lance’s own narratives. 

That’s a problem, because Eugene should be a main character and Lance an important supporting side character. Instead Eugene is regulated to side character status while Lance is unimportant comic relief. Not only does this ignore that fact that Eugene was the protagonist of the movie same as Rapunzel, but it also ignores the basic writing rule of ‘don’t add in characters who don’t serve a purpose in the story’. 

Adira Just Saved All of Your Asses, Cass

Boy does Adira put up with a lot of bullshit in this show, and 90% of it comes from Cass being a little bitch. 

She has no biases for this argument. Adira hasn’t done anything to warrant this accusation. In fact she’s proven herself time and time again only for Cass to lash out like a spoilt teenager with an inferiority complex. 

And Cassandra is 23!!!    

The young adults on this show are constantly written like pre-teens while the only actual teenager is constantly forced to be the most mature person in the show. 

It’s mind boggling. 

Rapunzel is In the Right Here, But the Show Wants Us to Sympathize with Cass Instead?

Oh No! Raps raised her voice at Cassandra and made her feel bad, you guys. Feel sorry for the poor paranoid baby who who’s acting like a jealous brat for no reason. 

Bull Shit. 

Cassandra not only has nothing to back up her accusation but the narrative never goes on to prove her right either. Adria is on the up and up, and always had been according to Destinies Collide. For all the show’s efforts to make Cass seem reasonable by having Adira mysteriously pop in and out, it all falls flat once you know where everything is heading. 

Plus, even if she were magically right about Adira that wouldn’t excuse her bossing Rapunzel around and insulting her intelligence. Had she done that to me I’d be telling her something a lot harsher than just to knock it off. 

Oh, But I Thought You Said Flashbacks to Corona Would Be Too Confusing?

So one of the writers, Ricky, has gone on record stating that they did originally have plans to show flashbacks to Corona to show what was going on with Rapunzel’s parents, Varian, and the Saporians. He then said they dropped them because they feared that it would be too confusing for the audience. 

Yet we get this pointless scene thrown into the middle of the mid-season finale. 

And by the looks of it it’s before even Beginnings, or maybe after Beginnings, who knows; so it’s not just a change of scene, it’s also a change in time as well. A point in the timeline that’s not been firmly established enough. So it not only has less reasons to exist then a Varian flashback would, but it’s also potentially more confusing than what a simple single episode set in Corona would have been. 

I don’t know who to blame for this poor decision making, if it’s just Chris, Chris and Ben, or a shared blame with all of the writers, but while the buck does stop with Chris, much of what Ricky has said online doesn’t reflect very well on his writing skills. Cause that’s a huge and utter bullshit excuse. 

So What Does This Add, Exactly?

Cass gives Rapunzel this purse as a gift. A purse that’s not been shown to be all that important before and isn’t made significant again. Then Raps launches into this speech about how good a friend Cass is and how lost she’d be without her. 

I understand what the thought process for this was; it’s to show how far Raps and Cass have grown apart recently and what Cassandra herself liked about being friends with Rapunzel to being with, which was the validation boost of being useful and needed; but there’s a lot of problems with including it here. 

For starters, lack of validation isn’t enough to suddenly switch into ‘kill mode’ which is where all of this is eventually leading.  

Validation shouldn’t be the foundation of any long term relationship and so rather than proving how good of a friend they are to each other, you’ve only given futher reason for why they’re toxic together. 

You needed to be building them up all throughout season one before launching into this break up plot. This scene is too little too late because we’ve spent too many episodes tearing Raps and Cass down for this plot to have the effect that they wanted it to. 

Cassandra is just doing her job. She’s suppose to show Rapunzel around and help her with shit, that’s what a lady in waiting does. Cassandra’s friendship with Rapunzel shouldn’t be so tied to her career trajectory to begin with. Not only is it unhealthy but it then is used to victim-blame Rapunzel for all of Cassandra’s problems. Even though the only thing actually holding Cass back is herself, as proven in season three. 

Timeline Confirmed

So it is indeed six months since Secret of the Sun Drop, give or take a few days to organize stuff before the trip. Meaning we’re now a year out from Before Happily Ever After. I point this out now, in order to prove something later on. 

This Logically Should Have Been the End of the Argument, But the Writers are Dragging Things Out Needlessly 

You know what I hate more than a ‘lack of communication causes drama' trope? Characters taking the time to communicate and still missing the bloody point and not resolving anything. 

Technically, Rapunzel is still in the right. She is an autonomous person capable of making decisions for herself, and Cass does need to get over herself and treat Rapunzel as such and stop getting butt hurt over not being the one in charge. 

But then we have to ruin that message by throwing in this line. 

Like, yes you’re technically in charge here Raps, but making decisions shouldn’t mean walking all over someone's feelings either. Being a leader is just as much about listening as it is about taking charge and neither of these characters understand that yet. 

And they never will, cause the writing for them is shit. 

When I first saw season two I honestly believe that this would tie into Rapunzel’s previous conflicts regarding responsibility and hypocrisy. I thought they had an arc here about learning to balance assertiveness and personal boundaries, with genuine compassion and respect for others. Had they went through with that then this could have been something truly special, but they go and throw it all away come season three. Now its just heartbreak and frustrating to watch. 

Also Stupid ‘Sisters’ Plot Foreshadowing 

More on this later, but just know if you hate the idea of calling Raps and Cass sisters then blame Chris. 

This Song Underlines The Core Problem With Cassandra's Arc

There’s no stakes.

I’ve already discussed at length now about how Cassandra’s goals and motivations are inconsistent, and how her actions don’t line up. But the reason the writers are struggling so hard to find something that fits her, is because the story has grown past her. 

We’ve already seen characters who struggle with poverty, homelessness, neglect/abuse, and oppression. There are now tons of people in the story who are fighting just for survival, and they’re all regulated to either supporting roles, one off appearances, or are background characters. 

So with that in mind what is there to justify Cassandra getting focus over them? What is she struggling with here that deserves more screen time and attention than, Eugene, Varian, Lady Caine, or even Adira? 

Cassandra isn’t poor. She lives well off in the castle and has high ranking connections. She’s not even struggling with a job she hates anymore because we’ve already seen her promoted to the one she wanted by this point.  

Cassandra isn’t homeless, she once again lives in the castle and if she chooses to leave she has plenty of opportunities waiting for her, as evidenced by Goodbye and Goodwill and Beginnings. Plus she’s shown to be capable of supporting herself both in this season and the next.  

Cassandra isn’t oppressed. She can leave anytime she wants to. She can defy the king's orders in SotSD because she’s the princesses’s bestie. She doesn’t face jail or hanging just because she and Raps has a fight now and then. 

The only thing going for her is possibly neglect/abuse, but that’s not been introduced into the story yet and isn’t what she’s discussing here. It also contradicts what was previously established between her and Cap in season one when it does come into play. 

Validation Alone is Not Enough to Connect With Most of the Audience 

Even the stanchest of Cassandra supporter often has to heavily project onto her in order to connect with her. Which isn’t a bad thing in of itself. Everyone projects to some degree or other when exploring media, that’s part of being human. But the problem is that because she’s so thinly written you’re left with little else but projection. And so you’ll hear excuses like, well she’s fighting the class system, she’s an abuse survivor, or she deserves to lash out over not getting what she wants when she’s worked so hard for it. But none of those excuses are actually presented on screen. 

Cassandra doesn’t fight against the class system. If she did she would be fighting for everyone. She’d be singing about everyone’s problems not just her own. 

Cassandra’s past abuse is just slapped on at the last minute and then disregarded when convenient. It doesn’t actually factor into the decisions she makes later on.  

Also, you don’t deserve anything just because you ‘work hard’ nor because you just really, really want it. 

It’s that point that I really take issue with. 

On the surface Cassandra should be the most relatable person in the show. I mean what young adult or teen living in this post apocalyptic nightmare of a capitalist dystopia not ever felt disappointed over not getting the job they wanted or not being given enough positive validation while crushed underneath mounting unrealistic expectations. It’s the main reason why so many of her supporters are teenagers and LGBT+. 

But all of those worries stem from something deeper than just a lack of positive reinforcement. 

You know why I had to give up on my career as an animator?

It didn’t pay benefits. 

I had medical issues and needed health insurance, but since most animation is commissioned and/or contract based, particularly if you live/work on the east coast, then you’re not going to get that most of the time. And this is after spending the majority of my time in college homeless, living out of my car, crashing on friends and families couches. I did this for three fucking years because I didn’t want to wind up in a textile mill or a carpet factory like everyone I else knew growing up, and I was told my whole life that if I went to school and worked hard enough I could have a well paying job that I enjoyed and got me away from my abusive home life. 

People like me, we’re bitter over not getting the jobs we wanted or the support we needed, not because we believe we’re special and therefore deserve it or some such bullshit, but because our very lives are dependent upon it! We’re victims of a class system that lets you starve if you don't find work. Where you’ll be trapped in abusive situations cause you can’t afford a home on your own. Where simply being yourself can be dangerous as there are people who vocally want to deny us rights and even kill us. 

Cass is an entitled whiny brat in canon because she doesn’t have any of those underlying issues. She doesn’t face real discrimination, oppression, poverty, or the looming threat of death hanging over her. She’s just throwing a temper tantrum. 

Once Again Adira is Saving Your Butt Cass

Adira is quickly becoming one of my favorite characters in the marathon. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate her more when I first watched the show. 

Also, I’m Sorry I Didn’t Recognize the Awesomeness That Is Hector Until Now Either.

Like this is a good conflict. They both have legitimate reasons for what they do. They’re both in the right here. That’s what makes them interesting. 

They’re both fighting for something. They’re home and the belief that they can fix things, vs the fate of the world and their loyalty to both the cause and their family. All on top of having their own relationship issues. 

Hector so should have been the main villain of season two, because he just has the most reason to be opposed to the mains’ goal. 

That’s more than whatever Cass and Raps are fighting about. The only thing at stake there is their friendship, which isn’t that big of deal when you compare it to the lives and safety of billions of people. 

Plus Hector’s just flat out entertaining. 

Why is Everybody Just Standing Around Doing Nothing Here?

Fucking do something you lugnuts!!!

You’re all capable fighters. You’ve all taken down much harder enemies than one lone guy and two bearcats. Why aren’t you helping Cass fight back? Or heck, if you wanted Cass to face Hector alone then have her be a distraction so that the others can escape. Anything but having them just stand there and be useless!

Yet Again I Have to Ask Why Should Cass Care? 

Or rather why should the audience care? 

Cass isn’t a lady in waiting just because some random jerk who's already taunting her and trying to kick her ass calls her such. Hector’s not from Corona and has no knowledge of Cassandra’s life beyond what he may have heard repeated by Adiria (who is also not from Corona) or what Cass herself said in her very metaphorical song.  Nor does either them have a say in how Cass’s career goes. 

If you want to push the narrative that Cass is still a lady-in-waiting and a maid, despite having earned Cap’s approval and being appointed by the king to guard Rapunzel, then you damn well need to establish that among the mains. 

Or you know, stop trying to go back on what you’ve set up in season one. 

So How Is This Suppose To Work?

So from the backstory that we get on both the Tree and Zhan Tiri herself, this shouldn’t happen. Like Zhan Tiri is currently trapped in another dimension and according to season three she has no possession powers herself. 

Now the tree itself is said to be sentient and that Zhan Tiri took control of it, but how? How is a tree sentient? Why is it sentient? How did Zhan Tiri bend it to her will? Why is it still under her control while she’s been trapped in another dimension for hundreds of years? Why and how does the spear keep it dormant? Why does the tree itself have possession powers when Zhan Tiri has none? Is there any connection between this Great Tree and the cursed tree that was suppose to free Zhan Tiri back in Painter’s Block? If so then why are these things never brought back into play during season three? 

Give me answers damn it! 

Now This is a Good Conflit, Shame It’s Never Resolved 

Both have valid reasons to do what they do. Both are neither right nor wrong. Both however wind up getting in the way of each other because neither will listen or trust the other. 

Rapunzel thinks that this will stop Hector, and she is right it does, but more importantly she chooses this route because it gives everyone else a chance to run away. The problem is that she can’t control it, but from her point of view that’ll only put her and Hector at risk if everyone else will just do as she says and leaves. 

Cassandra thinks the spear will stop it because it’s done so before, and that’s a logical assumption. It also means that Rapunzel herself won’t be in any danger, though the others might. Cass can’t free everyone at once like Rapunzel can. It’ll also be a threat to herself, and there’s the risk that tree will stop her before she can deal the final blow.  

So what’s happening on a personal level is that Rapunzel thinks taking charge means that everyone needs to follow her say without question. Cassandra thinks Rapunzel should listen to her more, not because Rapunzel needs to listen better in general, but because she doesn’t feel Rapunzel is mature enough to make big decisions and that she herself should be in charge of the group. Both girls feel superior to the other and above other people as well, because they’re convinced they’re always right. 

Had this been the actual conflict that they went with in season three, had they actually had both characters held accountable for their actions and learn something, and hadn’t dragged innocent people into their bullshit with so much as a ‘by your leave’ or ‘I’m sorry’; then this might have been a decent story. Perhaps not as impactful as Varian’s, but still meaningful, thoughtful, and well, coherent. 

But that’s not what they did, and we’ll see no real resolution to this disagreement. 

So Why Is No One Affected By the Hurt Incantation This Time?

Eugene here was injured by the tree earlier, that’s why he’s past out, but everyone else remains unharmed by Rapunzel’s singing. Even though just last episode everyone around her were dying from it, and again in the season finale everyone dies from said incantation. But here and in Rapunzel’s Return, Rapunzel can use the incantation without harming anyone nearby so, how does that work? 

Some people have suggested that when Rapunzel focuses her hair on a target like the tree here or the amber later, that it doesn’t spread to other people, but that’s never stated on screen so it’s still a flaw. 

 Well This Goes Nowhere 

I think the writers just like throwing in shocking ‘twists’ and moments like this just for the sake of looking edgy and ‘deep’ but then they never actually follow through on the impact of such moments on the characters nor consider the more troubling implications of including them. 

I grew up on Gargoyles, Batman the Animated Series, the 90s X-Men Cartoon, and The Pirates of Dark Water. I’ve seen far more shocking and edgy stuff than this when I was six years old. In many ways the american animated tv landscape has regressed since the early 2000s when it comes to more mature cartoons, and no that’s not a complaint about modern cartoons being bad; some are good some are bad, just like its always been; but that culturally we’ve shied away more from darker moments like this and we’ve having to push for them all over again in media.   

But the difference between Tangled and those 90s cartoons I’ve mentioned is that Tangled’s darker moments are misplaced. It clashes horribly with the more comedic route that the series usually takes and as such they don’t get the focus that they need too. 

After season two is done, Cass’s hand will never be mentioned again. It does not tie into her later motivations at all nor influences her actions. Throughout the series she’ll be able to use it easily without consequence. We don't even get any on screen confirmation if it’s healed by grabbing the moonstone, by the sundrop incarnation in the finale, or if she just forever has a burnt arm. That’s how little importance it is to the story. 

This Also Goes Nowhere

Hector calls out this warning but it’s then never followed up on. Adira is proven not to be a liar at all and nobody in the group is actually doomed. Yes the wider world is put in jeopardy, but that’s Cass’s fault not Adira���s. 

The writers were too focused on making Adira the red herring for Cassandra that they forgot to make her an actual person, with wants, feelings, desires, goals, and a life beyond her mission. She’s never shown helping her family and barely interacts with them, she’s never given a reason for why she keeps disappearing, and the idea that she’s doing this to save her home is just supposition on my part because otherwise she has no reason. The series never gives us one. 

And ‘Destiny’ Is Not A Fucking Reason!!!

Oh, So Adira Will Help Hector But Not Quirin or Varian?

If Hector and Adira consider each other siblings because they’re both in the Brotherhood, than logically Adira would consider Quirin her brother as well, and Varian would be her nephew. 

She was around long enough to see the final battle in SotSD. That’s why she appears at the end of that episode, how she knows Rapunzel is the sundrop and has ‘seen her power’, and how she knows that the group has met both Quirin and Varian before now. 

She knows that Quirin is trapped in amber. She knows her nephew has been arrested by a kingdom with a poor track record of punishing orphaned teens and poor people with overly harsh sentences. So why didn't she do anything there? 

We find out during season three that the black rocks can cut through the amber, and its established that Adira’s sword can cut through the rocks, so clearly she didn’t even try to save Quirin has just given him up for dead. But there’s no reason why she couldn’t have broken Varian out of the prison and taken her with him. 

In fact Adira hiding Varian from the rest of the group during season two would have been an actual reason for her disappearance and an actual reason not to trust her. That would have upped the stakes and given Cass reasons for what she does. Plus more time for Varian’s redemption, more chances to call out Rapunzel and Fredric on their BS, and ties seasons one and two together better. 

Seriously leaving Varian out of season two was the dumbest decision in television. Putting Varian back in actually fixes everything in the show. 

The Real Reason for the Burnt Hand is a Costume Change for Cass

I don’t know if she even got merchandise for this costume.   

Conclusion 

Much like season one’s arc episodes, The Great Tree held a lot of promise that was then completely wasted by season three. It’s also one of the very few episodes in the season to have actual stakes and conflict so it easily jumps to the top of the pile. But what it sets up is then never resolved or expounded upon, making it a waste. 

Next up we’ll have the mid season recap. 

[fae-redux]

rules of the game: ch. 5 - my kind’s your kind

Story Summary: 

The Evergreen and Imagi were never quite in peacetime. Roman’s just trying to figure out how to survive and succeed his mother. Logan wants to live long enough to use his magic however he wants. Patton is coasting while repressing everything, still trying to figure out what feelings are. 

Virgil doesn’t want to change the world. 

Luckily, it isn’t up to him.

first | ao3 | prev

Chapter Summary: Dee and Virgil are both of the Evergreen. They don’t already know this.

Word count: 2658

Pairings: future lamp, platonic anxceit

~|~

When he finds Dee sitting innocently at his dining table with nothing but a cup of tea and a saucer in front of him, Virgil knows he knows. 

“Did you know,” Dee starts, not looking up from his tea (Virgil can feel his barely contained glee from where he stands), “that Queen Valerie received quite the surprise this morning?”

He’s smirking like Virgil should already know. “No,” he attempts to shrug casually because it’s not technically a lie, “What surprise?”

“The queen certainly did not acquire a child,” His eyes light up, “And she really didn't get the twin fae child of the one you just cursed, no, she did not.” He laughs and practically spins out of his seat to get a good look at Virgil, effectively cutting off his path to his room. “Why didn’t you invite me on your hunt? We wouldn’t have had any fun together! There’s always something as good as some classic bonding, cursing unsuspecting humans, stealing children, you know!”

Virgil exhales a long breath through his nose, trying to move around the fae. “You are way too excited about this.”

“Well, it’s only what I haven’t wanted for years,” Dee tilts his head forward facetiously, an arm blocking his exit again, “Horrible of you to give me an early birthday present.”

Virgil gives up trying to get to his room and takes the seat Dee vacated, but then his brain catches up with what Dee just said. “Wait, I didn’t curse the kid, I cursed the queen.”

“According to the Seelie that just came from the outskirts, you definitely did not get the kid, and your magic is super stable,” Dee shrugs, moving his cup to the sink, practically fluttering his hands in joy. “The kid’s a bad mark, and if he grows up anything like his mother, you’ll be sorry you did it.”

Virgil looks at Dee, who is still grinning, genuinely ecstatic for the first time since Virgil’s met him, and thinks, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. If the queen does raise the child herself, he doesn’t have that much hope for the kid, and with King Cromwell under her thumb, it’s unlikely the kid will know what life outside the citadel looks like.

“I can see it now,” He says. The deal is composed of a thick cord that holds strong. Even tugging on it now, he feels the prince, crying alone in a nursery, and can’t believe he didn’t feel it before, “I should probably break it.” 

“Sure, if you don’t want the death of a child on your hands. Magic doesn’t come with backlash.” Dee raises an eyebrow, and he hastily takes his hand back from the rope. “Besides there have been plenty of instinctive magic curses in fae history. It’s not like we don’t have the theory to even begin going about breaking it without killing you or the kid.”

He shakes his head and resolves to ignore the thing.

Dee is happy. It’s a shame, Virgil thinks. If what Virgil can recall about what he said is right, the young prince has twenty years to live, and nothing he does will affect the curse or change its course. It’s all up to Adelaide. 

He doesn’t dwell on the seed of guilt that starts to grow in his stomach. 

He doesn’t.

~|~

As much as he likes to focus on his misfortune, Virgil knows that when he can’t fix all his problems, it’s best to start with the ones he can handle. 

The thing is, Dee’s right. His magic is unstable in that he doesn’t know what he already did with it or how to use it, and if he can’t learn to put some sort of a leash on it, he’ll be reliant on Dee forever, which isn’t ideal. 

On the bright side, Dee seems delighted by the turn of events that is Virgil asking for magic lessons. They’ve started to learn to live with each other in the past couple weeks, Dee accommodating Virgil and teaching him how to do things around the estate, and Virgil carefully staying out of the way of Dee’s clients. This really is an extension of their preexisting lessons.

Dee starts them off by trying to figure out what sort of fae Virgil is. It would be going better if the only things he could talk about weren’t the way the plants lead him to Dee’s hide-away home in the Evergreen and the whole “curse” incident. 

“How did you get away from a full ballroom of knights and iron? The queen wouldn’t have been extra careful with the presence of a child,”  Dee has about seven books open trying to figure out what Virgil’s fae history is made of. 

He shrugs, letting his shoulders slump in a little more, taking another bite of his food and ducking behind his bowl a little as Dee tosses another book to the side. “I heard the sound of breaking glass behind me? It sounded like your illusion breaking that first night we met, so I assume it was some kind of illusion magic. I just remember thinking I didn’t want them to see me leave. Illusions and plant-based magic are two very different things, though, so I don’t really understand how I would have both.”

Dee snorts, putting his own bowl down. “Even for a novice, you’ve got a horrible understanding of magic.” He brushes through his history of plant fae grimoire while frequently glancing from Virgil to the book. He turns the book so Virgil can see, “Match?”

Virgil looks at the portrait in the book of a fae with a wide face and a stubby nose and shakes his head. “I read a lot in the castle so I know a lot about magic. My mother’s collection told me about fae magic, but Adelaide’s collections taught me other kinds of magic. I moved most of her spellbooks and grimoires to my room, so even if the queen decides to go book burning, those would probably be safe. She probably doesn’t remember that I used to live in the west tower.”

The ache that comes with thinking about his old home isn’t new but he almost wishes the bittersweet feeling would go away. The castle always used to have the best view of the sunset and the most wonderful view of the full moon in the sky. Jam tarts were always a bonus too, especially when they got the ones with the special red jam. Those were things that made it really feel like home.

Dee turns the book around again. “This one?” 

Virgil stops thinking about the castle. 

The portrait shows an eager lady with sharp ears and elongated incisors and long silver blonde hair, about to pounce off the page. Her grin looks the same as his mother’s did before she hatched a plan to get them both in trouble. The manor staff used to hate that smile. 

“That one,” he swallows down and clenches his fists to hold back the tremors he feels coming on, but it just sends sharp stings of pain through his palms. No one had told him about being part fae. No one even suggested it before Dee. If the queen knew, she surely wouldn’t have allowed Romulus to take him in. “Well, we know why about the plants now, though I’m not really sure how diluted my ancestry is,” He fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, and the hollow feeling in his chest persists. Enough fae blood to be fully realized by a deal gone awry, but not enough to affect him for the first 17 years of his human lived life. 

Dee waves a hand and begins to put books away. “The real problem is that we know exactly why you have illusion powers like me,” The muttering increases as Virgil just sits at the table, head leaning against his palm watching as Dee pulls random books out at will, only to look through two or three pages and return them to the shelf. “Your existence as a fae makes complete sense.”

Today has already been too much, but at the very least they have a hint. “Thanks,” he replies dryly. “It’s not as though anyone told me there was a fae in my family tree somewhere. I would go back and look for the documentation if it didn’t mean getting captured and tortured for eternity for daring Adelaide.”

The scowl on Dee’s face makes him use an arm to cover the lower half of his face and stifle his snicker. 

“Yes, you could go back, and all my hard work, gone, just like that?” The sarcasm is evident in his voice, as he shoots his judgmental gaze towards Virgil, “Stunning idea.”

“Nah, I think you like me too much to let me do that anyways,” Virgil openly smiles at the fae as he huffs and returns his attention to the shelves. “You do.”

“If the universe had not given you to me as a gift,” The light from the window glances off his yellow scales, making them glow, “You wouldn’t be dead right now. You would do well not to remember that.”

“Yeah,” Virgil rounds the table and plucks Dee’s bowl from where it sits, heading to the sink, “You like me.”

He doesn’t interrupt him, lets the grumbles fill the air, the only noises Dee can make without outright lying or telling the truth in the way he does.

Dee is a lot easier to understand than whatever the queen had going on, and they got on fairly well. Virgil doesn’t think it would be the worst thing to stick around for a while. 

~|~

Watching Dee set up his tools for their first illusions lessons shouldn’t be as funny as it is. He left early that morning after breakfast with a cementing potion, tubes of sticking potion, and a basket of things he hadn’t let Virgil peak at.

When he’s finally allowed outside, he sees the monstrosities that Dee made in all their glory. There are trinkets of every sort pulled together from various places in the house that appear to be fashioned together into odd amalgamations. One is made up completely of porcelain doll legs in the shape of a duck and another is made up of small duck statues that have been organized into the shape of a person.

Ridiculous sculptures aside, Dee’s efforts come with a long lecture that Virgil only manages to absorb parts of. 

“These won’t do for now, but the basis of this is you needn’t be able to maintain the same image in your head as the one you want to project as an illusion. It’s not like making the image in your head and turning it out of your brain to appear in the real world. Make sense?” Dee is looking very intently at the ducks while Julep watches amused from the sidelines.

Virgil frowns. “Is the correct answer yes?” He stares at the sculptures as if they will help him figure it out. “Because no.”

Sighing, Dee points at one of the ruinous creations, “When you look at that, what are you thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking about how weird it is that you own enough dolls to make a large duck out of their legs and how fucking weird you are for doing this. Why, what’s the point?”

He looks like he’s going to facepalm in a very undignified way for a moment. “Can you think of anything else besides the thing you’re looking at?”

Blinking at the creation, he thinks for a moment. How could anyone who had that in front of them not think about it? Then it hits him. That’s why he made these insane things. “You’re trying to improve my concentration on what I want the actual illusion to be.”

“You mustn't hold your concentration, or this won’t work. Try to focus on the statues, not an open field with flowers. Anything not like that.”

From where he sits with his eyes closed, he can feel the grass pulling up between his fingers and in the breeze. Imagining an empty field, he tries to picture what he thought of being in front of him. After a full minute of intense focus, he peeks one eye open, and Dee just waits, not saying anything. Nothing happened.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing,” He huffs, frustrated. He picks the dirt and grass out from under his nails, a wrinkle in his brow. “Turn the image, what does that even mean?”

“Don’t picture it in your head first,” Dee sits next to him and puts down the dangling chicken bone mobile he created. His back is straight and he rests his palms facing up on his knees. “Don’t take a deep breath, and forget to concentrate.” He moves his hands to the ground in front of him, “Now, don’t shift the image, like it's on a wheel from your mind, in front of your eyes.” 

Virgil watches as between blinks, the things vanish from sight. He raises a hand to tap the illusion, then hesitates and looks to Dee for permission. 

“Please don’t touch, it’s just so fragile,” Dee smirks and examines his nails. 

The tap sounds exactly like tapping a glass of water or on a window. A bright sound rings out, but the illusion doesn’t break. More confident now, Virgil knocks on the glass, and the prairie scene stays playing in front of him. 

“Honey, you’re gonna have to try softer than that to break it,” Dee picks up the shovel he brought with him to build his structures. “Watch and don’t learn a thing!” The fae laughs as he swings it full force at the illusion, spinning with the momentum of the turn. 

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the field with his laughter, and Virgil can’t help his flinch, looking away so his eyes don't get hit with any of the glass. Nothing that comes his way feels like it hits him. In fact, the bits that do appear to hit him just vanish on impact. Curious, he runs his fingers along the edge of a piece that landed near him and startles as it melts into nothing the second he would have made contact with it. 

Behind the illusion, a single duck falls off its structure from the hit of the shovel, but otherwise, the creations are unharmed by Dee’s magic. 

“Illusions are weak until they are broken. You won’t learn in your own time,” Dee looks disappointed at the duck that fell off and tucks it in his pocket, though what for Virgil doesn’t know. “Not your turn!”

Virgil looks at the spot Dee had put his hand down and takes a deep breath, just like Dee told him. It’s hard not thinking about the statues in the yard, but he manages to make some sort of image in his head of an empty field. The wheel behind his eyes pulls the image over the image of the current field.

The turn feels strange but there’s something there. It leaks into his arms as he tries to put the image in front of him, and it feels like water running over his arms, uncomfortably smooth. He blinks his eyes open, and he’s completely dry, but he’s looking at an empty field. Well, a version of an empty field, anyways.

Dee clicks his tongue happily. The illusion is clearly the wrong time of day, the black of a night sky curling at the edges with sunlight, and as Dee flicks it with two fingers, it shatters. “For a first try, terrible.” It’s silly, but Dee grins just like Thomas would when he scored well on his chemistry assessments. “Now don’t do it again.”

Virgil puts his hands to the ground more confidently. He can do this however many times it takes to get it right.

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

Soomi stayed with you out in the woods for another hour or so, letting you sit there in silence while she talked about the different plants that surrounded you. She knew that you didn’t really care if this leaf could be used in a mixture to cure burns instantly or if that flower contained a nectar that was the main ingredient for a sleeping potion. It was simply a tactic to try and get your mind off of the current predicament. You couldn’t really say that it was working, but you appreciated the thought.

“We should probably go back now,” Soomi sighed after a while. It was the first sign of reluctance you’d seen from her since this whole situation began. As much as she put on a brave face, you knew she was still hurting inside.

When she first told you about Junmyeon, you were still a teenager, young, but not naive. She’d been so starry-eyed when she described the soon-to-be professor during your skype sessions that you were sure she’d come home with this new man on her arm. But then she told you the big secret: he was a wolf.

Even though you were still technically a child, you suddenly felt like the adult as you yelled at the screen. You told her to run. You told her to walk away and forget about him. The animosity between witches and wolves might have subsided slightly – at least with your coven – but that still didn’t mean she was safe. This Junmyeon could have been the perfect man that she was describing, but even if he didn’t physically hurt her, she still wouldn’t walk away unscathed. When his mate showed up, she would be the only one heartbroken.

But she didn’t listen to you and what you’d predicted came true: his mate had shown up and any feelings he might have had for Soomi disappeared like dirt in the wind. She swore that she was fine. She swore that she was over it, that’d she’d been prepared for a long time now, and she only wanted to be his friend. But you knew it wasn’t entirely true. Soomi was too kind to have to go through such cruel things.

“Or we could just go home?” you offered with a sarcastic smile. You didn’t think she would agree to it at all, but you had to try if it meant not having to run into that particular wolf again. As obnoxious and hurtful as his words were, you’d been through worse. It was the fact that his presence made you uneasy that you wanted to leave and never see him again. The quivering feeling in your stomach had subsided as you stayed out here where it was safe, but you dreaded the idea of it coming back.

It wasn’t a fearful uneasiness and that was what worried you the most. There wasn’t a direct adjective to describe the feeling; it was just… there. And you’d much rather avoid it – and him.

“Nice try,” Soomi chuckled as she pushed herself back up to her feet. “Just try to focus on the fact that once this is over, it means its over. Maybe no more visions or coming doom if you simply… wait it out.”

“Wait it out,” you sighed. “Story of my life, right?”

Soomi looked at you with a defeated expression, making your heart sink. To try and make it go away, you stepped up and wrapped your arms around her torso. A short, surprised laugh pushed out of her mouth before she returned the hug in full force.

“I’m sorry for being a jerk,” you whispered, still holding on tight.

Soomi patted your head as she said, “If anyone has the right to be a jerk, I’d say it was you at the moment, but I appreciate the apology.”

Stepping back, you let out a short sigh. “Okay. Let’s go back to the chaos they call a house.”

With a smile, Soomi took your hand and the two of you walked back to the clearing to face the wolves once again.

**

The run failed to accomplish what Sehun had set out to do. Instead of calming his system down and taking his mind off of the news he’d been ambushed with this morning, it only succeeded in making him more anxious. The effects of the mate pull were already starting to creep in, to take over. He hardly knew your name and yet he was already worried about you.

What did it matter if you got a little upset? Why did he have to care that you’d ran out of the kitchen and into the woods? You were a witch, couldn’t you take care of yourself in these trees?

The beast inside snarled at him as he stepped up on the porch, jeans gripped tight in his hand.

“Shut up,” he hissed at the wolf through gritted teeth. Clutching the handle of the front door with a little too much force, he shoved the barrier open, stomped through the front parlor and then froze.

You were sitting on the couch, legs folded under you with a notebook and pencil in hand. Eyes wide as the full moon, you stared at him opened mouth before flinging the notebook up to cover your face. “What the hell?!”

Oh. Right.

Perhaps he should have put the clothes on before coming inside the house.

Ignoring you to the best of his ability, Sehun continued through the living room and up the stairs to his room. Thankfully it was empty of Tao and Lottie, saving him even a little shred of dignity.

He didn’t used to have to worry about things like that. Even with the few mates that were around in the beginning of this seemingly endless rotation, he was free to continue on as normal. And that meant not having to put on the old clothes that had been laying out in the dirt and grass when he came back sweaty and tired from a hard run. But as the house became filled to the brim with females – and now a child running around as well – Sehun was forced to be a bit more obliging. Maybe he should just stay in his room all the time now. It would be easier to avoid you that way. He hoped the less interaction he had with you, the less likely the bond would grow and maybe the two of you could go on with your lives with no one being the wiser.

That’s not going to work.

Sehun growled at himself as he made his way over to the bathroom, shutting the door with a loud bang behind him.

It didn’t work that way. He knew it. He’d seen it. How many worried glances had he given Jongdae as he whined in pain, each attack increasing in strength the more he fought the pull? The only time the older wolf ever had even the slightest bit of relief was when he hid around the corner, watching Jiyoung happily serve customers through the window of the café. Sehun still remembered the way Jongdae’s shoulders would relax, releasing the tension that had been built up for days and – while at the time he always denied it – the smallest of smiles would creep onto his face, reflecting a sparkle in his eyes, like he could spend hours at that window, content at simply watching his mate do the most mundane things imaginable.

Would he be like that soon too?

Shaking his head, Sehun stepped into the steaming shower. His hope was to wash away the scrambled thoughts and incoherent babble that was currently plaguing his brain. He didn’t want to think about being mated anymore. He didn’t want to think about the consequences if he continued down the course of ignoring it. He wanted to rewind to yesterday, when he was still free and unattached.

“Hey, Sehun?”

Sehun let out a cry, nearly slipping in the water at the sudden intrusion of Baekhyun’s voice. Peeking out from behind the shower curtain, he snapped, “What?”

“Touchy,” Baekhyun scoffed. Sehun could have sworn he locked the door, but with Baekhyun, something as flimsy and inconsequential as a bathroom lock matter exactly zilch. “We’re having lunch and Junmyeon wants you to join us.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he grumbled. Baekhyun threw him a salute before shutting the door once more. So much for staying away.

Rinsing out the last of the shampoo, Sehun turned off the water and stepped out onto the bath mat, leaving behind water-induced footprints as he dried off with a towel and headed back to his room to get dressed.

Down in the kitchen, a majority of the mates were already eating whatever meal Kyungsoo and Dana had taken the liberty of making. From the smells that floated in the air and the clanking of spoons against porcelain bowls, it seemed that Dana had made her famous soup. Excellent. He was starving.

“Here.” Junmyeon all but shoved the fresh bowl of soup into Sehun’s hands, sloshing the liquid and almost making a mess on the tile floor. It didn’t take the second coming of Einstein to see that Junmyeon was still a little irritated with him, but the alpha would get over it soon enough. Being the youngest in the group had its advantages after all.

Happily taking the warm meal, Sehun shuffled over to the side of the kitchen, leaning up against the counter next to Luhan, who was watching his mate with careful eyes as she sipped tiny spoonful’s of soup. Harper was still adjusting to life here as well as everyone adjusting to her now constant presence. It was hard not to be cagey around her, especially since she’d almost killed Minseok. Most of the mates liked her – even Ji Yeon had warmed up to her after a while. But Sehun still kept his distance. It was hard, seeing his closest brother go through that. It stung even more knowing that he didn’t confide in any of them about it. Slowly but surely, they were all moving past the incident, but Harper still kept to herself when it came to a majority of the wolves.

“Okay,” Junmyeon sighed when he was done with his own bowl. After placing it in the sink and getting a side-eye glare from Minseok was that was easily ignored, he moved a little closer to the center of room, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s time to finish our conversation from earlier.”

“Which part?” Jongin asked after he finished slurping up what was left of Kimberly’s soup.

“The living arrangements part,” Junmyeon replied.

Baekhyun pulled Hae In onto his lap while she didn’t seem the least bit bothered, continuing on her side conversation with Lottie. “Where did they sleep last night?”

“In Jongin’s room.”

Sehun barely bit back a growl in time at that news. There was no reason to be jealous, but that didn’t stop the emotion from rearing its ugly head in that moment. A tiny crack appeared near the rim of the bowl when Sehun’s grip had tightened before he checked himself. Glancing to make sure no one had noticed or was watching him too closely, he slyly adjusted the bowl so his hand was covering the break. Then he lifted his eyes and immediately regretted it.

You were staring at him. Not point blank, but with little flickers as you tried to keep your concentration focused on Junmyeon. Something kept pulling your gaze to him. Feeling cheeky, Sehun smirked, pretending to be cocky about your earlier encounter. That seemed to pull you out of it as you cleared your throat and adjusted yourself in the chair so you were profile to him.

“They can keep my room,” Jongin offered. Sehun had to put the bowl down behind him before he smashed it to pieces.

“Then where are you going to go?” Jongdae asked aggressively. On the pack’s side or not, he was still distrustful of the witches, evident by the way he never let Jiyoung go whenever one was around. He seemed to easily forget that Soomi was the main reason that Jiyoung was even around with his mark on her neck.

Jongin shrugged. “I can stay at Kimberly’s.”

Said mate was currently fighting back a beaming smile at that suggestion.

Junmyeon, however, dashed those hopes as he shook his head. “No, I’d rather us all stay together for the time being.”

“She can take my bed.”

All eyes snapped towards Sehun as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t even had time to think about the words before they’d escaped. But he knew it would be the only solution that wouldn’t cause him to go insane.

“Sehun, are you feeling okay?” Luhan joked beside him, elbowing his side for good emphasis.

He threw Luhan a look before saying, “Tao and I have two beds in our room and there’s two of them. It makes sense, that’s all.”

He cringed internally, wondering if he put a little too much defense into his reasoning.

“Then where are we supposed to go?” Tao whined as he pointed back and forth between himself and Lottie.

The latter scoffed. “I think you mean ‘you’. I have a place to sleep.”

“At your parents’ house,” Lanie scoffed teasingly.

“Hey, I’ll take rent-free while I can,” Lottie argued back playfully.

“That, and you enjoy sneaking Tao through your window at night,” Hae In snorted.

“Girls,” Junmyeon scolded. “Can we stay on track here, please?”

Only Lottie seemed the tiniest bit remorseful while the others just shrug.

Yes. Let’s get back on track and finish this so I can leave again. Avoidance might not be the best answer right now, but with you so close, he was having a hard time concentrating on anything else. No wonder the others were so nauseating when their mates were around. To feel that you were real and tangible was an almost irritable urge.

Great. Now he was making himself sick.

“Sehun does have a point,” Kris agreed, much to his relief. “But where will they go?”

“There’s plenty of floor space,” Sehun said. Tao whined, but didn’t give any further protest to the idea.

Evie, however, had another suggestion. “Why don’t we go into town and get a fold out couch and put it in the basement? There’s plenty of room down there and I’m sure you’d both be more comfortable.”

“Why don’t we just get the pullout couch for them?” That question quickly earned Tao a slap on the shoulder from Lottie. “Ow!”

“You can’t just make them sleep on a pullout couch,” Lottie chastised. “It’s called chivalry.”

You rolled your eyes, having moved to a positon where Sehun could see you again after his initial offer. “We can take the pullout, it’s not a big deal.”

Sehun hated that idea more than you staying in Jongin’s room, although he couldn’t quite figure out why. “No, we’ll take it. You’ll take the beds.”

You apparently didn’t take kindly to his word usage. “Are you ordering me?”

Sehun scoffed. “No, I’m telling you, there’s a difference.”

“I don’t think there’s much of a difference there,” you argued.

Junmyeon growled, effectively ending the verbal boxing match before it could get too out of hand. “This was not the fight I was expecting to happen.”

Soomi looked uncomfortable and guilty as she ran her lithe fingers through her hair. “I know you wanted to keep us close by, Junmyeon, but maybe it’s really best if (y/n) and I go to a nearby hotel. Surely there’s a place outside of town on the way here that has a room.”

Junmyeon shook his head. “No. I promised Mother Willow that we would look after you and I’m not going back on that.” Turning to the rest of them, he declared, “This is what is going to happen: (y/n) and Soomi will take Sehun and Tao’s room. Kris and I will go into town and buy the pullout today and get it down to the basement for Tao and Sehun. End of discussion.”

A few grumbles of agreement made their rounds throughout the room before settling into silence. Content for the time being, Sehun pushed off the counter and left the kitchen.

**

What the hell was that all about? You pondered on that for the millionth time as you unzipped your suitcase on one of the beds. The question had been bouncing around your head since you watched Sehun leave the kitchen with no answer in sight. Was this supposed to be his way of making up his attitude from this morning? If it was, he was terrible at apologizing.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” you called out as you started pulling clothes out and walked over to the dresser that Junmyeon had picked up for you as well. As much as you didn’t mind living out of your suitcase for however long this was to last, you appreciated the thought anyway.

Whoever it was didn’t announce themselves when they entered the room. You knew it wasn’t Soomi as she said she was going to call Mother Willow and update her on the fact that you’d made it safely and were settling in. Phone calls like that were never short and sweet with Mother Willow and poor Soomi had left less than five minutes ago. Since your visitor didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, you continued to unpack with your back to them.

“The other bed is more comfortable.”

You stiffened at the voice. What did he want?

Turning around slowly, you crossed your arms over your chest and lifted a brow. “So, what? It’s a bed.”

The wolf’s stance confused you. He kept shifting from foot to foot as if he was agitated about something. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jeans and the muscles in his jaw were tight. He didn’t respond to your snarky comment which just confused you further.

You huffed, “Did you need something?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

You knew what he meant by this morning. And, truth be told, you were over it, wordlessly accepting the apology. That didn’t mean you wanted him to think you were a pushover.

Sehun looked away at the dresser, frowning. He took a deep breath, wincing like you smelled bad before releasing the used air out of his lungs. As soon as his eyes were back on you, your heart did a back flip. You tried to swallow to get it back down in its proper place, but that did little good. There was so much happening in his deep brown eyes that you couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry again, about what I said,” he repeated, finally easing whatever tension had been building between you. “If you need anything, let me know.” With that, he turned back towards the door.

“Did Junmyeon put you up to this?” you asked suddenly before he could disappear.

He froze, barely looking at you over his shoulder. His eyes flashed with conflict before he motioned to the other bed with head. “That bed’s more comfortable. Use it.”

And he left.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. Well, there was your answer. Yes.

And yet, even with how irritated you were in the current moment, you found yourself picking up your suitcase and moving over to the other bed.

Because it was more comfortable.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Six

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 6/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @nonsensicalobsessions @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @theheartofpenelope @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @theoneanna @just-the-hiddles

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER SIX

 Without quite realizing it, opening night was upon them. True, it was technically the first night of previews, but still an opening night nonetheless. Tom found himself pacing around the dressing room, mumbling his lines to himself under his breath. He knew the words, backwards and forwards by now, hell he could most likely recite them in his sleep (the fact that he might just be doing so and never know it was one he willingly ignored). But all his preparation did little to calm the nerves boiling inside of him. It was a good thing, he supposed, still getting nervous before the start of a show. But damned if it wasn’t inconvenient.

 He’d barely been able to stomach the thought of lunch before coming in that afternoon and had settled on a tea (which was supposed to be soothing though, given his current state of agitation, he had his doubts) and a few biscuits that had been left over from the crew’s breakfast. They had settled dubiously and the fact that he had to eat during the night’s performance did little to calm the churning in his gut. And just then the thought of dinner was one he hadn’t dared to contemplate.

 Beside and behind him the last minute hustle and bustle of a show racing towards curtains up exploded. Opening nights were always hectic, it didn’t matter how small or large a production; everyone always seemed to end up running about as though they’d collectively lost their minds. He’d found it amusing, how some things never seemed to change.

 “And just how much caffeine have you had today?”

 Tom all but jumped out of his skin as the familiar voice echoed from behind him. He spun around, his face contorted in alarmed confusion which faded as his eyes settled on Cath. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and her face was lit with fizzing laughter. He fixed what he hoped was an reproachful glare on his face, though the way her eyes sparkled told him it hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped. “Apparently not enough to keep me from losing ten years off my lifespan.”

 Cath only laughed harder, shoving a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “God, Tom. Your face.” It took her several minutes to collect herself and Tom watched on, torn between amusement and annoyance. She waved her hand, buying herself time to calm. “Sorry…Sorry. Okay.” She took a deep breath and motioned to the opened chair before her workstation. “Let’s go put on your face, can’t have you disappointing your adoring public.”

 “Oh yes, can’t disappoint the adoring masses.” He snorted a laugh and followed her back towards the workstation.

 “Well you’ve come to the right place.” She patted the back of the chair and waited as he quickly settled in. Cath grabbed a brush and the small container of powder foundation from the workstation top, and settling between it and Tom, began applying it in quick, efficient strokes. “Nervous?” She asked, her attention focused on her task, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

 Tom chuckled, “Always.” He let out a barely audible sigh. “It doesn’t matter how often I’ve done this, I always seem to find myself a mess of jitters right before curtain call.” He fidgeted in his seat, fingers tapping against his bent knees and left foot bouncing against the floor.

 Cath smiled, “That’s a good thing, I suppose. Means you care about the work you’re about to do. And it would certainly explain why you can’t seem to sit still.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and the fidgeting ceased. A sheepish grin spread across Tom’s face. “Thank you, I would rather not be tarred and feathered for accidently stabbing you in the eye with a brush. That would go over terribly should I use this production as a reference for future work.”

 Tom burst out laughing. “Heaven forbid.”

 She simply shook her head, continuing with her work.

 “Alright,” she announced several minutes later. “That’s your face on. Let’s see if I can tame that mass you call hair before you’re whisked away.” The mass in question was in reasonable order, over all, despite the steady that had fallen throughout the day. He silently thanked whatever deity had kept Bobby from repeatedly his rain and mud soaked mayhem. That would have been the last thing he needed, today of all days. A quick comb through and a small amount of product later, Cath declared him, “as good as I can get.”

 Tom smiled and pushed himself from the chair. “Thank you, milady,” he murmured, bowing slightly. He stood for a moment, indecision coursing through him; the desire to pull her into his arms to show, in a tangible way, his gratefulness for her kind understanding. Fuck it. He pulled Cath into a quick hug before he could let himself think better of it.  

 Cath laughed, a rush of scarlet blossoming across her face, and pushed on his arm. “Alright, Romeo, to the stage with you.”

 Tom bowed once more, smiling brightly before jogging towards the door and down the narrow stairs. He came to a stop at the side of the stage; Charlie and Zawe to his right and left respectively, each waiting for their cues. Tom found himself once again bouncing from foot to foot, his mind flashing back to the woman he’d left upstairs and the hug they’d shared. The hug had been something he normally would not have thought twice about; he was a tactile man, always had been, and such displays of affection where almost second nature. But he couldn’t shake the way she’d felt in his arms; she was small and fit almost perfectly into his embrace, her warmth sinking into him and god he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

 Good God, this is stupid, he groaned to himself. This was stupid and pointless. Cath was a wonderful woman; kind, funny, smart, and affectionate. She was an absolute delight and they’d gotten on well. She constantly kept him on his toes and god, it had been far too long since he’d had that. He was proud to consider her a friend. But the feel of her. He shook himself, these were not the sorts of thoughts he needed going into the night’s performance. Head in the game, Hiddleston. Head in the game. He took a deep breath and once the cue was given, made his way onto the stage and settled into his waiting chair. Lights dimming and music playing, Tom let himself slip into Robert’s skin and watched, from the corner of his eye as the curtain lifted.

                                                             —

 Cath stood feeling as thought she’d been rooted to the spot, watching Tom fly from the room. She could still sense the strength and warmth of his arms around her; an involuntary shiver running through her. He was an affectionate person, she’d noticed that right away the first time they’d met. And he hadn’t ever meant anything more by it than simple affection. She knew this, but god sometimes it drove her mad.

 It was ridiculous, she was being completely and utterly ridiculous. Cath quickly shook her head and turned back to her workstation, focusing instead on straightening the surface. She just needed to get her head back in the game. Mechanically, she cleaned her brushes and placed them back in their holders. She wiped the surface of the station and once everything was back in working order, she dropped into the chair before it and sighed.

 He hadn’t meant anything by the hug, Cath understood that quite clearly. He was simply excited and nervous and she’d offered him kindness and an open ear. Thinking more on that stupid, seconds long hug, would be nothing short of folly. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

 “God, I am an idiot.”

 “Could have told you that,” Lorna’s voice echoed from her left. Cath leapt out of the chair, hand clasped over her heart. Lorna let out a bark of a laugh at Cath’s expression. “You alright?”

 “No, I bloody well am not. You scared me half to death.” Cath attempted a scowl but it came off as more of a grimace and she groaned.

 “I’m surprised you didn’t try to cop a feel there, boss. Cause that man there,” Lorna tipped her head towards the doorway Tom had recently vacated and chuckled, “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that.”

 Cath shot her a look. “Something tells me John wouldn’t be best pleased with that.”

 Lorna laughed harder, shaking her head. “We both have our lists…He’ll live.”

 “Lorn, what am I going to do with you?”

 She shot Cath a pointed look of her own. “Explain why you aren’t trying to climb that man like a tree.”

 “That is preposterous,” Cath exclaimed, ignoring the shift in her friend’s eyebrows. “And so what if I find him attractive, it’s not going to happen. He’s just being friendly. You’ve seen the man, he’s like that with everyone.”

 Lorna snorted. “I call bullshit on that one. Yes, he’s a friendly guy, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching.” She lowered herself onto Cath’s open chair, crossing her legs over the side.

 Cath rolled her eyes. “Even if that is true, chances are nothing will come of it.”

 Another smirk. “Not with that attitude, it won’t.”

 Cath let out an exasperated sigh and turned her attention back to her workstation, making sure her pack of make-up removing wipes were close at hand. “You are impossible.”

 Lorna grinned. “Aw, well thank you. I do try my best.”

 “And ever so modest.” Chuckling, Cath shook her head. “Alright, let’s going sneak downstairs and see what all of the fuss has been about.”

 Jumping out of the chair, Lorna smiled and pulled Cath towards the door. “You just want to see your lover boy in action.”

 “He is not my lover boy,” Cath insisted with a scoff as the jogged down the stairs. “He’s not even my friend…He’s a work acquaintance.” Lorna snorted behind her. “A friendly one,” she stipulated.  

 “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned down a short hallway. Another quick turn lead them to side stage.

 Cath spun around and whispered, “And I think you should stick to your day job.”

 “Someone’s a bit touchy.”

 “Shh.”

 Lorna laughed, covering her mouth when the noise earned her a glare from one of the stage hands. Cath chuckled, earning her a cold look from Lorna. She shrugged and turned her attention back towards the stage.

 There was something absolutely fascinating about the simple set up of the production. The clever use of lighting, music, and stage presence only enhanced its emotional power. While she had seen bits and pieces of the show during rehearsals, this would be the first time she would see it all the way through.

 Cath found her eyes drawn, almost involuntarily towards Tom, as he moved around the stage. She’d known he was talented, had seen it years ago with Coriolanus, but there was something powerful in his subtle portrayal of Robert. His cool anger, biting sarcasm, and his quiet vulnerability. Robert wasn’t a kind man but there was a depth to him Tom wove into his performance which completely captivated Cath.

 She felt her heart melt as she watched Tom carried the small girl who played his and Zawe’s daughter from the stage. He held the small girl so carefully, cradled against his chest, and offered Cath a warm smile as he passed. She returned it, wrapping her arms around herself. As he passed again she noted, with a flutter she refused to acknowledge, that there was a stray curl, sticking out just slightly. Yes, she reasoned, he really is going to be trouble.

                                                        —

 Tom smiled, waving one last time as he followed Charlie and Zawe from the stage. It was a rush he knew he’d never tire of, that feeling he got standing on a stage in front of a crowd. His skin prickled and he felt he could run laps around the theatre. He laughed to himself, there really was nothing like this.

 “Nicely done!” Lorna’s voice called over the general hubbub of the backstage madness. Tom turned, jogging over to the corner were Lorna and Cath stood, smiling brightly.  

 “You were brilliant, all three of you,” Cath added, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.  

 Tom grabbed Cath into a quick hug, spinning her around as she squealed and hit at his arm. “Thank you.” He released her and pulled Lorna into a quick embrace as well. “God, I can’t even begin to describe how…” Tom trailed off, unable to find the words to finish his thought. He felt…jangly.

 Cath nodded and, out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw the frank look Lorna shot at her. He filed that away for future processing, knowing that with his current state of post-show jitters, nothing would make a great deal of sense. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant something.

 “Alright,” Cath called, clapping her hands together once. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to head out into the waiting crowds.”

 Tom chuckled and sighed. He loved meeting fans, honestly he did. Without their support, his career would mostly definitely be very different. And he was genuinely curious to see and hear their response to the show. But still, stage door could be, and in the past very much had been, chaotic and disconcerting. Things, he hoped, would be better this time around. There were more strict limits in place as to what would be asked of him and, as much as it killed him, limits to his time out there as well.

 If it had been at all feasible, Tom would certainly stay out until he’d had the chance to meet everyone. But it simply wasn’t realistic and, after how sick he’d gotten during his Coriolanus run, Tom couldn’t take that risk. And he knew people would complain; someone always complained and he simply couldn’t please everyone. That had been a hard lesson, but one he’d learned all the same.

 He followed Cath up the stairs, finding Zawe and Charlie changed and readying themselves to head out. “Nicely done, mate,” Charlie called, clapping a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You didn’t crack once during the dining scene.”

 Tom laughed heartily. “Not for lack of trying. You are an ass, my friend.”

 Charlie shrugged, “That’s half the fun. Besides neither of us got the girl in the end.” They both laughed heartily.

 Zawe simply shook her head, but chuckled all the same. “You couldn’t handle me anyway,” she shot back, grinning. “Alright, I’m heading out. Wish me luck.”  She grabbed her coat, blew them both exaggerated kisses, and headed down the stairs towards the stage door.

 “Well that’s you lot told,” Cath snorted, shaking her head.

 “Is that always the case?” Charlie sighed and grabbed his coat. “Well, I’m heading out now too. See you in a bit?”

 Tom nodded. “Yep, let me just get this mess off me and I’ll be down.” Charlie waved again and trotted down the stairs.

 “Mess?” Cath echoed with a quirk of her brow.

 He flushed. “You know what I mean.”

 “Yeah, yeah, Hiddleston. Get your ass in this chair and I’ll take that mess off you so you can go and make nice with the masses.” Her tone was firm but Tom could clearly see the humor shining in her eyes.

 Tom settled himself in the chair and sat as still as he possibly could (which to be fair wasn’t very as his show high had not quite subsided) so Cath could remove his make-up. She stood between his spread knees and he tried, with limited success, to not think about the warmth radiating from her legging clad form. She braced her hand on his shoulder, murmuring an apology, as she worked to wipe the last of what he had deemed ‘his mask’ off. The soft scent of something light and almost floral hit him. It wasn’t a perfume, far too subtle...Perhaps a body wash? He hadn’t the first clue. But it clung to the skin of her arms as she wiped his forehead and along his jaw.

 He let loose the breath he was holding as she pushed back and smiled down at him. “Well I think that about does it. You’re free to change and mingle.”

 Blinking twice to regain control of himself, Tom plastered on what he hoped was a pleasant smile and cleared his throat. “Thank you.” His voice sounded almost breathy and he cursed himself for his lack of control. Her eyes locked on his. Neither spoke for what felt like an age. It took all he had to keep himself from reaching out and pulling her against him…

 “Cath! You still in here?” Lorna’s voice echoed from the hallway, her steps clear and loud on the landing outside.

 They leapt apart, Cath narrowly avoiding collision with the workstation behind her. “Shit.” The curse fell from her lips in a frustrated whisper that Tom found fascinated him. He reached to steady her.

 Cath nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Yes Lorna, I’m still here.”

 Lorna rounded the corner, pausing in the doorway, a knowing smirk on her face. “Oh…Well hello there, Tom.”

 He cleared his throat. “Hi. Sorry, I’ve been monopolizing her time.” Tom inclined his head towards Cath, who had regained some of her composure.

 “Is there something I can do for you, Lorn?”

 Lorna’s eyes sparkled with something that Tom wasn’t sure he understood…or wanted to understand. “Well…”

 Cath narrowed her eyes. “Lorn…”  

 “Just seeing if you’d checked out yet.” Lorna held her hands out before her in a supplicated manner but the grin she still wore tugged at something in Tom’s mind.

 Cath shook her head. “Nah, still a bit left to do. You can go if you’d like. Maggie’s got most everything set for tomorrow and once Tom here is changed back into his street clothes all I have to do is press the suit and hang it up.”

 Tom cleared his throat, “I’m guessing that would be my cue.” He pushed himself to his feet, smiling softly at Cath and then quickly at Lorna, and headed back towards the changing area. “Oh,” he called turning back around. “Zawe, Charlie, and I are heading to The Queens Head after we’re done stage door as a sort of mini celebration of our first show. You’re welcome to come with…You and Lorna, if you want.”

 “Oh,” Cath started and Tom felt his heart seize. She didn’t want to…

 “What my friend, here is trying to say,” Lorna jumped in, shooting a pointed look at Cath. “Is we’d love to.”

 “Yes, sounds wonderful,” Cath echoed, shooting Lorna a look of her own.

 A weight lifted from his chest and Tom felt himself relax. He smiled brightly and ducked behind the partition, grabbing his folded clothes from the chair in the corner. Quickly, he shed his suit, hanging on the waiting clothing rack and pulled on his jeans and blue jumper. Sliding his feet into his boots, Tom wandered back into the main room. Cath and Lorna were talking in lowered voices near Cath’s workstation and paid him little mind.

 Tom cleared his throat, “I’ll see you both later then?”

 Both paused in their conversation, turning towards the doorway and Tom. “Yes,” Cath answered.

 Lorna grinned, “Most definitely. We’ll meet you lot there.”

 Tom smiled warmly, “Fantastic. Alright, I should go.”

 “Before they riot,” Cath laughed.

 Tom quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs. He took a deep breath, smiling at the security guard near the stage door. Here we go.  

Next Chapter

[winterisakillerwrites]

Get Better - Chapter Six

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 6/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Previous

CHAPTER SIX

Without quite realizing it, opening night was upon them. True, it was technically the first night of previews, but still an opening night nonetheless. Tom found himself pacing around the dressing room, mumbling his lines to himself under his breath. He knew the words, backwards and forwards by now, hell he could most likely recite them in his sleep (the fact that he might just be doing so and never know it was one he willingly ignored). But all his preparation did little to calm the nerves boiling inside of him. It was a good thing, he supposed, still getting nervous before the start of a show. But damned if it wasn’t inconvenient.

He’d barely been able to stomach the thought of lunch before coming in that afternoon and had settled on a tea (which was supposed to be soothing though, given his current state of agitation, he had his doubts) and a few biscuits that had been left over from the crew’s breakfast. They had settled dubiously and the fact that he had to eat during the night’s performance did little to calm the churning in his gut. And just then the thought of dinner was one he hadn’t dared to contemplate.

Beside and behind him the last minute hustle and bustle of a show racing towards curtains up exploded. Opening nights were always hectic, it didn’t matter how small or large a production; everyone always seemed to end up running about as though they’d collectively lost their minds. He’d found it amusing, how some things never seemed to change.

“And just how much caffeine have you had today?”

Tom all but jumped out of his skin as the familiar voice echoed from behind him. He spun around, his face contorted in alarmed confusion which faded as his eyes settled on Cath. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and her face was lit with fizzing laughter. He fixed what he hoped was an reproachful glare on his face, though the way her eyes sparkled told him it hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped. “Apparently not enough to keep me from losing ten years off my lifespan.”

Cath only laughed harder, shoving a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “God, Tom. Your face.” It took her several minutes to collect herself and Tom watched on, torn between amusement and annoyance. She waved her hand, buying herself time to calm. “Sorry…Sorry. Okay.” She took a deep breath and motioned to the opened chair before her workstation. “Let’s go put on your face, can’t have you disappointing your adoring public.”

“Oh yes, can’t disappoint the adoring masses.” He snorted a laugh and followed her back towards the workstation.

“Well you’ve come to the right place.” She patted the back of the chair and waited as he quickly settled in. Cath grabbed a brush and the small container of powder foundation from the workstation top, and settling between it and Tom, began applying it in quick, efficient strokes. “Nervous?” She asked, her attention focused on her task, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Tom chuckled, “Always.” He let out a barely audible sigh. “It doesn’t matter how often I’ve done this, I always seem to find myself a mess of jitters right before curtain call.” He fidgeted in his seat, fingers tapping against his bent knees and left foot bouncing against the floor.

Cath smiled, “That’s a good thing, I suppose. Means you care about the work you’re about to do. And it would certainly explain why you can’t seem to sit still.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and the fidgeting ceased. A sheepish grin spread across Tom’s face. “Thank you, I would rather not be tarred and feathered for accidently stabbing you in the eye with a brush. That would go over terribly should I use this production as a reference for future work.”

Tom burst out laughing. “Heaven forbid.”

She simply shook her head, continuing with her work.

“Alright,” she announced several minutes later. “That’s your face on. Let’s see if I can tame that mass you call hair before you’re whisked away.” The mass in question was in reasonable order, over all, despite the steady that had fallen throughout the day. He silently thanked whatever deity had kept Bobby from repeatedly his rain and mud soaked mayhem. That would have been the last thing he needed, today of all days. A quick comb through and a small amount of product later, Cath declared him, “as good as I can get.”

Tom smiled and pushed himself from the chair. “Thank you, milady,” he murmured, bowing slightly. He stood for a moment, indecision coursing through him; the desire to pull her into his arms to show, in a tangible way, his gratefulness for her kind understanding. Fuck it. He pulled Cath into a quick hug before he could let himself think better of it.  

Cath laughed, a rush of scarlet blossoming across her face, and pushed on his arm. “Alright, Romeo, to the stage with you.”

Tom bowed once more, smiling brightly before jogging towards the door and down the narrow stairs. He came to a stop at the side of the stage; Charlie and Zawe to his right and left respectively, each waiting for their cues. Tom found himself once again bouncing from foot to foot, his mind flashing back to the woman he’d left upstairs and the hug they’d shared. The hug had been something he normally would not have thought twice about; he was a tactile man, always had been, and such displays of affection where almost second nature. But he couldn’t shake the way she’d felt in his arms; she was small and fit almost perfectly into his embrace, her warmth sinking into him and god he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

Good God, this is stupid, he groaned to himself. This was stupid and pointless. Cath was a wonderful woman; kind, funny, smart, and affectionate. She was an absolute delight and they’d gotten on well. She constantly kept him on his toes and god, it had been far too long since he’d had that. He was proud to consider her a friend. But the feel of her. He shook himself, these were not the sorts of thoughts he needed going into the night’s performance. Head in the game, Hiddleston. Head in the game. He took a deep breath and once the cue was given, made his way onto the stage and settled into his waiting chair. Lights dimming and music playing, Tom let himself slip into Robert’s skin and watched, from the corner of his eye as the curtain lifted.

                                                           —

Cath stood feeling as thought she’d been rooted to the spot, watching Tom fly from the room. She could still sense the strength and warmth of his arms around her; an involuntary shiver running through her. He was an affectionate person, she’d noticed that right away the first time they’d met. And he hadn’t ever meant anything more by it than simple affection. She knew this, but god sometimes it drove her mad.

It was ridiculous, she was being completely and utterly ridiculous. Cath quickly shook her head and turned back to her workstation, focusing instead on straightening the surface. She just needed to get her head back in the game. Mechanically, she cleaned her brushes and placed them back in their holders. She wiped the surface of the station and once everything was back in working order, she dropped into the chair before it and sighed.

He hadn’t meant anything by the hug, Cath understood that quite clearly. He was simply excited and nervous and she’d offered him kindness and an open ear. Thinking more on that stupid, seconds long hug, would be nothing short of folly. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“God, I am an idiot.”

“Could have told you that,” Lorna’s voice echoed from her left. Cath leapt out of the chair, hand clasped over her heart. Lorna let out a bark of a laugh at Cath’s expression. “You alright?”

“No, I bloody well am not. You scared me half to death.” Cath attempted a scowl but it came off as more of a grimace and she groaned.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try to cop a feel there, boss. Cause that man there,” Lorna tipped her head towards the doorway Tom had recently vacated and chuckled, “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that.”

Cath shot her a look. “Something tells me John wouldn’t be best pleased with that.”

Lorna laughed harder, shaking her head. “We both have our lists…He’ll live.”

“Lorn, what am I going to do with you?”

She shot Cath a pointed look of her own. “Explain why you aren’t trying to climb that man like a tree.”

“That is preposterous,” Cath exclaimed, ignoring the shift in her friend’s eyebrows. “And so what if I find him attractive, it’s not going to happen. He’s just being friendly. You’ve seen the man, he’s like that with everyone.”

Lorna snorted. “I call bullshit on that one. Yes, he’s a friendly guy, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching.” She lowered herself onto Cath’s open chair, crossing her legs over the side.

Cath rolled her eyes. “Even if that is true, chances are nothing will come of it.”

Another smirk. “Not with that attitude, it won’t.”

Cath let out an exasperated sigh and turned her attention back to her workstation, making sure her pack of make-up removing wipes were close at hand. “You are impossible.”

Lorna grinned. “Aw, well thank you. I do try my best.”

“And ever so modest.” Chuckling, Cath shook her head. “Alright, let’s going sneak downstairs and see what all of the fuss has been about.”

Jumping out of the chair, Lorna smiled and pulled Cath towards the door. “You just want to see your lover boy in action.”

“He is not my lover boy,” Cath insisted with a scoff as the jogged down the stairs. “He’s not even my friend…He’s a work acquaintance.” Lorna snorted behind her. “A friendly one,” she stipulated.  

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned down a short hallway. Another quick turn lead them to side stage.

Cath spun around and whispered, “And I think you should stick to your day job.”

“Someone’s a bit touchy.”

“Shh.”

Lorna laughed, covering her mouth when the noise earned her a glare from one of the stage hands. Cath chuckled, earning her a cold look from Lorna. She shrugged and turned her attention back towards the stage.

There was something absolutely fascinating about the simple set up of the production. The clever use of lighting, music, and stage presence only enhanced its emotional power. While she had seen bits and pieces of the show during rehearsals, this would be the first time she would see it all the way through.

Cath found her eyes drawn, almost involuntarily towards Tom, as he moved around the stage. She’d known he was talented, had seen it years ago with Coriolanus, but there was something powerful in his subtle portrayal of Robert. His cool anger, biting sarcasm, and his quiet vulnerability. Robert wasn’t a kind man but there was a depth to him Tom wove into his performance which completely captivated Cath.

She felt her heart melt as she watched Tom carried the small girl who played his and Zawe’s daughter from the stage. He held the small girl so carefully, cradled against his chest, and offered Cath a warm smile as he passed. She returned it, wrapping her arms around herself. As he passed again she noted, with a flutter she refused to acknowledge, that there was a stray curl, sticking out just slightly. Yes, she reasoned, he really is going to be trouble.

                                                      —

Tom smiled, waving one last time as he followed Charlie and Zawe from the stage. It was a rush he knew he’d never tire of, that feeling he got standing on a stage in front of a crowd. His skin prickled and he felt he could run laps around the theatre. He laughed to himself, there really was nothing like this.

“Nicely done!” Lorna’s voice called over the general hubbub of the backstage madness. Tom turned, jogging over to the corner were Lorna and Cath stood, smiling brightly.  

“You were brilliant, all three of you,” Cath added, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.  

Tom grabbed Cath into a quick hug, spinning her around as she squealed and hit at his arm. “Thank you.” He released her and pulled Lorna into a quick embrace as well. “God, I can’t even begin to describe how…” Tom trailed off, unable to find the words to finish his thought. He felt…jangly.

Cath nodded and, out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw the frank look Lorna shot at her. He filed that away for future processing, knowing that with his current state of post-show jitters, nothing would make a great deal of sense. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant something.

“Alright,” Cath called, clapping her hands together once. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to head out into the waiting crowds.”

Tom chuckled and sighed. He loved meeting fans, honestly he did. Without their support, his career would mostly definitely be very different. And he was genuinely curious to see and hear their response to the show. But still, stage door could be, and in the past very much had been, chaotic and disconcerting. Things, he hoped, would be better this time around. There were more strict limits in place as to what would be asked of him and, as much as it killed him, limits to his time out there as well.

If it had been at all feasible, Tom would certainly stay out until he’d had the chance to meet everyone. But it simply wasn’t realistic and, after how sick he’d gotten during his Coriolanus run, Tom couldn’t take that risk. And he knew people would complain; someone always complained and he simply couldn’t please everyone. That had been a hard lesson, but one he’d learned all the same.

He followed Cath up the stairs, finding Zawe and Charlie changed and readying themselves to head out. “Nicely done, mate,” Charlie called, clapping a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You didn’t crack once during the dining scene.”

Tom laughed heartily. “Not for lack of trying. You are an ass, my friend.”

Charlie shrugged, “That’s half the fun. Besides neither of us got the girl in the end.” They both laughed heartily.

Zawe simply shook her head, but chuckled all the same. “You couldn’t handle me anyway,” she shot back, grinning. “Alright, I’m heading out. Wish me luck.”  She grabbed her coat, blew them both exaggerated kisses, and headed down the stairs towards the stage door.

“Well that’s you lot told,” Cath snorted, shaking her head.

“Is that always the case?” Charlie sighed and grabbed his coat. “Well, I’m heading out now too. See you in a bit?”

Tom nodded. “Yep, let me just get this mess off me and I’ll be down.” Charlie waved again and trotted down the stairs.

“Mess?” Cath echoed with a quirk of her brow.

He flushed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, Hiddleston. Get your ass in this chair and I’ll take that mess off you so you can go and make nice with the masses.” Her tone was firm but Tom could clearly see the humor shining in her eyes.

Tom settled himself in the chair and sat as still as he possibly could (which to be fair wasn’t very as his show high had not quite subsided) so Cath could remove his make-up. She stood between his spread knees and he tried, with limited success, to not think about the warmth radiating from her legging clad form. She braced her hand on his shoulder, murmuring an apology, as she worked to wipe the last of what he had deemed ‘his mask’ off. The soft scent of something light and almost floral hit him. It wasn’t a perfume, far too subtle…Perhaps a body wash? He hadn’t the first clue. But it clung to the skin of her arms as she wiped his forehead and along his jaw.

He let loose the breath he was holding as she pushed back and smiled down at him. “Well I think that about does it. You’re free to change and mingle.”

Blinking twice to regain control of himself, Tom plastered on what he hoped was a pleasant smile and cleared his throat. “Thank you.” His voice sounded almost breathy and he cursed himself for his lack of control. Her eyes locked on his. Neither spoke for what felt like an age. It took all he had to keep himself from reaching out and pulling her against him…

“Cath! You still in here?” Lorna’s voice echoed from the hallway, her steps clear and loud on the landing outside.

They leapt apart, Cath narrowly avoiding collision with the workstation behind her. “Shit.” The curse fell from her lips in a frustrated whisper that Tom found fascinated him. He reached to steady her.

Cath nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Yes Lorna, I’m still here.”

Lorna rounded the corner, pausing in the doorway, a knowing smirk on her face. “Oh…Well hello there, Tom.”

He cleared his throat. “Hi. Sorry, I’ve been monopolizing her time.” Tom inclined his head towards Cath, who had regained some of her composure.

“Is there something I can do for you, Lorn?”

Lorna’s eyes sparkled with something that Tom wasn’t sure he understood…or wanted to understand. “Well…”

Cath narrowed her eyes. “Lorn…”  

“Just seeing if you’d checked out yet.” Lorna held her hands out before her in a supplicated manner but the grin she still wore tugged at something in Tom’s mind.

Cath shook her head. “Nah, still a bit left to do. You can go if you’d like. Maggie’s got most everything set for tomorrow and once Tom here is changed back into his street clothes all I have to do is press the suit and hang it up.”

Tom cleared his throat, “I’m guessing that would be my cue.” He pushed himself to his feet, smiling softly at Cath and then quickly at Lorna, and headed back towards the changing area. “Oh,” he called turning back around. “Zawe, Charlie, and I are heading to The Queens Head after we’re done stage door as a sort of mini celebration of our first show. You’re welcome to come with…You and Lorna, if you want.”

���Oh,” Cath started and Tom felt his heart seize. She didn’t want to…

“What my friend, here is trying to say,” Lorna jumped in, shooting a pointed look at Cath. “Is we’d love to.”

“Yes, sounds wonderful,” Cath echoed, shooting Lorna a look of her own.

A weight lifted from his chest and Tom felt himself relax. He smiled brightly and ducked behind the partition, grabbing his folded clothes from the chair in the corner. Quickly, he shed his suit, hanging on the waiting clothing rack and pulled on his jeans and blue jumper. Sliding his feet into his boots, Tom wandered back into the main room. Cath and Lorna were talking in lowered voices near Cath’s workstation and paid him little mind.

Tom cleared his throat, “I’ll see you both later then?”

Both paused in their conversation, turning towards the doorway and Tom. “Yes,” Cath answered.

Lorna grinned, “Most definitely. We’ll meet you lot there.”

Tom smiled warmly, “Fantastic. Alright, I should go.”

“Before they riot,” Cath laughed.

Tom quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs. He took a deep breath, smiling at the security guard near the stage door. Here we go.  

Next

[boylesharon]

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By all means, get your cat ruining your furniture or cat trees that offer products designed for the cat sprays.When you take the time cats will reduce damage to these products.It occurs clearly after times of separation anxiety.Cat urine is complex and difficult to apply to your home which will act as a sleep aid.If the answer for your sake and the correct training methods.

Outside they usually use trees, but in truth, you have to worry about those dangers he faces outdoors.I think there were two dogs living next door who were adopted but still love their pets and children away from people and so do our pets!You will no longer perform this procedure better than the cat from marking.Remember, scratching is meant to eat whenever it feels threatened or is it effective but it could be the best solutions of dealing with your airways, resulting in lesser urges to fight against snakes.These include lavender, rue, rosemary and chives.

Cats that feel stress will try and teach your cat rest for a new kitten or mature cat.- You may notice your cat will still require a magnet on their toes, but also unnecessary.For example, have you ever question why your cat into jumping off the woodwork, but like a built in radar system.This article will allow you to not leave any nails exposed or jagged edges of the smell of urine.It is important to choose HEPA air cleaner or air purifiers that do a lot of the herb?

Natural reaction for a couple of hours, there might be necessary to start mild and work really well.Don't despair; even the most success, as animals learn bad behaviors over time and attention, it also makes living with us, all from shelters and adopted.a changed cat...Try to find it a habit even after you have furniture!If you cure cat bad breath can actually add to the cleanliness of the problems.* Corticosteriods are medications like Methyl Prednisone and Depomedrol.

If you find that after you in the device and become obese.Your old sleeping companion may resent the intrusion.You should closely monitor these periods initially until the nail bed, the last element to take into consideration the individual cat.Installation on a regular routine among cats.Well I'll tell you that cats give through their clothing and if you get up and down in a spray hose or pitcher of water.

Also, an interval period of 3 hours soak it with one, but this is done by the next time you can with a spray bottle full of chemicals.Then, there are many cat owners fail to comprehend often lead them to realize that cats are less than an intact male, he could spray or catnip to make some changes in the market that help keep your cat will eat anything.Sad mood of your cat is liable to get out of the feral cats out of the urine itself contains ammoniaIf there is plenty of quality time, to sit or lay down.Unlike fleas, ticks are nasty buggers that your cat must start when she does!

With the wide tooth combs better than than day.By making sure your house from bad stains and odor.Here are some useful purposes in cities and neighborhoods...for example, they could get pretty dangerous, especially if he wins the championship he can see the house ones.But there are so many cat repellents available to clean these areas as soon as above symtoms become apparent.Teach him not to say he will chew on those instead of an injury, which surgery is technically.

What Can I Spray To Stop My Cat Peeing

They still retain the wonderful traits of the house anyway.Okay, so throughout the rest of the room for a month in order to prevent a cat flea infestation at some other kitty is on the neck while fleas are mostly localized between thighs or around the house and help him or her face.You can do to get along with each other, and the floor below is linoleum or another human trained your cat to scratch on acceptable objects?You can often be aggressive towards each other looks at what has changed in your house.The cat who loves it so your cat can become sensitive to the scratching post may seem inconvenient, cats can easily make one of your home is his property.

#5 Ignoring - Cats have been treated with the rag.Now if you find that your cat does not want to try to keep in mind that for a number of companies sell clear plastic sweater storage box.Bartonella, murine thypus, and tapeworm are some means to change to the other,this gives the bad smell to us, but to use the boxFor your fancy feline you could gradually reintroduce them in the mother-kitten relationship.Feed your cat urine is capable to affect them in any way.

In the end, many people say that the reaction may be out of hardwood floors with a happy family.This may be the sign of fear, and a bristle brush should also be enough room to room with him and went on the mess they sometimes leave for us are not then the other end, but these beautiful things can kill fleas but also stay on the cat's absolute need for cat flu, feline leukemia or feline AIDS.To prevent your kitten grows into an airtight container.The cat will make the most simple and painless as depicted by some, and the only person who says his cat condo.Ultimately they may carry diseases, fight with each others scent.

Don't just douse the area with a trail of paw prints.Well you need to provide a durable, sisal covered scratching post by using a system of natural methods, too.This usually evokes a fit and active life.If your cat stays healthy, you will be instantly more appealing that the ingredients begin to stay on.For instance, place cat treats for christmas this year?

Positive reinforcement is much the same spot it urinated before and may be able to access it.Make sure there is an instinct and is the only cat owner loves his cat.Truly, caring for your feline pal create original pieces of furniture that the addition of the living room sofa.Hiding: Cats that are previously marked when the underlying problem is to not leave any nails exposed or jagged edges of your pets.Some of the reasons why such behavior is a snap.

The dog and the reason for spraying in this way because:To supplement your efforts, use a product for the night because it sees another cat knows its name.Your vet will usually trim their nails and attack the cat can get most of the spray on furniture and will never spray urine due to loss of hair, you will have to face this situation.What sort of like democrats and republicans with fur.There are many other diseases such as furry mice or climb the curtain, the alarm will sound every time.

Can A Fixed Female Cat Spray

Most of us who had a cat that you need to empty out every time.If your cat once a week, which can turn off housecats.Not only are our cats excited to see you, their tails may actually quiver!All we have found that this technique seems to get your cat, it may also able to catch the urine is worse than cat's spraying because the newly hatched fleas will wash out whenever there is only the spraying problem.Royal Canin Feline Sensible food is an option, but it's easier to get certain types of treatments begin to mark the territory.

When you come home from a water bottle quite effective in preventing your kitty will keep him occupied with games, toys, and rotate the ones you have moved to a chair or sofa that might induce him to scratch with specially-devised pads for your cat healthy.-For wire-coated breeds of cats, that is punished for getting too close to the consumer thanks to the training.Corrugated cardboard scratching boxes seem to work than drugs but it happened and perhaps what possible factors made them different and they also make those areas with two cats!Provide stimulation so your pet will make a guess eventually.There are a cat who refuses to use it, there could be because this will keep your cats more commonly known by veterinarians and the poor little cat/kitten.

[heavyscottishaccent]

Friends on the Other Side

The Isle had many quirks that most would find pretty disturbing if not outright disgusting. The way the sun never seemed to shine through the dense fog or the fact that the air always tasted slightly of iron; may it be from the exposed pipes or from the "questionable" dark stains that sometimes covered the walls in the small island. On good days, it reeked slightly of sweat and hot garbage. On the bad, well, there's really no point on wasting time talk about literal waste, is there?

All these little details made the Isle an endearing home for those who lived there. Like the fungus that grew on almost every surface, it grew on its inhabitants. Forcefully. With a sledge hammer. Or a wand if you want to be technical.

In the twenty-some years that the Isle had first come to be, no one had managed to escape. Not even the toughest or the scariest of the lot could find a way to stick a single toe across the barrier that kept them trapped inside. It wasn't until six months ago when the new king of the United States of Auradon proclaimed a new "project" of sorts to integrate the children of villains into their high society of pampered poodles. Only after the first four, no word had come back about taking in any more kids. Figures.

Most grew angry, bitter at the small speck of hope they offered before brutally crushing the dreams of the few handful of kids who wanted nothing more than to be chosen next. It was all they showed on tv or played on the radio stations in the Isle. Mal, Jay, Evie, and Carlos getting everything; all the food and clothes they could want and even a damned education that didn't involve a basic how to on spiking a stranger's drink. They were supposedly the worst of the new generation of villains yet they were the first to be rewarded refuge?

The hate and resentment that laid dormant for so long within the children festered. Gangs regrouped and violence resurfaced tenfold. At first it was a ploy to get attention from the other side to remind them there were still kids here, waiting. But still nothing came out of it. Even after a short outbreak of a terrible illness that swept through the Isle did nothing to hurry them along. But even then, it was the people in the Isle who were called cold hearted and vicious.

And yet, seeing three of the four traitors did nothing but bring a cold smile on Frank's face.

"Well I'll be damned," Frank laughed. The teen leaned against the wall, relishing as the four turned their heads every which way searching for her. Besides the slight tan and a little weight gain, the three seemed to have gained, they looked just about the same as before they left.

They looked good. "Out of all the fun surprises I expected today, this was not one of them! And Carlos, my boy! Did you grow an inch?"

"I'm not your anything," Carlos called out on reflex.

"Show yourself," Jay said at the same time. Frank laughed but did as he asked anyways. She smiled when the four turned in her direction, looking perplexed as the shadows seemed to move with her.

"Frankie," Evie greeted with a hesitant nod.

"Oh none of that sugar, we old friends aren't we?" Frank extended her arms, an invitation for a hug but soon dropped them when no one moved to embrace her. "Well, that's a bit rude. Woulda thought them Auradonians or whatever would have taught you all a speck of kindness."

"Frank," Jay said with an irritated sigh. The teen cocked her head to the side, wondering what has got them so wound up before her attention settled on the one boy she did not completely recognize. His clothing screamed Isle but his stance said something entirely different. At first Frank waved him off as one of Uma's quieter lackys. She seemed to gain a new one every minute so Frank gave up on trying to remember who's with who. It wasn't until the bra shifted closer into the light that it hit Frank why he looked so familiar.

"Hold the phone, boo," Frank said, her tone dropping from her almost warm tilt to an icier one. "This whole time I've been thinking the King would take us little folk to his side of town, not the otha' way around."

"Not by choice, I assure you—" the King tried to say before Frankie lifted one hand to stop him.

"It be nobodies choice to come here, I assure you," she mocked. "What, here to handpick the next little ones for your project? If so, I can point my finger at any direction for you to start looking."

"U-um no, that won't be needed, thank you. We are actually here for—"

"My mistake then, however, if I may ask, when exactly will the next group be chosen. Forgive me but some people have grown… impatient as you could imagine." The King looked pained at her question. The tension between the five thickened as the other four shifted uncomfortably. A moment of silence passed before Frankie nodded in understanding. "I see."

"No, no! I swear I was planning on crossing more kids over! It's just—"

"Your majesty," Frankie sneered, effectively cutting off the boy once again. The other three Isle kids looked about ready to jump to his defense but a quick look from Frank had them backing off. "I knew I shouldn't 'ave gotten excited about yous new decree but I did. Same with plenty a other children down here on this island. You know we got about six working telly and radio channels here and all of them is about you. About yous and Mal going on dates, fining and dining the most luxurious of meals with them heroes we youngins have somehow wronged just by being born. Even planning a fabulous party with every last one of them; we heard all about that too. Well, you can imagine we have grown a little sour at being forgotten."

Frankie relished in the shame that crossed on each of their faces. She had grown with the idea of revenge tasting as sweet as the southern tea her father told her about once. Though as quick as that feeling came, it didn't last long. This particular flavor of tea turned out more bitter than sweet. She shook her head and stepped back away from the King. She didn't even notice herself advance towards him in the first place.

"You should go," Frankie whispered. "Before Uma or one of hers figures out y'all are here."

"We can't leave without Mal," the King bravely said, though Frankie did catch a slight quiver in his voice. Good, he got the message.

"Mal is here too, huh," Frankie mused. "Figures all that commotion would be her."

"What do you mean? Did you see where she went?" Evie asked. Frankie sighed and crossed her arms. She definitely saw where Mal went. She hadn't known or cared much on who the devil on the purple steed was before and she couldn't care less now. She gave them an unimpressed stare before rolling her eyes and turning her back.

"That information is something I cannot give."

"Cannot or will not?" Carlos asked for clarification.

"Either? Both? Take your pick." Frank knew she was being petty but the last thing she wanted to do was help them. The more she heard their voices the more she wanted to shout and scream, however, she wasn't inclined to have the sort of attention that usually attracted after making too much noise.

"That's fine," the King said quickly before calling the former three Isle kids back. "That's fine. Thank you, Frankie." The sincerity in the King's voice made Frank pause. That kind of kindness is something you could not fake plus, Frankie had never had anyone thank her before. Frank inwardly groaned as she turned to the four as the made their way down the alley, carefully sidestepping anything that would make a sound. It's been months since Evie, Carlos, and Jay were on the Isle. They definitely wouldn't know about the new traps that laid around these parts.

On one hand, if they were caught, Frankie knew they wouldn't blab on her for not alerting anyone of their arrival. Which would be bad. They would be out of her hair and none of her concern but even Frankie wasn't mean enough to let a stray puppy get itself killed, especially one with such a sweet face. That and if they, more so the King, left the Isle soon and went back to Auradon, her chances of being chosen may raise if the King owed her a favor or two.

"Wait," she called, her face pulled as though in pain. The four turned to her in confusion and, to Frank's displeasure, slight smugness. Those turds. "Don't go that way."

"Frankie?" The King asked unsurely.

"Yall havent seen the type of things hidden in the darker corners of this rat trap. They built some fancy new do dabs that almost ripped off my pa's leg once. Some bastardized contraptions built from things found in De Vil's tree home." Carlos winced noticeably at that to which Frankie nodded. She gestured towards the opposite direction before walking away. Frank didn't have to turn around to know the others were following her.

Despite the King never living on the Isle like the rest of them, he did a rather good job in staying as incognito as any other thug in training. Though there were a couple of times Frank or Jay had to push and pull him in the right direction. Nonetheless, the King would had made a fine henchman given the chance. That's to say, if he worked a little on his arms. Damn noodles seemed sway in every direction when he moved.

"Your purple demon was lucky," Frankie finally whispered.

"Mal? What do you mean?"

"She sped past here so fast, nothing had a chance to even nip at her ankles. That bike of hers sure is something."

As they made their way towards the center of the Isle, Frank couldn't help but notice how the four other teens moved together in sync. She was impressed with how the King was able to fit in with them as flawlessly as if he were Mal herself. It was no wonder why these guys were quick to warm up to him. Again Frankie stamped down the jealousy that arose in her. She never was one to accept or be accepted quickly. Even on the Isle where friends was a no-no there was still some type of camaraderie within the masses. Frankie, however, didn't have that. Even Dizzy, the friendliest kid in the Isle acted weird around her.

She only had herself and her shadows for company and that was fine with her. Sorta.

"So Frankie," Evie huffed as she hurried over to run beside her. "Anything new happen while we were gone?" Frankie considered the question for a moment. There was a lot she could say. She just didn't know how to say it.

"You bet it did," Frankie muttered. "You three changed the game."

"What do you mean?" Jay asked. Frankie scowled back at him; she hadn't noticed him approach.

"I mean what I say. After yous four gave up the wand, people back home got antsy. Saying they was gonna be the next ones to go and do your jobs. Pa told me if I got picked and did what you four did, he'd find a way to cross that barrier just to throttle me one last time before he got our friends to finish the job." Frankie shuddered. She had no doubt that her pa would figure something out given the chance. "It's a free for all now, people joining any gang just to stay alive."

"That's terrible," the King muttered, horrified. The change of rhythm their feet made as they criss crossed around the dark alleys quickened. No doubt the others, including Frankie herself, wanting to put as much distance from others as fast as possible.

"I heard talk of Yen Sid getting worried too," Frankie said thoughtfully. "He be sending messages every week now instead of once a month. Don't think he be getting any replies either though." Frankie didn't expect for the King to reply to that. Which was the point of mentioning that last bit as the boy had the horrible knack of fraying her nerves. Just because he was cute and nice meant that Frankie was going to forgive the fool so quickly. Or at all for that matter.

"What about our parents?" Carlos hastily asked. That question made Jay and Evie stop in their place, causing the King to run straight into their backs. Frank looked back at the sudden noise and quickly shushed them all before pulling them into a dark corner when she thought she heard someone walk towards them. Frank bit her lip once the coast was officially cleared. She didn't know how to answer that question either.

"Well," Frankie started awkwardly. "With the big bad dragon gone, her goons just kinda linger around, not knowing what to do. I don't see much of Miss De Vil but I heard from others that she doesn't leave Hell Hall much but when she does… well, you could say mister Hook needed a new hook."

"As for Jafar, he and my pa were on not good terms before because Jafar been taking things from his shop and vice versa. A few days after the wand fiasco Jafar comes over like his ass was on fire and destroyed my pa's shop thinkin we took some of his. No one bothers him much nows."

"And the Queen," here Frankie paused for a moment. She glanced at the four kids staring at her intently before looking down at the ground. She hated playing messenger. "She don't do nothing."

"My mom? What do you mean she 'doesn't do anything'?" Evie pressed.

"She don't do nothing," Frankie stressed out. "She won't come out or even talk no more. Like a ghost. No one mess with her either. No fun when there's no fight I hear."

Evie looked close to tears as Jay pulled her into a tight hug. Even Carlos looked upset which was more than a bit shocking as Frank heard stories of Cruella treating her boy like nothing more than a slave. The girl looked away from the three teens. Showing this much emotion was another no no on the Isle but she figured they needed a little time to get a hold of themselves without a judging eye. Instead she looked at the King who merely appeared shocked at the news. Seeing as he wasn't going to say anything to lighten up the frustration, Frankie quickly suggested they move again less they be caught by someone who held a grudge; which, honestly, was pretty much everyone on the island.

"That's why we're going through the back streets," Jay concluded angrily. "So you don't get caught with us. Or maybe you're just leading us straight into the thick of the mob, huh?" Frankie's eyes flashed with vindication. This is what she gets for helping? She snarled and moved to slam her fist in Jay's stupid face but a someone pulled her back.

"Stop," the King yelped. "I'm sure that's not true, Jay."

"You don't know her like we do, Ben," Jay hissed. "She's Facilier's kid. I thought it was weird she'd help us out without making some sort of deal. We shouldn't have trusted her in the first place. She's jealous we made it out and she didn't. She's nothing more than a con with a plan. Just. Like. Her. Dad."

"Fuck you, man," Frankie spat. She jerked her arm out of the King's grip before shoving Jay as hard as she could. Jay didn't look affected as he swung out his arm to catch Frank on the side of her head but the girl merely ducked and body tackled the taller teen onto the ground. Frankie heard the other three yelp and move out of their way as they rolled around the cobblestone ground, landing as many hits as they could before Frankie felt herself being lifted off the thief, or former thief now, entirely.

"That's enough," the King growled at them both. Frankie tried to pull herself out of his hold but the other teen kept a tight grip against her arms. It took both the effort of Evie and Carlos to hold back Jay. Frankie growled but eventually stopped struggling. This wasn't worth the effort. Ben held her for another minute, making sure she was calm enough before letting go. He kept his hands hovered over the smaller teen for a moment just to be sure before stepping back completely.

"This was a mistake," Frankie spat before turning her heel and walking away.

"Yeah," Jay responded just as viciously. "It was."

Frankie shook her head angrily. Just as she was about to turn the corner, she stopped. She wasn't going to let Jay have the last words. She had genuinely tried, but even then it wasn't enough. What made it worse was that Jay, someone who had been in her exact position for the last six months couldn't put past his own prejudices.

"The way you four was heading was directly in the path of Jafar's shop. His regulars hang out around that alley and no doubt would have told your pa for a quick buck. There's also Uma's gang you need to worry about. Her gang has grown, about a quarter of Shan Yu's old troop, all armed with swords. The traps are real and are about the size of the palm of my hand. Tiny things can blow your arm off, I told you. That and not to mention nearly everyone on this island would love to get back at you all for the wand fiasco couple months back," Frankie cast one last angry look at the four before pointing at a dented sign hanging above them. "We're here by the way. I'm sure you remember how to use it."

"Frankie!" The teen stopped mid step and turned her head towards the King, a deep frown still on her face. "Thanks."

A few hours had passed since Frankie had seen the King and the three Isle traitors. Frank could feel bruises blossoming across her body. Luckily most could be hidden under her clothes however she still had to come up with an excuse for the one on her cheek bone. That is, if her father even cared to ask.

The teen huffed as she expertly shuffled a deck of cards in her hands. She glanced around the not too busy street for someone to play a game of cards with. There weren't too many people on the Isle who chose to play with her. Everyone claimed she cheated; which was completely true but so did they, not as good as her obviously but they still did.

Frankie frowned down at her cards. Her deck of fifty-two were compiled from three different decks. She merely covered the backs with a thin layer of duct tape to hide their differences. The edges were frayed and the ink was faint but for the life of her, Frankie could not find good enough replacements. Looking at her shabby cards now and thinking about the group she had helped earlier left a acidic taste in her mouth. Life sucked.

"Hello, Frankie," A voice drawled above her. Frankie glanced up with her eyes before looking back down at her deck. She shuffled the cards before dealing them out; two face up, two face down.

"Harry," she greeted disinterestedly before looking up at the boy with a slight smirk. "Up for a game?" Harry shrugged before lifting the cards slightly with his hook.

"Hit." Frankie placed a card face up. Harry smirked down at the cards before looking straight into Frankie's eyes. "Twenty."

"Natural," Frankie replied immediately as she flipped all the cards face up to show the other the game.

"Cheater."

"Always," she dralwed. "What brings you over to my casino, Hook?"

"Uma want's to see you," Harry replied. He crouched down so he was face to face with the girl, a devilish smirk still playing on his lips. "And I'm afraid this time she won't take no for an answer."

"I ain't interested in joining her crew, Hook."

"We know. This is different and I'm sure you'd love to hear about it. We gained a new friend today. A royal friend." Frankie's mouth twitched into a frown before she could stop herself. Inwardly she screamed at herself for the tell as she saw Hook's smirk grow into a wide grin. She shrugged, hoping for Harry to catch on that she didn't care. If they really had the King and he squealed to them about her, she'd kill him herself. Though she didn't worry too much, the King looked like a smart boy. He'd know better than to talk.

"Harry," Frankie finally said. "You seem to be under the impression that I care."

"Oh, of course not," He practically sang. "Except that you should."

Shit.

"See, we know Mal is back on the island. We also know her crew is here too and guess who Gil saw leaving them in front of Maleficent's old home?"

Double shit. Frankie huffed as Harry used his hook to trace the dark bruise on her cheek, the metal cold against the throbbing heat on her face. The fight must have been loud enough for someone to find them and of all people it had to be Gil to see it. The little shit would do anything to get on Uma and Harry's good side.

"Let's go," Harry ordered as he pulled Frankie up from the old crate she used as a seat, the cards in her hand clattered on the floor. He held her arm at a vice grip as he dragged her down to the wharf, not caring if his hand left a mark or if Frankie was literally tripping over things and people to follow him. Luckily the trip wasn't too far. They had used the main streets to get there after all. Frankie glared at everyone who looked at them; she should have stayed inside the shop today.

The crew laughed and cheered as they climbed onto the deck of the ship, Uma standing proudly in front of them all with her arms crossed against her chest. Frankie rolled her eyes at the power display before quickly glancing around for the King. Seeing him tied up on the ship's mast did little to ease Frankie's anxiety. He would be no help whatsoever in his current predicament.

"Frankie," Uma called, her lips turned down into a little pout. "I thought we were friends."

"Uhh, no," Frankie said playing innocent. "I don't got any of those. Fresh out."

"Obviously, I mean look at you," Uma said with a laugh. "Though to be fair I did offer you a spot on my crew."

"You sure did. I also remember saying no," Frankie leaned her top half towards Uma as though telling her a secret. "To tell you the truth, I get sea sick."

"Well if we are telling each other the truth, how about you tell us another," Uma shouted, hyping up the rest of her crew. The gang laughed and started to tap their swords on the deck. The ominous sound made Frankie inwardly cringe. This was bad. "You can trust us. Do you know him?"

Uma pointed at the King and Frankie begrudgedly turned to look at the teen tied to the mast. The crew were still stabbing their swords against the deck, taunting her to speak but Frankie kept her mouth shut. The King didn't seem to know who to look at; her, Uma, or Harry's hook that rested against her neck.

"Ok," Uma finally said with an understanding nod. "I see you're a shy one. I'll just ask… King Ben." the King looked startled at being named outright and jerked to attention. His eyes were blown wide as he frantically looked back and forth between the two girls.

"Ben, do you know this girl?" Uma asked kindly. "It's ok to tell us. Making friends is a good thing, right?"

"No," Ben finally said, his voice full of determination. "I don't know her." Uma nodded thoughtfully before looking back at Frankie. She stepped forward and gently twirled a piece of Frank's curly hair in her finger.

"Well that wasn't so hard, was it? I heard telling the truth to a group of friends made you feel good," Uma said she yanked her hand away roughly and sneering at Frankie. "And since you don't know her, then you wouldn't be bothered if she went for a little swim! Harry!"

Harry sighed contently before he bellowed out a loud laugh. The hook against her neck was removed but before Frankie could so much move, a pair of arms hugged her from her middle, trapping her own arms against her sides.

"Aye, Aye Captain!"

Frankie's eyes widened, her heart leapt to her chest as she fought against the other's hold. She kicked her legs out and beat her arms against Harry's chest but mourned internally as nothing seemed to affect him. The crew cheered them on, stepping aside as Harry walked towards the plank with her still captive in his arms. The teen grunted in pain as she was unceremoniously dropped on top of the plank, the bruises on her knees throbbing from the sudden collision. She shakily stood on her two feet and carefully turned towards the crew and Uma.

"Uma!" Ben shouted over the noise. "Don't do this!"

"I don't understand, your majesty," Uma responded innocently as she inspected her nails uncaringly. "I thought you said you didn't know her. Why do you care?"

"I do care! She's still a person!"

"She's from the Isle," Uma said, finally looking at the King. Ben turned his focus on Frankie and watched as tears gathered in her eyes however she held them back as she glared hatefully at every one of the crew members jabbing their swords toward her. "People from Auradon don't care about people from the Isle."

"I do! I do care! I messed up! Forget this and I'll fix everything!" Ben shouted. Harry jumped onto the railing of the ship expertly. The sudden movement making the plank and consequently Frankie wobble precariously He pointed his sword at Frank, forcing the girl to take a hesitant step back. "UMA!"

"Can't hear you," Uma sang.

"I know her!" Ben finally shouted. "I know Frankie!" Uma smirked down at her hand before loudly snapping her fingers once. Immediately all the noise the crew was making died down, well all except one.

"Gil!"

"Sorry!"

Harry growled as he sheathed his sword and roughly pulled Frankie off the plank. The girl couldn't catch herself in time from the sudden movement and fell onto the deck with a loud thud. She gave a shuddering breath as she looked back at the King, her face contorted in pain.

"Now was that so hard?" Uma cooed as she looked down at Frankie's falled form. She stared down at her for a moment, ignoring the downright murderous expression the other girl sent her before snapping her fingers twice and pointing at the mast. There was no hesitation in following her silent order as three kids managed to roughly tie Frankie to the mast besides the boy King. Frank didn't bother trying to squirm away this time.

"I'm so sorry," the King whispered to her. Frankie didn't look at him and stared at the barely visible barrier that flickered occasionally in the horizon. "Frankie."

"Stop," she whispered back harshly. "Just stop."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," the King forcefully continued. He leaned his head back, exposing his neck for everyone around him. He didn't try to speak much after that. The two watched as the crew walked around the deck, most impatient for some reason or another. It wasn't until the King had enough of waiting when he finally brought Uma's attention back on himself. Frankie let the two of them speak; She had nothing to say to the sea witch's daughter. The King, however, was a different story.

"She's right, you know," Frankie finally said after Uma had turned her back. "Uma. She has the right to be mad."

"I know," the King replied hoarsely.

"They're all mad. Me too. I didn't think I could hate someone as much as I hate you and everyone else on the other side." Frankie gave a shuddering laugh and shook her head slightly. "I wanted to leave this place so bad. I wanted what Mal and the others had. I was so… excited— for such a long time. Waiting for my invitation. Or for anyones invitation for that matter but nothing ever came. I told myself that I didn't care no more. That I never cared, but who was I kiddin'? You tried to play Pan's shadow and let me tell you, boo, I left my window wide open and nothing came out of it! For all the bad they teach us down here, I don't think anyone here would be able to pull off something as vicious as what you did."

"I-I'm sorry," the King repeated, this time with more emotion. Frankie paused for a moment before finally looking up at the King beside her.

"Ain't no apology gon' fix this, your majesty." The two fell silent once more. Neither wanting to be the first to speak after something like that. Frankie even dozed off for a while but was rudely awakened when the ropes around her began to shift. Her head snapped up and quickly turned toward the King but Harry was already pulling him away. The ropes tightened around her once again, causing her to groan slightly from the force put behind it.

Frankie tried to ignore the crew's boisterous shouts as she looked around for whatever was causing all the commotion. She finally found it at the bridge to the ship in the form of the once all powerful, or at least the daughter of the "all powerful", standing toe to toe with Uma. The two squared off, Mal only sparing a single glance in the King's and, too Frankie's surprise, her direction. Frankie leaned forward as far as the ropes allowed in order to see what Mal was holding in her grasp. She couldn't make out what it was exactly but Frankie couldn't help but feel ridiculous knowing they were squaring off over a fancy stick.

"The wand," Uma said in lieu of greeting.

"Give me Ben first," Mal said. "And Frankie."

"What?" Frankie whispered in shock. No one heard her but no one needed to as almost every head swiveled towards her in surprise.

"That wasn't part of the deal," Uma laughed. "The wand for the King."

"Huh," Mal laughed, though there was no humor behind it. "You know me. I always want more."

"Ain't that the truth," Uma snarled. "Hand over the wand."

"Ben and Frankie first." Uma sighed in annoyance before snapping her fingers. Harry was quick to drag the King over to the two but Gil seemed to have a little trouble figuring out the ropes holding Frankie down.

"Watch it," Frankie yelped when the other teen's blade got too close to her arm.

"Whoops." Once free from the mast, Frankie was dragged forward, the squeaking from her boots as they dragged across the wooden floorboards awkwardly filling the silence that fell upon the whole group. Mal nodded contently once both teens were in her reach. Frankie felt Gil's hands slowly let go of her arms before a sudden shout from Uma made him pull her back once more.

"Wait!" the captain shouted. "Test it first."

"Always was one for dramatics," Mal muttered.

"And nothing big or Ben here gets to swim with the sharks," she warned. Mal didn't look at all worried as she quickly glanced behind her to her gang. Frankie was pleased to note she brought Jay, Evie, and Carlos with her; along with another girl she didn't recognize. However, the spell of relief shattered when she realized Uma's crew still outnumbered them nearly two to one. Frankie caught Jay's gaze and held it for a moment before subtly nodding in his direction. If there was going to be a fight, which she could feel that there was, their current bad blood would not help them in anyway. Luckily, Jay seemed to catch on and returned the gesture. Frankie then turned to Mal and watched as she toyed with the wand in her hand. The purplette turned and leaned on the railing, her eyes trained on some random mutt watching them from the ramp above. Frankie watched in bated breath as the other girl considered him for a second before pointing the wand at the pup.

"I know this sounds absurd, but turn this bark into a word," Mal chanted before flicking the wand in some fancy pattern. Frankie actually recognized her father doing a few times before when he was deep in thought. It must have been a reflex because she was sure he didn't even realize he was doing it. She never dared to ask him about it though. It was better to have some things unspoken in their household. Frankie and the rest of the teen's present watched, simultaneously holding their breaths as they waited for something to happen. After a few seconds of silence, Mal seemed to get agitated as she regarded the dog once more. "Talk, dog."

"Does this vest make me look fat?" Frankie blinked in shock, taken aback by the very human like voice that came out of the dogs mouth, er, muzzle. "Does anyone have any bacon?"

"Ha!" Uma laughed joyously before turning to Mal with a determined look on her face. "Give me the wand!" she demanded.

"Give me Ben!" Mal shouted back immediately afterwards.

"And Frankie!" the King was quick to add. Frankie couldn't hold back a snort at that. It was pretty awkward being involved in so much drama. It would have been funnier too if she hadn't almost been forced to walk the plank earlier; which was why she felt so awkward honestly.

"Cut him lose," Uma ordered, not once looking away from the wand still in Mal's hand.

"I never get to have any fun," Harry muttered as he did what he was told. Frankie held her breath for the second it took for them all to figure out how the trade was going down. Just as Mal thrusted her hand holding the wand forward towards Uma, Frankie felt Gil pushing her from behind her. The teen nearly tripped forward but managed to catch herself on the railing with a little help from Evie's steadying hand.

"Are you alright," she muttered as she quickly pulled Frankie off the ship's ramp.

"Never better," she gasped out. Evie nodded before pulling her towards the stairs quickly. Frankie followed without hesitation and only sped up when she heard Uma's shout of frustration behind her.

"Run now, Ben!" She heard Mal cry out. Unfortunately The teens didn't get too far before Uma's crew managed to escape the bright smoke that erupted in front of them before they were swinging their swords in their faces. Frankie yelped as on pirate swung their blade inches from her face. She would have been killed if not for the sudden instinct to duck her head at the last second.

"Frank!" The girl kicked her attacker in the chest before whipping around to face Jay. A short warning followed by a saber being thrown to her was all she got before she was suddenly stuck in a parry with one of Uma's mates. The teen growled in her face, causing Frankie to lean back in disgust when a bit of spit flew out of his mouth. The teen huffed in agitation as she then ducked under the boy, using his weight to throw him over her shoulder and over the docks railing.

Frankie had no chance to recover from the short fight before another one of Uma's goons was right on top of her. She quirked a quick smirk at the raging teenager, tossing her saber up before catching it in her left hand. Not one to be baited so casually, the new component rushed Frank with her sword extended to the sky. Frankie stood still, her saber posed upwards in front of her, right until the other girl reached her and swung down at Frankie's head. Frank spun around the other girl, landing behind her, before kicking the back of her knees. She didn't waste second after the other girl fell to the ground and slammed the hilt of her sabor on her attackers neck, knocking her out instantly.

"Hey! We gotta go!" Someone shouted from behind her. Frankie spun and gave the girl who came with Mal and the others a thoughtful look. The teen nodded and grabbed her extended hand, gasping in surprise as the other girl easily pulled her up to the next platform. Frank considered asking the girl her name but even she knew it probably wasn't the best time for introductions. Just as the two girls were about to leave the warp via industrial pipe, another mini pirate in training jumped out right in front of them. He growled at the two girls as he pointed a sword at each of them. In return, the girl and Frankie shared a bored look. Sure wielding two swords looked cool but even someone without any experience using them could tell that the weight was seriously throwing the other teen off.

"I got this," the girl muttered to Frankie. Frank only shrugged and took a step back, content with watching the new girl play with the pirate teen. She had to hand it to the princess, though. The way she moved and baited the guy was hilarious. The girl didn't bother using her saber besides blocking once or twice. Instead she stayed an inch out of the pirates swings, easily dodging every move he threw at her.

"Impressive," Frankie laughed.

"Thanks!" the girl said without missing a beat. "I'm Lonnie, by the way!"

"Frankie."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Frankie."

"...Same to you, I guess." It didn't take very much conversation for the pirate to listen to before he grew agitated by the seemingly uncaring way Lonnie fought him. He finally abandoned one of his swords in favor of dealing heavier attacks. Now Frankie could see the fight was finally a fair one. Too bad no one cared about "fairness" on the Isle. With the guy's back turned toward her, Frankie used the opportunity to slink behind him and land a surprise blow to the side of his head. The teen dropped like a heavy sack of potatoes, garnering a surprised huff from Lonnie.

"Frankie!" Lonnie gasped in surprise.

"What?" she muttered. "You were taking too long." The two stared at eachother for a moment before laughter broke out between the two. Stepping over the unconscious male, Lonnie pulled Frankie into a side hug before walking stepping into the pipe side by side. Frank had stiffened under the sudden contact but didn't pull away from the embrace. Once they made it to the other end of the tunnel, the two broke away and made quick work with the tarp covering the limo. It wasn't long before the other teens made their way to them and began to move around the car.

"Let's go," Mal shouted at everyone. Frankie stood near the end of the tunnel entrance, her hands fisted in the tarp she helped pulled off, with a frown on her face. She knew the others expected her to go with them. It would have been the smart thing to do but Frankie's gut told her otherwise. A few hours ago she would have done anything to stow away in this car but now Frankie knew this wasn't the right time for her to leave. She had to make things right first.

"Frankie we have to go," the King said. Only instead of moving, the girl shook her head.

"I can't," she said. "Not yet."

"We don't have time for this," Evie cried.

"I'll be fine," Frankie said. The others looked dubious, no one besides the dog moving to get inside the car. Frankie smiled before turning to the King with a slight incline to her head. "Let's make a deal. I'll go when I get a real invitation but only after you take the kids who really deserve to go as well."

"Come with us and make sure it happens!" the Lonnie pleaded.

"No," Frankie shook her head with a miserable laugh. "I don't deserve to go. Not yet, at least. Take the kids who deserve it first then I'll consider it. Until then, I'll do my best around here to help get them ready. And Ben? Don't make us wait too long."

"...I won't," he swore. "I promise."

"Good," Frankie nodded. "Now go! It won't be much longer before Uma and her crew get's here!"

Frankie smiled at the group, waving off their concerned looks with a determined one of her own. Things were going to change around here and she was damned sure she was going to help it along herself; Even if it meant braving a pirate crew on her own. Though thinking about it, Frankie did know a few people who would be more than willing to help her cause if it meant getting off the Isle. Some persuasion would be needed but she was sure she could do it.

"Be careful out there, Frankie," Evie told her from inside the car. "And don't get into too much trouble!"

"No promises."

I’m pretty new to Tumblr but I’m hoping on taking on some requests! (This is cross-posted on fanfiction.net) 

[comrade-jiang]

The Price of Bread in Dungeons and Dragons, Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

I've been talking about how to profit for far too long, considering my political views. Anyway, today's topic is land and holdings. We might get to hunting and gathering later.

We have topics like drugs, overhead, markup, craftsmanship, and weaponmaking coming up in later installments.

LAND

When we talk about land, we most likely mean profitable land. There's little to no value in a desert unless you are a sand salesman.

First we'll talk about arable land. Our economy is based on wheat, and an acre of wheat turns over a profit of 45gp a year. In real life, the "turn around" time for a business is often 5 years, so we'll set the price for an acre of land at 5 times the turnover rate. This comes to 225gp per acre of arable land. This seems reasonable for the adventurer, but how does our farmer come into possession of his land?

Well, there's feudalism. Feudalism doesn't exist in Bronzeisle anymore, and was immediately succeeded by a sharecropping-like system. The serfs that worked the lord's land were often given ten acres each when feudalism officially ended, as mandated by the duke. If the land stayed in the family and wasn't traded for cheap, easy cash, then they'd still have it.

Another way is sharecropping. Sharecropping in Bronzeisle is where the farmer gives a percentage of whatever is harvested to the owner of the land, usually 50%. The sharecropper is contracted to do this for a time, usually 25 years, and then owns the land. It's often a miserable life of forced scarcity, desperation, and fear that the land owner will take it away at any time, so maybe don't become a sharecropper. Nobody does unless they're desperate.

More reasonable ways of getting land for the poor man include pioneering. This technically means taking undeveloped land and building on it to develop farmland, but in recent years also means the same thing with developed land. The major difference between sharecropping and pioneering is that the pioneer does own the land, and his heirs inherit it. The pioneer gives the lord 20% or so of their crops, or 20% of the profits from what they produce, whichever is higher.

Money lenders might also be interested in investing in a farmer, with the expectation of being paid back. This is how a farmer might get the 5 acres of land he needs to start making real money, but has to pay the lenders before he's actually profiting.

Now let's talk about other resources than fertile dirt. One might buy an acre of forest because it's got especially good wood, or is a truffle grove, or if he's a decadent member of the elite class, purely a hunting ground.

This reminds me that we haven't set the price of lumber. For simplicity, we'll just give ourselves two types of wood: hardwood and firewood.

Firewood is usually sold in cords of 120 logs for 10 silver each, and is made from soft trees that dry out easily. 120 logs will last a family through the coldest four months of the year, if they consume 1 log a day.

Hardwood is used for construction, as well as the handles of tools and weapons. It is sold in boards. 100 boards is sold for 20 silver, and for simplicity's sake, we'll say making an average weapon handle costs 1 board of hardwood.

An acre of forest is going to have about 100 trees in it, with each tree producing about 50 usable boards. This means our acre of forest produces 5,000 boards. Each of these trees will also produce 20 logs, for a total of 2,000 logs. Of course, this is clear-cutting an acre of forest, and trees don't take a year to grow. If replanted, a new forest can grow in 5 years. This is incredibly fast, but we're using 5 just because.

With all this said, we'll set an acre of forest at 250 gold.

Anyway, let's look at water. Saltwater is worth something only if there are rersources in the saltwater, like fish. Of course, most of the time, saltwater means that this body of water is an ocean. Waterfront property, even if non-arable, is going to cost more than arable land simply because of the view. An acre of waterfront property is going to cost us 300 gold in Bronzeisle.

If this is fresh water, it'll be worth even more. Access to drinkable water is going to make an acre of land 350 gold. Arable land with access to water will be 400 gold an acre.

A farmer will need to irrigate his crops, but not necessarily with his own water. If a water source is nearby, the farmer can effectively "rent" water by the acre. For the year, it'll cost him 5 gold per acre of water "rented" from the owner of the source, which is a recurring cost.

Finally, we'll look at resources that can be mined. This varies greatly. A salt resource may be worth 300 gold an acre, while a gold mine would be 50 times that. Figure out what your mine supplies and weigh it against the cost of the land it's on.

Anyway, we'll talk about buildings under the cut.

BUILDINGS

You live in some kind of home, more than likely. In the fantasy world, the people also usually live in homes. They don't sleep outside, and so a house needs to be built somewhere.

Most people rent or lease their home. Very few own it outright, and even then after years and years of paying for it. So, the average person rents from a landlord. We're going to look at the property owner first, then the property renter.

We're working forward, since we already discussed wood. Obviously, wood doesn't just explode into boards when you're ready for it to. Two people sawing wood for 8 hours could produce roughly 200 boards of wood per day. These two people both get paid 10 silver per day, since they are skilled laborers.

A basic one-story shack with dimensions of roughly 20 feet by 10 feet by 8 feet is going to cost us a minimum of 2000 boards. Simply to produce the boards costs 200 silver. Of course, someone had to cut down these trees: a lumberjack. The lumberjack can probably cut down 4 trees a day by himself, providing the 200 boards we need. One lumberjack per two sawmen works out very well. The lumberjack is also a skilled worker, probably more so than the sawmen, but we're going to lowball him and put him at a 10 silver wage. This means it costs 30 silver to produce 200 boards, and 15 to produce 100. Of course, the lumber mill is going to charge 20 silver for 100 boards, not 15.

Our 2000 boards, then, cost 400 silver. We'll say 5 carpenters can build this shack in just 3 days, and them being skilled laborers, it will cost us 150 silver, or nearly half the price of the materials. We haven't even factored in metal hinges for the one door or anything, but for now until we calculate the price of iron, we'll add on another 50 silver. We just built an incredibly shit house for 600 silver.

Now let's build an actual house of quality. We're going to build a nice house with two floors, a fireplace, living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a basement. This is going to cost us about 13,000 boards, or 2600 silver. This is also the price of a large wagon, but 2600 silver is purely the wood.

In the country, this house would sit on an acre or more (often much more) of property, but in the city, it would sit on a small lot barely big enough for itself. Our city lot is going to cost an additional 2000 silver.

We'll need a carpenter and his crew to actually build the house. Instead of bothering with how many carpenters there are, we'll just say this house will take about 30 man-days to build, at 10 silver each, which comes to another 300 silver for carpentry labor.

We have a fireplace. First we're going to buy bricks for it. This fireplace will cost us about 1500 bricks from the brickmaker, who's going to be selling bricks by the hundred for 10 silver. We want 1500 so we'll pay him 150.

Now the mason is actually going to install our fireplace. It'll take 3 days for this mason to do his job, at 15 silver a day, because he also has an apprentice. 45 silver installation.

Our basement will be built by ditch diggers, unskilled laborers, so we'll say it takes them 10 man-days to dig a hole 10 feet deep, 30 feet wide, and 30 feet long. At 5 silver each, this will cost 50 silver.

We haven't even considered any metal parts, and we're already at 5145 silver. We're going to round this out and say this house costs us 6000 silver (600gp) total, which also includes furniture and panes of glass. The last thing we have to worry about is taxes- property taxes will be set at 20%.

The landlord has just put down 600gp for this house, and she'll probably take on the risk of keeping it for 15 or so years. Again, it should last much longer than this.

She'll want to double the cost of her overhead, or charge 1200 gold in rent over the next 15 years. This comes out to a suspicious 666 copper per month, which we'll just round up to 70 silver. This is seven day's skilled wages, but landlords are greedy fucks. The average one might charge 100 silver, or 10 day's skilled wages.

The landlord makes 1200 silver (120gp) a year, and after ten years, has made her money back. Of course, people don't often consistently rent properties, but this is a particularly good year. In 15 years she has made 1800 gold, which is more than livable.

Now we're going to talk about lodging. We have a similar deal, and every fantasy world has a combination tavern and inn. We'll call the inn 800gp and part it out into four rooms. Of course, the lower area also serves food and drink, so the inn rooms won't bear the full cost. The inn would do even better if it was a brothel, but we can worry about that later.

We'll halve the cost per room from 200 to 100, but we'll have to bring it back to 200 if we want to double our money. Anyway, because the rooms of an inn aren't consistently full, the innkeeper is going to charge double the daily price of renting a home. This comes out on the books to 66 copper, but we'll make it 7 silver pieces. This is for an average inn. A terrible inn might be half this and a good inn might be double this. There's an inn in Bronzeisle called the Gilded Fountain that charges 10 gold pieces a night.

HUNTING and GATHERING

Of course a farmer or craftsman is busy, but he's not always busy. Sometimes work is slow and he has time for other things, like hunting, foraging, and fishing. Doing one of these keeps food on the table, or money coming in if it's to be sold.

HUNTING

First, let's talk about game hunting- you know, deer and elk, that sort of thing. Our average two year old buck is going to weigh 125 pounds alive, but once we kill him, bleed him, and part him out, we're left with about 55 pounds of meat. This deer is also going to give us about 3 square feet of hide, which is thin, but will serve well in the winter. An elk can weigh 500 pounds and is going to give us 200 pounds of meat, along with 9 square feet of hide. Deer or elk meat often sells in the summer at 2 silver per pound, but can go up to 5 silver to rival beef during the winter months.

Hunting small game like rabbits and squirrels isn't going to bring in nearly as much money. We're going to price a pound of small game meat at 1 silver- the same as chicken. Animals like this will also give us about 1 square foot of hide.

Now let's talk trapping. An average-skilled beaver trapper would probably set an average of 6 traps. It's closer to 5, but we're making up numbers here, so go with it. This same trapper, if he's working for a fur company, is making 10 silver a day, usually. He catches a beaver in about 50% of his traps. The cost to the company, then, is 33 copper per square foot of pelt, but they're going to upcharge this. Of course they're going to upcharge this.

Our beaver man is basically living off the land when he goes to trap in the winters, eating the animals he catches and packing away the pelts. So we'll say the company is going to sell these beaver pelts for 5 silver each.

We also have mink and fox pelts. While minks and foxes are harder to catch and therefore worth more, they are also smaller. Our foxes are only going to give us half a square foot of usable pelt. Our mink, even less, at a quarter of a square foot. This size difference basically comes to mean that a square foot of any three of these pelts is going to be 5 silver.

Now since we're here, let's get slightly into clothes. Only slightly. With fur, we're mostly looking at fur coats and fur jackets. There are fur hats and mittens as well, and the wealthy will often want fur cloaks.

The person making this fur into clothes is a furrier. She is a highly skilled crafter, and commands 15 silver per day from her boss.

Now let's make some basic clothing items. First up is a fur jacket, which we'll say costs us 5 square feet of fur. 5 square feet of fur costs us 25 silver. The furrier's company also has to pay for materials. There are buttons and zippers in Bronzeisle, so we'll call the price of a fur jacket 30 silver. The furrier is probably only making one jacket per day, so she is pocketing half the profit from her own work.

A fur coat is another matter. It's much bigger and often bulkier, so we'll say it costs 9 square feet of fur. It also takes about 16 hours, or two days' work, to make. This is 45 silver. The furrier's company will then sell her work for 60 silver. She's only pocketing a quarter of the profits here. More skilled furriers can demand more, and the rich will ensure that furriers will find customers while demanding more.

We've only covered animals that are relatively easy to hunt, but what about wolves? Well, wolf coats shed during the warm months, but tough guys will want them regardless. Wolves also exist in packs 90% of the time, and are aggressive. Forget it if it's a dire wolf, but we'll calculate that too.

Our wolf is Medium sized, and most are as big as humans, so we're going to say they provide 5 square feet of fur. The dire wolf is Large, and can be ridden by humans. So we'll call that 10 square feet, or twice as much wolf per wolf as a regular wolf.

Wolf pelts are going to run us 20 silver per square foot, one because of the added danger, and two because of the added danger. A more skilled, or more greedy, trapper is going to try to hunt wolves. He'll command 15 silver a day for his work.

Dire wolves, on the other hand, often kill scores of people single-handedly. We're going to set a square foot of their pelt at 50 silver, which is about 500 silver per animal. A dire wolf hunter is going to want 20 silver a day, since he's risking his life.

FISHING

We mentioned before that a fisherman can pull up 20 pounds of fish per day, but this is a commercial fisherman. A man fishing at the riverside can probably pull up 2 pounds of fish per day. He can still sell this for 1 silver per pound, or start a small salting operation and sell it for 4 silver per pound. He'd do best to keep this fish and eat it through the winter, though. This is regular fish. Salmon or tuna might sell for twice this.

FORAGING

It's hard for the DM to set a price on foraging, so guess what: we won't. At least not foraging as a whole. It is very difficult to forage for one's needs, so we'll just say that 2 hours of foraging can bring in 1 pound of food for the average, untrained forager. This, of course, is assuming that wild edible plants grow sporadically. If one finds an overgrown orchard, or even an orchard that a farmer isn't attending, they've hit paydirt.

Foraging is best done by people who know the area and do it for a living. Without this we run into issues, such as poisonous plants and fungus. The DM is definitely going to have to make rolls on the return of foraged items, since luck is involved.

Foragers can also be paid. It is a skilled work, so they will charge 10 silver per day. They will bring in 2 pounds per hour, or four times what we can do as an unskilled land owner. Sometimes they might come across something worth a lot more than 10 silver, which, if they don't snag it for themselves, makes it worth your while.

Well, that's it for this installment of Bread. Next we can look at tobacco and the like in our drugs chapter. It might be a long one.

[makerkenzie]

What if Jaime hadn’t joined the Kingsguard?

I just posed this What If scenario a few minutes ago, I’ve given it some thought, and I’m formulating a scenario as I write it. This’ll get long. Buckle up, Buttercup.

The change is: rather than join the Kingsguard at age 15, Jaime goes straight home to Casterly Rock and takes up his position as his father’s dutiful heir. From there, what happens differently?

At first, this scenario seems to revolve around Jaime, but now that I think about it, the first thing to change, and possibly the most important factor, is that Tywin does not resign as Hand as quickly as he does.

The tourney at Harrenhal still happens, and maybe Jaime competes along with all the other young knights, but Jaime’s presence is hardly an issue. Even if Jaime wins the tourney, the Knight of the Laughing Tree still appears, and Rhaegar still makes off with Lyanna Stark shortly thereafter, so the war still happens.

This time, the war begins with Tywin still serving as Hand, and Aerys has been increasingly hostile to him for years, so, when Aerys starts taking a huge shit all over the feudal contract (which he still does even with Tywin trying to clean up after him), Tywin decides he needs to get the hell out. Like Jaime said in the show version, Tywin isn’t one to pick the losing side. 

However, since he’s still serving as Hand when the war breaks out, he’s in such a position that a) he must choose a side in the war early on, but that’s okay, because b) he’s in a much better place to determine the winning side. 

Knowing what we do about Tywin, this is what I think would happen if he were still the King’s Hand when Rickard and Brandon Stark were murdered:

Tywin writes to the Baratheon-Tully-Stark-Arryn coalition, says: I want to join your side, so here’s what I have to offer, and here’s what I expect in return.

The rebels write back: You ballsy SOB, where have you been all this time?

So this is how he joins the rebels: he sneaks out of the Red Keep in the middle of the night with his household guard, and he shows up at Riverrun with his army, and most of the royal family in their custody. The Lannisters have Queen Rhaella, Prince Viserys, Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys, and someone can correct my chronology, but I think Elia’s pregnant with Aegon at this time. Or she may not have even conceived Aegon by then. They have Viserys, so Aegon isn’t necessary. At that early stage in the war, the rebels aren’t really committed to anyone in particular as the new king, just that they need to get rid of Aerys and Rhaegar. Tywin’s terms are that he brings his army to the rebels’ cause, BUT Viserys will be the new king, Tywin will be his Hand, and (let’s say) Jon Arryn will be Lord Regent until Viserys comes of age. Viserys will marry Cersei; the age difference is cumbersome, but not prohibitive. Once Aerys is dead, Rhaella will choose a new husband from the rebel lords. (That was her requirement for leaving the Red Keep quietly.) They write to the Martells and say: look, the Tullys are hosting Elia and her daughter at Riverrun, so you might as well join our side. 

The Martells join the rebels. Back at Casterly Rock, Jaime is involved in the war effort, but Tywin makes sure he doesn’t fight in any actual battles, as he doesn’t want his heir dying young. Since Tywin is in such a position of power in the war, he’s abandoned his plans of marrying Jaime to Lysa Tully, thinking he’ll select a daughter of whatever lord serves him the best. With the Lannisters and the Martells on the rebel side, there’s literally no incentive for the Tyrells to stick with the Targaryens, so they don’t. The Greyjoys are still on the sidelines, and the royalists are extravagantly outnumbered and outgunned, so the war ends a lot sooner. There’s no Wildfire Plot. Rhaegar is killed or taken prisoner at a much earlier date, and once he’s under control, the rebels batter down the gates of King’s Landing, without the trickery of pretending to be on the royalist side. By this point, Aerys may have one or two Kingsguard knights still with him, but the rebels cut through them quick enough, they clap Aerys in a dungeon cell, and a public execution is quickly arranged for both him and Rhaegar. Tywin passes the sentence, and Ilyn Payne swings the sword. 

Basically, Robert’s Rebellion becomes the War of Brothers, as Viserys is the rebellion’s favored candidate over Rhaegar.

Boom, they crown Viserys, boom, he gets married to Cersei, and he’s much too young to consummate the marriage, so he can’t abuse her like Robert does. I mean, Viserys is never going to be great husband material, but he’s also a very young kid, so, that puts Cersei in a much more powerful position relative to him. Rhaella has married a nice River lord who gets a seat on the Small Council, and she mostly lives at the Red Keep and raises Viserys. She may have had another kid with her new husband, but she’s still invested in raising her little king. He’s still an obnoxious little beast, but with his mother’s influence, and with the stability of not living in abject poverty as his little sister’s primary caregiver in Essos, he’s a lot easier to manage. Since Rhaella got away from Aerys, and he was executed much sooner, there is no Daenerys, which means Essos is much less of a concern for Westeros.

Since Elia and Rhaenys were part of the deal Tywin brought to the rebels, they’re more valuable to him alive. Following Viserys’s coronation, Elia and Rhaenys go back to Sunspear to be with her family. If Aegon exists, he stays with his mother at first, and when he’s old enough to serve as a page, he fosters with another Dornish family. The Martells do not hate the Lannisters. Oberyn is not determined to get revenge on anyone. 

Of course, if Aegon exists, the argument could be made that he should inherit the throne ahead of Viserys. Elia isn’t interested in another war, so she convinces her brothers to let well enough alone and let Viserys be king. They use Aegon as a bargaining chip with the crown; they get Oberyn a seat on the Small Council, which he uses as a position to get favorable conditions for Dorne, and in return, they do not attempt a coup with Elia’s son.

Jon Arryn is still married to Lysa, who still has a very hard time producing a healthy child and is still obsessed with Littlefinger and way too wrapped up in her kid, but Littlefinger is not on the Small Council. Tywin convinces Jon Arryn to send Lysa back to the Eyrie with their sickly kid before she can do any damage at the Red Keep. 

Since the crown is still technically with the Targaryens, Varys is not interested in destabilizing the realm. Since Littlefinger was not allowed a toehold in Viserys’s reign, he is not in a position to bankrupt the realm or turn the Starks and Lannisters against each other. Since Tywin was put in such a position that the Sack of King’s Landing was not an option, the Starks don’t think the Lannisters are scum. Since Jaime was never in the Kingsguard, he never became the Kingslayer. Cersei is still a trainwreck, but with such a different dynamic between her and Viserys, she never sees any need to cuckold her husband; eventually he comes of age, they consummate their marriage, and she gives birth to a new silver-haired prince or princess. Rhaella is still present, and she takes an interest in her grandchild. Since the child is not the product of full-sibling incest, it’s a nice kid, and with the involvement of people like Grandma Rhaella and Grampa Tywin, the kid is growing up to be a promising heir to the throne. Cersei’s still awful, and Viserys is still a mess, but their kid is turning out quite nicely.

(And even if Cersei does decide to cuckold Viserys, she can’t do it with Jaime, which means she doesn’t produce a kid like Joffrey. Even if she cuckolds Viserys, it isn’t such a surprise to see a golden-haired child fathered by a Targaryen, so she probably doesn’t get caught any time soon.)

Robert Baratheon is Lord of Storm’s End. He’s married to a good healthy Stormlander who gives him several black-haired children and politely rolls her eyes while he fucks the serving girls. Stannis is among his household knights. Renly is basically their court jester. None of them are anywhere near the line of succession to the throne.

Because the war ended much earlier, Ned Stark finds Lyanna at the Tower of Joy when she’s still in early pregnancy. He takes her back to Winterfell, where she most likely survives her labor just fine. She raises Jon along with Ned and Cat’s kids. The Stark kids grow up with an aunt and cousin, and Cat does not spend her marriage believing her husband sired a bastard. Even if Lyanna still dies at Jon’s birth, the rebels won the war by such a wide margin, Ned sees no point in lying about Jon’s parentage. 

Eventually, Viserys reaches the age of sixteen, which means there’s no place for a regency, and Jon Arryn steps down. Maybe he goes home to his psycho wife and sickly kid in the Vale, or maybe he takes another Small Council seat. I’d wrangle a new Small Council position if the alternative were going home to Lysa. Anyway, Tywin has figured out by now that Viserys has the Targaryen madness like his batshit father, and now that he’s reached adulthood, there’s only so much Tywin can do to mitigate the effects of his awfulness. Cersei isn’t helping. Rhaella is a stabilizing influence, but Viserys only listens to his mother up to a point, and Rhaella won’t live forever. Tywin won’t live forever, either. He doesn’t want the realm to be at the mercy of another Mad King, and have another uprising, so once Cersei’s produced a healthy son, he arranges a quick death for Viserys and makes it look like an accident. Thus, Tywin’s little grandson is the new king, and he’s still the Hand.

Jaime is married to a bannerman’s daughter and serving as Acting Lord of Casterly Rock as his father has basically committed the rest of his life to King’s Landing. Tywin appoints Jaime’s wife’s father as the new regent for his grandson, not because this lord makes a really good ruler, but because he’ll be cooperative with Tywin. Because Jaime is at Casterly Rock and Tywin and Cersei aren’t, Tyrion is much happier and does not develop alcoholism. Because Jaime respects Tyrion’s intellect and values his opinion, they work together in governing the Westerlands. 

Of course, Cersei has still heard Maggy’s prophecy, so she still thinks Tyrion is her enemy, but since Jaime and Tywin agree on keeping Tyrion in the west and Cersei in the capital, Cersei is not in a position to abuse her little brother.

There are several points at which shit could go pear-shaped. Tywin might decide to execute Elia and her kids after all, which means the Martells are still plotting against the Lannisters. Cersei might cuckold Viserys and get caught much earlier, which leads to another succession crisis. Jon Snow and Aegon VI could still be put forth as claimants to the throne. Viserys could fuck things up as soon as he’s old enough to rule. Rhaella might disagree with Tywin’s governance and start working to undermine him. Varys might decide he isn’t happy with Viserys and start working on pulling the realm out from under him before Tywin has a chance to arrange his early death. 

Meanwhile, if Jon Snow is born under better circumstances, then he’s not under pressure to join the Night’s Watch. If he doesn’t join the Watch, he doesn’t make friends with Sam Tarly, and he doesn’t see the White Walkers show up. 

[junker-town]

The inspiring story of TJ Olsen shows the importance of organ donation

Greg Olsen’s son has another chance at life thanks to another.

Greg and Kara Olsen faced the unthinkable this month when they announced their son TJ would require a heart transplant at the age of eight. A boy who had been through so much since his life began in 2012 now faced his most difficult challenge.

This past weekend Olsen posted that a donor had been found for their boy. He was rushed into emergency surgery to perform the transplant, and on Monday a brief video was posted showing TJ in recovery.

Someone has an update pic.twitter.com/L1Zk2AgHpd

— Greg Olsen (@gregolsen88) June 7, 2021

The bravery displayed by a child, and the grace of his parents, is unimaginable. That’s a big, over-used word “unimaginable,” but I cannot think of one that fits better. No scenario exists in which I can fathom being strong if my little girl needed to go through half the medical procedures that TJ did. The idea that something was happening I have no control over is impossible to comprehend. That the little girl who still has the idyllic view that her parents can do anything would have to tell her “there’s nothing we can do.” Even thinking about it now brings me to tears, and that’s not a reality I live in.

There’s a lesson to be learned from TJ: not just in life, but how we confront mortality. Both ours, and others around us. It’s finality none of us want to talk about, pushing it to the recesses of our mind where we stash anything in our life we are too fragile to deal with. Today we look at TJ’s story, but also how we can change our lives to adapt to situations like this in the future.

TJ Olsen’s story

Football was the furthest thing from Greg Olsen’s mind in October 2012. The tight end, had an incredible start to the season coming off his first year in Carolina, but his biggest test was coming off the field.

Kara Olsen was pregnant with twins. The couple learned early in the pregnancy that their son TJ was going to be born with a congenital heart defect known as “Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome,” a grouped term for a number of potential defects in which the heart is unable to pump oxygen-rich blood to the body. A condition which requires surgical intervention, and in extreme cases even transplant.

Panthers fans, and the city of Charlotte rallied around the Olsens after hearing the news. A rookie tradition in Carolina had been having players dress up as super heroes and comic book characters and visiting kids at The Levine Children’s Hospital, but this was the first time one of the team’s own needed the hospital so critically.

The importance of that 2012 season heightened. Olsen was playing not just for the Panthers, but for TJ. The result was one of the most heartening in recent memory, with each week’s score mattering to fans, but not nearly as much as hanging on every update released on TJ’s condition.

Multiple surgeries later, it was announced that TJ would be okay. Instead of being happy his child was out of the woods, and returning to business as usual, Greg and Kara turned their son’s illness into a point of strength. They launched “The HEARTest Yard,” the brainchild of Kara who realized the at-home care TJ required following his surgeries, and the suite of medical needs were utterly unattainable for those who weren’t privileged enough to have an NFL salary in their home.

Partnering with Levine Children’s Hospital, The HEARTest Yard provides funds, support, and specialized treatment plans for everyone, regardless of income. It ensures every child facing similar issues to TJ gets the same level of care, removing the unthinkable barrier for people without the means to pick the best possible care for their children without the crippling financial burden that would come with it.

Since its inception the program has expanded beyond at-home care. Now pivoting into adolescent care, it provides support to children who faced brutal medical issues, and ensures they don’t see lasting effects into adulthood. Typically children who are diagnosed with life-threatening conditions in childhood experience cognitive and learning difficulties beyond their physical diagnosis . The HEARTest Yard follows children beyond being “cleared,” providing cognitive and learning support into adulthood.

It’s unquestionably one of the best charities a former NFL player has been involved in.

Unfortunately, TJ’s struggles continued

On May 24th Greg Olsen announced that despite having years of relative health, TJ was facing another challenge.

This past week has been exceptionally challenging for our family. As many of you know, our son TJ has faced serious heart issues since birth. TJ has already undergone 3 open heart surgeries and has survived with a modified heart for his first 8 years of life. Unfortunately, it seems his heart is reaching its end. We are currently working through the process to determine our next steps, which ultimately could lead to a heart transplant.

We are so thankful for the incredible support we have received over the years. We have received world class care at Levine Children’s Hospital and we are so appreciative of their amazing team. We don’t know how long we will be within these hospital walls. We do know that we are in full control of our attitudes and our outlook.

TJ has been a fighter since birth. We are going to get through this as a family and be better off as a result of this experience.

Thanks for everyone’s prayers.

The Olsen Family

The community that rallied around the Olsens in 2012 was still there. Even though Greg was no longer on the Panthers, the love the community had for his family remained. Area businesses poured out their support, youth games honored TJ, Bank of America Stadium was lit up green for a night in honor of the young boy.

TJ’s favorite color is green so we made sure @BofAstadium was lit up green tonight pic.twitter.com/A325ppRm2n

— Carolina Panthers (@Panthers) June 5, 2021

Dreams soon became reality. A donor was found for TJ. The 8-year-old was given a new lease on life, but with it came a sober reminder that in order for one person to triumph, another was dealing with tragedy. Greg Olsen still doesn’t know where his son’s donor heart came from, a factor of how the anonymity of the process, but asked the world to think of them, wherever they are.

We also want to ask that everyone takes a second to pray for our donor family. Their selflessness during a tragic time gave our boy a chance at life. We don’t know who they are, but we will forever be grateful for everyday we get to have with Tj ❤️ Olsen Family

— Greg Olsen (@gregolsen88) June 4, 2021

TJ Olsen still has a long road ahead while he recovers, but he now has a chance to truly live without the cloud of his illness looming. One story may end here, but it goes far, far beyond that.

The importance of being an organ donor

I never knew my aunt Rochelle very well. She was one of those people who’s called “aunt” by osmosis, a familial relationship so convoluted and complex it’s easier to say aunt than whatever the technical term on a family tree is. I didn’t meet her until I was 10 years old, when she was already sick.

Rochelle was young, too young to need something as complex as a heart and lung transplant — but a routine checkup discovered that at the age of 39 she had congenital issues that required intervention. Rochelle and my uncle Michael moved from Western Australia to Sydney to check in long-term to one of Australia’s best hospitals, where she would have round-the-clock care, and the best chance at getting a transplant.

My school was within walking distance from the hospital. My mom would pick me up, we’d walk over and see Rochelle every day. When I was young I thought we were bothering her. She always seemed so tired, and exhausted to even open her eyes. I later learned that this was the most energy she could muster all day, that the highlight of her hospital room-confined life was seeing her 10-year-old nephew. A brief respite from the crushing reality around her. She’d ask what I did in school, I’ll fill her in on every detail, each joke I made, what I’d learned. Her eyes would light up, and a smile would creep across her face.

Sometimes I’d complain about going to the hospital. The way any kid would after being asked to do something every day. My mom explained how whatever issues I had with it were completely outweighed by the joy I brought Rochelle. I didn’t really get it, but also I did.

I’d be lying if I said I had a good grip on the severity of the situation. All I knew was that Rochelle needed a new heart AND new lungs. On a few occasions a doctor would call my uncle Michael out of room and tell him they’d found a heart, or they’d found lungs — but were waiting to see if another donor emerged to complete the puzzle. Michael would return to the room, equal parts joyful, and self loathing. One the one hand he was excited they got one step closer, then he hated himself for being put in a position where he hoped someone else might die to make the love of his life whole.

This process dragged on for months. Sometimes there was a heart. Maybe there were lungs. Never at the same time, never both when needed. Rochelle continued to deteriorate. Our visits grew shorter. She wasn’t able to smile like she once did.

Then, one day, we stopped visiting. Rochelle’s fight was over.

When my mom asked the doctor he said she was first on the donor list for heart, second for lungs — and hadn’t moved in a month. Less than half the people who died on the east coast of Australia during her battle were registered organ donors. It’s here I learned about the importance of the process.

A 2019 study showed that over 90 percent of Americans support the idea of organ donation, but only 54 percent are registered donors. This could be due to religious beliefs, forgetting to fill out the form when you get your driver’s license, or a product of not wanting to face our own mortality — but we need to be better.

Donating your organs is the single easiest, most altruistic act any person can possibly make. Literally being able to save lives with there being absolutely no price. Yes, obviously you will have died, but donating organs has no bearing on that process. It’s simply giving away things you can no longer use — yet we’re afraid to do it.

I understand the process is scary. It makes death real. It forces us to imagine a world that continues when we don’t exist in it. However, imagine how it must feel to the families of those needing organ donations to imagine living in a world without their loved ones?

You can remedy this almost immediately. Go to OrganDonor.gov, sign up as a donor, and tell your family your decision. That’s all that’s required. Imagine all the time we waste on the internet each day. Here’s 10 minutes that can literally save a life, maybe even more. The final selfless act any person can make to completely alter the lives of people you may never meet, but who your generosity will impact forever.

[irarelypostanything]

Slice of Life[8]

[Kevin]

Kevin could have spent those last critical hours learning something appropriate to this interview, but instead he spent all of them trying to figure out a tie.  Ties were far too complicated.  Ties were old-fashioned, out-dated, older than even legacy software...and they were pointless.  Besides needing them every now and then for an occasion like this, they were about as functionally useful as button-up shirts or apartment decorations.  And like apartment decorations, Kevin struggled with this to the point of giving up.

He left the tie at home and drove.  This healthcare company was actually a little bit closer than his actual workplace.  To find it he’d gone through a head hunter in India, two HR representatives in London, and a logistical organizer from St. Louis.  After all that, he was happy to find that the company site was actually a 12-minute drive from his apartment.

He arrived an hour early, as was his custom.  He met with a software engineer manager, a scrum master, and two senior engineers at once.  Kevin thought of himself as the kind of person who got intimidated by mildly impatient drivers and arguably rude grocery store cashiers; this was, in a word, terrifying.

“So,” said one of the two senior engineers (the other one said nothing the entire time; Kevin later learned that he was just there to make the experience more intimidating), “we’re going to start right off the bat with some technical questions.”

“Shit, it didn’t say you’d be asking technical questions on your Glassdoor,” mumbled Kevin.

“What?”

“I said go ahead.”   Kevin smiled like it was a joke, when in reality his thought process frequently found its way out of his mouth.

“What are the advantages of object-oriented programming?”

“Come again?”  Kevin was stunned.  He had prepared for the interview by studying binary search tree insertion, how to convert a binary search tree into a doubly linked list, and the full history of binary search trees.

“What are the advantages of object-oriented programming?” he repeated.

“They...they make things organized.”

“Anything else?”

“No...yeah…” Kevin was stumbling on his words, “they make things more organized.”

“How comfortable are you with Java?”

“Fairly comfortable.”

“What are some differences between using an abstract class and using an interface, in Java?”

“Actually, on second thought, I have more experience in C++...”  The interviewer did not respond to that.  Kevin did not expect him to, since the role was very clearly a Java developer role.

“Does C++ have interfaces?”

“I don’t know, it might?”

“Sticking to Java, do you know when you’d choose something like an interface over an abstract class?”

“I do not.”

The senior software engineer exchanged glances with the others present.  They were frantically taking notes on respective laptops.

The senior software engineer handed Kevin a whiteboard marker.  “We’d like to do an exercise.  We’d like you to write a simple string reversal algorithm.”

“Oh, okay.  I’ll just write a for loop to traverse it backwards.”

“Let me finish.  You have to reverse the string in place.  You’re not allowed to make a new string.”

“Fuck, you’d think I’d have looked this up the last time I failed on it.”

“What?”

“What?”

In the end, everyone seemed polite enough.  The building was nice.  The culture seemed like a good fit.  But in spite of the fact that no one insulted him bluntly, Kevin felt a sinking feeling that he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this job.

The manager walked Kevin to his car.  

“About a year ago, someone at my company applied here.  Remember him?”

“Yes, actually,” said the manager.

“Do you know what happened?”

“I heard.  It was really sad.”

“Did he get the job, though?”

“No.”

It was mid-afternoon.  It was 90 degrees even though it had rained the week before.

“I want to ask you something,” said the manager.  They locked eyes.  “Did you apply here because you wanted a job, or because your dead friend wanted it?”

“A bit of both?  I thought it would be poetic if I took the job he never lived to do.”

“Poetic how?”

“I don’t know.  But be honest, I didn’t get it...did I?”

The manager looked around uncomfortably.  “We’ll still do a thorough review and try to make the best decision, but no.  Probably not.”

“Because I’m not good enough.”

“Because you’re not ready.  Review your fundamentals.  Do some practice, maybe some independent projects.  Then see us again in a year or so.”

“Good luck.”

“You too.”

[Nora]

It was well past midnight.  Nora and Kevin were on the phone as they worked on their computers.

“Andy’s always been kind of a douche,” said Nora, “but we love him anyway.  I don’t see why that exchange bugged you so much.”

“He said I don’t understand the big picture of how our system works.”

“Well, do you?”

“Yeah.  When I said I did, he quizzed me.”

“Did you pass his quiz?”

“I guess.”

“Then you proved him wrong.  What’s the problem?”

“Maybe he’s right.  Maybe I don’t understand.  Or maybe I at least really give off the impression that I don’t understand.”

“Whenever I find myself in situations like this,” said Nora, “I look at myself in the mirror, try to give my situation a hard metaphorical look, think things through, and then ask my reflection…’DO I ACTUALLY GIVE A FUCK?’”

“I do, though.”

“Do you?”

“Okay, maybe not that much.”

The two worked a little longer in silence.  Nora broke the ice.  “Speaking of people and things I don’t give a fuck about, how’s Dan?”

“Slowly cracking, whatever sanity he once possessed turning to nothing but a shadow.”

“Oh sorry, I wasn’t listening.  A creeper almost snuck up on me.”  She moved her Minecraft avatar to collect gunpowder, which she knew she could use to make a splash potion.  “You said Dan is doing well?”

“No, terribly.  His code quality is suffering too.”

“What do you think the problem is?”

“I don’t know.  He seems uncharacteristically depressed, like things are going really badly for him at home or in his personal life.”

“Sweet, sounds like an awesome opportunity to finally do what you’ve always been dreaming of.”

“And what’s that?”

“Get the little bitch fired.”

[Ryan]

Two days.  Two days was how long they’d given Ryan to prepare a work presentation.  Shared in front of six sites, he was to provide a “playbook presentation” on what his team had learned about effective software engineering.

By the laws of company policy, which was attempting to keep up with the pace of start-ups, all employees were permitted to drink on site.  Ryan did so, a lot, which was kind of dumb because he did strange things when he was drunk.

“Assets and liabilities,” began Ryan, “these are the two things I want to present to you today.  Assets are people who help us, who make us the best we can be.  Liabilities are exactly what they sound like.  These are people we need to eradicate.”  Ryan had intended to say terminate, but the alcohol was not working well with his system.  “Eradicate from the company, I mean.

“I believe, passionately, that incompetence is as much of a crime as intentional sabotage.  I believe that those responsible for writing the shitty software that downed a commercial airplane are every bit as responsible as if they were terrorists who took it down with a rocket.  The greatest threat to our company and our country isn’t an outside threat, it’s the idiots right here in this room who do a shitty job day after day, not because they’re trying to but because they’re too stupid to even comprehend the depth of their own stupidity.

“This brings me to my next point, the necessity of eugenics-”

“Okay,” interrupted the chief engineer as he ushered Ryan off stage, “that was a wonderful presentation from our newest engineer.  Unfortunately we are out of time, and must move onto the next section: The importance of properly color-coding your sequence diagrams in Microsoft Visio.”

[Andy]

Andy was in a manager meeting as the only non-manager.

“Ryan has apologized profusely for his inflammatory presentation today,” Andy began, “ordinarily we would have taken disciplinary action, but unfortunately he’s the only one at our site who knows what the fuck error code 256 means.”

“Then what was the point of calling this meaning?” asked a manager.

“As outrageous as his presentation may be,” explained Andy, “he may have a point.  Has anyone noticed Dan’s erratic behavior?”

“Yes,” said another manager, “there have been numerous reports of him sobbing uncontrollably, hanging up pictures of a coworker who passed away a year ago, and then taking unscheduled visits to his late friend’s tombstone.”

“Wow, this guy sounds like a serious liability.”

“Exactly!  I believe this may seriously detriment our ability to perform well in our next demo, which we know is critical, unless we take action immediately.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Finding a replacement.”

“Get to it.”

[allofbeercom]

7 WTF Details About Historical Events Everyone Forgets

Tragic events are typically followed by periods of shock, grief, anger, and the occasional flash of inexplicable horniness. So it’s only natural that when we’re dealing with lives lost and places destroyed, we tend to only focus on these important matters and damn everything else to hell. But sometimes, that means we ignore all of the chaotic insanity that typically accompanies history, making textbooks just that little bit blander. So let’s put on our Indiana Jones hats and dive into the past, and remind ourselves of some truly crazypants parts of history that usually get left out of the conversation. For example …

7

The Manual For The German Tiger Tank Contained Poetry And Porn

War is chaos. With bullets flying and bombs whizzing everywhere, preparation and alertness are the keys to survival. But while combat is exciting, combat training can be mind-numbingly boring. So how do you get a group of disinterested, overly hormonal boys to sit up, pay attention, and remember stuff? By turning that stuff into smut, of course.

During World War II, German commanders needed to quickly familiarize new recruits with the inner workings of the complicated Tiger Tank. Unfortunately, the Fuhrer’s finest were less than thrilled with spending long days memorizing the dry technical manuals. Finally, the Nazis came up with an elegant solution to motivate the laser-like focus necessary to master the tank: They included a naked lady on every other page, and made sure the important parts rhymed.

German Federal ArchivesTranslation: “Danger lurks in the sump! Read your manual well, otherwise your Tiger goes to hell!”

After the war, it was discovered that the manual for the German Panzerkampfwagen was full of nudes, jokes, and dirty limericks. This masterpiece was the brainchild of Josef von Glatter-Goetz, who had novel ideas on how to warm up his cadets’ learning muscles (among others). And most of the warming up was done by Elvira, a buxom blonde who appeared every few pages to keep the boys thumbing — or whatever else helped them get there faster.

German Federal Archives“Klaus, why do you keep taking the manual to the bathroom?”

She would pop up (often with her clothes popped off) whenever the cadets were supposed to pay extra attention to the lesson, like the importance of making accurate measurements when firing or keeping the engines clean, even if it led to making the cockpits sticky.

German Federal Archives“I only read it for the articles.”

The program was a demonstrable success, and both von Glatter-Goetz’s excellent understanding of his target audience and Elvira’s ass helped untold numbers of troops masturbate their way to mastering the Tiger Tank.

6

Hurricane Katrina Ejected Over A Thousand Coffins From Graves

According to FEMA, Hurricane Katrina was “the single most catastrophic natural disaster in U.S. history.” It caused over $41.1 billion in damage and killed more than 1,800 people. But not content with causing misery for the living, Katrina decided to go after the deceased as well, digging them up so she could pee her hate water on their faces.

Petty Officer Kyle Niemi/US Navy“You whine when it doesn’t rain, you whine when it rains too much, what do you want from me??”

Read Next

5 Crazy Scenarios You Didn't Know The Constitution Allows

During the disaster, over 1,000 coffins — and, more gruesomely, those coffin’s residents — were ejected from their places of rest. The transition wasn’t gentle, either. One New Orleans native found his grandmother’s body, still in her pink burial dress, splayed out in the open like she was trying to get a tan. Skeletal remains were sprawled among cemetery statues, and more than one coffin was found up a tree. According to the Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team (Dmort), it’s unlikely that all the uprooted bodies will ever be located and returned. “Many are in extremely remote and inaccessible areas,” a spokesman said. “They have been carried way downrange into muck and swamp and forest.”

APWe don’t want to sound too alarmist, but this is exactly how a zombie apocalypse would start.

Despite the difficulties, officials are still doing their best to return the drifting dead to their correct burial sites — or as much of them as they can scoop up, at least. Unfortunately, since we have this silly idea that the dead aren’t supposed to move about, corpses and coffins tend to not have any labels of traceable information. Finding a corpse that’s buried with something unique is like finding a corner piece of an especially macabre puzzle. So far, officials have been able to identify bodies buried with their favorite golf club, some unusual rosary beads, and a six-pack of beer. It won’t be long before the government starts insisting we all get buried with a valid driver’s license and two utility bills.

In the meantime, less stringent coffins laws have been introduced in order for us to better retrieve these lost soulless husks. After Katrina, Louisiana passed a law requiring labels for coffins. However, they weren’t clear enough in their wording, so now Louisiana morticians are labeling their coffins with everything from smartphone tracking apps to the less-than-ideal paper tags. Inhabitants of one particularly low-lying cemetery now have beacons attached to their coffins, but the battery life for the floater-be-found is still to be determined.

William Widmer/The New York Times“Warmer … warmer … colder …”

5

King George V Was Euthanized So His Death Could Make The Right Headlines

For all the perks associated with being born into a royal family (unlimited wealth, the right to eat peasants, fancy hats), living the life of royalty also means you’re always in the public spotlight. Never can you falter from keeping up appearances, making sure your every action benefits the crown as best as possible. That includes your death, because god forbid a royal should die at an inconvenient time of day like some low-class pleb.

Library of CongressGod Save the Facial Hair

When Britain’s King George V lay on his deathbed in 1936, doctors were concerned about more than his failing health. Convinced that the king was not long for this world, medical staff began suspecting he might not kick the gilded bucket at the most dignified of times. Deciding that the matter couldn’t be left in the clumsy hands of God or fate, steps were taken to “hasten” the king’s death, and he was euthanized in his sleep shortly before midnight on January 20th.

Why the rush? According to the notes of his physician, Lord Dawson, the king was given lethal doses of morphine and cocaine so that word of his death would appear ”in the morning papers rather than the less appropriate evening journals.” Dawson administered the injections to King George himself at around 11 p.m., right after he’d had his wife in London ”advise The Times to hold back publication.” That’s right, the king’s life had a literal deadline.

Bradford Timeline“Here is the royal speedball, your grace.”

Whether the injections counted as mercy or murder is still a topic of debate. Though the king had been in generally poor health for some time, the doctor had only been summoned to care for him four days prior to his death. On the morning of his last day, the king held a meeting with his privy counselors, which is pretty lucid for someone who’s about to get injected with mercy coke. Documents give “no indication that the King himself had been consulted,” but seeing as his last words were “God damn you” to a nurse administering a sedative, we don’t think he would’ve liked being involuntarily Belushied so that the morning papers would sell a few extra copies.

4

Millions Of Landmines Were Left In The Sahara After WWII, And Now ISIS Is Digging Them Up

Aside from proving how adept people can be at killing each other, World War II also highlighted how much the resulting clean-up sucks. Entire continents had to deal with the debris of their broken nations, the costly effects of which can still be felt. One group that was exempt from their collective spring cleaning were, of course, the Nazis, who were a bit busy getting tribunaled to death. Which is a shame, because they had millions of unexploded landmines buried in the African desert, and every other country had already touched their noses and called “Not it!”

German Federal Archives“I’m sure my actions will have no lasting consequences.”

But that was over 70 years ago. Surely we’ve taken care of those pesky balls of death we left buried in the sand since then, right? While countries like Egypt have tried to reduce the 17 million landmines both Nazi and Allied forces left behind in their desert, the place is still a minefield of … minefields. Thanks to the high temperatures and dry climate, the Sahara is doing an amazing job of preserving these war relics, which means they’re still very capable of taking a limb (or life) if fiddled with too much. But while most people are content with not going near any unstable explosives, there’s one pesky little death cult that doesn’t mind going out in a blaze of glory, intentional or otherwise.

In the past few years, ISIS has realized that one man’s minefield is another man’s massive cache of explosives, so they’re digging up and reusing landmines and their components. There have been several reports of ISIS terrorist attacks in which they used old munitions “MacGyvered” into IEDs. At least when it comes to age, ISIS seems to be quite open-minded.

NATOAs well as being adrenaline junkies.

And landmines aren’t the only type of antique firepower people in the region are packing these days. In 2015, video footage showed Syrian rebels firing a 1935 German howitzer. Meanwhile, Iraqi weapons inspectors documented the capture of a 1942 Lee-Enfield rifle, and the Armament Research Services report that British Webley revolvers, Italian cavalry carbines, Mausers, and Bren guns have appeared for sale in Libya. As long as it goes “boom” and someone dies, they’re only too happy to put it to terrible use.

via Shaam News NetworkNazis: ruining your day since 1933.

3

The Feud Between The Hatfields And The McCoys Was Probably Caused By A Medical Condition

History has seen its share of epic feuds, but few are as legendary as the pissing contest that took place between the Hatfields of West Virginia and the Kentucky McCoys in the late 1800s. Why were they so special? Longevity. They kept their fiery hatred going for a solid decade. But recent medical tests have revealed that, at least on the McCoy side, that might have been because hatred literally runs in their blood.

via Encyclopaedia BritannicaMoments later, the man on the right was riddled with bullets.

Why did these two ornery tribes want to shed each others’ blood so badly? Some say the beef started over a stolen hog, while others think it was residual hostility from the families having fought on opposite sides during the Civil War. Over a hundred years later, we still have no idea what spark started the fire, but we have an idea of where they got the gasoline. In 2007, a young girl called Winnter [sic] Reynolds was struggling at school. She had anger issues, and would often fly into fits of rage. While her teachers thought it was nothing but a bad case of ADHD, a series of medical tests revealed it was worse than that. She had bad blood. McCoy blood, to be specific.

Winnter is the latest offspring of the McCoy bloodline, from whom she had inherited her temper. She suffers from a rare genetic condition called von Hippel-Lindau disease. The illness causes the formation of adrenal tumors which cause, among other things, “hair-trigger rage and violent outbursts.” After Winnter’s diagnosis, it was revealed that several other McCoy descendants had also been diagnosed with the same condition. And while having tumors keeping you pissed off 24/7 still doesn’t shed any light on the start of the feud, it does go a long way toward explaining their whole “I’m going to kill you over some bacon” reputation.

Earl Neikirk/AP“Cleetus, go fetch the tumor chart, we gotta black another circle.”

2

We Are Still Paying A Civil War Pension

War is never not tragic, but civil wars pile all the hurt on one people. With an estimated 620,000 lives lost during the American Civil War, the cost of that little disagreement hurt the nation badly. The price paid was terrible — not only in human lives, but also in the long-term financial state of the country. How long-term? They’re still adding up, apparently.

US ArmyYeah, were sure their main concern was how much this was gonna cost.

While the indirect ramifications are impossible to calculate, there is still one straightforward bill the U.S. Civil War is serving America: $73.13, to be exact, paid monthly to one woman in North Carolina. You see, because soldiers have a tragic tendency of not always being able to collect what Uncle Sam owes them, the government compensates by also paying out pensions to widows and children of war veterans. And while the Civil War ended more than 150 years ago, believe it or not, there’s still one soldier’s child alive and kicking. That would be Irene Triplett, 86 years young, and she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Irene’s father, Mose Triplett, was born in 1846, and managed to fight on both sides of the Civil War — though that sadly didn’t mean he’d get to draw two pensions. He later married a woman 50 years his junior, who we’re assuming must’ve been into antique cannons. When Irene was born, Mose was 83 years old and ready to mosey on up to Heaven.

via Stoneman Gazette“Ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough for sex …”

But Irene’s isn’t the only 19th-century war pension that still being paid out. We’re also still supporting 88 people for their families’ contributions to the Spanish-American War, which started and ended in 1898. And while we’re certainly not begrudging anyone their dues, if we keep up our current military policies, half of our country’s 2080 budget will be going to Iraq vets’ second families.

1

The Search For Wreckage Of The Challenger Turned Up A Lot Of Junk — And A Duffel Bag Of Cocaine

Being an air crash site investigator must be a harrowing gig. Their entire job revolves around cataloging the most horrific of disaster scenes, where the Earth has gotten a dose of corpse buckshot to the face. But finding 73 separate pieces of the same human being isn’t the only weird thing they might find at a crash site. Sometimes they also find a shit ton of coke.

CNNGodspeed, friends.

Like 9/11, the Challenger disaster is one of those awful tragedies seared into memories of all who witnessed it. Seven people lost their lives simply because some faulty O-rings and unusually cold weather caused their vessel to blow up and plow into the ocean. After the crash, NASA immediately began searching the Atlantic for any and all portions of the shuttle that survived the crash, as well as any remains of the crew that could be retrieved and given a proper burial. But with such a spread out investigation site in constantly shifting water, the crew was bound to encounter some weird stuff.

For nine weeks, experts spent 15-hour days combing sonar data of a 420-mile area. But when their submarines or robots finally found the wreckage, they also stumbled upon what looked like Poseidon’s garage sale. During NASA’s investigation, they encountered a whole warehouse full of lagan (that’s maritime for “junk”). Some of the more ordinary items included batteries and paint cans, a refrigerator, a filing cabinet, a kitchen sink, and a toilet. More interesting finds were eight shipwrecks, a Pershing missile, and half of a torpedo.

But the best non-shuttle find by far was a duffel bag containing 25 kilograms of cocaine. When NASA handed it over to the police (what a bunch of goody-two-shoes), they revealed the estimated street value of the marching powder at $13 million, roughly the cost of the entire salvage mission. So if you’re struggling to find rent money or hoping to remodel your house, maybe spend more time hanging out at the beach.

Kelly Stone remembers watching the Challenger explode, and speaks only as much German as Google Translate does. She sometimes Tweets about cats and Star Trek.

History is insane — find out more from the Cracked De-Textbook!

Support Cracked’s journalism with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

For more, check out 6 Dark Details History Usually Leaves Out (For Good Reason) and 6 Disasters With Details So Awful, History Left Them Out.

It would be a shame if you didn’t follow us on Facebook.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/7-wtf-details-about-historical-events-everyone-forgets/

[samanthasroberts]

7 WTF Details About Historical Events Everyone Forgets

Tragic events are typically followed by periods of shock, grief, anger, and the occasional flash of inexplicable horniness. So it’s only natural that when we’re dealing with lives lost and places destroyed, we tend to only focus on these important matters and damn everything else to hell. But sometimes, that means we ignore all of the chaotic insanity that typically accompanies history, making textbooks just that little bit blander. So let’s put on our Indiana Jones hats and dive into the past, and remind ourselves of some truly crazypants parts of history that usually get left out of the conversation. For example …

7

The Manual For The German Tiger Tank Contained Poetry And Porn

War is chaos. With bullets flying and bombs whizzing everywhere, preparation and alertness are the keys to survival. But while combat is exciting, combat training can be mind-numbingly boring. So how do you get a group of disinterested, overly hormonal boys to sit up, pay attention, and remember stuff? By turning that stuff into smut, of course.

During World War II, German commanders needed to quickly familiarize new recruits with the inner workings of the complicated Tiger Tank. Unfortunately, the Fuhrer’s finest were less than thrilled with spending long days memorizing the dry technical manuals. Finally, the Nazis came up with an elegant solution to motivate the laser-like focus necessary to master the tank: They included a naked lady on every other page, and made sure the important parts rhymed.

German Federal ArchivesTranslation: “Danger lurks in the sump! Read your manual well, otherwise your Tiger goes to hell!”

After the war, it was discovered that the manual for the German Panzerkampfwagen was full of nudes, jokes, and dirty limericks. This masterpiece was the brainchild of Josef von Glatter-Goetz, who had novel ideas on how to warm up his cadets’ learning muscles (among others). And most of the warming up was done by Elvira, a buxom blonde who appeared every few pages to keep the boys thumbing — or whatever else helped them get there faster.

German Federal Archives“Klaus, why do you keep taking the manual to the bathroom?”

She would pop up (often with her clothes popped off) whenever the cadets were supposed to pay extra attention to the lesson, like the importance of making accurate measurements when firing or keeping the engines clean, even if it led to making the cockpits sticky.

German Federal Archives“I only read it for the articles.”

The program was a demonstrable success, and both von Glatter-Goetz’s excellent understanding of his target audience and Elvira’s ass helped untold numbers of troops masturbate their way to mastering the Tiger Tank.

6

Hurricane Katrina Ejected Over A Thousand Coffins From Graves

According to FEMA, Hurricane Katrina was “the single most catastrophic natural disaster in U.S. history.” It caused over $41.1 billion in damage and killed more than 1,800 people. But not content with causing misery for the living, Katrina decided to go after the deceased as well, digging them up so she could pee her hate water on their faces.

Petty Officer Kyle Niemi/US Navy“You whine when it doesn’t rain, you whine when it rains too much, what do you want from me??”

Read Next

5 Crazy Scenarios You Didn't Know The Constitution Allows

During the disaster, over 1,000 coffins — and, more gruesomely, those coffin’s residents — were ejected from their places of rest. The transition wasn’t gentle, either. One New Orleans native found his grandmother’s body, still in her pink burial dress, splayed out in the open like she was trying to get a tan. Skeletal remains were sprawled among cemetery statues, and more than one coffin was found up a tree. According to the Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team (Dmort), it’s unlikely that all the uprooted bodies will ever be located and returned. “Many are in extremely remote and inaccessible areas,” a spokesman said. “They have been carried way downrange into muck and swamp and forest.”

APWe don’t want to sound too alarmist, but this is exactly how a zombie apocalypse would start.

Despite the difficulties, officials are still doing their best to return the drifting dead to their correct burial sites — or as much of them as they can scoop up, at least. Unfortunately, since we have this silly idea that the dead aren’t supposed to move about, corpses and coffins tend to not have any labels of traceable information. Finding a corpse that’s buried with something unique is like finding a corner piece of an especially macabre puzzle. So far, officials have been able to identify bodies buried with their favorite golf club, some unusual rosary beads, and a six-pack of beer. It won’t be long before the government starts insisting we all get buried with a valid driver’s license and two utility bills.

In the meantime, less stringent coffins laws have been introduced in order for us to better retrieve these lost soulless husks. After Katrina, Louisiana passed a law requiring labels for coffins. However, they weren’t clear enough in their wording, so now Louisiana morticians are labeling their coffins with everything from smartphone tracking apps to the less-than-ideal paper tags. Inhabitants of one particularly low-lying cemetery now have beacons attached to their coffins, but the battery life for the floater-be-found is still to be determined.

William Widmer/The New York Times“Warmer … warmer … colder …”

5

King George V Was Euthanized So His Death Could Make The Right Headlines

For all the perks associated with being born into a royal family (unlimited wealth, the right to eat peasants, fancy hats), living the life of royalty also means you’re always in the public spotlight. Never can you falter from keeping up appearances, making sure your every action benefits the crown as best as possible. That includes your death, because god forbid a royal should die at an inconvenient time of day like some low-class pleb.

Library of CongressGod Save the Facial Hair

When Britain’s King George V lay on his deathbed in 1936, doctors were concerned about more than his failing health. Convinced that the king was not long for this world, medical staff began suspecting he might not kick the gilded bucket at the most dignified of times. Deciding that the matter couldn’t be left in the clumsy hands of God or fate, steps were taken to “hasten” the king’s death, and he was euthanized in his sleep shortly before midnight on January 20th.

Why the rush? According to the notes of his physician, Lord Dawson, the king was given lethal doses of morphine and cocaine so that word of his death would appear ”in the morning papers rather than the less appropriate evening journals.” Dawson administered the injections to King George himself at around 11 p.m., right after he’d had his wife in London ”advise The Times to hold back publication.” That’s right, the king’s life had a literal deadline.

Bradford Timeline“Here is the royal speedball, your grace.”

Whether the injections counted as mercy or murder is still a topic of debate. Though the king had been in generally poor health for some time, the doctor had only been summoned to care for him four days prior to his death. On the morning of his last day, the king held a meeting with his privy counselors, which is pretty lucid for someone who’s about to get injected with mercy coke. Documents give “no indication that the King himself had been consulted,” but seeing as his last words were “God damn you” to a nurse administering a sedative, we don’t think he would’ve liked being involuntarily Belushied so that the morning papers would sell a few extra copies.

4

Millions Of Landmines Were Left In The Sahara After WWII, And Now ISIS Is Digging Them Up

Aside from proving how adept people can be at killing each other, World War II also highlighted how much the resulting clean-up sucks. Entire continents had to deal with the debris of their broken nations, the costly effects of which can still be felt. One group that was exempt from their collective spring cleaning were, of course, the Nazis, who were a bit busy getting tribunaled to death. Which is a shame, because they had millions of unexploded landmines buried in the African desert, and every other country had already touched their noses and called “Not it!”

German Federal Archives“I’m sure my actions will have no lasting consequences.”

But that was over 70 years ago. Surely we’ve taken care of those pesky balls of death we left buried in the sand since then, right? While countries like Egypt have tried to reduce the 17 million landmines both Nazi and Allied forces left behind in their desert, the place is still a minefield of … minefields. Thanks to the high temperatures and dry climate, the Sahara is doing an amazing job of preserving these war relics, which means they’re still very capable of taking a limb (or life) if fiddled with too much. But while most people are content with not going near any unstable explosives, there’s one pesky little death cult that doesn’t mind going out in a blaze of glory, intentional or otherwise.

In the past few years, ISIS has realized that one man’s minefield is another man’s massive cache of explosives, so they’re digging up and reusing landmines and their components. There have been several reports of ISIS terrorist attacks in which they used old munitions “MacGyvered” into IEDs. At least when it comes to age, ISIS seems to be quite open-minded.

NATOAs well as being adrenaline junkies.

And landmines aren’t the only type of antique firepower people in the region are packing these days. In 2015, video footage showed Syrian rebels firing a 1935 German howitzer. Meanwhile, Iraqi weapons inspectors documented the capture of a 1942 Lee-Enfield rifle, and the Armament Research Services report that British Webley revolvers, Italian cavalry carbines, Mausers, and Bren guns have appeared for sale in Libya. As long as it goes “boom” and someone dies, they’re only too happy to put it to terrible use.

via Shaam News NetworkNazis: ruining your day since 1933.

3

The Feud Between The Hatfields And The McCoys Was Probably Caused By A Medical Condition

History has seen its share of epic feuds, but few are as legendary as the pissing contest that took place between the Hatfields of West Virginia and the Kentucky McCoys in the late 1800s. Why were they so special? Longevity. They kept their fiery hatred going for a solid decade. But recent medical tests have revealed that, at least on the McCoy side, that might have been because hatred literally runs in their blood.

via Encyclopaedia BritannicaMoments later, the man on the right was riddled with bullets.

Why did these two ornery tribes want to shed each others’ blood so badly? Some say the beef started over a stolen hog, while others think it was residual hostility from the families having fought on opposite sides during the Civil War. Over a hundred years later, we still have no idea what spark started the fire, but we have an idea of where they got the gasoline. In 2007, a young girl called Winnter [sic] Reynolds was struggling at school. She had anger issues, and would often fly into fits of rage. While her teachers thought it was nothing but a bad case of ADHD, a series of medical tests revealed it was worse than that. She had bad blood. McCoy blood, to be specific.

Winnter is the latest offspring of the McCoy bloodline, from whom she had inherited her temper. She suffers from a rare genetic condition called von Hippel-Lindau disease. The illness causes the formation of adrenal tumors which cause, among other things, “hair-trigger rage and violent outbursts.” After Winnter’s diagnosis, it was revealed that several other McCoy descendants had also been diagnosed with the same condition. And while having tumors keeping you pissed off 24/7 still doesn’t shed any light on the start of the feud, it does go a long way toward explaining their whole “I’m going to kill you over some bacon” reputation.

Earl Neikirk/AP“Cleetus, go fetch the tumor chart, we gotta black another circle.”

2

We Are Still Paying A Civil War Pension

War is never not tragic, but civil wars pile all the hurt on one people. With an estimated 620,000 lives lost during the American Civil War, the cost of that little disagreement hurt the nation badly. The price paid was terrible — not only in human lives, but also in the long-term financial state of the country. How long-term? They’re still adding up, apparently.

US ArmyYeah, were sure their main concern was how much this was gonna cost.

While the indirect ramifications are impossible to calculate, there is still one straightforward bill the U.S. Civil War is serving America: $73.13, to be exact, paid monthly to one woman in North Carolina. You see, because soldiers have a tragic tendency of not always being able to collect what Uncle Sam owes them, the government compensates by also paying out pensions to widows and children of war veterans. And while the Civil War ended more than 150 years ago, believe it or not, there’s still one soldier’s child alive and kicking. That would be Irene Triplett, 86 years young, and she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Irene’s father, Mose Triplett, was born in 1846, and managed to fight on both sides of the Civil War — though that sadly didn’t mean he’d get to draw two pensions. He later married a woman 50 years his junior, who we’re assuming must’ve been into antique cannons. When Irene was born, Mose was 83 years old and ready to mosey on up to Heaven.

via Stoneman Gazette“Ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough for sex …”

But Irene’s isn’t the only 19th-century war pension that still being paid out. We’re also still supporting 88 people for their families’ contributions to the Spanish-American War, which started and ended in 1898. And while we’re certainly not begrudging anyone their dues, if we keep up our current military policies, half of our country’s 2080 budget will be going to Iraq vets’ second families.

1

The Search For Wreckage Of The Challenger Turned Up A Lot Of Junk — And A Duffel Bag Of Cocaine

Being an air crash site investigator must be a harrowing gig. Their entire job revolves around cataloging the most horrific of disaster scenes, where the Earth has gotten a dose of corpse buckshot to the face. But finding 73 separate pieces of the same human being isn’t the only weird thing they might find at a crash site. Sometimes they also find a shit ton of coke.

CNNGodspeed, friends.

Like 9/11, the Challenger disaster is one of those awful tragedies seared into memories of all who witnessed it. Seven people lost their lives simply because some faulty O-rings and unusually cold weather caused their vessel to blow up and plow into the ocean. After the crash, NASA immediately began searching the Atlantic for any and all portions of the shuttle that survived the crash, as well as any remains of the crew that could be retrieved and given a proper burial. But with such a spread out investigation site in constantly shifting water, the crew was bound to encounter some weird stuff.

For nine weeks, experts spent 15-hour days combing sonar data of a 420-mile area. But when their submarines or robots finally found the wreckage, they also stumbled upon what looked like Poseidon’s garage sale. During NASA’s investigation, they encountered a whole warehouse full of lagan (that’s maritime for “junk”). Some of the more ordinary items included batteries and paint cans, a refrigerator, a filing cabinet, a kitchen sink, and a toilet. More interesting finds were eight shipwrecks, a Pershing missile, and half of a torpedo.

But the best non-shuttle find by far was a duffel bag containing 25 kilograms of cocaine. When NASA handed it over to the police (what a bunch of goody-two-shoes), they revealed the estimated street value of the marching powder at $13 million, roughly the cost of the entire salvage mission. So if you’re struggling to find rent money or hoping to remodel your house, maybe spend more time hanging out at the beach.

Kelly Stone remembers watching the Challenger explode, and speaks only as much German as Google Translate does. She sometimes Tweets about cats and Star Trek.

History is insane — find out more from the Cracked De-Textbook!

Support Cracked’s journalism with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

For more, check out 6 Dark Details History Usually Leaves Out (For Good Reason) and 6 Disasters With Details So Awful, History Left Them Out.

It would be a shame if you didn’t follow us on Facebook.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/7-wtf-details-about-historical-events-everyone-forgets/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/09/02/7-wtf-details-about-historical-events-everyone-forgets/

[theinquisitivej]

‘Happy Death Day’ – A Halloween Movie Review

The premise of ‘Happy Death Day’ is one of those ideas that will grab your attention when you first watch a trailer for it. Imagine ‘Groundhog Day’, but merged with a slasher film. You could see the killer murder their victim in countless ways, and yet they will only ever have one victim, because every time the victim gets to the end of their day and are killed, the day resets, they try going about things differently, get killed anyway, and repeat the process all over again. It’s the sort of concept you could imagine brainstorming with a friend when you’re hanging out one day, and you would both agree that it would be a cool idea for a movie and would totally watch it.

          But then you sit down and actually watch the film, and you start to see how little weight the idea actually supports for a feature length movie. It doesn’t exactly waste the premise, because most of what you would like to see a story do with the idea is in there, and the execution, while nothing good, is not the worst you’ve seen either. But the structure feels uneven, the tone is unclear as it’s being stretched in two different directions with neither side being well-developed, and it ends up missing the mark in a few key areas. That’s ‘Happy Death Day’. I was excited when I saw the trailer a couple months back, thinking that the premise was neat and I would love to see how it could be explored and expanded upon. When I sat down, I more or less got exactly what I saw in the trailer, with few surprises left in stock.

          Honestly, because the film is so closely looking to ‘Groundhog Day’ for inspiration it feels like it’s mainly going for comedy rather than horror. A lot of this is done by drawing upon college stereotypes, especially towards the beginning, as the main character Theresa, nicknamed Tree, goes about her typical day in college until she’s horribly murdered by a figure wearing a hoodie and a baby mask. As Tree keeps dying and coming up with new ways to pass the time, ‘Happy Death Day’ brings in the same kind of comedic antics we saw in ‘Groundhog Day’ that come with the idea of how you would spend your time if you knew everything was just going to reset the next day anyway. The problem with the comedy lies in the execution. The college stereotypes feel tired and the movie does little with the setting that we haven’t seen in a hundred other movies and TV shows. Some character moments get a titter here or there, but only when we get to the meat of things and we start playing around with the central premise.

          But what makes the film an inferior version of the film it apes so closely is that it doesn’t bring anything new to the table. I haven’t seen ‘Edge of Tomorrow’ (or ‘Live, Die, Repeat’, whatever it’s called now), but by applying the living-one-day-over-and-over formula to a story taking place in a battlefield, it does something different to seeing what possibilities this set-up has in a civilian setting like in ‘Groundhog Day’. In ‘Happy Death Day’, apart from the day ending with our protagonist being killed by a slasher villain, the setting of a typical day in an American university isn’t so different from a typical day in a small American town. They’re both bubbled communities with their own unique set of social cues and characters who seem peculiar when viewed from an outside context. As such, we end up covering much of the same ground as ‘Groundhog Day’. Our lead character is often frustrated with the people around them and act out against them, they find some black comedy in the situation they’ve landed themselves in, and, by the end of the film, they learn to engage with their surroundings more and act kinder to both strangers and the people they know. Except the people that populate this story aren’t nearly as watchable or fun as the ever-charismatic Bill Murray or the weird inhabitants of Punxsutawney. Tree is snarky and unpleasant to those around her at the start of the movie, and while Phil was also abrasive, Murray made it impossible not to enjoy his character even before the supernatural hook of ‘Groundhog Day’ comes into play. But for the first day in ‘Happy Death Day’, you’re just watching a main character act superficial, bitchy, and so boringly stereotypical of a mean college girl until the good stuff comes into play. The film borrows too much from ‘Groundhog Day’ without executing many of the same characteristics anywhere near as well.

          What’s worse is how the horror suffers because of the set-up. ‘Happy Death Day’s horror is sloppily constructed through blunt sound design cuing us up for a blindingly obvious jump-scare, as well as unimaginative cinematography that doesn’t do anything fresh or new to frame its scares in exciting or memorable ways. But worse than that, I felt that the central source of tension and dread, the masked killer, was no longer scary after the first killing. If our main character will wake up whenever she comes in reach of dying, then what is at risk? What is there to be afraid of? Even if someone besides Tree is killed, she can just reset it, so why is a masked killer, the only threat in the movie, so scary if nothing they do has consequence? One scene does introduce the idea that every death makes Tree weaker, as she is accumulating injuries related to each way she’s been killed. But this is never developed, and, if anything, she seems stronger by the end of the movie. Consequently, the one scene that introduces the idea of stakes feels invalidated. You could argue that the idea of someone so determined to kill you that, no matter how many times you try to avoid them, they will always find you by the end of the day is a frightening premise. That’s fair, and for some people that might be enough to make the horror last. But in my case, I disengaged with the horror early on and never reconnected with it. The threat appears human, and I would think that, if you have multiple attempts to protect yourself against a human threat you know is coming, it shouldn’t be that hard to deal with it. Horror will always be relative, but the premise just got in the way too much for the scares to have any effect on me.

          As much as the main character’s development is lifted wholesale from ‘Groundhog Day’, and as difficult as it is to be afraid of the physical danger in this movie, I do appreciate two moments that go into what this repetitive cycle signifies for Tree. It may require a few more repeated viewings, but I was never sure exactly what Phil had done to incite the time loop in ‘Groundhog Day’. Yes, it feels like it’s being imposed on him so that he can work on himself and be a better person, but I don’t remember there being any indication of what happened to kick off the cycle he goes through. In ‘Happy Death Day’, we are given some pieces of information that don’t explicitly solve the mystery, but they do give us a clue as to why this is happening to Tree. Honestly, I kind of prefer this balance of things to ‘Groundhog Day’, as there’s just enough ambiguity there for viewers to speculate over what’s going on, but they still get some sort of indication to what’s going on.

          I did find watching ‘Happy Death Day’ interesting, but only because I enjoy thinking about the process writers and filmmakers go through when they choose what direction to take a story in, particularly if the core material has enough meat to it to have potential. Whether a film is good or bad, I will always find the process of thinking about it rewarding. But if I was to take that factor away, I wouldn’t have much to recommend about ‘Happy Death Day’. It doesn’t do anything special through its technical features, it reminds you of other better movies as you’re watching it, and I feel that if someone with more vision and creativity had hold of it, something a lot more special could have come from it.

3/10.

Poorly mimics a better film and fails to make me laugh or feel scared. I liked the premise, but I think it would have worked much better as a short movie with a budget and a more impassioned director.

[treehugginglibrarian]

The Decade That Was Lost

I was chatting with a coworker on eclipse day while watching the world turn dark and, as is want to happen when talking with people who don’t know me well, he asked how long I’d been in the service and such. He then, only slightly jokingly, stated that I must have taken quite a pay cut coming from the military to librarianship. Far from being offended by the question, I answered it happily. Yes, I took an enormous pay cut. I took a $40,000 pay cut to get out of the Army. Even now, five years later, I make at least $30,000 less annually than I did when I was at Fort Drum. Yet, I live more comfortably than some of my non-military friends who likely make more than I do.

A couple weekends ago I was out with my family when my aunt, in a discussion about the troubles plaguing my generation, made a comment I have gotten all too used to: “You are doing well. You and Lesia have it together.” And I was forced to remind her, as I am often forced to remind people, that my ability to have it together despite making almost no money did not come without a price. My ability to take a $40,000 pay cut and bounce back from it is not something that was born out sheer grit and determination alone. My ability to make it through grad school working “only” 22.5 hours a week, with seemingly ample time to train for whatever triathlon had caught my eye at that moment, was not something I was gifted by a magical fairy who flitted down from a money tree.

These things came courtesy of a decade of my life that was lost, if you will, to a uniform that most people will never have routine contact with, let alone put on themselves.

Some background, first, so that my current-status as “high-functioning adult with her shit together” makes proper sense.

The average income of millennials varies by region, but no matter what region you look at millennials are never making more than $41,000, on average. In a couple states, they don’t clear the $20,000 mark. In most states, they are pulling in somewhere between $20k and $30k per year. This might go a ways towards explaining how millennials have managed to be the death of the car industry, the real estate industry, and the paper napkin industry. Bitch- we ain’t got cash for shit like houses, cars, and paper napkins! Not when paper towels are so much cheaper and so much more versatile. All jokes aside, many millennials really don’t have the money for a house. Even if they’re clearly making the money for the mortgage, evidenced by the fact that their rent is significantly higher than a mortgage payment would be, they don’t have the savings for the down payment. A fact that is compounded by the omnipresent being that is “student loans,” lurking behind basically every millennial’s dreams for a better tomorrow.

My income as a librarian is, with my new job, a hair over the average income for my state. I’m guessing it’s much higher than the average income for my region within the state, if the generally low cost of living in Cleveland is any indication. That’s step two (no, I didn’t skip one. I just haven’t talked about it yet) towards achieving the “American Dream” when you’re making money that’s stupidly shitty compared to the generations that came before you. What’s that? You’re not so sure that the money I’m making is stupidly shitty? I beg to differ, my friend.

The first real job I remember my father having was for a lovely company named Cray Research, in St. Paul, Minnesota. He worked for the government before that, but I was in my mother’s stomach and thus don’t remember it. Damn shame, too, since he worked for NASA and shit. Anyway, the pay that he made back then would, in today’s dollars, would be worth about $64,000 annually. As the average pay for a Software Engineer I working at Cray Research is listed on glassdoor as being a bit over $65,000 right now, I’d say new Cray employees have kind of gotten the shaft. The cost of pretty much the entire world has gone up exponentially, yet comparably speaking, Software Engineers aren’t actually doing that much better than before when they’re just starting out. Yet, they are doing significantly better than people who decided that computers just weren’t their jam.  

Average pay for a librarian in 1985 was the equivalency of $42,000 per year, about $4,000 less than the average pay a librarian makes right now is. Here’s where things get a little sticky, though. My dad, now 30 years into his career, makes about $140,000 a year. At least one of his previous jobs came with an offer of stock options which, when the company finally sold, netted him nearly a quarter of a million dollars. The furthest I could ever make it in my career is a library director, of some sort. The average pay for a library director is $87,000 per year. If I stay where I currently am, I would make less than that. Moving to another major city would possibly net me more money as a director, but could also come with a significant increase in cost of living. Larger library systems will pay larger salaries, but will also come with heightened stress levels and longer work hours. As a librarian, stock options are something I will never be able to take advantage of. We don’t get severance packages, working from home is rarely an option, and not all libraries actually offer comprehensive benefits.

I selected this field knowing that it wouldn’t make me rich and that I would always be doing worse, financially, than my parents. This issue, however, plays into a broader issue overall within my generation. We were told “Go to school!” without being told what to go to school for. No one specified, “Go to school for tech!” or “Go to school for engineering!” They said, only, “Go to school!” And so, to school we went. To study IT and biology and chemistry, sure. But, more often still, to study the things that aren’t going to net us a lot of cash but that made us happy. We studied English, literature, art, dance, theater, history, education, and so forth. The “Arts and Humanities.” The “Soft Sciences.” Looking back on it, most of us know it was completely absurd and wonder how we thought we’d make it with a degree in whatever the hell we selected, but with the little guidance we had been given, “Go to school!” those options all seemed perfectly viable at the time.

Whether those options ARE viable and whether any of those people are being paid enough, for the work they put in or the general level of satisfaction they tend to bring others with the work that they do, is a lengthy conversation for a different day. The short version is that I was required to have a Masters degree in order to start work in my field. My father was making more than twice the salary I am now before he was nudged into graduate school. We don’t just value tech “more” than other fields, we value tech exponentially more than other fields. Which means, eventually, tech is going to be oversaturated and we’ll actually end up with tech workers unemployed. It also means, eventually, our world is going to be slightly boring because, for all their genius, tech workers are not going to ensure we are entertained when we happen to turn off our devices.  

Ok, now that we’ve established that the money I’m making is stupidly shitty all things considered, let’s talk about this “American Dream” we’re all supposed to be chasing. A house, a white picket fence, a spouse, a dog, and 2.5 kids. That’s what it is, right? As established, step two in actually achieving that dream in today’s day and age is to live somewhere that has a cost of living that is insanely low. Which isn’t as easy as you would think. Most places with low costs of living have said low costs for a reason, namely, no one wants to live there. Odds are, if no one wants to live there it’s because there isn’t much in the line of employment there. I got lucky, sort of. I work in a field that just so happens to lay claim to Ohio as a stronghold and I live in a region that is, as we speak, rapidly gentrifying. Which means I’m living somewhere that isn’t complete shit, where I have easy access to most things I want, and I’m doing it for a reasonable price.

The average cost of a house purchased last month was $380,000. That’s the average. Remember the average salary of a millennial right now? That’s right, $41k was an average that was making it big. And that average belongs to Washington DC, a city not exactly known for particularly affordable housing. While this means that many houses were going for less than $380,000, it also means that some were going for far more. Moreover, we can be damn certain that a fair number of the ones going for significantly less were in cities that have less to offer in the way of job prospects, or were houses in need of significant work, effectively upping the purchase price by two or three times the stated cost of the house. In short, an “average” millennial salary is effectively incapable of purchasing an “average” house in this country. Which makes step three a rather obvious one, purchase someplace where the market is acting in favor of buyers.

My wife and I purchased in an arguably depressed neighborhood. This is, in fact, a separate issue from simply living someplace where the general cost of living is low. Generally speaking, the cost of living in Shaker Heights is lower than in many other urban areas in this country, because it’s still in a Cleveland zip code. That said, purchasing there is a financial nightmare. The taxes are exorbitant, the houses are beautiful but ancient, the prices are often insane, and the city itself borders on being a home owners association. Yet it is, technically, in the same urban region that we chose to purchase in. We purchased in a neighborhood with a struggling school district, a few houses that had been foreclosed upon, and a half dozen houses in the process of being renovated. Ours was one that had just been flipped. We made it cheaper still by taking out a home loan that didn’t require a down payment (see number one; alternatively, research an FHA loan and see if you’re eligible). At $90,000 we got a nice house, in an area that is trending upward, and now enjoy mortgage rates that are lower than our rent ever would have been. Even in a cheap ass city like Cleveland.

Aside regarding rent in this country: The average rent in this country for a two-bedroom apartment is a hair over $1,200 a month. A one-bedroom can be gotten for just under a thousand. Average rent in Cleveland, in general, is $762. A rental space with more than one bedroom is likely to cost more than that, and the addition of pets to a living space will up the rent by anywhere from $10 to $50 per month, per furry friend. The last place we rented came out to about $880 a month when all the “extras” were tagged on and it was, frankly, a shit hole owned by a slum lord. Even in an economically depressed area such as this, we can mortgage a newly renovated house for over a hundred dollars less per month than it cost us to rent a two bedroom hovel. This will not be true in all circumstances, for all people, or in all cities, though. Particularly for those who require minimal space, renting may be cheaper for them than purchasing. Okay, back to the point of all this!

“But, but, but,” you say, “I can’t live somewhere that’s economically depressed and has a shitty school system. Who will educate my kids?” Which brings me to step four in your quest for the “American Dream.” Accept that certain aspects of the American Dream are at odds with one another and that, right now, on the average millennial income, choices must be made. That’s right. If you’re making the average income of someone in my age bracket, and you don’t want to be shit broke, step four is to not have kids. The USDA estimates that a middle-income couple with two children will spend an average of $234,000 to get a child to the age of 18. Obviously if you don’t have the money to spend, you’re likely to spend less and be far less comfortable in your child-rearing venture. If you have more money to spend, precisely the opposite will be the case. No matter what end of the spectrum you are on, you are looking at tiny beings that are going to suck up somewhere around a quarter of a million dollars. Each. And that assumes that they get to 18 and you stop spending money on them. Fat chance there.

So yeah. Step four if you want to seem like a financially with it adult who is able to do adult things and live an adult life in whatever way they want is to not have small, adorable, screaming, loveable, financial leeches. At least, not until you’re well and truly ready, financially, to do so.

One of the most surefire ways to ensure you’ll be well and ready, financially, for adorable parasites at a young age, is to avoid taking on any debt that isn’t truly necessary. That’s right, I’m looking at you, college loans. Step five in living the seemingly put together life that my wife and I live is to ensure you take out no school loans. Because those things are expensive and consume about a quarter of your paycheck every month, it seems like. I don’t really know for sure since I don’t have any. I have a little bit of credit card debt, but that’s about it. I don’t even have a car payment anymore. It’s amazing how quickly you can pay shit down when you don’t have a school loan to make payments on! (Yes, I am being intentionally obnoxious with this one). From a financial standpoint, educational loans are probably the biggest ball and chain my generation has been saddled with, and they are undeniably the one that sets us the furthest apart from generations before us.

The average student today leaves college with $25,000 in loans, making it necessary to pony up $280 per month, assuming they’ve put themselves on a ten year repayment plant. That’s almost a car payment. For ten fucking years. And that assumes you only go through undergrad. Since undergrad is rapidly becoming necessary just to utter the words “would you like fries with that,” you can bet that a solid portion of my generation is carrying more school debt than that because they’ve been forced to go on for their Masters degrees before really even settling into their careers. For comparison, the average level of school debt people between 35 and 50 are carrying is about $20,000. That’s because they went back for their graduate degrees a decade into their careers, well after they had started paying on the initial student loans they took out.

In 1970, a year when the average annual income across all domestic industries was about $7,700, roughly the equivalent of $49,000 today, the average cost of a year’s education at a public, four year, institution was $358, or $2,292 by today’s standards. The average cost of tuition and fees for an in-state resident attending a state school was $9,650 for the 2016 to 2017 school year. Well over three times the average in 1970. Millennials are the most educated generation this country has ever produced, but are being paid an average of $8,000 to $18,000 less than the average income in 1970, while being expected to shell out at least three to four times as much for the education necessary for these, now paltry, earnings. As I said, avoiding the trap that is school loans may actually need to be steps one through “all the rest of them.”

So that leaves us with:

Step Two: Live somewhere cheap.

Step Three: Buy a cheap house, preferably while avoiding a down payment.

Step Four: Don’t have kids.

Step Five, aka, the MOST IMPORTANT STEP: Avoid student loans.

What’s Step One?

Join the military.

Joining the military won’t guarantee you a cheap house, as that will depend upon where you decide to purchase. It will, however, give you ready access to a loan system that comes with pretty low financing rates and the ability to waive the down payment if you feel so inclined. It also won’t prevent you from having children, but it will make them more affordable if you choose to have them, and make avoiding them easier if you don’t want them. Birth control will never be more than $8 a month through the VA system, and the average cost of $8,800 per delivery, even with health insurance, will be dramatically lower through the VA system. If you join and choose to stay in, your health care and your kids’ health care will be covered via TriCare. If you join the National Guard and choose to stay in, you can pay for this insurance option and enjoy much lower premiums than standard market insurance usually offers. So yeah, the military won’t prevent you from having screaming urchins but it will make them cheaper.

The military will also make it far easier to accomplish the most important task in your quest for today’s “American Dream,” avoidance of student loans. While my parents were kind enough to pay for the first year of my undergraduate degree, the military paid for the last three via scholarships and ROTC loans. In exchange for this, I gifted them five years of active duty service to include two spent in the middle east in one way or another. This was one year more than I technically owed them, which meant they then covered 60% of a dual Masters degree I obtained after coming off active duty. If I’d really wanted to, I could have applied for funding through the National Guard to cover the other 40%, but I didn’t want to owe them any more time than I was already going to be giving them. So instead, I pulled the extra 40% out of a savings account that still had some $30,000 in it from a year in Iraq in which I earned a lot of money, while having no dependents and no bills, and paid no taxes on any of it. The military gifted me a level of financial security that none of my civilian friends seem to be enjoying right now. But it did so at a bit of a price.

I lost most of my college years, absorbed by uniforms, rules, summer training rounds, and copious amounts of early morning exercise, and I didn’t even go to a military school. Sure, some of it was fun and much of my life was “the same” as any other students would have been. I was, by force, far more reticent with what I could do, how I could behave, and what I could engage in, though. I owed my education to the military and I knew, if I represented them improperly the punishment could well be expulsion from the program and the forced repayment of that money. Since they were paying for my tuition, my rooming, my board, my books, and providing me with a living stipend, this was a pretty terrifying prospect, financially. I knew that if I decided I really didn’t want to commission, my parents would help me with the process. I also knew that if I got kicked out of the program for poor behavior or poor performance, they wouldn’t be quite so generous.

I then lost most of my twenties to the Army itself. I rang in 23 while living in Israel, studying shit I never used again and learning that much of what the Army would later teach me about fighting insurgents was completely ineffectual. I rang in 24 while in Maryland, at training. I rang in 25 in Kuwait, on my way to Iraq. 26 and 27 were both celebrated up at Fort Drum, albeit with dramatically different groups of people since I was in different units for both birthdays. By the time I got to 28 I was off active duty and living in Ohio, where I proceeded to spend three years of my life giving the National Guard copious amounts of my time for what ended up being, when calculated out, often less than $4.00 an hour. I coupled that with a three year break from any sort of vacation, as they enjoyed sending me on working “vacations” to lovely events like Annual Training and Captain’s Career Course. I was into my 30th year before I finally took the uniform off, for good, and was able to live a completely normal life.

Ten years. Ten years is what it cost me to have what “looks like” the American Dream at the age of 32. Ten years that I will never get back. Ten years that are, in theory, supposed to be rather formative years of our lives. While I cannot imagine what my life would have been, what I would have been, had I not worn the uniform for those ten years, I didn’t do it for what it would bring me afterwards. I didn’t join the service thinking, “gee, this will really help me financially when I finally decide to get out.” Most of us didn’t. Some joined thinking the retirement plan would be nice, but very few joined realizing just how far ahead of their peers, financially, they stood to end up because of one decision made when they were 18 or 20 years old. Yes, my wife and I seem to have our lives together. And all we had to do to get to that point was forfeit ten years of my existence and an ongoing number of hers.

No one should have to do that to live comfortably in America. That is not the America that I lost that decade on behalf of. That is not the America that I, or anyone, should want to live in. We can do better. We must do better. We owe it to ourselves, and to the generation coming after us, to do better. My generation didn’t make this mess, but we will damn sure try to clean it up. While we’re doing so, perhaps the generations that did make this mess could do us all a small favor?

Shut the fuck up about how lazy you think we are. It’s a tired refrain coming from the assholes who got to come up in a country where one minimum wage job could secure you enough money to buy a home and raise a family, only to turn around and create a country in which financial success and parity is most easily and readily gained by sacrificing ten years of your life to a cause that is most certainly going to put you in a literal war zone. Your opinion on how we are living our lives isn’t just unwanted, it’s completely useless. The world you think we’re living in, the one you were raised in and brought your own children up in, does not exist anymore. And that is completely your fault. We are living in an economic disaster that you created. Since you refuse to take credit for it, the least you can do is shut the fuck up while we muddle through it. Or don’t. Frankly, I don’t care. Most millennials know the truth of the matter at this point. Bare that in mind the next time you wonder why “kids these days” have no respect for their elders.

Because, clearly, their elders never intended to have any respect for them.