#on top of work hours being stupid and other more predictable bills

[colorstormx]

remind me to update this later but. pwyw commissions are very much open right now lol :')

all the usual money stuff (ppal, vnmo, cshapp, kofi) is Colorstormx, send a ref with anything over like $5 and I'll draw you something

you can also reply here, dm me, or email me at colorstormx @ gmail if you want to plan out something more specific. my art tag here is #colorstormxart, I need to post more stuff+ get things set up properly but hey! better to post now while I'm thinking about it than to leave it to rot in a forgotten draft, y'know?

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Eight: They Don’t Want to be Found

By SisterSpooky1013 / Read previous chapters here

Rated E / Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder calls in to work the next day, too sleep deprived and mentally exhausted to function. After sleeping until nearly noon, he gets back in his car and returns to Philly. He checks into a hotel that’s just a few blocks from the club and then spends the next several hours trying to watch TV, trying to read, and jacking off picturing Scully topless. A short time later, he jacks off again, this time imagining what he’ll see tonight.

He isn’t really sure what he’s doing or why he’s here. The best excuse he can cook up is that she doesn’t have a weapon and he’s protecting her, but realistically he knows she can take care of herself. Is it really just perversion, that he wants to see her…exposed? What will he say if she spots him? He can imagine her level of mortification if she knew he was here, that he’d seen her, and he feels guilt churn in his gut. She might never forgive him for this.

He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t seem to stop himself from going back. He has to see her again.

Scully had lay awake for hours after Angel left, thinking about what had happened, wondering how it happened in the first place. She’s on a case, how stupid could she be? What if it comes to light that she’s become involved with a witness in the case? She might be suspended. At least then maybe they’d never ask her to do something like this again. What if Mulder finds out? Would he feel betrayed somehow? Would it turn him on?

Somewhere around 6 am, she had finally caved in and slid her hand down the front of her panties, groaning when she felt how wet she was. She swirled her finger around her clit, using her own arousal as lubricant, and imagined what might have happened if Angel’s phone hadn’t rung. Would Angel have touched her? With her hands, or her mouth? Maybe both. Would she have touched Angel? She was approaching the brink just thinking about it. She stopped suddenly, remembering something, and grabbed the bullet vibrator from her bedside table, switching it on and pressing it to her clit as she plunged the middle finger of her other hand as far inside herself as she could reach. Within 30 seconds she was unravelling, images of Angel and Mulder dancing in her head as her walls clamped tightly around her finger. Finally, she had slept.

She manages to sleep until nearly three in the afternoon again, then spends the day getting her nails done, reading, and devising a plan for how she might look through the files in that closet. Without knowing what’s in them, she has no way of gaging whether Ricky is likely to notice if she takes a few at a time and returns them later. Worse still, Lexie is working tonight and that gives any risk she takes the potential to blow the whole investigation. She’s positive that given one more red flag, Lexie will sing like a canary. The silver lining is that Angel won’t be at work for the next three days, so they can get some space from what happened between them.

The evening is mostly business as usual, and she’s a bit horrified to realize that this is becoming as dull and predictable as any other job. She lets her mind wander while she flexes and rolls over horny married men, wondering what Mulder is up to, whether he’s worried about her or even misses her. Part of her wonders if he might realize that his life is less complicated without her, and that he prefers it that way. She feels an ache in her chest, a bit further north than she has grown accustomed to, and realizes how much she misses him.

When he enters the club, she’s at the bar. Half her torso is resting on the bar top as she shouts to be heard by the bartender, who’s laughing at whatever she’s saying. The position she’s in pops her barely covered ass out prominently behind her and his eyes go big at how exposed she is, and how comfortable she seems with it. Her bare breasts are smushed against the lacquered countertop and he feels his cock twitch thinking about how hard her nipples will be when she stands up. Unfortunately, it would be too risky to stick around and find out, so he tugs his ball cap lower and finds a table in the back. The dancers never seem to come back here for some reason.

He keeps his head trained towards one of the other dancers at all times, while his eyes follow Scully’s every move. If he knows one thing, it’s that Scully can feel his eyes on her, so he needs to be careful. His disguise is painfully basic and all it would take is one solid look for her to know it’s him. He watches her give a lap dance to a blushing young woman, a soft smile on her face the whole time, and he can’t decide if he’s more turned on or touched by how hard she’s working to make the woman feel comfortable. The aching hard-on in his jeans suggests the former.

This time he’s mentally prepared for her stage set, and also realizes she can barely see beyond the tip rail with all the stage lights on her, so he lets himself enjoy it. He’s known from the moment he met her that Scully is beautiful, sexy, incredible in every way imaginable, but he never could have imagined her moving like this. She’s so graceful and captivating. He lets himself block out all the other jerks who are leering at her, stuffing bills into her underwear, and just watches her. His Scully. She’s ethereal.

“Seems like you’ve found your ATF,” a voice to his left startles him from his reverie.

“Huh?” he turns to see the same waitress who’d served him last night, clad in a fishnet body suit.

“You were here last night, right? You like Desi?”

He panics. “No! I mean, yes. But, don’t send her over here or anything.”

She nods in understanding. “You like to watch. That’s cool, whatever floats your boat, man. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, can I get a Captain and Coke?” He walked here, why not enjoy himself, right?

Four drinks for him and ten lap dances for her later, he stumbles into the balmy night and back to his hotel room where he jacks off again. Twice.

Everyone is trickling out slowly at the end of what has been a busy shift. Scully takes her time counting her tips, sharing a cut with her bird dog and the bartender on shift tonight. While she would not say that she likes working here by any stretch of the imagination, her coworkers at the club are her only source of socialization and (with the exception of Lexie) she truly enjoys their company. She’s helping one of the custodial staff, a wiry young man they called Don Juan, put up the chairs on the club floor so he can mop when Ricky approaches her.

“Desi, can I see you in my office, please?” He has a somber demeanor that concerns her.

“Um, sure, of course.” She bids the young man farewell and follows Ricky down the hall. He closes the door behind them and she feels her heart start to race.

Ricky sits down behind his desk and motions for her to take a seat across from him. She’s reminded of her first day here and the feelings of fear and anticipation.

“I need to ask you something, Desi, and I want to make sure you don’t mention it to the other girls.”

“Okay,” she responds, taking shallow breaths to obscure the fact that she’s afraid.

“Angel told me what happened.”

Her mouth falls open but no words come out. Is she in trouble for kissing Angel?

“That’s why she was so upset the other night, when you saw her in here. She told me that she’d talked to you about her past a bit,” he shakes his head ruefully. “Some gall those dirtbags have, shaming her for being sexual in any way, then coming to a titty club on the sly.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Right, yes, the people who came in. She was very upset. “

“It was really nice of you to spend some time with her after work. Anyway, I gave her a few nights off. She needs a break.”

Scully nods. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Right! So, Angel is my right hand gal, she helps me with a lot of stuff around here. With her being out, I wanted to ask you to kind of be her backup, if you will.”

For a moment she’s afraid Ricky is asking her to perform some kind of sexual favor, but she recalls that Angel had said he’s gay. “What did you have in mind?” she asks hesitantly.

“Well mostly, I wanted to give you a set of keys for the club. Angel has one, in case something happens to me and I’m not here to open and close the doors, stuff like that.”

A set of keys? Scully feels a flush of adrenaline. “Of course, I can do that.”

“That’d be great, Desi. I know you haven’t been with us all that long, but you seem pretty trustworthy, at least compared to the other girls. Like I mentioned, I’m hoping we can keep this between us, just so there are no hurt feelings from anyone who’s been here longer than you.”

Her heart is pounding with excitement at the opportunity to gain access to those files. “Is there an alarm code or something I should know about?” She recalls a sign on the door for ADT.

Ricky dismisses her concern with a flick of his wrist. “No, nothing like that. I should get one, but I just pilfered those signs from my buddy to scare off vagrants.”

She nods in understanding.

“Ninety-nine percent chance nothing will happen and there’ll be no need, but thanks for being on deck, just in case,” he says as he hands her a playboy bunny shaped keychain with a single key dangling from it.

Scully smiles at him. “I’m more than happy to help.”

After she leaves the club, she first goes home to stash her tips and change into comfortable, dark clothes, and then gets a big cup of coffee and a disposable camera from the 7-11 near her apartment.

By the time she’s lurking in the corner of the club’s parking lot, watching the door, it’s nearly 4am and there’s still a light on inside the foyer. She sips her coffee and waits, shuffling her feet to keep warm. Finally at 4:50, Denny and Ricky emerge, locking the door behind them. After they leave the parking lot, Scully waits another 20 minutes before she creeps around the perimeter of the lot and approaches the door. Glancing around to be sure no one is watching her, she turns the key and steps inside, locking it behind her.

The quiet stillness is eerie in contrast to the throbbing hive of activity it had been earlier in the night and she flicks on her flashlight, making her way to Ricky’s office. She fits the same front door key into the lock and sighs in relief when it turns. Ricky’s security standards aren’t incredibly high, apparently, but in this case it’s to her advantage. She tries the key on the hallway closets just in case, to no avail, and returns to the office. Navigating to his desk, she pulls open drawers quickly, scanning their contents. Nothing is of interest, and she’s disappointed though not surprised that his keys to other areas of the club aren’t in here. That makes things more challenging, but not impossible. She’s spent her days off at the library researching how to pick locks, including buying a lock picking kit and some padlocks at the local hardware store to practice with, and she feels relatively confident she can get this door open without a key. She might just have to be the one to pick the lock next time she and Mulder have the need. She smiles to herself knowing how impressed he’d be.

Back in the hallway, she pulls the small lock picking kit out of her back pocket and kneels in front of the door, the pen light perched between her teeth. She studies the lock and then inserts a torque wrench at the bottom, turning it slightly to put resistance in the direction it will spin when unlocked. From the kit, she selects a straight, flat pick and runs it from back to front at the top of the keyhole a couple times. Next she exchanges it for a pick with a curved end, pushing it as far back and high as she can reach as she holds her ear close to the lock in the stony silence of the hallway. Bumping against the pins inside the lock, she listens and feels for a small click or give that indicates the pin has settled in its unlocked position. She continues this until she counts five pins clicking into place, then removes the pick and turns the torque wrench.

The lock releases with a soft click and she laughs out loud as the door swings open, beyond pleased with herself. Stepping into the closet, there’s enough room for her to close the door behind her and she does so, pulling a cord to turn on the overhead light. Taking stock of the beige bank of file cabinets, she works top to bottom, left to right, and immediately feels her heart sink when the first four drawers she tries are empty. Would this be yet another dead end? When the fifth drawer snicks open, she sees a small set of files hanging towards the back. She quickly checks all the other drawers so she’ll have a good idea of how much material she has to review, but they’re all empty.

She pulls the files out and sits down with them on the floor, setting the disposable camera near her thigh. There are eight folders nestled inside the hanging file, each one with a set of initials on the tab. The first one is marked “G.A.” and inside she finds an intake form, a personal statement that’s filled out by hand, and a release of liability form. The intake form is sparse and includes nearly no identifying information. The name is listed as simply GA and the fields below it include “entry date,” “exit date,” “reason for sheltering,” and “responsible individual.” On the form for GA, the entry and exit date are both a year and a half prior, about six months apart. Reason for sheltering is listed as “threat of violence-domestic,” and the responsible individual reads “brother.” She turns to the second page, which contains GA’s personal statement.

Continue Reading Here

[wisteria-lodge]

Character Analysis: Sorting Pirates of the Caribbean

So @sortinghatchats is brilliant. Absolutely my favorite character (and person!) analysis system. Instead of one house, you get two - a PRIMARY (your motivation, why you do things), and a SECONDARY (your toolbox, how you get things done.) Here is a very stripped down refresher, and here is my explanation for why I am saying Lion, Bird, Badger and Snake instead of the names of the Hogwarts houses. 

IDEALIST PRIMARY Lion - I do what I feel is right. (MORAL) Bird - I do what I decide is correct. (LOGICAL) LOYALIST PRIMARY Badger - I do what helps my community (PEOPLE MATTER) Snake - I do what helps me/my inner circle (MY PEOPLE MATTER)

IMPROVISATIONAL SECONDARY Lion - Charge! React! Smash the system! Snake - Transform, adapt, find the loophole. BUILT SECONDARY Bird - Plan, make tools, gather information. Badger - Community-build, caretake, call in favors.

Now let’s talk Pirates of the Caribbean! I’m mostly focusing on the first film because it’s the best and my favorite, but I do mention 2 and 3.

***

Jack Sparrow is the classic Snake secondary. He’ll improvise an escape, improvise a weapon, wait for “the opportune moment.” He’s never fought fair in his life and doesn’t feel the tiniest bit bad about it. He’s silver-tongued. When he’s in a tight spot, he’ll tell you exactly what he thinks you want to hear. And if he knows you don’t trust him, he’ll reverse-psychology you on purpose.

It’s hard to see past his theatrical, charming, over-the-top way of doing things, and that’s on purpose. The last time Jack told someone what he actually wanted, he got himself marooned. No wonder he “plays things close to the vest now,” living in his secondary, and making people guess his motives. 

At first he appears totally pragmatic, always on the side of the person who can give him the most stuff. But I don’t buy it. Jack Sparrow has a weird code of honor. Maybe not one he’s comfortable with (��you can never predict when an honest man is going to do something incredibly… stupid.”) But it’s there. The way he’s introduced - alone, respectfully saluting hanged pirates – that’s letting us know it’s not just his own freedom he values.

I like that little moment after he rescues Elizabeth when he makes it clear that she doesn’t owe him anything. “I saved your life, you saved mine, we’re square” implies that there’s a right way to do things, and that the wrong way is making people feel obligated. Jack has similar moments with Gibbs. Every time he says “keep to the Code,” he’s reaffirming that no one has to save him. When his crew abandons him, Jack shrugs and says, “They’ve done what’s right by them. Can’t ask for more than that.” 

This means that Jack Sparrow has a Lion primary. But he’s a pirate, so his felt morality is less right vs. wrong and more free vs. trapped. Apart from that he’s actually kind of a classic Lion - perfectly happy on his own, so long as he doesn’t have to compromise his morals. In a deleted scene we learn that he turned pirate because he refused to be a slave ship captain, and that’s in character. He only wants the Black Pearl because the Black Pearl is freedom. That’s the message he teaches, as an unconventional mentor. He cuts Elizabeth out of her literal corset, and prods Will out of his figurative one.

(and a magic compass that points to whatever Jack wants most is a gorgeous metaphor for a Lion primary, guided by their feelings and intuition. Their internal compass).

Elizabeth Swann has a pirate’s soul. She ends the story as Pirate King. But when we meet her, she is a high-class lady deeply suspicious of the rules. She’s not on board with the latest fashions, eager to ditch her table manners, and she’s real friendly with Will - even though it makes her father bluster, “The setting is not entirely proper!” Miss Elizabeth Swann is stifled by her situation (her corset is too tight.) She’s got a whole life planned out for her, and it’s a nice life. Port Royal is a nice city and Norrington is a nice guy. But still. The thought that this is where things are going makes her uncomfortable. 

Elizabeth wants to be able to act based on her gut responses. And as long as the pirates are also doing this, she’s on board. But she ditches the Pirate Code the moment it contradicts her own internal felt morality.

ELIZABETH: All of you with me. Will is in that cave and we must save him! (…) GIBBS: There’s the Code to consider. ELIZABETH: The Code. You’re pirates. Hang the Code, and hang the rules. They’re more like guidelines anyway.

She’s been using the pirate way of life as a way to justify and explain the way she’s always felt. And when you put things in that order (I like this system because it supports what I already know to be true) that’s a Lion primary. Also, the advice her dad gives her is just so perfect for a Lion: “Even a good decision if made for the wrong reasons can be a wrong decision.” You’re doing the smart thing Elizabeth, not the thing you feel is right. It’ll make you miserable. Stop it.

When it comes to secondaries, Elizabeth definitely has some Bird skills. She collects data (about pirates), and can put a plan into action. But it’s a model. When she’s in trouble, when things are serious, she goes improvisational Snake secondary all the way. Elizabeth lies to Barbossa, tells Norrington what he wants to hear, pretends to be drunk to put Jack off his guard. She improvises weapons, and she plays into “proper lady” stereotypes so people underestimate her. Gibbs actually recognizes this, and calls Elizabeth “daft like Jack.”

Elizabeth and Jack do house-match, which is why they always seem to get each other. Elizabeth can pin Jack down and make him give her a straight answer. She’s the only one who can consistently trick him. And when she kills him – well, he forgives. Easily. It’s never even a thing. If he had been in Elizabeth’s place he would have done exactly the same thing, and he knows it. And he knows she knows it.

(it’s kind of neat how at the end of the first movie, the two of them are trapped by Norrington, then freed by Norrington, and go off to form the core of their respective pirate crews.)

Will Turner is a charging Lion secondary who deals with challenging situations by laying all his cards on the table and throwing his sword at something. This makes him a really good foil for the Snake secondary leads, and I will never get tired of watching Jack make faces, and say variations of “how about this time we don’t just run in screaming, yeah?”

JACK: Do us a favor. I know it’s difficult for you, but please, stay here. And try not to do anything… stupid.”

WILL: Let her go! BARBOSSA: You’ve only got one shot, and we can’t die. JACK: Don’t do anything stupid… WILL: You can’t. I can! JACK: … like that.

JACK: So what’s your plan then? WILL: I row over there, search the ship until I find your bloody key. JACK: And if there are crewmen? WILL: I cut down anyone in my path.

To be fair, Will does start off with a Badger secondary model. Badgers care about things being fair, and Will gets annoyed at Jack for cheating, and annoyed at Elizabeth for stealing the medallion. He’s also really leaning into the hard work aspect of the Badger secondary by practicing sword fighting three hours a day. But this doesn’t seem to be a secondary that’s especially good for him. It makes him tense and uptight, and by the end of the first film he’s completely thrown it off.

I really considered a Snake primary for him, based on how single-mindedly he goes after Elizabeth. Movies 2 and 3 just keep throwing Loyalist conflicts at him. (Will can stay with Elizabeth or save his father, but he can’t do both!) But I think he’s actually a Badger primary.

This boy cares about his communities a lot. He doesn’t think he can be with Elizabeth (even though she clearly likes him) because of “propriety.” He believes society when society tells him she’s out of his league. He covers for a boss who spends most of his time passed-out drunk, probably out of a sense of loyalty, or because he feels that’s what he’s supposed to do. He starts off the film completely dehumanizing pirates, but slowly learns his lesson –  a very Badger primary character arc. And then, when Will rescues Jack at the end, it’s not because Jack is his (the way a Snake primary would parse it) but because Jack is a good man who isn’t being treated right.

(also the “part of the ship, part of the crew” refrain that Will’s new crew chants as he takes over for Davy Jones is very… dark Badger magic. You are becoming part of the whole.)

Hector Barbossa is the definition of a Burnt Primary. He can’t want. He can’t allow himself to want. Wanting is off the table. (because he is an undead skeleton.)

However, I do think that when Barbossa is healthy and y’know, not cursed, he’s a Snake primary. His beloved monkey is a little nod to the sorts of Snakey bonds he would like to form, but isn’t able to at the moment. Apart from that, he values self-care, and is a bit of a hedonist. He likes pretty things. He likes putting Elizabeth in pretty dresses. He likes elegantly prepared food, antique furniture, and nice hats. (Things start getting serious in the sword fight after Jack cuts off his feather.) This is why I think his redemption arc is so funny. Once his primary unburns, and he’s able to want things safely, he pretty much becomes a happy-go-lucky good guy overnight. And you know, I completely buy it.

As for secondary, I’m going with Badger. Barbossa community builds (he’s a much better captain than Jack.) He gives morale raising speeches. Leader of a mutiny is pretty classic dark Badger stuff. Marooning Jack, and dropping Bootstrap Bill into the ocean tied to a canon are both very ruthless, very public acts that are all about weaponizing community as a way to dehumanize your enemies and cement your power.

James Norrington starts out very Establishment (like Elizabeth.) But unlike Elizabeth, he seems to enjoy the way he can just see his life all laid out. Work his way up, become Commodore, marry the governor’s daughter. He proposes the second after he gets his promotion, it really is like he’s working from a checklist. It’s a very rigid Bird primary.

And he follows the law: “One good deed is not enough to redeem a lifetime of wickedness.” But more than that, he is comforted by following the law. When Jack tempts him into going after the Black Pearl, Norrington is clearly feeling it – but says there are things he values more than his own gut responses.

JACK: Think about it… the last real pirate threat in the Caribbean, mate. How can you pass that up? NORRINGTON: By remembering that I serve others, Mr. Sparrow, not only myself.

This is such a great illustration of the difference between a Lion and Bird primary. A Bird’s higher power lives outside of them (and as we see here, that can make them really hard to tempt, bribe, or corrupt). But a Lion’s higher power is inside them, always. At the end of the film, Norrington adapts his system into something that looks a lot more Lion primary (this is a universe that likes Lions, and Norrington likes Lions too). But he’s still very, very Bird.

Governor Swann tells him that “perhaps on the rare occasion that the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself might be the right course,” and Norrington takes that in, sees the actions of Elizabeth, and says - okay. Maybe hunt all pirates always isn’t the perfect system I thought it was. Jack Sparrow tends to leave the world better than he found it, so it’s best to let him go. This change doesn’t seem upsetting to him, he doesn’t need to justify or explain it. It’s just obvious. Norrington reacts exactly the same when he learns that Elizabeth is not in love with him. He absorbs this new information, tells her that he understands, and walks away. When Lions change their minds, the process is a heck of a lot more emotional.

Then in the next film, the people around him don’t support his new Truth, and force Norrington to continue doing things he has discovered that he finds morally objectionable. And so he resigns his commission, burns, and goes into freefall, grasping at the systems he sees around him, trying to find something to hold onto. He seems like he might be beginning to build a more stable Truth – but dies before he can manage it. The sequels did Norrington dirty.

I actually want to say he’s a Badger secondary. At his most desperate and lost, his instinct is to join Jack’s crew. At his most powerful, he’s quietly calling in all his favors and getting the entire Royal Navy to look for Elizabeth. These are both versions of the same thing – leveraging community and connections to get things done. 

tl;dr

Jack Sparrow – Lion primary that sees “freedom” as the ultimate good, with a bit of an amoral, pragmatic Snake primary performance so people don’t find that out / Snake secondary

Elizabeth Swann –  Stifled Lion primary living in a situation where she’s not allowed to act on her instincts. Runs after pirates every chance she gets, because the ‘pirate life’ allows her to do just that / Snake secondary, Bird secondary model 

Will Turner – Badger primary / Lion secondary, Badger secondary model that Jack gets him to drop.

Hector Barbossa – Burnt Snake primary that un-burns when the curse that doesn’t allow him to want things is lifted / Badger secondary

James Norrington – Rigid by-the-books Bird primary that changes to something that looks a lot more Lion, before it burns in the sequels / Badger secondary

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 5, Ch. 5

PART 5: THE YEAR WHEN EVERYONE FIGHTS Chapter 5 - Telling Bill

Charlie

One look at me the next morning, and Nova grabbed Tulip and Penny by their elbows and stormed out of the Great Hall. Bill, sitting next to me, noticed something was wrong at once.

“What was that about?” He said, his mouth full.

“I dunno.” I didn't want to have another Penny-like talk.

“Did you fight with Nova?” Why did he have to be so smart? His voice was surprised, however. Yeah, I didn't count on having such a bad fight with my best friend either.

“No.” I said in the most unconvincing voice.

“Charlie, I know you. Why are you lying to me?” He grabbed me by the top of my head and turned it to him.

“What happened?” He asked, worried. I understood where he was coming from. This was the first time since Nova and I became friends that we didn't sit together at breakfast or talk to each other.

“I don't want to talk about it.” I rolled my eyes and looked away.

“You fancy her, don't you?” Really, is there anything my brother doesn't know? I just nodded, I didn't want to say it out loud. It was too painful.

“Come with me.” He grabbed my elbow and made me stood up. He didn't let go of my arm until we reached the Courtyard and there he sat me down.

“Tell me everything.” He said, looking as serious as ever.

“What's there to tell? I fancy her. She doesn't fancy me back. End of story.” I tried getting up but he pulled me back down.

“Charlie.” His voice firm.

“Uh, fine!” I glared at him.

“When did you start fancying her?” Bill asked, his voice calming down.

“Third Year, I think.” I wasn't sure when it started. I needed some time to process what was happening to me.

“And you liked her ever since?” He didn't seem to mind that I needed almost 2 years to tell him about it.

“Is there a way to stop? If it is please share your brotherly wisdom.” Our eyes met and he smiled.

“I'm afraid, there isn't.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

“I am not going to lie, it's painful.” I nodded at his statement. “At least you didn't get rejected in front of all your friends.” I remembered how mean Emily was to him on the train when he asked her out. It was cruel and uncalled for and I was a bad brother for forgetting that he was heartbroken too.

“How are you feeling, mate?” I asked.

“Been better. She told all her friends that I asked her out and now every time they see me they mock me with their stupid giggles. Emily is a mean person.” He frowned.

“Sorry to ask, but what were you thinking, mate?” I really couldn't understand why he fancied her. I guess she was pretty but her personality was horrible. She was mean to younger students, she only liked Pure Bloods and she was judging everyone all the time.

“Love is blind, Charlie. You're lucky Nova isn't like that.” I was hoping we wouldn't talk about her anymore.

“Might as well be.” I shrugged my shoulders. “You didn't see her yell at me, Bill. She was furious.” I felt pain in my stomach just by thinking about her hurt face.

“You're going to tell her?” Bill asked out of the blue.

“No, why would I? It's clear she doesn't like me back.” I sighed.

“I asked Emily out and deep down I was pretty sure she didn't fancy me back.” He said with a gentle voice. I didn't say anything so he continued.

“Well, did you talk to her? How serious is this crush of hers?” Bill, I thought you were here to cheer me up.

“I dunno. I didn't talk to her about McNully, are you mad?” I glared at him. Why would I make my life more miserable? It already sucks as it is.

“Then why is she mad at you?” Bill asked, confused.

“I was mad because of everything that has happened in the past few days and I threw some harsh words at her.” I sighed. I regretted every single one.

“What did you say, Charlie?” I don't think I ever had such a calm conversation with Bill.

“She started canceling on me every time I asked her to hang out and she kept going to the Quidditch pitch to be with her teammates but she was really hanging out with HIM.” I hissed the last word. “I felt like we were drifting apart and when I told her that, she got upset. I think I hurt her feelings saying that.”

“Sometimes I think you two don't know how lucky you are. Not many people have such a powerful friendship. I know you mean to Nova as much as she means to you and wouldn't it hurt you if she told you you were drifting apart?” He did make a good point. I always looked only from my perspective and not the other way around. No wonder she was so mad.

“Yes, very lucky.” I scoffed. “It hurts Bill. Looking at her, pretending I don't think of her more than a friend and she does all these friendly gestures that make my heart stop.” I flinched just thinking about her resting her head on my shoulder.

“You know I tend to be optimistic.” Yes, it was rather annoying sometimes. I nodded.

“I think Nova will come around.” He winked at me.

“What do you mean?” I was confused.

“Mum and Nova's mum aren't the only ones who think that you two should be together. It is only a matter of time.” He grinned.

Sometimes, I swear I don't know who puts these ideas in his head.

“A matter of time for what? She can't magically stop having feelings for the Quidditch Commentator and fall for me. That's not how the real world works, Bill.”

“Oh, I think you're wrong. I think Nova already has feelings for you.” He was quite proud of his prediction.

“You and Penny should take Advanced Divination together.” I rolled my eyes.

“Why, did she say the same thing?” He rubbed his chin. I knew that look. Ever since Nova let it slip that Penny had a crush on him, he has been second-guessing all his life choices.

“Mate, I told you. Never going to happen.” He snapped out of it. “Should I spell it out for you?” Mocking him cheered me up. Perhaps I should do it more often.

“Oh, shut it! What did Penny say?” He stirred the conversation back to Nova, thinking I couldn't see his flushed cheeks.

“She said that Tulip, Nova, and Penny played this guessing game where if you say the name of the person they have a crush on they have to admit it.” I explained.

“Of course, a typical Friday night.” We both laughed. I was lucky to have him as a brother.

“Apparently, they asked Nova about me because I, for some reason, was an obvious choice.” I continued.

“For some reason, he said.” Bill sighed. I decided to ignore him.

“And I was the only one she had to think twice about if she felt something or not. For all the rest she simply said no.” I said casually. It still didn't mean anything.

“See!” He grinned. “Mate, you have to give yourself more credit. You're turning into a handsome young lad. You have brilliant hair, after me.” I rolled my eyes. I hated his smug face. “You are kind and always put others first and perhaps, with a lot of luck, Ginny won't outgrow you.” I wanted to smack him in the face. Here I was, sitting, thinking he was nice and he had to mention my height.

Compared to my brothers, it looked like I was going to be the shortest. Bill is almost 2 heads taller than me. Twins will outgrow me any day now and even Ron looks quite tall for his age. I can't say anything about Percy, though, as I hardly see him, him being in his room most of the time.

“You had to go there?” I made a grumpy face.

“Oh, I have one better!” I didn't like that mischievous grin one bit.

“Do tell.” I said with the most uninterested voice.

“And you finally started talking about something else than Dragons.” He tried to keep a straight face. I knew he was going to mention that sooner or later. “I know mum fully supports you, even though I think she will stop sleeping the second you get your job in Romania, but after so many years of no interests other than Dragons, I think she gave up any hope of you ever getting married.” He was holding his stomach, laughing so hard.

“Ha-ha. Might as well be true, right?” I said.

“I wasn't finished.” He ruffled my hair. “Until you brought Nova home. She saw how she listened to you and I think she was as shocked as all of us that there was a living soul that didn't mind you talking about Dragons for 2 hours before lunch.” He winked at me. “There's a reason why mum is mentioning Nova all the time. She hopes you two will end up together because she sees how happy you are around her.” He pulled me into a half hug.

“Should we break her heart too then?” I frowned.

“Oh, cheer up little brother. I am confident that Nova has feelings for you but interprets them wrong.”

“What do you mean?” He finally sparked my interest again.

“I might not be as observant as Penny and I might not know all the gossip but I can see when Nova blushes when you say or do something.” He smiled.

“But that's normal for friends.” I wasn't sure I was on the same page he was.

“No, it's not. Do you blush if Jae says something nice to you? Or Tulip? Or Tonks?” I scratched the top of my head, thinking. He did have a point and it took me a while to realize what I have been feeling for Nova wasn't just because we were friends.

“But what about McNully? She can't fancy both of us at once, can she?” I was puzzled. Why did these things have to be so complicated?

“I dunno.” That was not the answer I expected. “There is a possibility she likes you both. She is only aware of one, however. I don't want to give you false hope Charlie, but I really wouldn't give up on her just yet.” He winked.

“Thanks, Bill. It feels good not talking to a girl for once.” I smiled.

“Hey, you picked your friends.” He tapped my back and we started laughing.

I was glad I told Bill about Nova. I didn't know how he would react at first but since apparently, we are the only ones oblivious to the fact that everyone around us thinks we should be together, it was quite nice. I don't think I ever had such a good talk with Bill and I was honored to have him in the family.

I went on with my day rather cheered up. I still didn't believe Penny or Bill that Nova would suddenly realize that she fancies me but it was nice knowing my friends have hope.

My good mood didn't last long as I went searching for Nova to apologize and when I finally found her in the Library with Penny and Tulip, she ignored me and when I turned around, she whispered that she was too mad at me to talk.

I knew I hurt her feelings and Penny and Tulip's faces confirmed that. I have never seen Tulip so mad and I knew I would need to do everything to make things right.

“I'm sorry.” I leaned to her and whispered. “Please come to me when you're ready to talk.”

[violetwolfraven]

Touch x5

No one asked for this but y’all can’t stop me. Basically 3 people who experience the Newsies habits involving physical touch, (and why specific individuals touch each other) 1 who is reintroduced to it, and 1 who completely misreads what it means.

Warnings: Uh... period-typical homophobia/internalized homophobia, referenced physical abuse, PTSD, brief mentions of injuries I guess?

...

x1

Les thought the atmosphere that was created by most or all of the Manhattan Newsies (plus a couple of Brooklyn boys, occasionally) was exciting.

He’d always had friends back in school, but his old buddies weren’t like this. They didn’t randomly jump up against a building to vault off it and do a backflip just to hear the cheers and laughter of their friends. They didn’t check each other over carefully whenever someone was hurt. They didn’t take a second to stop and ask if you were okay if you did anything that indicated you might be sad.

But mostly, Les’s old friends didn’t touch each other as much as his new ones did.

Back in school, it had always been ‘hands to yourself,’ except when they were playing tag or football. But with the Newsies, it was a constant stream of friendly touches. Les was always getting his hair ruffled or his shoulder squeezed or his arm punched in a friendly way and he loved it. He even loved the way one Newsie would take his hat off so another could slap him with theirs if he said something stupid.

Les was well aware that in school, it wasn’t that way because... well, that would be weird. You didn’t just sling your arm around your friend for an entire conversation or jump on their back and cling there until there was a risk of falling over just to surprise them. You just didn’t.

But you did with the Newsies. You didn’t question it. You just did.

Les thought it might be about the way everyone reacted after the strike, when everyone was in pain and those who were in a little less were helping those who were in a little more. Les vaguely remembered Race rubbing his arms to try to calm him down and flicking his nose in a friendly manner before quickly setting his broken wrist with a stick and some stray strips of fabric and telling him not to take it out of the sling until it didn’t hurt anymore, plus a day, just to be safe.

And after he was okay—well, not crying anymore and more okay than a lot of others were—Les noticed how even when all of them were covered in cuts and bruises that would probably just hurt more if touched, the stream of physical contact didn’t end. No, it just got a little more gentle, taking away the fearful adrenaline and helping everyone feel safe.

Kid Blink still leaned against Mush’s knee despite his bruises, sitting in front of the crate the other boy was on. Les knew that the only people around to see in the alley all the Newsies were clumped together in between some dumpsters as they patched each other up enough to move back to the Lodging House were each other, but that didn’t make it any less surprising when Mush stopped stroking Blink’s hair and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

Les knew even most of the other Newsies didn’t touch each other that way, so he guessed maybe ‘best friends’ wasn’t a term that applied well to the pair.

Well, confusing as that may be, Les didn’t see how it could be anything but natural in a group that made each other feel safe even while most of them were hurt.

...

x2

Sarah knew not a lot of girls sold newspapers, and sometimes she asked Davey to go grab her papes to avoid the Delancey brothers’ comments, but she certainly enjoyed this more than her old factory job, and besides, now there was room to make friends.

All of Davey’s new friends were fun, but at first Sarah thought they were a bit handsy, with the way someone was always clapping her on the back or bumping her shoulder or grabbing her hand just to squeeze it before running off to their spot. But then she figured out that they acted like that with everyone, and they always stopped if she asked them to, and it wasn’t just because she was a girl around their age.

It took some getting used to, but Sarah eventually found it just another part of her day. It became routine; block Jack’s hand before he could mess up her hair, let Mike and Ike adjust her form when they teach her some self defense, throw her arm around Jojo to stop girls from flirting with him so he doesn’t get uncomfortable... it was easy. Physical contact was written in everything the Newsies did. It was as essential as breathing.

And then there was Katherine, and Katherine didn’t have as much time to hang around the group, but she’d joined it around the same time Sarah did, and was just as new at all of this.

Katherine’s red hair shined in the sun and her hands were always gentle when she helped a little one patch up a scraped knee and Sarah really wanted to hold her hand but she wasn’t sure if Katherine would be okay with that, with how the reporter often brushed away Jack’s and Romeo’s touches as annoying.

And since Sarah spent practically every day with the Newsies, she knew their gossip better than Katherine could. She knew that several pairs of them were... more than friendly, even being the same gender, and while it wasn’t safe, the group didn’t care. Sarah had no intention of telling anyone that she was attracted to girls, but she was. She understood what they felt but didn’t know if Katherine would even want to be her friend if she knew.

But then one day, Katherine was hanging around the girls’ corner of the Lodging House, where Sniper and Smalls slept and had a couple spare blankets to drape down from the top bunk so the boys couldn’t see them change, and Sarah found out that the reporter didn’t mind at all.

Sniper was leaning upside down over the edge of the bunk, trying to win a bet and shoot a can set up on one of the boy’s beds, when Smalls very suddenly kissed her, making her miss her shot, though Sarah noted that Sniper didn’t seem to mind that much, just content to keep doing what they were doing.

Katherine’s only reaction was to roll her eyes and smile, swatting Smalls with a newspaper and complaining that she’d cheated. And when the short brunette fell backwards next to Sarah sitting on the next bunk over, Sarah was glad that it was acceptable to reach over and squeeze Smalls tightly in her excitement.

...

x3

When Katherine first started hanging out with the Newsies, she’d figured out pretty quick that touch was their love language, and not even in a romantic way, for the most part. Touching each other was how they made sure each other were okay and how they showed their brotherly bond. It was beautiful to Katherine, if very different from how Bill, Darcy, and all the other men she’d grown up with expressed affection.

For the Newsies, it was the most natural thing in the world to celebrate a good headline by grabbing the nearest friend and dancing a messy little do-si-do, or to huddle together on a cold day. Not a one of them bothered with social conventions that men weren’t supposed to show affection, and definitely not by touching each other constantly.

But that was how the Newsies worked, and Katherine couldn’t say she was sorry that they adopted her effortlessly, incorporating her into their existing friendship like she’d always belonged there.

Katherine liked waking up early to meet them at the gates for a bit of hangout time before work started. She liked meeting Davey halfway for a one-armed hug, or dodging Jack and Romeo’s joke-flirting only to let them clasp her shoulder in greeting, or making up a new secret handshake with Race because they both forgot the one they made last time.

Actually, it was through Race that Katherine learned how some of the touches between certain Newsies weren’t just about friendship.

She was meeting him over at Sheepshead, since supposedly he had a scoop on one of the trainers sabotaging other people’s horses, though Katherine was a little skeptical about if he’d actually found anything or was just over-dramatizing things.

She’d turned a corner to the place under the stands where Race usually was when he took a break from selling, only to find not only her good friend Racetrack Higgins, but Spot Conlon, and well... even for the Newsies, being pinned against a wall while someone kissed you senseless wasn’t a platonic gesture.

The two jumped apart the second they saw Katherine, and Race tried to say that it wasn’t what it looked like, but Katherine assured them that she wasn’t going to tell anyone, but wanted to know if the Newsies were okay with that kind of thing; being in a relationship with someone of the same gender.

Race was puzzled, but responded that, yes, the fellas were fine with it, and that various combinations of their group had courted at one point or another, with several pairs currently together. Spot chimed in to report that even a few inter-borough relationships happened, his and Race’s being one of them.

That fact known, Katherine felt absolutely no guilt when Medda put on a special show after hours just for the Newsies as a one-time thing, and Katherine put her arm around Sarah near the beginning of it, the two of them more or less cuddling for the duration of the show. And she definitely wasn’t complaining when a love song came on, and Sarah gently turned her face up so her lips could meet Katherine’s.

Somehow, the fact that Jack had seen and told pretty much everyone didn’t embarrass Katherine too much. Or maybe she just enjoyed the playful camaraderie of her friends coming up to congratulate her with a handshake or a slap on the arm.

...

x4

Crutchie had always known that his friendship with the other Newsies worked differently than a lot of friendships, but he’d never really registered how differently until he was forced to go without it.

In the Refuge, there was no Jack helping him get down a ladder, or Romeo offering a one-armed hug as a good morning, or Finch ruffling his hair when he predicted the weather. Even being new, Crutchie noticed the sore absense of any kind of positive contact between anyone. Even boys who claimed to be friends never touched unless they absolutely had to.

No, contact was limited to Snyder and the guards giving a beating, or someone roughly shoving their way down the hallway because they judged those in front of them too slow, or a hard slap against a limb to try to jostle for more space on the bed or get someone’s foot out of their face.

The only remotely positive interactions Crutchie got were sympathetic grimaces from a boy who saw his bruises, or an only slightly grumpy hand handing him his crutch, but those things were not even close to what he was used to and not nearly enough after years of nearly constant friendly contact from boys he considered his brothers.

Then Crutchie was released, and he got back that contact he’d been hanging onto the memory of, but somehow it wasn’t how he remembered it. He suddenly couldn’t let Race throw an arm around his shoulder to greet him in the morning. He couldn’t accept a double-hug from Mike and Ike when there was a good headline or keep from flinching when Jack tried to make sure he didn’t fall on the way down from the Penthouse.

Crutchie didn’t understand. He’d spent his time in the Refuge missing this and now he could barely take any of it? It didn’t make sense.

When he tried to explain to Jack, the older boy just smiled sadly and nodded in understanding. He said that he’d gone through that when he first got out; not being able to let anyone touch him for a while. Jack still couldn’t handle people touching his left shoulder unexpectedly, but they all had little triggers like that. Random touches or tones of voice paired with specific words that couldn’t be used. Crutchie just didn’t understand why he seemed to be triggered by practically everything.

But Jack said to give it time. To let this get better with time and just try to be patient with himself.

And slowly, with help from the other Newsies, all of whom were willing to do whatever they had to do to help as best they could, Crutchie did get better.

Maybe not all of his scars could completely heal with time, but Crutchie was getting better. Now, when Davey patted his shoulder before they parted ways selling or Romeo leaned up against him while dramatically describing his latest failed romantic venture, most touch could feel as normal as it had before he’d gotten taken.

...

x5

Davey had noticed the Newsies as very physically connected people even before he’d been one of them. That was to say he’d noticed them playing around, putting each other in headlocks and even one guy casually riding on another’s shoulders from the first morning he’d started selling.

And as much as Davey enjoyed this dynamic once he started getting included in it and got used to someone always touching him, it made it that much more painful, knowing that a certain friend of his touched everyone he cared about like that.

Davey had never fallen in love before, so he kind of missed that he did at first, before realizing that what he was feeling for one of the Newsies was everything he’d read in books that involved love. From thinking about him constantly to getting butterflies whenever he saw his smile, Davey couldn’t deny that he felt something more than simple friendship.

Unfortunately, Jack Kelly happened to be a boy, which made him completely unattainable, even if it made Davey felt like sparks were flying every time he touched him, and he had to remind himself that it didn’t mean a thing.

It didn’t mean anything that Jack practically picked Davey up in his excitement when there was a really good headline and he hugged him and spun around. It didn’t mean anything when he grabbed Davey’s face to check him for injuries after they got out of a fight. It didn’t mean anything when there weren’t any spare chairs in Jacobis and Jack chose Davey’s lap instead of the table.

After all, he’d seen Race hug Spot much tighter when he got excited. Sniper always looked that worried when she checked Smalls over after a fight. Kid Blink sat on Mush’s lap even when there were free seats.

And it wasn’t like Albert didn’t kiss Finch on the cheek some mornings before mock saluting when they went off on separate selling routes, or laugh loudly when the taller boy sometimes pulled him back to whisper something in his ear while keeping one hand on Albert’s waist.

All that was to be expected of Newsie friendships. None of it was weird with them because... well, it just wasn’t. The fact that he loved those friendships so much was why Davey could absolutely not tell anyone that he’d fallen for his best friend. They would never understand. The others would hate him if they found out, not that Davey could blame them. Guys weren’t supposed to love other guys. Davey knew that, so as long as nobody ever found out, those friendly touches and friendships wouldn’t change and Davey would never lose them, right?

Wrong, apparently.

It wasn’t common that the entire group wasn’t together after a day of selling, but when one of those days came, Jack was painting a backdrop for Medda, and the rest of them were hanging out in the Lodging House, Davey personally watching Race beat everyone at poker.

“So, when is Jack getting back?”

It’d been an innocent question. Fair, for a best friend. Davey didn’t think anyone would suspect anything.

Instead, Race turned around to give Davey a smirk, “Why? Only been a few hours since sellin’ time! Missin’ ya boyfriend already?”

“What? My—“ Davey sputtered, “Jack is not my— why would you think—?”

“Please,” Spot said nonchalantly, “As if we all couldn’t see how you’se been crushin’ on him since day one.”

Davey’s breathing sped up as he realized what they were saying. They knew. They all knew.

“Whoa, Davey, are you okay?” Mush’s voice asked, sounding far away.

Davey couldn’t breath. He was going to lose them all. He didn’t have any other friends and now he was going to lose the ones he had. Everything felt like too much, from the press of the bedpost where he was gripping it probably too tight to the others voices, all overlapping and sounding too loud and too far away all at once. Davey sucked in breath as fast as he could but it didn’t seem to be enough. He still couldn’t breath. He couldn’t get enough air.

One voice cut through it all.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong? Davey! Davey, are you okay?”

Davey flinched away from Jack’s touch, and the other boy stopped trying to grab his shoulders, his hands hovering halfway between Davey sitting on the bed and Jack crouching in front of him.

“Davey, I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but you need to try to breath, okay? Just take a deep breath with me. In... and out.”

Davey did his best, breathing in and out as Jack instructed, slowly managing to come down from his panic.

Jack looked around accusingly at the fellas, “Alright, who did this? What did alls you’se do?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Spot protested.

“Spot mentioned things ‘bout Davey bein’ queer,” Smalls said.

“Smalls!”

“What? I tells the truth, unlike you!”

Jack looked back at Davey, and found that the other boy wouldn’t look him in the eye. Why would he? Davey certainly didn’t want to look at the boy he loved whilst getting kicked out of the friend group.

“Don’t worry about it,” Davey mumbled, “If it’s okay with you, Les’ll keep selling, but I’m sure I can find other work.”

“What are you...” Jack seemed to realize something, “Dave, can I touch you?”

Davey was surprised he wanted to, but nodded.

Causing even more surprise, Jack didn’t put his hand on Davey’s arm or hand. Instead, he grabbed the taller boy’s chin gently and forced Davey to look at him.

“Dave, what do you see when you look over there?”

Davey looked where Jack was gesturing with the hand that hadn’t moved to Davey’s shoulder. He didn’t understand, but he looked.

Blink was sitting in the poker circle, on Mush’s lap as he leaned back against the other boy’s chest, somehow neither of them having looked at each other’s cards.

Smalls was on a bunk behind them, laying back with her head close to where Sniper was sitting, who was softly smiling as she stroked Smalls’s hair. Smalls was playing, but Sniper wasn’t.

Race had his legs tossed across Spot’s, and he occasionally leaned over to try to get a look at his cards, though the King of Brooklyn always pushed him back with a fond smile.

Finch was playing as a team with Albert as they didn’t have enough cards for everyone, and the latter was between the former’s legs as Finch rested his chin on top of Albert’s hair.

Katherine wasn’t playing poker, but she was perched on a bunk nearby, sitting very close to Sarah, who was looking at Davey like he was stupid for some reason.

Sarah only gave him that look when she was genuinely frustrated with him, and Davey stared his twin down, not sure what she was trying to get at, here as they tried to communicate with just their facial expressions.

“Uh, what’s going on there?” Jack asked.

“It’s a twin thing,” Mike answered.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ike agreed.

Davey gave up trying to get whatever Sarah was trying to communicate and turned back to Jack.

“What am I looking at?”

Jack made a small noise of disbelief, “You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

Jack huffed and dragged his hands through his hair, “So, why do you think we wouldn’t want to be friends with you anymore?”

“Because I’m... I like boys,” Davey admitted, “Why would you want to be friends with someone like that? You’re all such close friends, and—“

“You think we’re all friends?” Albert asked, sounding disbelieving.

“Of course you are. Why else would you be—“

“Davey,” Mush cut him off gently, “That’s not... we aren’t...” he made a frustrated noise, “I don’t do this with my friends.”

Davey was fairly certain his brain short-circuited out of surprise as Mush leaned down and full-on kissed Blink on the lips. Sniper wolf-whistled, but other than that, nobody had really any reaction.

As they separated, Blink shrugged with a smile, “He does that with me, though.”

Suddenly, a lot of things made a lot more sense, and Davey wondered how he’d never seen it before. Even Sarah... oh, God, how had he never noticed?

“Yeah, we don’t much care if ya like Jack’s ass,” Spot summed up.

Davey froze. He’d just accepted that the fellas were okay with him liking boys, but that didn’t mean he wanted Jack to know he liked him.

Especially since... especially since even if Jack didn’t care, he’d been with Katherine a while back, and Sarah for a bit afterwards. He liked girls. He wasn’t one of the ones like Davey.

But Jack just stifled a laugh, “You like my ass?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Davey mumbled, “But yeah, I... I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. And it’s okay that you don’t feel the same.”

Davey made a point not to meet Jack’s eyes. He didn’t want to know what the other boy’s expression was, because even if he wasn’t disgusted by Davey liking boys, he might be by Davey liking him specifically, and even if he wasn’t, he might feel guilty for rejecting him, and Davey didn’t want him to hurt like that or at all and—

“Why would you think I don’t feel the same?”

Jack’s words were soft in a way Davey had never heard before, and gentle in a way that he had never expected to have meant for him.

Davey looked up in surprise, meeting Jack’s eyes and finding that his expression was gentle and almost... loving?

“You were with Katherine,” Davey stuttered, “And... and Sarah. You like girls.”

He was finding it very hard to think as Jack ever so slowly leaned closer, laughing lightly.

“And that means I can’t like boys?”

“Well...” Davey’s brain melted as Jack leaned his forehead against his own, the gentle pressure sending fireworks through his mind.

“It just so happens, I like you a lot, too,” Jack said quietly, “And in case you still don’t get it...”

Jack pressed a small kiss to Davey’s lips and Davey felt warmth pass through him in a flash.

“I love you, Davey Jacobs.”

Davey took a shaky breath, not quite believing his ears, but responding anyway.

“And I love you, too, Jack Kelly.”

This time, Davey kissed him first, and he certainly didn’t feel Jack protesting as the shorter boy kissed him back.

It wasn’t until Sniper wolf-whistled that Davey remembered there were other people in the room. He hid his face in Jack’s shoulder as the room full of their friends actually applauded.

“Okay, okay!” Jack called, waving his hands around for emphasis, “You’se can collect ya bets now, but leave me and my boy alone, hear? We’ll be in my Penthouse if anyone needs me.”

As they left the room, several Newsies clapped Davey on the shoulders or ruffled his hair in encouragement, all calling out their congratulations.

Yeah, Davey decided that in a sea of friendly touches and a few more than friendly touches, he was happy.

[aion-rsa]

Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best

https://ift.tt/2JMbiJl

The musical of the summer was supposed to be a life-affirming celebration of one of New York’s most vibrant neighborhoods, full of color, romance, and big group dance numbers. Instead for many viewers, the musical of the moment was filmed and performed by one man, alone in isolation from the comfort (or discomfort, really) of his own home, with songs centered on techno paranoia, mental health, and the fear of aging. Maybe after a year stuck in their homes, audiences could relate to the existential dread and general anxiety on display in Bo Burnham: Inside more than a conventional movie musical.

Billed as a stand-up special, Burnham’s latest musical comedy endeavor finds the former wunderkind holed up and feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Writing, editing, directing, and performing from a claustrophobic studio, Burnham’s stand-up special skews more toward being a straight-up musical, and not because the special is light on jokes and missing an audience. Rather this has all the hallmarks of a musical narrative and plays closer to experimental cinema than sketch comedy.

Burnham expresses his characters’ inner-thoughts, fears, and desires via song throughout a contained narrative, in this case the narrative being one man trying to occupy himself during a pandemic. It has ballads, charm songs, comedy numbers, “I Am” and “I Want” songs, and a big reprise. By capturing his personal pandemic experience and putting the whole affair to song, Burnham has created one of the most compelling (and catchy!) accounts of life during 2020.

To celebrate the musical that we all needed after a year in our homes, we’ve decided to rank every song from Bo Burnham: Inside. You can stream along via the Inside (The Songs) album on the streaming platform of your choice.

20. I Don’t Wanna Know

Merely an interlude, “I Don’t Wanna Know” doesn’t quite work outside of watching the special itself. However, it is a clever way to address the fact that modern audiences do not have the attention span to sit through a film at home without checking their phone or complaining about a runtime.

19. Bezos II

While certainly meant to poke fun at the real-life Lex Luthor, it’s not that fun to listen to Bezos’ name repeated. Stil, Burnham does elicit a few laughs with his over-the-top mock congratulations. “You did it!”

18. Any Day Now

A Sesame Street-like mantra that plays over the credits, “Any Day Now” suggests this could all end either hopefully soon or on a depressingly vague far-off date that will never come. We’d like to think it’s the former, but it’s safe to assume what Bo thinks.

17. All Time Low

While this number gets docked points for its short runtime, it absolutely packs a punch with its four-line, single verse. After Bo admits that his mental health is rapidly deteriorating, he describes what it’s like to have a panic attack set to a chipper ‘80s dance backbeat. Unfortunately, we don’t get to ride the wave long enough, and judging lyrics, that’s probably a good thing for Bo.

16. Content

This strong opening number musically sets the vibe for Inside, letting us know that we’re in for some synth-heavy throwback beats that would be best listened to underneath a disco ball.  Also incorporating silly backing vocals, a hallmark of many of Inside’s best tracks, Burnham declares he’s back with some sweet, sweet content. “Daddy made you your favorite,” he sings, and he ain’t wrong. 

15. Bezos I

Unlike the reprise in “Bezos II,” “Bezos I” gets by off its increasingly deranged energy, with Burnham roasting fellow tech billionaires and working himself up into a manic frenzy by song’s end. Musically, it sounds like the soundtrack to an intense boss battle on a Sega Genesis game before ending with a sick little synth solo and Burnham hilarious squawking. It’s arguably the only acceptable thing that Bezos has ever been associated with.

14. Unpaid Intern

While “Unpaid Intern” is one of Inside’s shortest tracks, it absolutely makes the most of its time. The jazzy tune scorches the exploitative nature of unpaid internships before Burnham breaks out into a laugh-out-loud worthy scat routine. It unfortunately ends too soon.

13. Shit

Inside’s funkiest jam sounds like Burnham wrote the lyrics for a new Janelle Moane album cut. Bo show’s off his vocal dexterity and plumbs the depths of his depression in a surprisingly danceable fashion. Throwing in a little faux crowd interaction helps bring home the fact that we have all felt like this at one point or another during the pandemic.

12. Sexting

This slow-jam details the complications of sexting, throwing out hilariously too-true punchlines like “the flash makes my dick look frightened.” “Sexting” feels like one of a few songs that could most easily appear on previous Burnham specials. Proving that Inside’s musical textures do not come exclusively from ’80s synth pop, the outro of the song expertly mirrors modern pop trends by throwing in some trap-influenced “yahs” at the end of Bo’s lines.

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11. How the World Works

Influenced by comedian Hans Teeuwen and children’s entertainment in general, “How the World Works” finds Burnham going back to the well by playing the ignorant, smarmy white guy who is oblivious of the real issues plaguing nonwhite Americans. What’s even better though is Socko calling Burnham out on forcing others to educate him for his own self-actualization instead of doing the work on his own for the betterment of others.

Socko pointedly asks “Why do you rich f—— white people insist on seeing every socio-political conflict through the myopic lens of your own self-actualization?” Not to keep things too heavy, the song ends with an absurdist bit where Burnham returns Socko to the nether place that he goes when he’s not attached to Burnham’s hand. Scathing and bizarre, it’s a great piece of social commentary. 

10. FaceTime With My Mom

While most of the music of Inside feels directly transported from the 1980s, “FaceTime With My Mom” seems only inspired by the past decade’s musical trends, updating the sounds in much of the same way that the Weeknd and Dua Lipa have. This is Bo Burnham as a hitmaker, and his attempt is convincing. “FaceTime With My Mom” earns easy laughs by getting to the seemingly specific, yet universal things that all our moms do over video chat. 

9. Goodbye

Every good musical needs a good closing track, and Burnham nails it with “Goodbye,” pulling off a reprise that weaves in many of the special’s signature musical moments and touches on the special’s core themes. A forlorn piano ballad before it soars through Inside’s best motifs, “Goodbye” caps a triumphant musical achievement, coming back to “Look Who’s Inside Again” just to punch you in the gut one last time. 

8. Problematic

Addressing his past work and some aspects that have not aged well, while also skewering celebrity apologies, “Problematic” is self-aware critique by way of an ‘80s workout bop. From the specific Aladdin confession to the overall apology for being “vaguely shitty,” Bo has never made accountability sound so good.

7. That Funny Feeling

This is Bo Burnham’s version of Father John Misty’s “Holy Shit,” a laundry list of all the stupid things that are signaling the fall of culture and civilization as we know it. If Misty hadn’t gotten there first, we may have had this one ranked higher. Still, Burnham manages to come up with a sticky chorus that you’ll be humming the next time something makes you feel like you’re living in the uncanny valley.

6. White Woman’s Instagram

Perhaps the special’s most playful moment, “White Woman’s Instagram” uses the musical cues of an inspiring empowerment anthem to poke fun at the predictably, perfectly curated feed of a “girl boss” Instagram. The song is greatly enhanced by the accompanying visuals, which find Bo recreating the meticulously staged and glamorous portraits that women pass off as their everyday lives.

However, Bo always likes to sneak in some sentimentality, and imagines a genuinely heartfelt post to his white woman character’s deceased mother. Don’t worry, the emotional moment doesn’t overstay its welcome, and we’re soon back to laughing at horribly derivative political street art.

5. All Eyes on Me

The droning synth and pitch-down vocals make “All Eyes On Me” oddly hypnotic and beautiful. The song seems to be addressing Bo’s depression along with his need for validation and attention, a juxtaposition that many performers deal with. It becomes clear that Burnham isn’t addressing an invisible audience, but himself, trying to will himself up and out of his dreary mental state.

4.  Look Who’s Inside Again

A classic “I Am” musical song, “Look Who’s Inside Again” just may be Inside’s most emotionally resonant track that seems to hit closest to who Bo Burnham was and who he is today. This is the song that I will most likely regret the most for ranking so low.

“Well, well, look who’s inside again. Went out to look for a reason to hide again,” perfectly describes the cycle of depression and will, for me, be the special’s most lasting moment. The downbeat ending “come out with your hands up, we’ve got you surrounded” is heartbreaking enough to send a shudder down your spine.

3. Comedy

The special’s real first number is absolutely packed with hooks, from the “Call me and I’ll tell you a joke” bridge to the “Should I be joking at a time like this?” change-up. This is Bo really flexing how far he’s come as a musician, expertly utilizing autotune and a key change (us “stupid motherf***ers” can’t resist them).

“Comedy” also finds Bo comfortably in the lane that we’re most used to seeing him in, playing the egomaniacal white messiah with a wink. “Comedy” is the tone-setter and it’s so good that it lets you know that you’re in good hands for the next hour plus.

2. 30

Either I’m ranking this song too highly due to its personally relatable nature or the fact that I haven’t been able to get “All my stupid friends are having stupid children” out of my head, but I really don’t care. “30” is Inside’s biggest earworm and addresses the existential terror that comes with no longer getting pats on the back for being a young wunderkind.

“30” also examines generational differences, showing how 30 year-old people are more infantile than ever. However, at the end of the day it all comes back to those shimmering keys and that irresistible refrain. Apologies to my friends with children.

1. Welcome to the Internet

No matter how deep and emotionally rich some of Inside’s other tracks may be, “Welcome to the Internet” is the one that will live on the longest. If this were a traditional musical, this would the antagonists’ showstopper; a vaudevillian romp through the alluring chaos that is the internet. Speeding up and slowing down the pace to mirror the manic, addictive nature of surfing the net, Burnham pitches the negative aspects of online culture as they are: a feature, not a bug. Promising “a little bit of everything all of the time,” “Welcome to the Internet” is almost as enticing as the dark tool itself.

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The post Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[fanfic-scribbles]

Heroic Gestures

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky saves you, you save Bucky. In different ways, but still– it’s all in a day’s work for a couple of heroes.

(Shut up Steve.)

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Reader/Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Some Reader peril, liberal usage of humor in a scary situation, little hurt and much comfort

Words: 2259

A/N: If you’re currently going ‘what gives, didn’t I see this this morning?’ yeah, that was a ‘whoopsie’ on my part; I posted it, had some technical glitches, tried to fix it on mobile while I was at work and borked it to the point where I had to delete it and wait until I got home. I promise I’m not spamming, I’m just technologically inept. Also anybody who can edit posts on mobile is smarter and braver than me <3

      ~

  Today had been going so well– you ran some errands, you cleaned the kitchen, you changed the password on Bucky’s computer so he can’t skip out on quality time with you when he gets home from his stupid SHIELD thing–

“Where is it?”

You're not sure how an otherwise mostly-pleasant morning has topped off with you tied to a chair in the middle of your ransacked living room, but you are going to kick somebody for it.

“I don’t know what ‘it’ is!” you snap and then gasp when the man’s face contorts in anger. Okay, easy; don’t piss off the guy with the gun sitting in arm’s reach. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about; I don’t, I swear.”

He sighs like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met. Rude. You could say a lot of things about a guy who breaks into someone else’s home, throws everything all over the place, and then starts asking where something is without telling the person he’s asking what he’s looking for. But you won’t. Mostly because he has a gun. And a knife. And a lot of muscles. Really, you’re more of a lover than a fighter, and you intend to keep it that way.

Unfortunately the man in front of you has a face only a mother could love, and a personality that you hope no one would care for. He grinds his teeth and takes a deep breath, which is good, you think. “Earlier today, Tony Stark came by and dropped off a package,” he says slowly. He raises both of his thin eyebrows. “Ring any bells?”

Ah, Tony. You are so kicking him later. “Honestly, no,” you say, because it is unfortunately not uncommon for Tony to just ‘drop in’ from time to time to do things like leave weird ‘presents,’ or upgrade your security system without asking, or stick rude notes that are too funny to get mad at on the refrigerator. Steve and Bucky don’t know how he gets in. Well they should be happy to not-know that you are so revoking his key after today.

The man grips your chin to painful degrees. “I don’t!” you insist, panicking that this is about to get way worse. But then he suddenly lets go.

And then he hits you. Hard enough to turn your head. Hard enough that half your face starts to throb. Despite your attempts to keep cool, you tear up a little. “I wasn’t even that rough,” he says and yanks your face back into line. When he does you catch a glimpse of someone lurking in the shadows– and the familiar glint of metal makes you able to breathe again.

“It can and will get worse,” Big Ugly tells you very seriously. You almost smirk, because yeah, it’s going to. And you hope Bucky lets you get a kick of your own in for good measure. But Bad Guy lets go of your face and sits back, smug and self-satisfied. For now. “Now– what did Stark give you?”

You sigh. “If Tony left anything then it would probably have been for one of the other two Avengers I live with. You’ll have to ask them.”

The man’s eyes flit suspiciously, but he doesn’t look around, even as he acquires a large and menacing shadow. “Oh really?” he asks sarcastically, like he doesn’t believe you have even so much as a roommate. In a brownstone. In Brooklyn.

Tourist.

“So where are they?” he asks and leans just a little too far back, away from you, and towards–

Bucky strikes, metal arm like a shining silver cobra, and grabs the other man by the throat, hauling him up over the chair he’s sitting him and pulling him back gagging and gasping and flailing so your beautiful specter can growl into his ear, “Right. Here.”

~

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me kick him.”

“I didn’t want you anywhere near him,” Bucky mutters and keeps dabbing at your face. You didn’t even feel the blood so you must be cleaned up by now, but repetitive motions can help soothe him when he’s like this, and right now Bucky looks like he’s a million miles away. “Steve’s gonna kill me.”

Steve will do no such thing and you both know it, but it doesn’t seem like a particularly comforting fact right now. “He’s gonna have to go through me,” you say and put your hand over his to hold the cloth there. “How are you feeling?”

He gives you a Look. “I punched him.”

“So pretty good then?”

You catch a hint of a smile before he dips his head down low. “Hey,” you say and hold his face, bringing him back up. You rub familiar stubble with your fingertips and cradle his jaw in the palms of your hands. “It’s not your fault. He came because he saw Tony. It’s not Tony’s fault either. It’s his fault. You saved me. Nothing really terrible happened. Breathe, baby.”

He does. He doesn’t look all that happy or relieved about it, but it’s not your place to harangue him out of having emotions.

“That said, maybe I can get Tony to do a drop off in an Amazon locker next time.”

Harangue, maybe not. Encourage some others, definitely yes, and Bucky rewards you by breathing a brief laugh. He then shakes his head and goes back to dabbing your face. “Steve is going to kill me.”

~

You should have bet on it because when Steve comes home a couple of days later, Bucky walks in right behind him completely hale and hearty– much like Steve, who predicts your running jump with such aplomb that he drops his bag to the floor just in time to catch you. “You’re okay!” you say, legs wrapped around his waist, and you kiss him several times over while he takes you over to the couch and sits with you on his lap.

“Likewise,” Steve says and runs a gentle hand up the side of your face. You didn’t think you looked that bad, but he adds, “Bucky told me what happened. How are you feeling?”

Bucky is currently lurking in the big armchair off on the side, watching the two of you like he’s afraid to interact. You hope he got his kisses in when he greeted Steve at the airfield. Actually, scratch that– you hope Steve got his kisses in, because Bucky is full-on into self-flagellation mode for not having been psychic about a wanna-be terrorist stalking Tony for a delivery the boys weren't even expecting.

Still, you try. “I’m fine. Bucky swooped in, all knight-in-shining-armor-y, and saved me.” You smile at Bucky while still addressing Steve. “I’m no shrinking violet, but I felt braver when I saw him.”

Bucky perks up from his busy ‘Sit Morosely in a Chair’ activity. “Really?”

“Mm hm,” you say, still enthused with running your hands over Steve’s. Luckily he never seems to mind how touchy you get after a mission.

“I’m sure you were brave,” Steve says and brings up your hands to kiss them.

“Nope!” you say, too cheerful on purpose. You sit back on the couch and drape your legs across Steve’s lap. “So, here’s what happened: one day while I was out, completely unbeknownst to me, Tony came over and dropped something off.” You put Steve’s hands on your thighs and pat them. “And don’t worry; I have since talked to Tony about dropping by when one of us isn’t home.”

“So have I,” Bucky mutters.

“Shush! This is my story,” you say and shoot Bucky a glare. He crosses his arms and looks away, so you clear your throat. “Anyway. Unbeknownst to Tony, he was being watched by someone else. Dundunduuuu–”

“AIM,” Bucky murmurs and you glare at him again. He puts his hand to his mouth.

“So, I got home after running some errands and one of the mysterious evil people watching the house decided to make their move,” you say, but Bucky looks so sad again you think…why not have a little fun with it. “He forced his way into my apartment, but I held him off…” for five seconds, but you punch the air and say, “–with my untapped assassin powers!”

Steve lets out a startled laugh and Bucky looks at you like you’re crazy, but he’s stopped looking sad, so you run with it. You nod emphatically. “Yes, to my surprise, I held him off with magically discovered physical ability that would make even Natasha say “whoaaaa.’”

Bucky snorts and his hand is less for showing you he’s going to behave and more for covering up a smile. That’s way better, and totally worth the pain you’ll endure if Natasha ever finds out your impression of her sounds more like Bill and/or Ted than her. You grin and continue with your story. “We fought for hours. I was amazing.”

“Well, I have seen you catch a chip when it started to drop on the other side of the room,” Steve says thoughtfully.

You snap your fingers and point at him. “See? Same motivation.” You then mock a swoon. “Alas, my hubris got the best of me and I was defeated. I awoke, tied to a chair.” You put your hand to your chest. “My own fault; I underestimated my lesser-but-still-formidable opponent. So, he interrogated me. It was kind of scary, but I gave him nothing.” You lift your hands when you shrug. “Mostly because I didn’t know shit. But! Also because I’m brave and stout of heart and yadda yadda.”

Steve is doing real bad at trying not to laugh, and Bucky, though more composed now and trying to be stern, is cracking fast. Good. “And then.” You clasp your hands over your heart as though to keep it in your chest. “Bucky came out of the smoke and shadows and loomed over my lesser-but-formidable opponent.”

“We have a smoke machine?” Steve asks.

“Nope. He was just that awesome,” I said. “I was pretending to cry, to catch my lesser-but-formidable opponent off-guard. It totally worked; he was such a dummy. And then– and then!” You sit up because you’re at the best part, and Steve wraps an arm around your waist to help you stay steady on the cushions. “So I told my lesser-but-formidable opponent that Tony didn’t give me anything, but if he did it would be for the two Avengers I actually do hang out with–”

“‘Hang out with,’” Steve scoffs and pinches your thigh. You yelp and fall against him to make him stop.

“I’m at the best part!” you say and cover his mouth. He takes your hand and starts kissing it, but he’s paying attention (and it feels nice) so you allow it. “So- so he says, ‘where are they?’ and Bucky– cape flowing, lightning striking, shadows casting over his face–”

“Did I have a rose whip too?” Bucky asks dryly.

“I think you would look fetching in a domino mask, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, so- so Bucky says–” you drop your voice almost as low as you can, “‘–Right. Here.’ And POW! WHAM!” You swing, making punching motions at the air, so hard and numerous that you almost fall off the couch. Steve is still holding you and at one point he keeps you from diving face first into the floor. “Thanks,” you pant and take two more big, deep breaths to get back to baseline. “And then I totally forgot I had magical badass powers and let Bucky handle the situation, and he beat up the bad guy, and untied me, and I fell right into his arms because he’s my hero. And then some other boring stuff happened. The end!”

Steve claps and Bucky joins him, and you stand up to take a bow, as is your due. You then hop over and sit across Bucky’s lap. It’s hard for Bucky to mope with someone draped over him, as you have well learned from watching Steve. “You’re amazing–” you kiss him, “–and strong–” you kiss him again, “–and I love you so–” kiss, “–deal–” kiss, “–with–” kiss, “–it,” kiss kiss kiss.

“Fine! Fine,” he grumbles but he can’t hide that smile from you. “Shouldn’t you be harassing Steve? He’s the one who hasn’t been home.”

“I have a solution for that,” Steve says, suddenly next to you, and he lifts you into his arms.

“Hey!” You smack at his hand. It’s one thing when you’re making him catch you, it’s another thing when he initiates. You're supposed to be in charge, dammit. You’ve said so.

“I need to thank my heroes for taking care of the homestead while I was out,” Steve says and nuzzles your neck, dipping down to kiss and nip at your collarbone. You shiver and even Bucky looks entranced when Steve lifts his head and says in a deeper voice, “Are you in, Sergeant?”

Bucky manages a barely intelligible “yes” as he stumbles to his feet and follows you both to the bedroom. Steve doesn’t ask you but, admittedly, he doesn’t have to. You’re easy and you’re pretty okay with it. Also, you feel like after this week you deserve to be doted on a little bit. And you know you will be.

It’s good to be a hero.

However if they try to start dragging you to the gym with them, you’re going to show them some actual secret ass-kicking abilities.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 14: Vortex

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn  A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

The McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. Glaring Cirque du Soleil posters, cheesy merchandise, overpriced grub, and soul-sucking slot machines.

Steve didn’t really much care for all the bells, whistles, and neon lights, but since he hadn’t quite decided where he was headed to next, he parked his ass at a bar, and ordered a drink. And when it was gone? Well, it didn’t take long for the bartender to pour him another. And another. And another.

The Families’ forefathers had never had a problem executing traitors. Theirs was very much a world of talk-shit, get hit, and people who stepped out of line were either put in their place or sent to their grave. Many generations had come and gone, but things hadn’t changed that much; there were some things that could not be ignored or forgiven, and they still dispensed brutal, bloody justice.

Nick had truly believed he possessed more than enough power and authority to guarantee nobody on his team would ever go rogue. He’d had a solid, profitable game going, but he wasn’t complacent, and he sure as hell wasn’t stupid. Maria may have had other people do the dirty work for her, but Fury would’ve eventually seen past the subterfuge, and the end result would’ve been the same.

All Steve did was make it happen sooner, rather than later.

Somewhere after shot number five – that’s when it dawned on him. None of it mattered anymore. Fury wanted to retire anyway, so, he’d walk, take his fortune with him, and more than likely collect on an annual finder’s fee from the Families. Since they didn’t like to waste talent or opportunities, the business and rest of the crew would probably be absorbed, and given Natasha’s propensity for turning shit piles into gold, she’d probably be sent in to run things.

At the end of shot number six, he realized something even more groundbreaking – he was truly free. For the first time in his adult life, he didn’t have to answer to anyone, and could do what he wanted. He could stop running and hiding, vacate his seat with the Families, and finally get out for good.

“Drinking to victory or drowning your sorrows?”

Steve groaned and sat his tumbler down, “How did you find me?”

Natasha perched on the stool beside him, “You forgot to toss your phone after you called Thor.”

He sighed, retrieved his cell from his pocket, and took out the battery. Steve also removed the memory card and snapped it in half.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

“You need to come back with me,” she said quietly.  

“No, I don’t.”

“This isn’t a request, Steve -- it’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you. And I don’t take orders from him, either.”  

Natasha attempted to argue her case, but he didn’t listen. Instead, Steve hailed the bartender, and asked for his bill. He put enough cash down to cover the tab and a generous tip, but before he could get to his feet, she placed a hand on his forearm, and held tight.

“Let go of me,” he bit out warningly. “Or I’ll break your fucking hand.”

“Hey, that’s no way to talk to a lady.”

As soon as he heard Sam’s voice, Steve closed his eyes, and forced himself to count backward from ten. He should’ve known Natasha would bring backup for the ambush. Steve considered trying to make a run for it, but he couldn’t escape them without causing a scene, and the booze he’d dumped down his gullet had made him a tad unsteady on his feet.

For the next five hours, Steve remained miserably sandwiched between. When they landed in Brooklyn, Bruce was there to pick them up, but whatever happened after the show got on the road was a complete blank. He must’ve either fallen asleep or simply passed out, because when he came to, he was no longer in the car, and had no clue where he’d ended up.

The only thing Steve knew when he woke was that he was still a little drunk, a lot pissed off, and whoever put him to bed had taken the trouble to undress him and cover him with a sheet. A clock on the nightstand revealed it was almost ten in the morning, and though Steve wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, he was hungry, and reeked of booze. The combination made him queasy, which prompted him to hobble out of bed, and weave his way to the adjacent bathroom.

An overhead light kicked on automatically, and when he entered, he found his clothes, which had been washed, primly folded, and stacked in neat a pile on the left side of the sink’s oversized countertop. Lined up in a row on the opposite side were a fresh towel, a packet of Tylenol, a bottle of water, a new toothbrush, and a box of toothpaste. After he utilized the facilities and the hangover kit, Steve fired up the hot water, and stepped into the shower stall.

On a recessed shelf beneath the showerhead was a bottle of shampoo and an unused bar of soap. As soon as the fog lifted a bit, he set about getting cleaned up, and when the scents of Oribe Signature and Côte d'Azur filled the air, he knew precisely where he was.

He finished up quickly, and as he dried off and got dressed, Steve clocked it all. The Sauvage cologne tucked behind a box of tissues; a rolled-up wad of what had to be at least five-grand in the medicine cabinet; the fully-loaded nine-millimeter behind the toilet tank; a switch blade hidden in a basket of haircare product; an interconnected walk-in closet filled to the brim with posh labels, custom tailoring, and an alarming amount of shoes.

Heady, menacing, and rich as fucking Croesus – yeah, he was in the King’s castle all right, and His Majesty was using the trappings and authority of his position to fuck with his head.  

Instead of waiting to be summoned, he headed back toward the bedroom, and out into the hall. He made it all of three steps when he heard Bucky’s voice, and the low-timbered tone was hard-edged and steadily rising in volume. When Steve entered the living area, he found Natasha typing furiously on a laptop, and the reason for her strained expression was revealed when Bucky began bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“Don’t give me that shit!” he roared. “You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it!”

Steve rolled his eyes and headed to the kitchen. Situated in the middle of the island was a bowl of apples, and after he snagged one, he took it to the sink to wash it. Bucky carried on with his tirade, never once paused for breath, and it wasn’t until Steve took a seat at the counter that Bucky even realized he’d entered the room.

Even though the man was still busy ranting, Steve knew he was the one who had his full attention. Bucky had always had a bit of a knife kink, and he’d been using a paring blade to cut away pieces of the fruit, and eating the slices directly off the steel. When there was nothing left but the core and seeds, Steve opened his mouth, and very carefully dragged the knife from bolster to spine slowly along his tongue.

“Stop it,” Bucky barked curtly.

Steve jutted his chin, “Or what?”

Any challenge issued could not be ignored, and he did what Steve predicted he’d do; he hung up on whoever he’d been shouting at, and stalked toward him. Bucky tried to intimidate him by crowding him, but he didn’t balk; he simply quirked an eyebrow and waited for him to make a move.

Crisp, white dress shirt strained against heavy muscle; haphazard tie; disheveled hair; eyes bright and a little too wild. It would’ve been easy to assume Bucky was either strung out or about to take a swing, but the lust-blown gaze, flushed cheeks, and damp brow suggested he had something else on his mind.

If they were alone, Bucky would have tried climbed him like a fucking tree, and he knew it.

Steve vividly recalled the last time they’d gone at each other’s throats, and while Bucky was looking for a repeat, Steve wasn’t. He was trying to get out, not drawn back in, and there was just too much history, bad blood, and unresolved hostility between them. Behind the passion was a lot of underlying rage and ugliness; it had been left to fester like an unattended wound, and sex – no matter how mind-blowing – wasn’t going to heal it.

“Boss,” Natasha called out from the living room. “We don’t have time for this.”

Much to his relief, the subtle reminder was all it took for Bucky to come to his senses, dial it down, and take a step back. He ordered Natasha to finish making transportation and flight arrangements before he spun on a heel and headed toward his bedroom. A few moments later, the door slammed, and the sound made Natasha flinch.

“Is this what you dragged me back here for?” Steve wondered.

She walked into the kitchen and plopped down on the stool beside him, “They’ve negotiated Fury’s golden parachute, but there’s a problem.”

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, “Go on.”

“Scott, Carol, and Rhodey are skittish and don’t want an outsider running things. And even though they were all cleared of any wrongdoing, the Families refuse to let them promote from within.”

Steve didn’t need to hear anymore, because he knew very well where the conversation was headed, and what the Families wanted him to do. In order to keep their profit shares and maintain control, they needed someone to not only settle the waters, but also steer the ship.

It didn’t matter what he wanted – they were going to pull him back in and never let him go...

Natasha sighed and got to her feet, “They’re are flying out to today, and they expect you to be there to attend the meet and sign the paperwork.”

She didn’t wait for him to acquiesce or argue; she just handed him a cellphone and told him his boarding pass and itinerary were on it. When he brought to the screen to life and checked the destination, he couldn’t help but snort, because he now knew where he was headed to next.

Steve was being forced to go back to where it all began…

He was going back to Bermuda.

Chapter 15: Imperfect Union

Everything: @jennmurawski13​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Winter Fest Day Five: Ribbon

Wherein there are ribbons and rings, among other things.

(Also on Ao3)

Jiang Cheng knew it was stupid. They’d already gotten married. His husband had, apparently, been proposing to him since weeks into their relationship. He had his own Lan ribbon now, as a spouse, as the partner of the head of the family and the clan. He’d proposed with his own purple hair ribbon that day in Lan Xichen’s office partly as a joke, partly because it was either that or a rubber band, and partly to match the Lan’s traditions as much as he could in the moment. The purple hair ribbon was something Xichen could understand and hold on to and keep with him. And he did. He’d often found the ribbon wrapped around Xichen’s wrist after he returned from a business trip or a week in Boston. He knew if it wasn’t wrapped around Xichen’s wrist or tucked away in his pocket, it was reverently kept with his Lan forehead ribbon and hair ornaments, as something precious. Something scared.

But that hair ribbon wasn’t made of the same strong material as the Lan ribbons. Eventually it would fade and fray. So Jiang Cheng wanted to give him something more. And perhaps it was more traditional, in being that it was ring. And perhaps it was pointless, being in that they both already wore wedding bands, but it still killed Jiang Cheng a little bit to realize his husband had been wanting this for so long, and had said nothing, because he thought Jiang Cheng didn’t want that level of final commitment. Never mind that in all other legal senses they were already basically married then, never mind that they were in each other’s wills, were their medical contacts, shared bills and checking and savings accounts. His husband had wanted a wedding, and had held off, and never asked for it, because he thought asking for it might be the one time Jiang Cheng refused him.

That precious, stupid, wonderful fucking idiot he loved with every last part of his heart and soul.

“Isn’t it a little late for the ring shopping?” Nie Huaisang asked.

Jiang Cheng probably should have brought anyone but his best friend. However, Huaisang really did have the best taste out of everyone he knew and would be honest in his opinions.

“It’s a gesture,” he said.

“You’re going to make him cry,” Huaisang said. “Niagara Falls cry.”

“He’s not going to cry,” Jiang Cheng said, knowing there was a good chance Xichen was absolutely going to cry. “Who knows? He might throw it back in my face and ask where it was nine years ago.”

Huaisang laughed behind his fan. A pastel and holographic one that somehow still looked classy. Xuanyu’s work then.

“It’s not funny,” he said.

“It is if you really think Lan Xichen would refuse any gift you ever gave him. You could probably give him pencil shards and he’d find some way to encase them in resin and make a paperweight.”

Jiang Cheng was offended on behalf of his husband, even if he could recognize some truth in those words. There was a reason though that Xichen clung on to anything that resembled love and affection, and that reason, because of that fuck-up that was his biological father, would always make Jiang Cheng’s blood boil.

“He is not that sentimental,” he said.

“Cinnamon has her own scrapbook,” Huaisang said.

She did and it was a marvelous piece of artistic work that Jiang Cheng would not hear a single word against. Wei Ying had helped Xichen make that scrapbook. It was a family tradition now.

“He’d never raised a pet before,” he said. “He wanted to keep track of everything in case there was a next time. And there was with Honey, Clove, and Ginger.”

“You two and your animals,” Huaisang said.

“You have your own pig,” Jiang Cheng said.

“And she’s glorious,” Huaisang said as he pulled him into the jewelry store.

**********

There were too many choices and yet not enough.

Some were too plain. Some far too gaudy. Others were nice, but wouldn’t match with their platinum wedding bands. Huasiang was intrigued by one that essentially looked like a watch band, but they both dismissed it for Xichen.

Xichen was elegant, not flashy. He didn’t want, wouldn’t want, a cluster of diamonds or something so obvious. He’d cherish a plain band, of course, but Jiang Cheng needed this to be special. Needed to show that he’d thought about it, and he had, even if it was after the fact.

Huaisang then paused in that way that always reminded Jiang Cheng of a hunting dog who had found its prey.

“How predictable do you want to be?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng walked over to see what he found.

 Oh.

“I mean, it is very on brand for the both of you sentimental fools,” Huaisang said. “And I’m sure we can talk to one of their designers about possible different stones. You’ll have to pay out of the nose for natural purple diamonds, but I doubt you’d settle for amethyst.”

“Not this time,” he agreed.

“We can get this one for you too, if you’re okay with just plain old sapphires, though we might be able to get blue diamonds,” Huaisang said. “Unless you’re not--”

“Just call the designer over here,” Jiang Cheng said.

“If he ever finds out how much you’re about to drop on this,” Huaisang said.

“He won’t,” Jiang Cheng said. And he found that comment rich from a man who had built Xuanyu his own backyard skating rink as a pre-engagement present . “Besides, unlike some people I don’t drop my disposable income on Gucci Crocs.”

“They were Balenciaga,” Huaisang said. “And they almost made me as tall as you.”

“Almost,” Jiang Cheng said and reached over to pat the top of Huaisang’s head. “But not quite, Baby Spice.”

Honestly the harsh slap he got from the fan? Worth it.

**********

Jiang Cheng was out on the encased part of the back patio. Their three dogs were with him. Sugar, still the queen, even as age had finally started to slow her down. Honey, the middle child, and far more Xichen’s dog than his. She loved Jiang Cheng too, but she followed Xichen around the house at all times and sat at the door for hours after he left. Ginger, their new puppy and the youngest of all their pets, slept in his lap.

He knew Xichen was home before his car even pulled into the drive. Honey had a habit of darting off from wherever she was resting and running to the door as soon as his car turned onto their street, and she’d just shot up from her place and plopped down in the foyer.

He carefully shifted Ginger off his lap and placed her down next to Sugar.

“Keep an eye on her,” he said, scratching the top of her head.

He found Xichen in the foyer, crouched down and hugging Honey. He leaned on the kitchen counter and watched them, his heart so full it almost stole his breath.

How did he ever get this lucky?

“So the PTA didn’t destroy you this time,” he said.

“A near thing,” Xichen said as he stood, Honey in his arms. He walked over to him and gave him a quick kiss. “Good evening, my love.”

“Hi,” Jiang Cheng said. He tilted his head towards the patio. “The rest of the canine brood is out there, but someone had to be the first to greet you.”

“Jealous?” Xichen teased.

He shrugged. “Honey can get first cuddle dibs. I always win in the end.”

Xichen kissed him again before walking out to the patio, the sweet words he used to greet the other dogs drifting back into the kitchen.

Jiang Cheng took the box he had hidden in the drawer with some of the loose kitchen utensils and joined the others on the patio. Xichen had taken over his spot, Honey on one side and Ginger in his lap.

“She’s sleeping so much more these days,” Xichen said, eyes on Sugar.

“She’s an old dame,” Jiang Cheng said. “She gets to do whatever she wants now.”

He cradled Xichen’s face in his palms, tilted his chin up for a deep, searching kiss, smiling as he tasted traces of chocolate and mint. He then slid down to his knees.

“What are you--”

He pulled out the ring box.

“--doing,” Xichen said, words ending in a hush.

“I need you to know that I didn’t propose to you that first time just because I’d been faced with the reality that you’d been proposing to me since months into our relationship. I need you to know that I didn’t agree to our wedding just because it was something you wanted. I need you to know that I’ve considered us forever since the first time I left the pets here, in your care, trusting you with all the things I love and hold dear. I need you to know that if you had asked me, at any point, to marry you in words and gestures I understood, I would have always said yes. Without hesitation. That you are the only one--will ever be the only one--for me.”

He opened the box. A platinum band with five purple diamonds spaced throughout the ring. His own had five sapphires. Combined for the ten years they’d been together.

“So this is late, and I’m forever an asshole because of it--because I didn’t see it when you needed it--and even though we already are, will you marry me?”

“Get up here right now,” Xichen ordered.

“The rings.”

“Right now.”

There were tears in his eyes and his hand did tremble just like it had on their wedding day, but he was laughing too, just like he had then. And Jiang Cheng knew he wasn’t much better, held tight in Xichen’s arms as soft kisses were placed over and over again along his hairline, his ear, his cheek.

“Yes,” Xichen finally said. “Forever yes.”

[collecting-stories]

Butterflies - Mark Cohen

A/N: Mark Cohen is a precious angel baby and I love him so I wrote this fic for him. 

Kiss full of color makes me wonder where you’ve always been, I was living in doubt till you brought me out of my chrysalis. 

\\\

“Have you read this script?” Mark asked, dropping the stapled bunch of papers on the reception desk.  

“You forget I don’t get to read scripts, I just answer the phone.” You replied, pushing the script back across the desk at him.  

“Well you should read this, it’s terrible!” He pushed it back to you, grimacing, “Vampire Drag Queens...god this is such trash.”  

“Trash that pays the bills Marky,” you teased, mimicking Alexei’s high-pitched squeak of a voice.

He huffed and looked at the script once more, thumbing through it. He hated this job honestly, he had taken it simply because he needed the money and he had caved to Alexei’s demand after Roger had taken off to Santa Fe. It was foolish, he knew, and playing right into Alexei’s hand, but he desperately wanted to find his place somewhere.  

“It’s not so bad, I mean, at least she doesn’t discriminate?”  

“Yeah I would hate the vampires to feel pigeon-holed in our news stories.”  

“So it’s not time magazine, at least it’s something.” You offered, almost reading his mind. Or at least repeating his inner-dialogue out loud.

But it wasn’t what Mark wanted to hear, “It’s never gonna be time magazine if I keep this up. Who wants to see a resume that lists buzzline as the prior working reference? I’ll be lucky if I manage a spot on the local channel someday.”  

“It’s only temporary Mark.”  

“You’re too positive for your own good.” He sighed, unable to fight the smile when his eyes met yours, “anyway, I should go. I’m meeting some friends tonight for dinner and I swore I wouldn’t be late.”  

“Are you busy afterward?” You asked.  

“After dinner?”  

“Yeah, I mean dinner isn’t all night is it?” You tried to sound casual as you asked, watching his movements as he slipped into his coat and scarf.  

“No of course not.”  

“So, after that...would you wanna get drinks?”  

Mark frowned. He didn’t mind getting drinks with everyone but he really only went along because you were there and he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to spend dinner with Maureen and Joanne only to finish the night out with work people drinking. “Who all is going? Last time Ben bought and I swore I’d pay him back but I haven’t and I think he might be adding interest into those drinks. How much is $6 plus two weeks at 1%?”  

“I have no idea.” You laughed, “but uh...Ben won’t be there. I kind of meant just us.” You’d been trying to figure out a way to ask Mark on a date since he started working for your boss months ago. So far you’d been completely unsuccessful.

“Oh, sure, that’s fine. Did you wanna go somewhere around here or-“

“Wherever.” You had never gotten this far before.  

“We could go to the Life Cafe? It’s always cheap.” Mark replied, “it’s probably good Ben isn’t going then, he gets freaked out taking the subway.”  

“Oh my god do you remember the mole-people segment?” You exclaimed, smiling at him as you remembered the way Ben had gone on and on about the disgusting city transit lines.

“I thought he was gonna pee himself!” Mark laughed.  

“That is why I only work reception.”  

He nodded in agreement, “well we can’t all be so lucky. I’ll see you okay? Like 10pm?”  

“Sounds good!”  

“If Irene or somebody wants to come I don’t mind,” Mark added as an afterthought, “I don’t think I owe her any money.”  

You offered a rather cheesy thumbs up as the elevator doors closed and then slumped back in your chair. Mark was supposed to be observant, how had he not figured out that you were trying to ask him on a date.  

-

“-at the Life Cafe.” Mark explained his after dinner plans as he exited the restaurant with Joanne and Maureen.  

“A date Marky?” Maureen teased, grabbing her ex-boyfriend's arm and leaning against him as they walked.  

“It’s not a date, we all go out for drinks sometimes.” Mark pointed out, flushing from the thought.  

“Except it’s just the two of you?” Joanne pointed out.  

“Yeah, I think so.”  

“Who was it?” She asked, trying to run through the different people at Buzzline that she had met to see if she could remember the girl in question.  

“The receptionist. I don’t know if you remember her-“  

“She was so cute.” Maureen exclaimed.  

“Maureen.”

“Cute for Mark.” Maureen clarified, looking over at her girlfriend, “She was so cute for Mark. Good for you sweetie, your hand needs a break anyway.”  

“Maureen!” It was Mark this time, yanking himself away from his ex.  

“What?”

“I don’t even know if it’s a date, it’s just drinks. I mean-“ He wanted it to be a date but just because he wanted that didn’t mean it would happen. You hadn’t outright said that it was a date and as much as he wanted to assume that it was he was concerned that doing so would only make him look stupid. God, if Roger was here right now he just knew he’d be getting years worth of flack over this stupid date/non-date.  

“Look, if she changes out of her office clothes than it’s a date, especially if she puts on something nicer than the place you’re going.” Joanne pointed out.

“Anything is nicer than the place they’re going.” Maureen replied.  

“I’m not taking a cash advance to buy some beer Maureen. Don’t act so high and mighty just cause someone is paying your tab.” Mark snapped, annoyed that getting grilled by his friends had turned into one of Maureen’s ridiculous double standard.  

“Hey, she paid your tab too!” Maureen protested, smacking his arm.

“I gotta go, I’m supposed to meet her at ten.”  

“When do we get to meet her?” Joanne asked, grinning mischievously at her friend.  

“You’ve met her, you already said-“  

“That does not count Mark!” Maureen cut in.  

“Look, I gotta go.” Mark replied, walking backwards away from Maureen and Joanne so they didn’t try to keep talking to him. He knew they could talk for hours if he let them.  

-

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late. The subway was packed and the escalator was broken-“ Mark apologized as he walked up to the table you were sitting at, already taking off his scarf. He had been panicking since he got on the subway car earlier in the night.  

“It’s okay, I saw they had the escalator taped off, I figured if you had your bike with you then you were bound to be late.” You had hiked the stairs in the uncomfortable but cute shoes you had chosen to wear tonight.  

“Glad I’m that predictable. Have you ordered?”

“Not yet, I wanted to wait.” You replied.  

“Thanks.”  

Once Mark was seated and the waiter had taken your drink orders the night progressed easily. You’d known each other and been something akin to friends since he first started working at Buzzline. You’d made a point of talking to him only to be pigeon-holed as the nice receptionist friend immediately. Slowly you had begun to consider the possibility of more again, as the two of you spent time outside of work with mutual friends or time at work venting about friends the other didn’t know. He told you stories about Roger and Maureen and you told him about your awful ex-boyfriend and the string of emotionally unavailable guys that followed. Being open with each other made for a great friendship but it was the more-than-that you were trying to get off the ground.  

“So how long have you lived in New York?” Mark asked, taking a sip of his beer. He was on his second already, letting the light buzz warm him and ease the tense nerves he felt at being alone with you.  

“Since I was a kid, my mom still lives in the same apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, what about you?” You still lived in the same apartment. Rent was hell and you were trying to keep your name off a lease for as long as possible.

“Moved here after high school, thought I’d make it big somehow but now I’m working for Buzzline and living in this dump and kind of convinced that I’ll never make it out of this neighborhood.” Mark confessed. Even though you knew his current housing and job situations he wished he had something more impressive to tell you.  

“Who would want to leave? Someday people will be paying top dollar for places like this.”  

“Yeah someday when I get kicked out.” He laughed. “Alexei will fire me and I’ll be begging on the street or something. Just me and the stupid hotplate my mom sent me last year at Christmas.”

“I really don’t think you’ll be trapped at Buzzline forever Mark or fired from there,” you replied, “you’re too good for them.”  

“I appreciate that.”  

“If you could do anything right now what would you do?” You asked, curious.  

“Pay Ben back.” He joked, “I don’t know, write a play?”  

“About vampire drag queens?”  

“Oh definitely,” he laughed, then as an afterthought added, “hey thanks for inviting me out tonight, did no one else wanna come?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t invite anyone else.” You confessed, “it’s not a big deal I just, kind of was hoping this could be a date.”  

You liked Mark but you knew he was a little hopeless. He either didn’t like you but was too nice to say anything or he did like you and had no idea that you liked him back because he was rubbish at picking up on hints. Both seemed like viable options but you were hoping the second one was fact.  

“Joanne was right.” Mark uttered, eyes wide as he looked completely shocked by the news.  

“What?”

“My friend Joanne said this was probably a date but I didn’t believe her, I thought she was just trying to make me flustered before I got here.” He laughed.  

“She might’ve been but, this is definitely a date.” You confirmed, “if you want it to be.”  

“Yeah, definitely, absolutely.” Mark nodded.  

-

I love RENT, I'm not ashamed of it. 

[aydascomprehendsubtext]

The sirens grow and grow

About a month into her stay at Mordred Mansion in Solace, Aelwyn Abernant bursts into the Seacaster Manor late at night (after Adaine has gone to bed), climbs the stairs to Fabian’s room, and kisses him full on the mouth.

“You owe me something”, she says as soon as they separate. By something, she thinks they both understand, she means sex.

They don’t do anything close to sex.

-

The first time she comes over, Fabian looks supremely confident and is incredibly nervous.  She clocks this and ignores it, because this is why she likes him. Adaine and most of her friends are honest. They lie, yes, but they mostly don’t lie about themselves. And they don’t lie about themselves to their friends.

Fabian does. Fabian is made of lies stacked on top of each other. So is Aelwyn.

-

“It’s three cowards stacked on top of each other in a trench coat” he slurs at her, the third time they meet. “That’s what I am. It’s the animals that puff out their fur to make themselves look more intimidating.” He’s incredibly drunk. It’s become obvious that his reaction to the possibility of sex with her is to get very drunk. She would take it personally, but at this point it’s become clear to her at least they’re definitely not having sex and she feels much the same way about him. She is also incredibly drunk, but she has worked very hard to be drunk and maintain strict impulse control. It’s an incredibly useful skill that was probably the only way she survived her small rebellions against the Abernant regime. Watching Fabian, she wonders if that sort of defeats the purpose. If maybe the point is to let some of the control slip. What it would feel like to make that choice for herself.

-

She’s accepted that their relationship is one of getting drunk and being harassed by his friends and her sister about their life choices. She doesn’t expect things to change. She has no interest in bringing up the fact that he doesn’t want to sleep with her, and he has a teenage boy’s interest in not bringing it up.

So when he does, it’s the first sign she should have caught that this isn’t exactly what she expected.

“I feel like it is only my duty, which I take very seriously, as a man, you know, to… ensure I am not leading you on, so to speak.” He tells her this turned away, opening a bottle of something she recognizes more from her father’s stores than a Hudol party mix.

He’s turned away, but she doesn’t let herself show her surprise. There’s only harm in it. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Her voice is dry and she doesn’t elaborate, hoping that’s enough to tell him he can drop it.

He doesn’t. “Well, I’m not -ah- surprised per say, I know you’re an incredibly, and I mean incredibly. intelligent woman and I hadn’t exactly been keeping it a secret but I just felt, as a matter of honor, and duty, as I said, as a man, that I should offer you the chance to leave, if you so choose to find another partner, so to speak.” He’s looking at her now, as if he has summoned his courage. He looks confident. His words flow in the kind of run-on sentences that punctuation would diminish the elegance of. He’s nervous, and they both know it, and she’s got the sneaking suspicion that he’s stopped thinking he can hide things from her.

“That’s alright. You have a caliber of alcohol I’d become accustomed to, and the Hudol boys are dreadfully stingy these days”. She leaves it at that and they both start to work at getting drunk.

She can still hide things from him, because the Seacaster Manor was a crucible in the right kind of delicate conversation and the Abernant House was a cup in hell itself.

-

She thinks that she might respond to emotional turmoil in a similar way to Bill Seacaster, or possibly Fabian’s mother. Quiet, detached, willing to ignore it as long as he let her. It must be comforting, in a way she realizes is probably not incredibly healthy and he definitely doesn’t recognize himself. She could tell him to stop. But that would probably require ending the only activity she can call friendship now, and some part of her tells her that she can call it friendship if she’s selfish enough to hold onto it.

-

Well into the summer after their spring break adventure, she is perfectly comfortable with their relationship, even with the knowledge that he’s a little more open, a little less constrained than she is. She can predict him now, she knows. They meet, they both drink, she relaxes under the influence the increment that if she didn’t it would be noteworthy, he gets roaring drunk and emotional in the way that requires ignoring.

And then one night it goes disastrously wrong. He gives her something interesting and new from his father’s cupboard, something she hasn’t seen before and it…

Affects her. In a way nothing has for as long as she can remember.

It’s the only night she can remember snapping to, passed out on his floor, instead of drifting out of a trance of a light doze or just wakefulness. She wants to vomit, and isn’t sure if it’s the hangover or the knowledge of everything she let go like a moron. Like a drunk sorority girl. Like someone who didn’t have anything to hide. Like someone who hadn’t worked to build up everything she still had left from nothing, from the bombed-out landscape of what happens when she makes mistakes. She hurries out of his house and to Mordred Mansion. She makes a sound, and Adaine hears her and makes the first noise of a question she can’t answer, not right now and not ever, and she casts sleep on her own fucking little sister who she said she wouldn’t harm ever again, and curls up into the locked bathroom to sob.

-

The next night, when she hasn’t seen anyone from the Manor all day after she teleported out and left her crystal, she goes back to the Seacaster Manor. Any other time you asked her, she would be able to tell you why she went over there. Or, she would be able to lie. This time, she doesn’t even have the lie prepared. She doesn’t think. She’s spent the day wandering around downtown, casting protective wards to keep a sending or a scrying spell from getting through.

It’s not that she thinks there won’t be consequences for her actions. She’s not stupid or naive. If you asked her later, she would say she assumed that the difference between being missing 12 and 24 hours wasn’t that large, in the grand scheme of things. If you ask her later, Aelwyn has all sorts of lies she can tell you about why she does the things she does.

In the moment, she just doesn’t want to go home. So she goes to Seacaster Manor.

-

On the worst night of her life, she’s three cups deep into something that tastes like Penelope’s stolen stash and realizes she may be slightly tipsy. Not enough to worry about, just enough to notice. It’s not until her fourth cup that she realizes tipsy was a vast understatement, and it’s much too late for her to care the way she should.

It’s just… it’s hard. It’s work. Every day, all the time, trying to keep herself safe.

She confesses this, out loud, to Fabian, who agrees loudly. “I didn’t even realize I was exhausted until the moment after Kalvaxus was dead, and I went home to Cathilda and my mother, and there was no one to preform to. My father was dead. I could just be for the first time in as long as I could remember. I almost cried, but I didn’t, and instead I fell asleep. I woke up feeling relieved.”

“That’s the terrible thing when they died,” Aelwyn replies. “It was relief. Adaine was joyful, and she should be. They tortured her and she killed them. But I wasn’t sad for them, and I didn’t get her exuberance. It was just a weight lifted off, and it came right fucking back. I got one moment of trying to be a kid and a person, and then I made myself into what I hated, and it’ll be that way forever.”

Fabian shakes his head. “Come on, Aelwyn. You don’t have to be like this forever. It’s a choice you make every time you lie to someone else or yourself. You can just stop.”

-

When she shows up at Seacaster Manor, she doesn’t say anything, because she has no idea what to say. She thinks Cathilda is calling Sandra Lynn and Jawbone, and any second now they’ll all be here with Adaine and consequences will be meted out fairly or unfairly and it doesn’t even matter all that much because it’s all degrees of failure.

Fabian says “I said the wrong thing. It doesn’t have to be like this forever, but you can’t just stop because it’s not the thing you’re making yourself. It’s still them. It’s not like they disappeared from you when they died. They still live in your head, and the thing you can do is replace them bit by bit. And the thing you can do is try. Just try.”

She doesn’t know how. How could she know how? How could she even learn? What could she do? There’s not a step she takes that doesn’t have the Abernant strings pulling it forward, and there’s nothing else to her.

Her posture is stiff and fragile, and when he draws in close, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. She wants to recoil, and it takes everything she has not to, because Aelwyn fucking wouldn’t. It’s not what she wants or needs, but when has that ever mattered?

He doesn’t kiss her. He just moves a step closer and puts his hands on her shoulders, so gently they may not be there at all, and she realizes she’s shaking. She doesn’t melt into him. That’s what she’ll say, if you ask her. She doesn’t cry either, which is the truth. But she does shake apart in the comfort of a friend in the first time in as long as she can remember.

-

The first time she comes over, after he has drunk himself to sleep and she has sat in his room watching the dark turn to light thinking about nothing when she can, she steals out before he wakes up. The embarrassment when he wakes would be delicious, she thinks, but he might ask why I didn’t stop him from drinking so much.

So after most of the night sitting in the room of a boy she has not had sex with, she goes to leave and looks back, just for a second. He’s asleep.

She’s seen her mother and father asleep. They looked severe. Like the lines in their face had been carved there with age, and even when they relaxed the echoes remained. One night, on the cold hard ground of the nightmare forest, she had woken up and looked at them and thought her face must be the same. But she looks at Fabian now, and he looks young. He’s lost all the bravado. In a moment she thinks that they are both much much younger than their parents. They have time before they’re the worst versions of themselves.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess of the Grunewald (26): Preparing for War (2)

“Victory column Berlin” by LoboStudioHamburg

Notice: With this chapter, we return to the preparations Jamie makes for Claire's defense while she stays in the Women’s Detention Center in Berlin-Moabit, waiting for her trial. Chronologically this chapter follows directly after chapter 18.

Six months ago. The evening after Jamie’s fourth Attorney’s visit to Claire in prison. 

Previous Chapter

Previously

“Tessa reminded Jamie that the next day at 10:30 am, the telephone conference with Prof. Dr. Nerz was scheduled and that she had reserved for him and David de Koning a table at the Ferenc’s for that evening. He had three hours left by that time. However, he should plan at least half an hour of driving time because the traffic news had predicted a traffic jam for the inner city. Just another visit of just another foreign head of state in Berlin. Nothing new. Jamie thanked her and sat down at his desk. He looked out of the large panoramic window towards the Great Star. Twilight had already set in and soon the illumination of the Victory Column would start. Anyone who knew the history of the monument knew that it was not just a monument of victory after a war. It was a constant reminder of the wrestling of this nation for its liberty and its unity. First in the Liberation Wars against Napoleon from 1813 - 1815, then in the Wars of Unification between 1864 - 1871. For Jamie, it was also a synonym for the resilience with which this country had fought for its reunification the 40 years after World War II. He loved the view from his office because there was something encouraging about the monument. And that encouragement he needed very much. Right now, when he had to prepare a ‘war’ - when it was necessary to ‘muster’ his weapons and his troops.” 

“Kaffeehaus” by jpeter2

        A few minutes after 6:00 pm, Jamie arrived at the "Ferenc's". He gave his name to the receptionist and said he had reserved a table. The waiter led him into the side room and up the stairs that led to the gallery, called the “Belle Etage”. When David de Koning saw him, he rose from the table and greeted him. The waiter took a step back. As Jamie and David sat down, then he pointed to the menus on the table and to the little button that was attached to the parapet of the gallery beside the table by which they could ring the waiter. Jamie thanked the man. Then he and de Koning exchanged a few words and delved into the menus. Jamie chose the South Tyrolean spinach dumplings with leek and white wine sauce and sparkling water.

        "No Wiener Schnitzel?" de Koning asked, frowning.

        "No, but if you like to ... you know, the bill is on me."

        The guest did not think twice. When the waiter returned, he ordered Lamb‘s lettuce with pumpkin seed oil as an appetizer, a Wiener Schnitzel (of course of the full-cream calf) with potato-cucumber salad as the main course and as a dessert Apricot dumplings in walnut butter with raspberry foam. He would have liked to have chosen a glass of wine from the top list of Austrian winemakers offered by Ferenc’s, but unfortunately, he had to drive home by car. So de Koning ordered table water.

        "Well, what's up, Jamie?" de Koning asked in a whisper as the waiter left.

        "The prosecution has ..." began Jamie in a normal volume.  

        "Psst! Jamie! Not so loud! "

        De Koning looked at him in dismay before carefully looking around in all directions.

        "What? Do you mean we are being monitored?" Fraser asked, slightly amused. Then he plucked at the tablecloth, picked it up and looked under the table.

        "Well, I don’t see any eavesdropping devices here. Do you?"

        "Jamie!"

        De Koning looked around carefully again.

        "Ah, maybe there's a bug here in the flower vase!"

        Jamie plucked the dried flower bouquet from the small white porcelain vase that stood on the table between him and de Koning.

        "Oh no! Also empty!"

        With a big grin, Fraser showed de Koning the empty vase.

        "No one there who wants to overhear us!"

        "Jamie!"

        "David! We are in Berlin-Mitte, not in Chicago or the Bronx! So, do you want to know something about the case or not?"

        De Koning looked a little frustrated, but then unpacked his little black notebook and nodded.

        "Why do you think I’m here?"

        "Because of the good and above all free food ..."

        Jamie grinned and earned another sour look from de Koning.

        "The prosecution has filed an indictment, my client is in custody. I doubt that the accusations will stand the test. Some of them are built on very, very shaky ground - but you will not write that!"

        "I'm not stupid, Fraser!"

        Instead of answering, Jamie looked meaningfully at the small white porcelain vase.

        David de Koning pretended that he did not understand the allusion.

        "Does your client deny the charge?"

        "100 percent. She is innocent, completely innocent and we will prove that."

        "But if she didn’t kill her husband, who did it? Her husband is dead and he was obviously murdered. He has hardly inflicted the numerous, severely bleeding wounds ion himself."

        "We don’t know who killed Professor Randall. But one thing is sure: it was not his widow."

        "But …."

        Before de Koning could ask another question, two waiters came and served the food. The journalist pocketed his notebook.

“Marillenknödel” by RitaE

        The two men started to eat.

        "Ah, this Schnitzel is truly delicious. You don’t know what you're missing, Jamie."

        "Thanks, I'm very happy with the dumplings. I don’t like to eat heavy dishes in the evening."

        They teased each other back and forth about the food for some more minutes, then Jamie redirected the conversation back to the subject.

        "My client doesn’t know who did this to her deceased husband. She certainly had no reason for it."

        "Really? It is rumored that her husband had a girlfriend?"

        "Even if that had been so, wouldn’t it be more obvious that my client had killed this woman and not her husband?"

        "Well, there are voices that say, that the husband had a not inconsiderable fortune and perhaps, your client didn't want to miss such an inheritance?"

        "My client has her own assets. Her uncle was a very well known British archaeologist, and Egyptologist, who taught at Oxford for many years. She was his only heir. In no case was she ever dependent on her husband's money,”

        "Then maybe it was pure revenge? She just wanted to get rid of that old jerk?"

“Chirurg” by marionbrun

       "My client is a doctor. She has sworn an oath to save lives, to heal lives, not to take life."

       "Well, just because she is a doctor, even a surgeon, means nothing, but she would have the know-how ... You have certainly read newspaper reports in which she is credited with the act just because ..."

       "I can assure you that my client is not capable of such low emotions."

       "Uhhh, big words, Mr. Lawyer!" said de Koning. "One could think, you're married to the lady, or at least dating her!"

       Then he stuffed his last apricot dumpling in his mouth. He rubbed his stomach with relish and, addressing Jamie, said:

       "Who knows what other colleagues from the rest of the press are digging up ... Are you really sure that not someday something will come up from somewhere? Couldn’t somebody show up in court and get talking? Maybe a neighbor, a friend, a hotel clerk witnessed a fight or something else?"

       "Whoever should crawl out of whatever hole, to throw dirt on my innocent client, he or she must know that we will prosecute every slander, every false statement, and every incumbent claim under criminal and civil law."

       "You will claim for damages?"

       "Of course! My client is a graduate of irreproachable reputation. Every slanderer must know that slander is expensive. She's a respected surgeon, and if she loses her reputation or job because of such slander, someone will pay for it. You can count on it."

       "What does it mean that you will let those allegations persecute? Don't you do that yourself?"

       "No. In this case, we have appointed a distinguished lawyer whose law firm specializes in media law. I intend to concentrate entirely on the defense of my client. "

       "Surely I can write that?" asked de Koning, knowing what Jamie's answer would be.

       "Of course."

       Two waiters came, cleared the dishes and asked if they could bring anything else. Jamie ordered water for himself and de Koning and asked for the bill.

       "And what about the ... exclusive interview?" asked de Koning. He deliberately kept this question until the end. If Jamie had to tell him that his client would refuse, then at least this news would not spoil his meal.

       "What exclusive interview?" Jamie asked, frowning.

       "You know exactly what exclusive interview, you pettifogger!"

       "Oh, the ... exclusive interview with the magazine U-Turn ... Hmmm, let me think."

       "Fraser"

“Notizbuch” by tookapic

       De Koning pounded nervously on the table with his black notebook.

       "This is the decision of my client ...  she decided to do this interview, unfortunately ..."

       De Koning's eyes widened.

       "What has your client decided unfortunately?”

       "Unfortunately she has decided ... to give this completely new and unknown online magazine in Berlin ... this exclusive interview."

       "Yeah!"

       De Koning beamed and thumped his fist on the table.

       "David!" Jamie said in a whisper and pointed wide-eyed at the small white porcelain vase: "Pull yourself together! The Stasi officer who monitors us gets eardrum twitching! They will sue you for bodily harm and I have to bail you out again!"

       Both started laughing loudly and it was obvious that David de Koning's laughter was a liberating laugh.

       "How did you do that? How did you convince her?" the journalist asked.

       "That, my good friend, falls under the lawyer's duty of secrecy. But seriously. I will work out an agreement in the next few days that my client and you will sign. Then all’ is wrapped up. You know, I expect U-Turn to be neutral."

       De Koning nodded.

       "For sure. We will do that ... I promised you. Just ..."

       "Just?"

       "Jamie, don’t misunderstand me  ... you're pretty sure she's innocent, but who tells you that   there aren’t any skeletons in her closet, coming out someday?"

       "David, trust me, I know you have a reputation to lose, but I assure you - she is innocent, and I promise you that I will pay for anything if U-Turn suffers any financial harm because you help me."

       "It's ... it's not that I don’t trust you, Fraser. We've been working together for too long, but ... such a big thing ..."

       "We've never worked on such a big thing together before, I know, but that will not change anything, it will not be easy, we'll have some tough months ahead of us, but believe me, I'll do anything to make this whole thing a success - for my client, for me and you."

       "When do we meet to sign the agreement - and especially where?"

       "In a week? I call you. I'll call you as soon as I've finalized the agreement and discussed it with my client. "

       "But she will not ... but still, jump off?"

       "No,  no. That deal is sealed."

       "Ok, I trust you, Jamie."

       "And I trust you, David. You send me the first article as a pdf on my phone?"

       "Yeah, we'll release only if you agree."

       He nodded in agreement. They got up, went downstairs and Jamie paid the bill. They said goodbye at the entrance, then they went to their cars.

“Parkplatz” by kaboompics

        When Jamie wanted to go to bed three hours later, his smartphone made a beep. He tapped the display and saw that David de Koning had sent an email with an attachment. He opened the attachment and read:

[migleefulmoments]

Reality Check on TSG and Darren: Dissecting the Lies the ccers repeat.

The obsession with Mia and TSG returned as soon as Elsie was over- just as predicted. I find it so odd that a handful of women with NO intention of ever stepping foot in TSG have such an obsession with keeping tabs on negative Yelp reviews. How often they must check Yelp in order to catch every one.  hot of the press so they can blast it and rage over the problems. But even more curious is that they never actually vet the reviewers themselves for their validity. Several of the negative reviews the fandom delighted over were clearly written by people who have never been to the bar and were influenced by Abby’s theories including the one who complained about the vaginas dripping on the bar and the one who complained about Open Dyke Night and then admitted she was underage and half a world away. 

Here is TSG overall score: 

With 118 review they are at 4.5 stars so these 1-star reviews are not the norm.  Most review look something like this 

or this

Now let’s look at this recent lot that Cassie decided to bring to ccers’ attention.  

cassie1022

(Well Megan, it depends on what night you were there. They close at 1 am on Tuesday and Wednesday).

(If the door people are turning people away an hour before closing, Mia needs to know and the Yelp review will be helpful  But since the vast majority of the 118 reviews are very positive, this clearly isn’t a problem that occurs often).   

(This is the one that gets Abby’s fired up about.  I have no clue it it is true or if it this policy is posted anywhere. I will give them this one because I can’t check anywhere.  20% does seem a bit high for a bartender tip since they aren’t waiting on a table...anyone?)  

(Melinda, Melinda Melinda...I’m going to guess that by her comment that she is not 21. She gave the place 1-star because the bartender carded her. Basically that is it. She gave them a horrible review and ranted because there were frumpy old lady tourists in the bar, she insulted the drink taste and the price even thought it sounds like she wasn’t served and the bartender thought she looked young. I’m sorry but this smells wrong. But even more telling is the comment “If I am willing to buy your mediocre $20 glasses of urine then you bet I am old enough”. Notice she never says she is 21, she simply spits that she is willing to pay the price for the horrible drink and that qualifies her.  

Check out her Yelp page- she went to LONO after TSG and complained about TSG on that LONO’s review.  “BEST BAR OF THE EVENING! I came here after fleeing the depressing depths of Tramp Stamp Granny's in search of refuge. The bartender with the long red beard was incredibly nice! He was kind, considerate, and extremely welcoming. The drinks were superbly delicious!!!!! Everyone should come here”  I get the vibe she didn’t get served at TSG (Keep reading, there is another hint about her age at the bottom of this section) 

Back home in NY she gave Trader Joe 1-Star claiming she found a worm in her smoked salmon. That seems suspect since the salmon was smoked. She gave her local ice cream place 1-star and this charming review “There was a long, black hair rolled up into my ice cream, the plate that my "sweet treat" was made on was covered in ice and the remnants of previous orders, and the employees appeared to be quite overworked.  When I want ice cream, I don't want an accompanying side of pity for the workers and disdain for the tedious, migraine-inducing procedure to make a mediocre ice cream. Also, the store was sweltering and I broke out into a beading sweat while waiting in the purgatory-like line.” The only places Melinda likes are a hot dog place and a pizza joint. The pizza joint got 5-stars “By far the best pizzeria ever; my existence would be trash without Emilio's. Oozy, gooey goodness that tastes like ambrosia regardless of the toppings. While the employees are lacking in the common customer service charm that we are force fed as a society, they have a higher level of pizza IQ than the rest of us average mortals. I guess that's what happens when you spend your days cultivating the food of the gods.”. But my favorite review of all is for 5-star review for her favorite hot dog place “Very delicious, savory hot dogs. The location is prime with it being directly behind the high school, however, the large line every single day can get a bit tedious. If only they would expand and open an extra window.” Now why would an adult care that it is located near the high school? It would seem that the person who calls the location “prime with it being directly behind the high school” but also notes that it the line is large every single day is a high school student.  Of course she could be a teacher who eats hot dogs everyday and is between the ages of 22 and 30 (any older and she would not be that upset that the bartender thought she looked young) but her comments reek of teenager.) 

(I have no clue what David’s issue is.  Is this a viable complaint to leave on Yelp? It sounds like David has a personal issue with the guy working the door.)  

Now the ccers chime in: 

ajw720  While all of these are bad, how are they getting away with unitemized bills that include gratuity with no policy plainly in site? I totally understand charging gratuity and have absolutely no issue with it, but it needs to be clearly stated, because if it is not, that is tricking customers into tipping twice. Disgusting.

Can we please separate d from this horrific establishment? Not only is it utterly misogynist and offensive in nature, with theme nights where the name is considered hate speech, it is repeatedly cited as poorly run.  First a 5% upcharge on ice and now we learn they charge gratuity automatically on bills of $80 or more without clearly stating the policy. That should be written on the bill handed to the customer.  Unacceptable.  

(Can we please separate d from this horrific establishment? No, Darren is married to the owner and considers himself an owner. What did he say the other day? “It’s my bar too because we are a unit” or something like that.  

Not only is it utterly misogynist: TSG is NOT misogynistic. You dont understand the word .

and offensive in nature: TSG is NOT “offensive in nature” to most grown adults. You can find it offensive but you do not get to dictate what the rest of the world finds offensive. Your attitude is no different from the Christians who claim they won’t serve LGBTQ customers because it is against their religious beliefs in that you are both putting your morals, values and beliefs on someone else and declaring that it is offensive to all of us. If you find it offensives then don’t give them your business. Period 

with theme nights where the name is considered hate speech: The theme-night names that you find so offensive and are labeling “hate speech”, are in fact words the LGBTQ is using to empower their community. “Open Dyke Night” was named- and is hosted by- a lesbian who uses the word to empower lesbians. These theme nights you find so offensive are NOT for you. They are nights for the LGBTQ community to come to a space that is safe and enjoy the company of others in the community just like them hence Open Dyke Night is for lesbian women to come together with other lesbian women and enjoy a night of singing and celebration. 

it is repeatedly cited as poorly run.. : It is NOT “repeatedly cited as poorly run” by anyone who isn't named Abby, Cassie, Leka, and Flowers. The bar has 4.5 stars overall and a lot of 5-star reviews. This is exactly what NadiaCreek was talking about when she said “You are denying a reality that is obvious and that gets more and more evidence with every passing day. You are tricking yourself into seeing patterns that are not there, by obsessing over small details and ignoring a mound of evidence for the opposite, true conclusion. That kind of thing can and will pour over into areas of your life that do matter. Denying reality in any area of the world is a dangerous game that can and will impact the rest of your life”. THIS is so important.  

First a 5% upcharge on ice and now we learn they charge gratuity automatically on bills of $80 or more without clearly stating the policy. That should be written on the bill handed to the customer: A 5% up-charge on ice was mentioned by one person. I wouldn't be referencing that based on one person’s random comment. The 20% gratuity is again only one person complaining so I wouldn’t sink my teeth in to this one until you know a lot more)  

klaineownsmysoul

When you have a “venue operator” masquerading as an owner who knows nothing about how a business should be run and obviously couldn’t care less, what do you expect?  They couldn’t be bothered fixing the air conditioning last summer and laughed it off as a joke.  Pretty sure at this point its obvious this wasn’t some sort of “life long dream” of hers to own a bar like they’ve pushed; more like a dream to have a place where she can drink for free and have her pic taken while people kiss her ass and call her wonderful.  There is not an ounce of D in that place.  His shoelaces have more integrity than this place.

(You have no clue what the business end of TSG is and comments like how she is “masquerading as owner” are so obtuse and stupid they defy logic. She is the owner and the bar is busy. But it doesn’t matter if it is failing and barely hanging on- it isn’t any of your business-that’ss between Mia, Darren and Danny and their landlord and vendors. It’s really sad and disgusting that you want Darren’s bar to fail. CCers want to be taken seriously -Abby constantly complains that the stans won’t listen to the various cc tropes -and yet you make nonsense statements like this...this is one big reason why you aren’t taken seriously. You WANT Mia to fail and you WANT TSG to go away but that is not the same thing as it actually failing or Mia being a clueless boss. In fact, her employees have said very nice complimentary things about her being a fabulous boss and they are far more credible evaluators than the cc fans who have never been to the bar and  simply believe Abby’s fantasy tropes about the bar and Mia failing. You have no idea if she cares or doesn’t care and again, it isn’t any of your business. It’s her business to drive into the ground or make it a roaring success. Darren’s fans don’t get a say in the matter other than to either be a customer and pay for drinks or don’t give them your business. 

Patrons continue to go to the bar and I have not seen complaints about the lack of A/C except on opening night.  It is just as much Darren’s bar as Mia’s- so you believe Darren didn’t care about the A/C and laughed it off as a joke? When? Or is it that A/C was out a few days over a year ago and you are still using that as fuel for your rage about a bar that you have nothing to do with? 

“Pretty sure at this point its obvious this wasn’t some sort of “life long dream” of hers to own a bar like they’ve pushed; more like a dream to have a place where she can drink for free and have her pic taken while people kiss her ass and call her wonderful” Again comments like these are why you aren’t taken seriously.  Mia owns the bar. Whether you like it or not, she owns the bar.  You simply don’t like that she isn’t the bar manager-she pays people to do that.  The owner is the one who hires and trains staff, makes decisions about the menu and what alcohol will be offered, writes the policies and procedures,   plans the calendar and makes payroll. She pays other people to run the bar day-to-day and that pisses you all off because you can’t see her at the bar and criticize every moment that is uploaded to social media. What she does is all behind the scenes and not Instagramable. But it doesn’t mean she isn’t working. There is a thing now called the internet and it makes doing a lot of the work of running a bar doable from a wide varsity of locals.  .  

Your comment that “there is not an ounce of D in that place” leaves me shaking my head. When you guys say things like this it just proves that you don’t know anything about Darren. You spend your time looking for Blaine and you're right- the bar has nothing to do with Blaine but it has Darren written all over it. The cc fandom spends all of their time and effort looking for the Darren they want to see and it’s a lot of work. You have to reject a lot of what you see and blame it on his team for making him be the bro’ dude that you can’t stand. You have to find videos and look at them frame by frame to find the moments you believe are the ‘real’ Darren aka the one you want to see. You have to cut out those precious few seconds, slow them down,  and  turn them into gifs and THERE...THERE IS the Darren you know and love.  But while you are doing all that work you are missing the real Darren. The one who is right there in front of your face but you don’t like because he isn’t Blaine. Darren’s footprint is all over the bar- from the elegant debauchery of the decor to the sexual puns on the signs and the drink names that IS Darren Criss. The piano at the center of the room-Darren’s piano- that he uses to connect with people through music and the fact that it is a piano bar that plays covers is all Darren. Mia plays very different music when she performs and yet the bar is literally based on what Darren does best- play the piano and sing covers while those around him join in. The place is ALL Darren-you just don’t like the real Darren.)        

flowersintheattic254

You know so many things were attempted to try to make M look like a career woman, with a viable business, shared interests with D and not a beard without taste or work ethic.

I think the bar will likely last as long as the fake marriage as M isn’t interested in it when D isn’t there to hang off and when you consider when it opened and how the encage went down.

M hung around bands when she was younger due to her fathers businesses. She likes being around famous, talented people. The bar gives her the opportunity and venue to continue her groupie inclinations.

I’m absolutely glad that D has been too busy recently to be there.

The most influence he may of had was with the whiskey choice.

(I don’t know why it’s so hard for you all to understand that Mia had several jobs and now she is owns a bar. The fact that you feel entitled to criticize her for her career decisions and make comments about her taste level is pure misogyny. Darren has also had lots of jobs and you don’t criticize him and the punny sex jokes are all Darren and yet you attribute them to Mia- that’s misogyny. Mia didn’t write Me and My Dick, Darren did, he loves the puns.   As for shared interests...he married her. Their shared interest is the family and the life they are building together.

How long the bar is open is yet to be determined but given that your record for predictions regarding Darren and Mia is abysmal, I’m not going to sweat it. The idea that Mia “hung out with bands” as a kid and the piano bar gives her the opportunity to hang out with famous people-I just can’t. She hangs out with far more “famous people” and musicians just going to events with her husband then she ever will at Darren’s piano bar. 

Her “groupie inclinations” WTF is a “groupie inclination”? I don’t even know what to say to that because I have no clue what a groupie inclination is. It’s really sad that you are so happy that Darren isn’t connecting to people though music since that means so much to him. He recently was asked if he had a need to be on stage and he said no, he has never had that need but what he does "NEED” is to connect to people though music and he also has said that playing the piano while people sing along gives him that connection.  I shouldn’t be surprised that you are gleeful that Darren hasn’t had time to spend at the bar he created in honor of his beloved Marie’s Crisis, your fan-girling over Darren has never been about Darren, it’s always been about you).  

leka-1998 Too bad you can’t actually call forgetting about that place most of the time and drinking the money they force people to spend a career. She’d be truly successful. It’s really her bar and D’s just the piano man, right? So if that could stop too, that would be nice.

(You really need to stop slandering Mia, she doesn’t drink anymore than Darren. You never call out Darren’s drinking but then again, it’s just your misogyny speaking-it always comes. The bar is Mia and Darren’s. When he says he’s just the piano man, he is just taking the attention from himself and giving it to her.  Darren does this a lot with people he cares about.  But he has been very clear that the bar is his and Mia’s. I know words are hard for you guys, you get so caught up in the meaning of the word that you fail to hear the message. Anyone paying even a little attention t Tramp Stamp Granny’s would realize that is Darren’s bar through and through. Someday maybe you can all stop looking for the Darren you like, stop obsessing about what this word means or that word, stop slowing down videos and clipping the out the 3 seconds you like  and instead  you can just listen to the Darren that is right there in front of you and HEAR what he has to say.  It will be revolutionary.  Listening to other people without assumptions is the very least you can do..literally it is the least).    

[jswdmb1]

I Wanna Be Sedated

“Hurry, hurry, hurry 

before I go insane

Can't control my fingers, 

can't control my brain”

- The Ramones

All of our resources have been focused on two things: keeping people alive and keeping the economy afloat.  It is hard to argue the prioritization of those two areas and it is understandable that there are not resources beyond what we have already marshalled to focus on anything further down the list.  But I worry that we are just burying another landmine in the ground that we’ll be stepping on sooner than later if we forget about it.  I am talking about the complete and brutal destruction of our mental health both collectively and individually.

 Before I go further, I must repeat that I completely support the efforts of social shutdown and shelter in place that are currently in effect.  It is literally the only tool we have to fight this pandemic as our leaders (most specifically the president) mocked its potential wrath when more could have been done to prepare and now we are boxed into a corner.  Experts warned long before this man even got nominated by his party that he was unfit for this office and an existential threat to our way of life.  It was just a matter of time before his vulgarity, stupidity and incompetence manifested into real pain and destruction, and that time is now.  I bring this up before delving into my primary subject because I still see polls and news reports that show there is a large percentage of people who still think there is overreaction to the crisis and that the president is doing a good job handling it.  If you believe either of those things, please stop reading now because you do not have the intellectual capacity to grasp what I am going to say.

 Now that we have established how we got here and who is responsible, the real question that everyone has on their minds is what is next.  We have been told to shelter-in-place for the foreseeable future and been given no further instructions.  The economic bill passed yesterday is the equivalent of treating a gunshot wound with a band-aid, and will be of little use as a real solution to the financial devastation that most people will experience long after those checks run out.  This combination has made it increasingly hard to keep strong mentally as the massive uncertainty weighs on our minds literally every hour of the day.  For a few days, we found some solace in things like getting outside, but now that is being quashed as acceptable.  We are pretty much under a house arrest with no defined sentence and we are being punished for no crime we ever committed.  Even a prisoner gets access to basic services such as counseling and religious freedoms, but not those of us at home.  In war, there is something known as collateral damage, and our civil liberties are fitting that description for the current crisis.  On top of all of that, the weather in my part of the country has been miserable.  It all adds up to one very grim picture.

 Some of you may not like that I am painting such a picture, but that to me contributes to our mental health crisis in the same way that putting our heads in the sand about the virus got us to where we stand today.  I am not alone in feelings of anxiety or depression, but it’s well known I have had both long before the virus hit our shores.  I feel it gives me a little bit of a perspective on this issue and why I see it a potentially more damaging long-term than anything we are experiencing today.  What I can tell you from experience is that it is not possible to work through profound feelings of depression by “just being positive”.  The two worst things you can tell a depressed person is that they have to remain positive and they need to work themselves out of their mood. That is akin to telling someone who is drowning that they need to come up for air and should go look for a lifejacket when they do.  Yet, all I see on social media and the news is that this is the “new normal” and “we’ll get through this”.  What are you talking about?  There is nothing normal about this at all.  Why on earth would anyone accept it as such?  And, how do you know that we’ll get through this?  What are you basing that on?  Have you been through a deadly pandemic before?  Have you sat under quarantine for weeks that will soon turn into months?  It literally grates on my nerves to hear such things as good tools to use to “get us out of our funk”.

 So, that begs the question about what do we do?  I will not pretend to have any real answers and certainly there is no quick fix.  But first, we all have to acknowledge that this problem exists, and it is at least on par with the other aspects of this crisis. And don’t say that it isn’t life-or-death because it is.  I predict in a matter of weeks, not months, that you will see a morbidly sharp increase in the suicide rate.  This is also incredibly damaging to the efforts of those trying to recover from addiction diseases, and many will not only succumb to their addictions without a support system to help them, but they will die as a result of this.  And the casualties are not limited to those who don’t make it.  The deep psychological scars left on the rest of us that manage to get through this will not heal without significant intervention.  I am particularly worried about our teens and young adults who were already not in a good place and I think are suffering more than most when it comes to the social isolation steps being implemented.  We all need to acknowledge that we are experiencing acute mental trauma and we cannot simply accept that as “normal”.

 If you cannot accept this as fact, then there is not much more I can do to help you.  You are going to suffer a similar fate as those who don’t believe we are in the middle of a deadly pandemic in the first place.  But if you are willing to accept that your mental health is (or will be) destroyed as a result of this, there are a couple of things that I have learned over the years that can help you cope:

 Depression, pain and anxiety are normal feelings and you should not feel guilty for feeling them.  By all means do not suppress those feelings as they fester without an outlet.  Also be aware that those around you will have these feelings as well and don’t shame them for not being “positive” or “constructive” for expressing them.  It is going to take a lot of patience along with some give and take to work with each other on this, but if we deny ourselves or others the freedom to express these emotions, we can’t even get started with healing.

Recognize that while many tools have been taken way from us that usually can be a big help, many others are still available.  We have to just be more creative and look for other doors that may be open when others have been shut.  One of my main outlets has been a group running program where I coach, and that is now gone in its old form.  But we are working hard to still get out and run (solo and never congregating) and support each other virtually.  It is not perfect, but it would be wrong to dismiss the sense of community we have built over the years because it is still alive and well no matter how far apart we are kept.  It may even be stronger when we eventually can see each other again.  That is just one example.  I recommend you take whatever you had before and look for ways to retool and still use that as something you can have that is a positive force in your life.  It could be that you have that taken away at some point, but then go back and retool it again.  If GM can retool its operations from cars to ventilators, we can certainly do the same on our micro levels.

Avoid using alcohol and drugs as a crutch.  I can tell you from direct experience that this is just about the worst way to deal with depression.  I am not saying you cannot enjoy a drink now and then, but I have already seen anecdotal evidence in some of my interactions on social media and elsewhere that this is not the case.  I know that I sound preachy here, but I’m just trying to help as I’m sure many of you may have not experienced profound depression like this before.  There is no doubt that the drink or drug of your choice feels good for a little bit and may even help you forget, but it is an incredibly slippery slope.  

For those who have committed to sobriety before this all went down, please hold onto that. It may be the only thing you have left that they can’t take away, and it is too valuable to give up so easily.  I know it is hard, the thought of heading down to the liquor store (which incredibly is still open and considered “essential”) has passed through my head more than once, but you have to let that feeling pass.  You know better than I that what I say in the preceding paragraph is true and heading off the path to sobriety will be a disaster.  I have heard that support groups are still meeting (as they have also been deemed essential) so consider a way to attend those (even virtually) if you are struggling with temptation.  If you have no such support mechanism, contact me directly through FaceBook Messenger. I am always willing to talk to someone who needs to work though a moment of crisis.  It’s a ridiculously impossible situation, but there is no other choice to hold on.

 I know that I sound like I am on a soapbox here, but that is not my intent.  This is more of a plea to everyone out there not to forget that mental health is a critical component of living and bodies free of disease are useless if our brains can’t function within them.  Please just remember that as you deal with the people in your house and those you interact with virtually.  While you may think you have the right answer in telling people to stay happy and chipper during a dark time, that is not how everyone feels and it could be damaging to their mental health if you ignore the danger signs they are presenting.  My guess is that anyone who has gone this far into reading this already knows that, but it is going to take some reminding for even the most empathetic and caring person among us.  Starting now can hopefully get ahead of issues that are already taking root so that we can move forward much more quickly with “normal” life if such a thing ever exists again.

 In the meantime, I sincerely hope that this finds you healthy and safe and that you are coping with the mental aspects of the situation better than me.  One outlet I have is this blog, and I have thought about suspending it during the crisis because I don’t have anything to say that people want to hear.  After writing this post, I realize now that would be the easy way out, and at the risk of being unpopular, I can not give up the fight to protect the most important organ in our bodies – our brain.  So, I’ll keep on keepin’ on, but just remember that I really am trying to help. I don’t want anyone to end up in a place that they can’t leave.  We’ve come too far to let that happen.

 Please take care everybody,

Jim

[sweetgingerpie]

Happee Birthdae

“Now, girls, when Mama asks what you did today, what are you going to tell her?”

“We made presents with Tante Gabby!” exclaimed Dominique with a large grin.

“No, no, Dommie—that’s exactly what I DON’T want you to say to Mama. We’re gonna tell Mama that I was at work all day, and you and Vic played with Pop and Nana. We did NOT spend the whole day preparing for Mama’s birthday, and your Aunt Gabby did NOT help us, yes?”

“I thought lying was bad?” Victoire asked.

“It is, Sweetie, but, some lies are okay. Some lies are good lies, like this one. We’re trying to do something special for Mama’s birthday, and it’s even more special when it’s a surprise. I’m relying on you girls...”

“What about Louis?”

“Louis is a boy, Sweetheart. Boys aren’t always the brightest. Besides, he has a very loud mouth on him. You know. You can hear him all the time,” Louis was upstairs asleep in Victoire and Dominique’s old crib, but, he had no use for the valuable information that he was offering his two older sisters.

“Remember: you played with Nana and Pop all day. That’s all. And tomorrow, you’re going to grab your presents to Mama from underneath your beds and bring them to her. Keep her busy so I can finish the rest of the surprise.”

“What did you get Mama for her birthday, Papa?” Victoire asked, curious as she tilted her head to the side in puzzlement. A characteristic she inherited from her mother.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow. It’s time for bed now... C’mon, we’ll finish Babbity Rabbity and then it’s sleepy time.”

“Bu-But we wanna stay up to see Mama!” Dominique wined.

“No. Mama isn’t going to be home for another couple hours. You’ll see her in the morning.”

Bill reached for the waists of both children. As he lifted each up to hold against each respective side, they adhered to him like a pair of koalas: Victoire rested her blonde head against her father’s shoulder, and Dominique wrapped both of her slightly smaller arms around his neck.

“Papa?” Victoire piped up just as he had kissed Dominique goodnight, ruffled her ginger curls, and tucked her plush toy dragon (her favorite gift from Uncle Charlie) underneath the covers with her.

“Yes, Sweetie?” He moved across the room to the opposite end where Victoire was sitting at the foot of the bed, dressed comfortably in a lavender onesie with her hair up in a pony tail.

“Is Mama gonna like my present?” She asked, a little doubt in her voice.

“Of course,” Bill spoke as he lowered his weight onto the edge of the bed, “Because it will come from you. You’re lucky. You’ve got the cute factor about you. You could do ANYTHING for Mama and she’ll be impressed. Me, I need to actually try. I can’t just give her a big goofy smile,” he exaggerated a smile for Victoire and she quietly giggled.

“Now, c’mon, bed. It’s passed your curfew. No jinxes, curses, charms, or incantations. No foolish wand waving, explosive dung bombs, or fanged frisbees... and no animating of toy dragons to set fire to the curtains,” he gave Dominique the side eye from Victoire’s bed. Dominique stifled a giggle and shut her eyes abruptly, pretending that she was asleep.

“What’s your most favorite present you ever got?” Victoire asked as she climbed under her comforter, Bill fastening the hem under her chin, “Oh, that’s easy: you, Dommie, and Lou, of course.”

“People don’t count!”

“Why not? Your Mama gave you to me. That’s a present, yeah? And like your gift to your Mama—you were a surprise.”

“Uncle Charlie called me an ax-ee-dint?”

“An accident? Spilled juice is an accident, taking your father’s old Cleansweep IV and crashing yourself into a field of corn is an accident...” Now he gave Victoire the suspicious side eye. Eight year old Victoire Weasley came limping out of the cornfield with some cuts and scrapes on her face and a big bruise on her ego. Before Molly got to work on her healing spells, she called her oldest son into the room so he could witness his daughter’s bold stupidity. They both cleaned her up and put her down for a nap in his old bedroom.

“You were a delightful surprise,” he spoke with a genuine smile before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Go to sleep, or I’ll make you help Pop Pop assemble that refrigerator he won’t stop talking about.” Victoire stifled a giggle and rolled over onto her side so her back was facing her father.

Bill stood in the dimly lit doorway for a moment longer, admiring the scene in front of him before he quietly pulled the door closed. He popped his head in the nursery, just long enough to see Louis’s still form through the bars of his crib. The room was quiet except for the lightest of breaths that were leaving his parted lips. Satisfied, Bill pulled the door closed and exhaled before he moved across the hallway into the master bedroom, or, ‘Mama and Papa’s Bedroom.’

The kids being put to bed was only the first step in completing Fleur’s birthday present.

He started to dress down the moment the door clicked behind him: stripping his body of each layer of clothing from his flannel shirt and under shirt, down to his pants, boxer briefs, and socks. He left this trail of discarded clothing in his wake as he moved into their private bathroom.

What would have normally been a quick and careless wash, he instead paid great attention to his body—for Fleur’s benefit. He washed his face thoroughly, making sure that the dirt and sweat that often got trapped in his scar tissue was expunged; he shaved away the stubble that had begun to form on his chin and cheeks—and other places... He finished it off with his usual shampoo and soap—imported from Egypt, and patted dry his damp body as he climbed out of the shower. The stray droplets that he had missed cascaded down his body and came to pool at his feet.

He had just finished applying her favorite after shave to his cheeks and neck when he heard the faint ‘ding’ of he family clock downstairs, implying that someone’s state of being had changed, or, was changing. It startled him into action as he hurriedly moved around their bedroom. He stumbled to get his wand from the top of the dresser and waved it with purpose; summoning the dirty clothes to the basket in the corner; smoothing down the blankets and comforter on the bed and fluffing the pillows; and drying his hair and body.

Throwing the wand back onto the dresser, he pulled out the drawer that contained his under clothes and accessories. What does she like? We’ve been together for ten years and I don’t know what she likes? As a man, he felt that his desires were more predictable: skimpy, lacey, more skin, more butt, more breasts, done. Even then, it took little effort on Fleur’s part. But, now, he wanted to put a real effort in for Fleur. He wanted to make her feel, and want, and lust for him in the same way that he did her.

Eventually, he decided upon a pair of dark purple boxer briefs with a black elastic band and thigh-hugging edges. It was a bit tighter than his other underwear, but, that proved to be a slight advantage over the others. And the purple was a color that they both associated with their wedding, which would create a positive aura.

He stepped into the shorts and pulled them up to his waist, just below his bellybutton and where the elastic band hugged his hips. He took one look at himself in Fleur’s vanity mirror: smoothing his long, red locks back and out of his face, and then taking a moment to glance down at his physique: a little muscular, but still modest and lanky. His biceps were well-defined, his abdomen was smooth all the way down to the happy trail of ginger hair that partially disappeared beneath his briefs. He crossed his arms over his chest and tensed up, flexing a bit in hopes that this image is what will entice his wife for her birthday—which it now was since midnight had only just passed.

He glided his tongue over the front of his teeth and stepped away from the vanity so he could climb onto the bed, strategically placing himself in the center of their modest queen-sized bed. His body sunk into the comforter as he settled into place. He awkwardly tried get himself into a visually alluring position: bending his knees, laying on his side, thrusting his groin out for emphasis in case there was any confusion as to what he was trying to do. But, he gave up (after feeling a little foolish and embarrassed), and instead propped himself up using the pillows and sunk down onto his bottom. He took one deep breath and just relaxed with his eyes fixed on the door, waiting for his birthday girl.

[serenlyss]

For the Sake of a Smile Chapter 4

Rating: G Relationships: terumob, teru&reigen, teru&ritsu, shigeo&ritsu, teru&tome Chapter Summary: Teru interviews for a part-time job. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 4

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

"Invest in what’s real. Clean as you go. Drink while you cook. Make it fun. It doesn’t have to be complicated. It will be what it will be." — Gwyneth Paltrow

---

Teru stares up at the cafeteria menu and feels his stomach drop.

In retrospect, he should have known that such a posh school would have equally nice and expensive food, but staring at the prices on the board above his school’s lunch line, he realizes just how ridiculous they really are.

How does anyone afford this? he wonders to himself bitterly, counting bills in his head. He hasn’t exactly brought a ton of spending money with him from home, just whatever he’d had saved up at the time, and it’s clear that it won’t last long if he plans on eating at the cafeteria every day. He’d been anticipating having to pick up some sort of part-time job to cover his extra expenses, even with his tuition covered, and now he knows for sure that he’ll have to find something as quickly as possible.

He settles for a cheap ham sandwich and a miniature water bottle for his lunch; it won’t last him all that long, but it’s better than nothing. Then he retreats to an empty table, awkwardly taking a seat and leaning his head on his hand. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his messages with nothing better to do during his break. There’s a text from Tome at the very top of his notifications from that morning, and he cracks a smile at the sight of it.

“How’s rich person life suiting you? Have you let the fame and fortune go to your head yet?” it reads, with Tome’s signature unabashed snark woven into every word. He can practically hear her voice through his screen.

“About as well as you’d expect,” he replies honestly. “My class is full of rich snobs.” His text is only slightly sarcastic; while there is undoubtedly an air of snobbery amongst some of his more well-off classmates, the majority of them are friendly enough.

It’s the middle of the day, so he doesn’t expect Tome to get back to him for a little while. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and moves to unwrap his sandwich.

He’s interrupted before he can take a bite by Shigeo and Ritsu, the former of which waves a hand at him with a small, shy smile. Ritsu, predictably, hardly acknowledges his presence beyond a cursory glance as Shigeo pulls up a chair to sit across from Teru. “Mind if we join you?” he asks, as though he’s expecting Teru to refuse.

“Not at all,” he replies with a gracious wave of his hand, ripping a piece off the meager sandwich to nibble on. “I’m surprised you both have the same lunch period.”

“Oh, everyone in our homeroom has this lunch period, that’s how they divide it up,” Shigeo explains. “Ritsu does too, but the student council also meets during the lunch break, so he doesn’t usually hang around the cafeteria for very long.” As he speaks, he reaches into his bag to pull out his own lunch, homemade by the looks of it. It makes Teru ache a little for the food from his hometown, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind before it makes him homesick.

Ritsu, on the other hand, is staring at Teru’s sandwich thoughtfully. “That’s all you’re eating?” he comments, and as he does, Shigeo seems to pick up on Teru’s meager lunch as well.

Teru reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear self-consciously. “Ah, well, the cafeteria food was… a bit pricier than I was anticipating,” he replies, attempting to sound as breezy as possible. “I haven’t managed to find myself a job yet, so I have to be careful about how much money I spend.”

Ritsu’s brow furrows, and Teru tries not to squirm under the younger boy’s intense gaze. He wonders why Ritsu keeps staring at him like that, like he’s some kind of puzzle that needs to be solved. 

“I see,” Ritsu says after a moment. He glances down at a watch around his wrist, then adds, “I need to get going, Shige, or I’ll be late for the meeting. I’ll see you at home.”

Shigeo shares a smile with his brother as Ritsu leaves for his meeting, then turns to face Teru again. “You say you’re looking for a job?” he says, bringing the conversation back to places Teru doesn’t really want to talk about. He supposes it isn’t worth trying to hide, though, it’s not as though it would be hard to tell that he comes from less-than-privileged means.

“Yes, eventually. The academy is paying for my tuition and board, which is very generous of them, but I’ll need to have a little money coming in for food and things like that, the necessities,” he explains, looking down into his water bottle with a tinge of embarrassment. He knows that many of the students here come from rich families who have absolutely no trouble sending money to pay for all their childrens’ expenses and more, but he’s not about to go searching for his own parents now. Just the thought of it steeps his dormant rage, and he quickly tamps it down before it can manifest in a scowl on his face.

Shigeo considers this for a moment, poking at his lunch with his fork, then says, “Maybe you could try the place I work.”

Teru looks up in surprise, both at the fact that Shigeo himself has some sort of side job he works and that Shigeo would be willing to recommend him. “Really? Where do you work?” he asks, his interest piqued.

Shigeo smiles, apparently pleased at Teru’s enthusiastic response. “It’s actually a diner on campus. I’ve been working there for a while now, ever since middle school. It’s kind of old and a lot quieter than it used to be, but I make a little money from the customers that do come in and Master Reigen teaches me a little about cooking, when he has the time,” Shigeo says. “You already know how to cook, though, so I bet he’d be really happy to have you working there, too! Want me to introduce you?”

Some of Teru’s enthusiasm wanes at hearing that the diner isn’t quite as successful as it had once been, but he can’t deny the allure of a job like this. He really can’t think of anything more perfect than working in a diner, but the academy’s cafeteria has a strict rule against hiring students, so he figures this may be his best shot. Besides, he reasons, it can’t hurt to just check it out, even if I decide it’s better to find somewhere else to work. With that in mind, he nods his head with a bright smile. “I’d love to! When can I come by?”

---

Teru finds it very, very hard to stay optimistic about this potential job opportunity when the path that leads to it is so overgrown. He can’t even tell if this is a legitimate path anymore or if he’s decided to take a spontaneous detour through the backwoods behind the tennis courts. The grass reaches up past his knees and the sprawling ferns block his path with every step. “This is so stupid!” he curses to himself, stumbling over a well-hidden rock and nearly eating dirt as he does. “No wonder no one goes anymore, who wants to go traipsing through the jungle just for some lunch?”

Still, the walk itself is only a few minutes, even if he does feel abnormally winded by the time he finally stumbles upon some sort of building. At first, all he can do is stare and wonder if he’s taken a wrong turn somewhere, somehow; the diner isn’t very appealing to the eyes, and it looks old, with ivy climbing insistently up its walls and its outdated, chipped sign hanging at a slight diagonal angle that he can’t possibly believe is intentional. Still, the name on the sign is the same one Shigeo had given to him, and the sign in the front window says “Open”.

Sweets and Such… what kind of name is that? Teruki thinks to himself as he clambers out of the woods and onto better-tamed grass, already feeling the suspicious scowl on his face starting to make itself known. He crosses his arms as he warily approaches the front door, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder. He’d baked cookies earlier to bring to this meeting in hopes of making an impression and showing what he could do, but now he’s starting to wonder if it’s even worth trying if the place feels this much like he’s walking into a ghost town. Still, he’d agreed to this meeting at Shigeo’s behest and it would be terribly impolite to turn away this opportunity without at least putting in his fair share of effort, so he pushes the door open and pokes his head inside.

It’s empty, predictably, and the inside of the building doesn’t look much better than the outside. It’s after school hours, which would normally mean a place like this would be bustling with students fresh out of club activities and looking for a bite to eat, but instead the place looks like the owner is fit to move out. Tables and chairs are scattered around the parlor with no discernable order, and there are boxes of miscellaneous supplies and posters up against one of the walls. It’s, quite frankly, a total mess, and one look at it solidifies the fact that Teru would never choose to sit and eat here, not even if the prices were dirt-cheap.

“Hello?” he calls into the empty room, taking a wary step inside and letting the door close behind him. “I’m looking for a mister Reigen Arataka? Um, Shigeo told me he’d let you know I was stopping by.”

There’s a clatter from the kitchen at the back of the store, and Teru swears he hears someone yell “Shit!” before he calls out more clearly, “Oh, of course, one second please!”

There’s more noise from the kitchen, the sounds of metal objects being knocked against each other and the occasional boom of a particularly heavy footstep, before Reigen makes himself known. He strides out with a confidence that’s easily dispelled by his disheveled appearance; he looks to be somewhere in his mid to late twenties, but he’s rather scrawny, like a sapling that has to have supports tied to it so the storms don’t knock it over. His light brown hair is partly covered by a wrinkled bandana, which is a surprising shade of pale pink and matches the button-up shirt he wears under his black apron. In short, he looks more like a waiter than a chef, especially with the way he hastily puts a cigarette out into an overflowing ashtray as though to hide the fact that he’d been smoking in his own kitchen.

“You must be the one Mob was talking about.” The man greets him with a broad smile, one hand buried in the pocket of his blue jeans while he holds the other out for Teru to shake. “Uh, Hanazawa, right? Mob says you’re on the hunt for a job, and that you’re kind of a whiz in the kitchen. I’m Reigen Arataka, I own the place.” He releases Teru’s hand after his brief introduction, then gestures toward a nearby table. “Let’s sit, yeah?”

Teru starts a little at the invitation. “Oh, sure,” he acquiesces, sliding into a chair opposite Reigen. He casts a quick glance around the diner, then asks, “Are you renovating?” It’s the only suitable explanation he can find for why the place would be in such disarray, aside from laziness.

Reigen reaches up a hand to rub the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. “You could say that. I mean, I was going to, but that kinda fell through. I, uh, haven’t had a chance to clean the place up much,” he explains breezily, but the words feel like only half the truth. The tables aren’t dusty, so someone must be at least keeping them clean enough to eat on, but the whole place has an air of disrepair. “Anyway,” Reigen continues, hastily changing the subject, “I don’t hire many temps here, since the place is pretty small and I don’t exactly have a lot of extra money to spend on help, but it’s pretty rare for Mob to bring up anyone from school, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what the fuss was about.”

Teru decides to drop the subject of the diner’s shoddy state of being for now, but he definitely adds that to a mental list he’s making of the pros and cons. It looks like this: Pros, he’ll be able to make a bit of money on the side at a place that’s already approved by the school’s director. He’ll have a friend working here, too, and despite the place’s obvious flaws, Teru can tell that at one point it was probably pretty charming. Not to mention, he’ll be able to cook here, potentially whenever he likes. Cons, the diner is as dead as they come, and it practically reeks of laziness and loss of hope. No self-respecting restaurant owner would let their business fall so steeply into the garbage like Reigen obviously has. It’s clean, at least, but the atmosphere is terrible, and it’s hard to ignore the stench of cigarette smoke that permeates the parlor. The building is so hard to find that he wonders if Reigen gets any customers at all, and what he could possibly be doing to keep his doors open when things are this bad.

“Mob… is that a nickname?” Teru asks, instead of asking all the other questions that permeate his mind. He’s never heard anyone else call Shigeo by that name, and it feels almost mean on the tip of his tongue, like an insult.

“Ah, maybe he doesn’t go by that anymore?” Reigen muses, leaning back in his chair. “When he started working for me in middle school, he said it’s what his friends used to call him. He’s probably grown out of it by now.” He waves his hand as if to banish the thought, something Teru is quickly discovering is somewhat of a habit for him. His hands are almost never still, constantly gesturing or fiddling or doing something equally distracting to occupy himself.

Teru falls quiet for a moment, then remembers the cookies he’d brought with him. “Ah, before I forget,” he says quickly, reaching into his bag and producing a tupperware container he’d borrowed from the school’s kitchen. “I figured I’d bring something to share. Like a portfolio, I guess, if you want to try one.” He cracks open the container, revealing a dozen soft pumpkin cookies dotted with chocolate chips. “This is an old family recipe, something I used to make all the time for my siblings growing up.” The word ‘siblings’ slips off his tongue naturally in reference to the other kids at the orphanage, and despite the mundanity of it, it still seems to pique Reigen’s interest.

He flashes Teru a thoughtful look for just a second before shrugging his shoulders and reaching for the tupperware. “Sure, why not?” he relents, plucking a cookie from the top of the pile. He doesn’t hesitate to take a bite of it, brow furrowed thoughtfully. He falls quiet for a few seconds, even after he’s swallowed, and then he meets Teru’s gaze across the table, wagging a finger at him. “I knew there was something special about you, kid,” he says around a mouthful of pumpkin cookie. “I can tell you’ve been doing this for a long time. You’re lacking in formal training, but that’s to be expected. Were you self-taught?”

“Mostly,” Teru replies, which is mostly the truth. He remembers very little from the cooking lessons his mother would sometimes give him growing up, before she became distant. Most of what he knows is a combination of his own experimentation and his lessons with the sisters who had looked after him growing up.

Reigen nods, considering this, then uncrosses his legs and leans forward on the table, face a mask of sudden seriousness. He clasps his hands together in front of him. “Listen, I’m gonna be honest with you, kid, because I think you have real talent,” he starts. “I’m sure you can tell, ‘cause you strike me as the perceptive type, but this place isn’t exactly what it used to be. I’ve been wanting to close up for a while now, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. Frankly, I think the only reason it’s still open at all is because Mob likes it here. He’s my only employee, and only a handful of students even bother to come by anymore. I’m kinda surprised ol’ Suzuki hasn’t shut me down already, considering.”

Teru blinks at the name, recognizing it from his acceptance letter. Suzuki, the President of the academy and the one who had placed him in the special class with his recommendation. “I see,” he murmurs, “that’s a shame. This place seems like it was pretty nice, at one point.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Reigen accuses, raising a brow at Teru, but there’s amusement in his gaze. “Mob wants to fix the place up, make it more like what it was like when he started working here, maybe even better. I won’t pretend that hiring one new temp employee is going to suddenly fix everything, but… I’m curious about you, kid, and what kind of ideas you might have. Call it a hunch.”

Teru frowns, attempting to connect the dots in his head, but there’s something missing from the bigger picture that makes Reigen’s logic really fall to pieces. He seems to have an inordinate amount of confidence in Teru’s abilities and judgement, confidence based on a five-minute conversation and a single pumpkin cookie. Something about it makes his skin crawl uncomfortably. “What do you mean?” he asks cautiously, putting the lid on his tupperware and stowing the cookies in his backpack. “You want me to… help you remodel?” Who enlists a fifteen-year-old’s help with something like that? Not to mention, Shigeo seems to have been roped in as well. “I don’t think I’m qualified for that kind of job.”

Reigen shrugs. “Not necessarily the remodeling parts themselves, but, y’know, put in your input about what you think would look nice, give Mob a hand with the cooking and cleaning, that kind of stuff,” he amends, tapping a finger on the table in front of him. “It would take a bit of stress off my shoulders, at least, and I think Shigeo would be happy to have a friend around instead of hanging out with me all day. What do you say?”

Teru hesitates, mulling over the possibilities in his head. His first thought is that adjusting to a new job while they’re in the middle of remodeling--and not very successful, for that matter--is a terrible job choice, but the more he thinks about it, the more he sees this as a unique opportunity. It’s a resume builder, for one, even if it’s a little early to be worrying about that, and the job Reigen is offering him would allow him a lot of creative freedom, too. Not to mention, access to a kitchen without having to worry about scheduling time or competing with other students for space and supplies. How bad could it be? “How about a test run?” he compromises. “I can come in sometime this week for an afternoon, see what kind of shift you run, and then decide based on that.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Reigen agrees with a grin. “Come in on Friday, and I’ll have a list of things for you to work on.” He holds out his hand to Teru again, this time in farewell.

“Alright, then I’ll see you on Friday,” Teru replies, and gives Reigen’s hand a firm shake. Despite the oddity of the situation, he can’t help but feel a thrum of excitement at this new opportunity.

He only hopes it won’t come back to bite him in the butt later.