#sheila gloats

[jcjensensnepobaby]

So since we know now your hair IS a wig, how soft is it?

Oh?! A... A compliment? >u< oh thank you!

It is soft. -fidgeting with a section-

I deep condition every second day so it's softer than the silky fur of an angora rabbit.

[mzminola]

Because something superhero comics, noir, and fanfic all have in common is leaning into soap opera convolutedness, @alexmaybe & I have come up with the Bruce Wayne Spawn Shell Game AU, in which the middle kids are all biologically Bruce’s.

(Dick really is John & Mary Grayson’s, and Damian is Talia’s direct clone.)

No one finds this out until Batman!Bruce & Robin!Damian are fighting a magic user who has heard rumors that Robin is Batman’s son (rumors started by Damian’s not so quiet comments about being The Blood Son). The mage gloats that they’re going to use a “teleport everyone with X trait to me” spell to yank Robin over, and use the disorientation of teleportation to take him hostage. “I will summon Batman’s direct blood descendents! Mwa ha ha ha!”

Cue Damian staying firmly at Bruce’s side, while Cass in street wear with bubble tea, Jason doing gear maintenance, a random college student studying for exams, and Tim in his pajamas pop out of the ether all within a yard of the mage.

The mage regrets their life choices.

~

Now, how did we get here?

Firstly, during the years Bruce is doing his world tour of Learning Batman Skills while still swinging in and out of Gotham, Bruce is seeking physical activity to make his brain shut up, and also seeking intimacy but keeping too many secrets to let himself actually get close to people, so he is sleeping with Even More People Than In His Batman Years. He remembers condoms but always doesn’t use them perfectly.

Bruce meets Sandra & Carolyn Wu-San at their dojo in Brooklyn. Some time later when David Cain coerces Sandra into reproductive sex, she seeks out every male martial artist she vaguely respected or thought had potential to sleep with them too as a Fuck You to undermine Cain’s scheme without openly breaking their deal.

Bruce has a one-night stand with pre-transition Willis Todd, both of them just giving their first (legal) name, no contact info. Figuring out several months later that he’s pregnant but no clue how to find the other father, Willis, who does want kids someday, weighs the pros and cons of “having trouble making ends meet right now, can I support a kid?” with “everyone says pregnancy would be harder later in transition,” and opts to have Jason now.

Sheila Haywood is either a friend or a bribable hospital worker (or both) who agrees to put her name down as the mom so Willis can legally be his kid’s dad without any complicated paperwork. Willis and Catherine never got around to telling Jason before both of them died. When Jason showed up at the camp thinking Sheila was his bio-mom she rolled with it, figuring she could get details of why he thought that later, and then unfortunately [canon ensued].

It won’t be until the spell incident happens that Bruce puts together one night stand Wilhelmina with Why do the pictures of Willis Todd look kinda familiar? Because he definitely never slept with Catherine or Sheila.

Bruce meets, befriends and sleeps with Janet Drake while going on an archaeological research binge. He’s also still having a lot of random bar and nightclub hook-ups.

Some months later, while Jack is out of town on a business trip, Janet complains to Bruce that Jack really wants a son, but the latest ultrasound shows a female fetus. Janet really doesn’t want to deal with pregnancy ever again, but Jack isn’t open to adoption, and ugh if only Janet could just swap this one for a male infant. It would be so easy to nudge Jack into an archeology dig closer to the due date, he’d never have to know!

(No, neither Bruce nor Janet have thought maybe Bruce got Janet pregnant instead of Jack.)

“You’ve got this knack for finding odd things at just the right moment, Brucie…”

Janet knows it’s a long shot, and dubiously ethical because adoption records exist for good reason, and if they can’t find a baby that works she’ll just have to dig her heels in with Jack against trying for a son, but if Bruce could find a baby…

Bruce makes no promises other than keeping an eye and ear out.

Anyway, Bruce isn’t Batman yet, but he’s home between tutors on his World Tour and venturing into the city in various disguises to learn more about Gotham’s underworld, and getting into trouble. So it is Bruce Wayne with a fresh concussion, not a drunk Brucie, who stumbles into an alley to vomit and finds a baby in a dumpster.

It’s a very full dumpster, one half of the lid broken off. An orange cat (who may or may not be Teekl returning a future favor) is curled around the newborn baby boy. The infant has a shock of hair as dark as Janet’s.

Concussed Bruce walks all the way to the Drake townhouse marveling at the tiny hand gripping his finger so tight.

Janet schedules a C-section. Bruce forges Timothy Jackson Drake’s birth certificate and arranges the adoption of Janet’s daughter by a family in Oregon. He keeps tabs on them over the years, preparing a Wayne Foundation scholarship to the college of her choice someday.

~

Back to the magic incident: Nightwing and Batwoman were on their way there as back-up when the mage cast the summoning spell, so Dick is able to hug Damian as the kid bluescreens about Not Being The Blood Son.

Bruce awkwardly explains that yes, he ran Damian’s DNA when Talia dropped him off, but when he realized Damian was Talia’s direct clone, he also realized Talia was taking steps to ensure her child escaped the League of Assassins, by attaching him to one of the few people on the planet who can go toe to toe with (and even defeat) her father. Bruce opted to go along with Talia’s choice.

Kate has gotten popcorn from somewhere, munching on it while Bruce desperately thinks back to his Mega Ho Years to figure out how everyone else happened.

Cass is feeling a vindictive sort of smugness about not being David Cain’s bio-kid. He’s still her dad, but he only got part of what he wanted from Shiva.

Jason is pissed at Bruce for not figuring it out earlier, but kinda relieved that Sheila wasn't actually his mom.

The freshman college student from Oregon is really annoyed, she was at study group and she CANNOT fail this class!!! Now she’s on the entire opposite coast???

Tim is having some feelings about how fucking soap opera his origins turn out to be. Bruce slept with his mom Janet, but also she wasn’t his birth mom, he was adopted and no one told him??? Who the heck is his other birth parent??? What were the odds of his apparent bio-parent Bruce being the one to find him??? Wait, was finding baby Tim in a dumpster why younger!Bruce suddenly had Wayne Enterprises put money into improving and proliferating Safe Drop-Off Sites in Gotham???

(He is Not Thinking About his complicated relationship with Jack.)

~

Tim, when things are just starting to quiet down: “Wait, so does Talia have XY chromosomes, or does Damian have XX? Because I’ve done a lot of of cloning lab work, and—”

Damian: “Don’t talk about my mother’s chromosomes, dumpster baby.”

Tim: >:(

Bruce, very tired: “Damian, don’t call your brother a dumpster baby.”

Damian, indignant: “But you just told us you found him in a dumpster as an infant!”

Freshman college student: “Dude, it’s still fucking rude? Like how would you like being called a test tube baby?”

Damian: /draws sword/

Dick, pushing sword back into sheath: “No drawing weapons on civilians. Or calling Tim rude things. Tim, I think any chromosome questions are Talia and Damian’s personal medical business, so please don’t speculate on them.”

Tim, sarcastically: “Sorry, I forgot medical privacy exists after how you all reacted to the spleen thing.”

Freshman college student: “Spleen thing?”

Tim: “Don’t worry, it’s not genetic. Speaking of, B, you’re gonna have to update, like, all our medical history now.”

Bruce, even more tired: "Hn."

[sebeth]

All-Star Squadron #8 (Revised 1/20/24)

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

All-Star Squadron #8 by Roy Thomas, Adrian Gonzales, and Jerry Ordway.

“Afternoon of the Assassins!”

December 30, 1941: The Shining Knight and Liberty Belle save Winston Churchill from an assassination attempt in Ottawa, Canada.

Sir Justin is not pleased with the assassin’s murder of the security guards: “Thou foul and most unfeeling varlet! You shall pay dearly for such slaughter.”

Sir Justin may be my favorite knight in all of comics.

Steel’s dramatic appearance prevents the assassin’s escape.

Steel isn’t an actual Golden Age character.  He was created in 1978, first appeared in Steel the Indestructible Man #1 and retrofitted into the Golden Age of comics.

Steel refers to the assassin as “Schwarzer Meuchelmorder”.  The editor’s note informs us that it means “Black Assassin” in German.

The assassin turns into a suicide bomber but Steel contains the explosion with his own body.

Winston Churchill recognizes Steel: “His name is Steel.  I met him briefly once, in London, when I was First Lord of the Admiralty.  For nearly two years, I’ve thought him dead.”

Liberty Bell recalls: “Steel?  I remember hearing that name, in the early days of the war.  He had a short career as a spybuster back in the States then disappeared, didn’t he?”

FDR orders Steel to be brought to Washington DC.  Liberty Belle reads Steel’s journal during the train ride to Washington, DC.

Steel is Hank Heywood, a medical student studying under Dr. Gilbert Giles.  Heywood became a marine, two years ago, after the German attack on Poland.  Heywood was caught in an explosion while battling German saboteurs in November of 1939. Dr. Giles performed experimental surgeries along with “bio-retardant” to save Heywood’s life.  Dr. Giles uses steel alloy tubing to replace bone, micro-motors to help move the metal joints, an artificial lung, and a back-up device to keep Heywood’s damaged heart pumping.  Dr. Gilbert Giles was nearly killed shortly afterwards but was saved with bio-retardant.  Dr. Giles orders Hank Heywood to stay away from Sheila – Gilbert’s daughter and Hank’s fiancée.

The final two entries detail Steel’s February 1940 mission in London. Steel battles Die Schwarzer Meuchelmorder and saves Winston Churchill’s life.

The journal entries end with Steel parachuting into Poland.

Baron Blitzkrieg and Zerg spy on the All-Stars with the aid of a tracking device. 

Kung, “The Assassin of a Thousand Claws”, lands on the train.  Kung is a lesser-known Wonder Woman villain from the Golden Age.  He is a martial artist and can shapeshift into animals.  Kung battles Hawkgirl, Robotman, and Johnny Quick.  Steel regains consciousness and defeats Kung.

Baron Blitzkrieg gloats as Phase Two of his plan begins: “And, at the stroke of midnight tomorrow – New Year’s Eve – I shall achieve my greatest victory in the White House itself when my special agent finally accomplishes the assassination of both Churchill and Roosevelt!  My special agent – whose name is Steel!”

Kung didn’t receive much panel time but his powers were interesting – he was like an evil Beast Boy.

The issue served as a recap of Steel’s previous appearances while furthering the Baron Blitzkrieg story line.  The Shining Knight remains my favorite character in the series – his dialogue is a blast to read.

[collymore]

Camilla wasn't Charles' only married mistress; she just conveniently outlived the others, plus wife Diana!

By Stanley Collymore None of this really bothers the surfeit of Karen trollops, slappers and tarts nor their sick cuckolded men folk who quite handsomely benefited financially, and clearly societally too, rather unquestionably from having Charles surely shag their wives, and that rather distinctly are simply, staunch aficionados of Camilla and quite supportive of her privately and openly too. And while Charles clearly is no longer evidently, in his bygone very rampantly sexual heyday these fervently keen, and very aspirant white Karen slappers do have their eyes on straying William in the very same way. Little wonder then that the coronation route for over a week now has actually been aligned, by thronging hordes of the vacuous and simply gullible intellectually challenged. Fittingly manipulated, basically compliant, sycophantic cretins self-servingly egregiously; vilely, but effectively egged on by their social-climbing Karens. These infantile plebeian collective of asinine serf pillocks with nothing better, obviously to do with their rather sorry selves and irrefutably so pathetic lives! (C) Stanley V. Collymore 6 May 2023. Author's Remarks: It makes me wonder if the hacks who work for rags like the Daily Mail and the likeminded electronic media do ever get a bit nauseous sometimes having to write this sugar coated tripe that they push out, self-evidently to those of us with requisite intellectual acumen and basic common-sense observing them doing this sort of thing day after day in order to financially keep a roof over their heads by being able to pay their mortgages. For there's only so much force feeding of yucky syrup that anyone with a very functioning brain can realistically take before they instinctively have a rather compelling urge for the proverbial sick bucket! Welcome to the white western world in 2023 but quite significantly across the entirety of Britain and largely its white kin who still arbitrarily to the distinctly grotesque displacements and ongoing disadvantage of the indigenous peoples globally whose massive countries in comparison to their European ones, they savagely and barbarically quite genocidally took and still tenaciously cling on to, yet wanting Europe despite all this to be all-white! While assinely in addition to all this even ludicrously claiming as in the case specifically of Australia that is amongst the foremost in this monarchical fawning crap that their huge genocidally acquired, island continent renamed Australia was really in their own sick minds Terra nuliius! Never mind that the Aborigines have been living in their obvious indigenous homeland for in excess of 66 thousand years. But while a white woman for in excess of 75 years and now with her having kicked the bucket at 96 years, her old aged pensioner son and his likeminded lecherous adulterous mistress now his wife but from the outset even of that living apart from each other yet to the gullible serfs are very madly in love with each other, a queen notion of what love is actually about  - like the equally monarchical fawning Canadian PM  Pierre Trudeau and his wife for example - can be Head of State of Australia, the Aborigines who were only given citizenship of their indigenous homeland in the latter half of the 20th Century, have no say in how their own country is run or who or what white trash over there and further infest the place with their toxically verminous presence. And boy oh boy there's a surfeit of vermin among them both in terms of men and their Sheila allegedly women.   And idiotic white Americans gloating along with their Canadian, New Zealand, Irish, British and of course Nazi Europeans about how great the British are at pomp and ceremony.  A multiplicity of food banks now a stark reality, people starving, can't afford to heat their homes or get doctors appointments and you brain-dead pillocks chief interest - pomp and ceremony that you pay a multi billionaire Klan of conmen and women to have as they reciprocate that innate affection and devotion that you have for them by openly flaunting their stolen wealth and what you admiringly give them back in your stupid faces. But who ever said that white Britons, real or Pogroms and European holocaust generated and your global kin were Mensa "specialists". As you sure as Hell are not! SERFS! With the natural mind-set conjoined with the automatic impulse of a flock of quite brainless sheep to follow whoever of your feudal masters or mistresses just happens to be un-selectively in charge.

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 6 of the 16th KP Fannies Awards

Chapter 6 – The Retirement Part, Part IV

A half an hour later, most of the party guests had departed due to the ruin of the evening.  But the table of five heroes, as well as Team Go minus Mego, some Global Justice officials, and Electronique, had stayed.  They were all standing around a table near the front now, not wanting to sit in the puddle-laden chairs, with the exception of Hego who was attempting to sober up.  Both he and Dementor sported bruises from their scuffle before Kim had been able to intervene, and the Wegos, now mirthless, stood on either side of their elder brother whispering to him and trying to keep him calm.

Kim (now wearing Ron’s jacket over her ruined dress) and Ron had joined their boss Dr. Director and were keeping an eye on Dementor and the VILE officials, wondering if the night’s antics would end in something more villainous that they may have to put a stop to.  But the group seemed to just be discussing what to do next as the party atmosphere had been ruined.  Drew stood with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face, now eager to see every minute of his former-rival’s failed celebration.  Sheila just wanted to leave and to get as far away from the embarrassment that was Hego as possible, but she would allow Drew the last few minutes of silent gloating.

Wade however was covertly recording, as this most important part of the evening was the reason he had been interested in coming at all.

An ear-piercing whistle sounded through the speakers as the damp microphone circuits were turned on.  A petite woman who sported a silver mohawk, green goggles, and wearing a stunning green lab coat now stood before the podium on stage and surveyed the small reminder of guests in the room.  Dr. Saira Bellum, as a close friend of Dementor’s, had been chosen to conduct the most important part of the evening, and her VILE associates were lingering behind her on the stage glaring daggers at the officials from Global Justice.

“Tell me again,” Kim whispered to Dr. Director, “why you let this group run around and function like nothing more than a legitimate business?”

“Not our problem,” the older woman replied with a simple shrug.

Ron glanced over with a raised brow along with Wade, who merely grimaced and adjusted his recording equipment.

“Thought we’re supposed to be Global Justice,” Kim said with emphasis, crossing her arms.

Before Dr. Director could reply, the mad scientist on stage began to speak.

“This is certainly a night that will be remembered.  But as much as we all want to get out of here…and some of us enact some revenge,” she said, the latter added under her breath, “we do have important business to conclude before we can. Professor!”

Dementor straightened up and tried to look as distinguished as possible despite his new black eye.  Dr. Bellum was holding out the Tome of Treachery, stolen of course, and Dementor placed his left hand upon it and raised his right hand.

“Do you swear to shut down all past, current, and planned lairs with the exception of one for residence only?”

“I swear,” Dementor replied, and then added, “I already have a lender for the lair in Bavaria.”

“And do you swear to forfeit all current and future plans for world domination?” Dr. Bellum asked.

“I swear,” was the reply.

Ron leaned over to Wade.  “What is all this about?”

“The VILE rules for inactive villains,” Drew interjected quietly, Sheila nodding next to him.

“When a villain retires, they have to shut down all evil activities,” the green-skinned woman elaborated. “They can lease their lairs and projects to other villains if they don’t want to give them over solely to VILE,  but they have to agree that retirement means retirement.”

“No loopholes, no takes-backsies,” Drew finished.

Ron considered a moment.  “Seems like a reason to not want to be a member of VILE…”

“And lastly,” Dr. Bellum concluded, “do you swear to never again partake in any activity against the law of your land, living the remainder of your life as mere a civilian, and subject yourself to any punishment seen fit by VILE should you violate these agreements?”

Dementor’s jaw was set for a moment as he frowned, but then he nodded crisply.

“I swear.”

Dr. Bellum grinned.

“Then congratulations Professor, you’re officially retired!”

The mad woman clapped her old friend on the shoulder, and the other VILE members still in the room moved forward to shake Dementor’s hand.

Down below the stage, Wade stopped recording with a weary sigh.

“Wade…” Kim said, glancing at her younger friend.  “Is it just me, or do I feel like there’s something we’re missing here?”

“I know I’m glad he can’t keep claiming more accomplishments than me,” Drew said, crossing his arms and huffing.

“Okay,” Sheila said, tugging on her husband's arm, “you saw him retire officially.  Can we go now?”

The former villainess was glancing warily at her elder brother, who was whimpering as he watched Electronique move to take Dementor’s arm on the stage.

“Can’t I get a few digs in first?” Drew protested.

“He already had a black eye.  Just flaunt our wealth whenever we have the misfortune of running into him,” Sheila said, beginning to drag Drew toward the door.

“Okay…see you around!” Ron called to them with a wave, Rufus mirroring the gesture atop his shoulder.

“We work together!” Sheila reminded him as her parting words.

Dr. Director spoke up then in reply to Kim’s concern.  “VILE takes its rules very seriously.  It’s one of the ways they maintain power.”

“I still feel like we’re missing something…  Wade?” Kim asked.

“I recorded everything for a reason, Kim.  The ceremony appears to be legitimate, but just in case…I’ll analyze everything including security camera data from the Congress Center when we get back home.”

“Well then, I guess…all’s well that ends well?  One less villain to have to worry about,” Kim said, looking between her friend, boss, and husband before turning concerned eyes back to the group of villains who were still chatting onstage.

Rufus leaned up to Ron’s ear and whispered something.

“Ah, actually KPS…” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, and Kim’s eyes widened.

“Ah, Wade?” Kim asked, her friend and colleague looking up to her. “Can you get us a ride back home?”

----------

A/N: References included in The Retirement Party:

Dementor/Electronique – bcbdrums’s pairing; Hego/Electronique – Gothicthundra’s pairing; Duff Killigan/Monkey Fist/DNAmy love triangle – from Random Tales of Drakgo, by Gothicthundra Mustard Meister and Tomato Tyrant – Sharper’s, Gothicthundra’s, and bcbdrums’s joint OCs; Dino-nuggets – from The Company You Keep, by split-n-splice; Shego’s affinity for watermelon – from the “Watermelon Saga” (The Little Ones), by bcbdrums Hector the henchmaid – Gothicthundra’s OC

[robiinjason]

Thinking about Death in the Family again and.... I know we know Jason went inside the warehouse because his mom lied to him and DC usually runs with “he went after the Joker by himself” to paint him as the reckless Robin but speaking strictly from a in-universe perspective, does Bruce even know about Sheila’s involvement in Jason’s death? 

Henchmen aside, the only witnesses were Sheila, who told him a bit of what happened before dying but left out that part, Jason, who was already dead when Bruce found him, and the Joker, who only gloated about his own role in killing Robin. Before that, Jason found out Sheila was being blackmailed by the Joker into helping him, but it’s not shown if he told that to Bruce, so he might not even know that. Unless Jason’s told him what happened after coming back or I’m forgetting something, I don’t think Bruce is aware of what really went down that day

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 5

Jason ends up making a new, not-dorky e-mail to get a hold of Sheila. He’s got two, it’s not that, but one he knows Barbara (and therefore Bruce) monitors, and the other, well…look. Dick made it for him when he was a kid, and…Dick…Dick is Dick. God help him, he thought ‘littlewing@gmail’ was a good idea and by the time Jason actually found out about it, it was too late to do anything.

Oh, well. Everyone hates their first e-mail address. And at least he didn’t come up with that, he had it thrust upon him. It’s something.

He makes a nice, unembarrassing, un-Bat-stalked e-mail and sends a generic ‘hey how are you’. And then promptly pretends to himself that he doesn’t remember doing that and goes to trawl Craigslist for any sketchy-looking ads. You’d think these people would learn that there’s at least a sixty-forty shot of a cop or worse answering, but whatever.

So far, there’s not much-lotta people lookin’ for a dom-oh. Ohhh, that movie came out last weekend, didn’t it. That explains so much.

He clicks back out and channel-surfs for a bit instead, catches two seconds of a promo for something with a bloody clown and figures fuck it, he’s playing Mario Party even though it cheats worse than Penguin’s professional card players.

He’s getting absolutely wrecked by Goddamn Waluigi when his laptop announces that he’s got mail. He pauses-mid-Goddamn Waluigi gloating pose, how unfortunate-and pulls it over.

She has sent him a…it’s a…cat. She’s sent him a picture of a smiling cat. Is this a thing? Is this referencing something? Is she, perhaps, actually related to Dick?

He’s so confused.

Whatever. A quick Google search says that the cat is a thing. He responds with a piano-playing one and an inquiry about work before shutting off the Gamecube because fuck you, Waluigi.

Now what? He’s not good at this kinda thing, never was even…Before…but now? Haha forget it. He can muddle, a little, when people don’t know things but she knows something, clearly, because Batman tracked her down. She knows enough, and invariably there will be pity because nobody, including himself, knows what to say.

He wraps himself up in the blanket that lives on the couch and wishes somebody had written a manual for ‘how to live your best life after spending a year with a mad clown’. But to be fair, there can’t be that many people who lived to tell the tale.

Heh. There’s that one Gotham-based advice columnist, the one who’s there for the weirdoes with questions like ‘I have a hardcore crush on the Riddler, but I know I shouldn’t, please help me’. He could write to that…no, no, that wouldn’t end well. Some weird Joker cultist might come looking for him.

The computer dings again and he shoves a hand free from the blankets. Another cat, and a ‘thankfully slow day. This is his life now, apparently; communicating with his maybe-long-lost-mother through cat pictures. What a world.

He’s not gonna lie, though, the cats are cute and it’s…they’re a good buffer. They’re making this all a little less awkward.

As it turns out, he may come by his ‘God help the dumbasses’ honestly-Sheila has a biting sense of humor and he knows he shouldn’t laugh at the schmuck who got his dick wedged in a coconut, but…but…he’s sure that guy’s probably the same type to take a shortcut down a dark alley. Hell, for all he knows, he’s saved that exact guy from that exact situation.

Bruce would roll his eyes and rub his nose and say nothing. He was never very good at realizing that yeah, you gotta save people, but sometimes…sometimes they’re in that boat because they’re really fucking stupid.

Or at least, he never told Jason that.

It’s another hour, easy, of light back-and-forth before he makes himself send a ‘I gotta get some sleep, I got the night shift’, shuts the computer off, and burrows into his blanket. Bed’s too far away and he’s comfy here.

For once, he’s out cold in five minutes.

* * *

He lives to regret sleeping on the couch. When he wakes up, it’s late afternoon and he. Is. Stiff.

I regret my life choices.

Well. Most of them, anyway.

His computer informs him that Sheila sent him a ‘sweet dreams’ e-mail and, um. It’s. It’s been a while and he’s torn between being gobsmacked and feeling stupid for feeling all warm inside.

Catherine used to-well, when she was…healthy…-she used to read to him from an old, falling apart book of Greek myths. Looking back, she did some heavy on-the-fly editing, because it wasn’t until later that he found out that oh, Hercules killed his whole family, but she did it and after, she used to kiss his forehead and tell him the same thing. He tried to do it for her, later, but he was never really good at it and she never seemed to notice.

He did it anyway.

Stretching gets several nasty pops out of his spine and hips, but he can now move a little easier. He wants a smoothie.

He’s just finished making it when there’s a knock on his door and he frowns, tries to remember if he ordered anything recently. No…so…

It turns out to be Mz. Melinda May, armed with Snickerdoodles. Hell yes.

“Hey, Triple-M.”

“Hey, honey.” She shoves the plate at him. “I don’t trust you not to eat.”

“I do!” he protests, moving out of the way so she can come in. “I just made a smoothie! I made Jambalaya last night!”

That was a bad thing to say. She cocks an eyebrow at him and asks, voice deadly calm, “Did you put a splash of Tabasco in it?”

Shit. He knew he forgot something.

“No?”

“Boy, I told you once, I told you a hundred times…”

“I spaced! I got distracted by something outside!”

She sighs and shakes her head.

“I’m not staying, it’s my bridge night and those old bitches are going down in flames.” Some part of him is, and probably always will be, amused and terrified that she swears like that. “But you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Thanks for the cookies.”

“Hm.” She hobbles into the hall, muttering darkly to herself about, “No Tabasco…absolute disgrace…” and he shuts the door. Shower, then cookie.

…

No. Cookie first. So it doesn’t go stale or anything. Can’t be too careful, after all.

[vivillabean]

Keeping It On The DL.

Note ; this is my first time ever posting a writing on here so positive comments are greatly appreciated! And also, the Spy is an oc of mine. :>

-

It was hot this afternoon, mercs from either teams shooting bullets at each other's chest, the REDs preventing the BLUs from pressing further with their payload. They had about five minutes left in the mission. It looked like the REDs were just about to win, since the payload only got to one check point, but there can always be a turn of the tide; overtime perhaps will give the enemy team a chance to catch up and proceed to complete their mission.

The pompous female Spy wiped the most recent blood splat off her jacket, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth as she lowered her shades. Her honey brown eyes gazed up the wooden tower where their Sniper was shooting from. She only saw the barrel of the gun sticking out from the window, and then she got an idea. Sneaking away was one of her many specialties, especially when it means going up to see her … Love interest. The Portuguese woman cloaked herself as she ran from the battle field, avoiding any BLUs that came her way and also Sniper's shots -- though none of them would actually hurt her. She tip toed up the stairs, the planks creaking below her heeled boots as she made it to the highest floor where he sat on a box, the butt of the rifle nesting in the crook of his shoulder, almost at his armpit but not quite. She quietly uncloaked herself, revealing her fancy red coat and head scarf. The Sniper was quick to turn around, finger on the trigger until he realized it was her. He let out a deep sigh as he adjusted himself back onto his box.

" You gave me a heart attack, Sheila. I almost blew your bloody head off. "

He spoke quietly, quickly focusing back onto what was happening just below him. A few of their teammates were burnt to a crisp; damn Pyros.

" What are you doin' 'ere anyway? "

" I came to see you. Why else would I slip away, unseen, and come up here to speak with the Bushman? "

He groaned. Although, he should just be used to this interaction they have. It's everyday.

" You should think twice before doin' it, ya know. You could be seen -- "

" Sim, then our secret will be exposed, I get it. "

The Spy took a seat next to the man, her leg crossing over the other while she reached for her shades to pull them off and set them on her lap.

" Nobody notices the support classes anyway, Posso te lembrar. Even I, the Spy. No one is supposed to notice me ... Unless you are Medic. "

" … Right. Unless they notice no one is stabbin’ them in the back, or messin’ with the bloody machines. “

He grinned, his gaze flashed to her for a moment to see if she would take a notice to his cheeky grin, but she didn’t, a stone like expression planted to her face. Sniper looked through his scope to see that the rest of their team had already moved up -- He didn’t bother moving, nor did she.

“ Alright, Sheila. Talk. “

“ Do not tell me what to do. But if you want to know, fine; I love you, Mundy. I know I do not express my feelings to you much. But, let us face the facts that our team might know. Scout has been assuming for sometime. That boy always is in other people’s business … “

He was a bit stunned by her confession, scratching his head underneath his well-worn hat. She had pulled out a cigarette, lighting the end and taking a puff. The woman looked stressed about this whole DL situation with their relationship. She never wanted to blurted out, ‘hey, were dating’ nor did she ever want to gloat about it. But if everyone knew, it would take some of the weight from hiding it away. Something about hiding this type of thing felt like it was -- suffocating her.

“ Ah … If that’s what you really want then -- let them find out on their own. “

“ Hm, “

“ Bloody hell … I didn’t expect you to say that, Luana. “

“ You need not say it back, Bushman. I know you share the same feelings. “

“ Aye. I do. “

No more was said between them as they sat in the silence of the tower, in the distance, however, the sounds of screams and guns being fired echoed through the canyons. The Spy rested her head against his shoulder, his arm curving around her waist. Nothing was heard but the sounds of their breathing, almost at the same pace. This was -- peaceful. Just the two of them in their wooden tower.

[yulissamoa]

Bold & Beautiful: Sheila Gloats to Brooke About Her Marriage Ending

Bold & Beautiful: Sheila Gloats to Brooke About Her Marriage Ending

At home, Brooke can’t get a hold of Ridge and Hope wonders if she’s tried email. She tells her mother that she’s going to help her fight by going to this one person who actually might be able to make this right with Ridge. More: B&B characters are being so unlikeable At the cliff house, Steffy and Thomas talk about how happy they are now that their father has finally realized this is where he…

[recentanimenews]

Wandering Witch: The Journey of Elaina – 11 – Love is In the Air

Elaina arrives in Qunorts to find that the Curio Company from the Niké stories has been revived. Townsfolk say mages are once again at risk, so she dresses like an ordinary, non-magical traveler to avoid any hassle. However, it’s because she appears to be a random NPC that she is targeted by Curio.

Specifically, Curio’s aged leader shoots both Elaina and the newly-arrived Saya with balls of magical dust that cause them to swap bodies. Elaina opens the mystery box Saya was delivering on behalf of the Association, and a massive cloud of love potion spreads across the town, causing the complex situation of Saya’s little sister Mina falling madly in love with Saya while Elaina is in Saya’s body.

Much hilarity ensues, and both Hondo Kaede and Kurosawa Tomoyo demonstrate their talent by wonderfully mimicking the voice styles of Saya and Elaina while in opposite bodies. Having been caught in the love cloud while looking at the reflection of Elaina, Saya is even more in love with her senpai, while Elaina in Saya’s body is decidedly Not Amused.

Fortunately, the Curio Company’s grand plan was as sloppy as it was dependent on numerous suppositions to succeed, and because Elaina is a witch, she and Saya have no problem rounding up the company before they can cause too much damage. When the captured leader gloats about dozens of her cohorts still out there, Fran and Sheila finally make their appearance, having mopped up the remaining bandits.

The love potion is returned to the box, while Elaina, Saya, and Mina eventually return to normal. Sheila reveals she’s Mina’s teacher too, and the one who forced Mina and Saya apart lest they fall into a codependent spiral. Saya for one is glad Mina loves her so much, while an embarrassed Mina would prefer if the subject were changed.

One subject that doesn’t come up is whether Elaina is aware that Niké and her mother are one and the same. This latest adventure in Qunorts should have provided all the clues she’d need to make that determination, yet when the four witches part ways, she remains coy about the revelation. Elaina promises Fran that she’ll return home to see her parents at some point, but as Niké had five volumes of adventures, she remains committed to writing at least six of her own.

That means a lot more traveling and a lot more situations, both fun and trying. As to the latter kind, I was disappointed but not particularly surprised the show swept her time travel trauma under the rug. In its place  was another fun and hopeful outing. Her closing monologue and broom ride into the sunset felt like the end of this particular volume with one episode to go, while hinting at the possibility of a second cour—something to which I certainly wouldn’t be opposed!

By: magicalchurlsukui

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 9: Ron III - I’m Fine (link to full story on FF.net)

Word Count: 3K words

Warnings: Some swearing 

Featuring: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger

Ron was ready to die.

This was it.

It must be.

His stomach was in knots and he no longer even knew whether he was the right way up or not.  He clung on desperately to the plush-toy falcon as they span relentlessly in mid-air.

“I think we’re here,” he heard Hermione muster out before they were both violently hurtled to the ground.

It took Ron a few moments to recognize that the ground they had landed on was actually a thick, soft carpet and not a hard, concrete floor.

He pulled himself to his feet slowly and tried to take in his new surroundings, but he was instantly hit with an intense dizziness that caused him to crash straight back down in a heap.

Ron could feel his stomach rupturing on the inside.  

He tried to hold down whatever it was that was coming back up, possibly the steak and kidney pudding that he’d had for lunch, but despite his best efforts he could only ensure that it didn’t escape his mouth.

The taste of his mouth filling with vomit then caused him to throw up all over the cream-coloured Kashmir carpet anyway.

He reluctantly looked towards Hermione, embarrassed to have made such an idiot of himself in front of her and humiliated that she would have to see him in such a state, but he was relieved to see that she too had just vomited.

There was an expression of upmost disgust and dejection on her face, as Ron saw some runny, dark coloured sick dribble down her chin. She gasped slightly when their eyes met.

“You’ve got sick on your chin… did you know?” Ron joked in a fairly hoarse voice, as Hermione laughed softly and cleared herself up after retrieving her wand.

Ron had just began vanishing the vomit he’d left on the carpet himself, when the brown door to the big function room swung open – and a tall, dark haired woman who looked like she was in her mid-forties strolled in.

“First time using a long-distance intercontinental portkey?” she asked in a knowing voice, as Ron and Hermione both nodded awkwardly. She had a slight accent, but not one that suggested she’d spent her entire life living in Australia.

“I remember my first time going from London to Sydney… nothing could prepare you for it. Trust me though I’ve been in charge of this portkey docking room for years and I’ve seen people chunder far worse than that. Some people even faint or pass out completely. Where is the port-

The woman stopped in her tracks as she saw the falcon in the middle of the floor.

“A bloody falcon! I suppose that’s Kingsley’s idea of a good gag. I’m a Wasps fan myself… I used to dread going into the Great Hall on a Monday morning when they’d beaten us at the weekend. Kingsley and his brother would always be the first to gloat… ah, those were simpler times… I’m Olivia by the way. Olivia Burke. You must be Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. It’s a great privilege to meet you both.”

Ron felt a small amount of embarrassment, but also great pride that someone from the Australian ministry would consider it such an honour to meet them both. He noticed a slight frown appear on her face as she studied the two of their faces in greater detail.

“I always knew you were all quite young… but to see how young you are in person…” Burke began, before a lump in her throat caused her to stop briefly. “Oh I’m sorry. I’m sorry… you’re here to get away from all of that.... Kingsley has made sure that you’ll have a good time and enjoy your stay in Australia. I can assure you that he spared absolutely no expense on this little trip for you both.”

“Oh but Oliv- Mrs Burke…” Hermione began before hesitating. Ron thought Olivia seemed to look a bit uncomfortable at being addressed as Mrs Burke.

“…there must be some kind of mistake. We’ve only come for a short visit whilst I find my parents,” Hermione said, as Ron gave her shoe a very slight kick. She caught his gaze for the slightest of seconds with an indignant look on her face. “We have a tent with us and we’re quite happy to pitch up wherever-

“Oh, Miss Granger!” Olivia interrupted. “Rest assured as soon as we have managed to locate and make contact with your parents we will contact you immediately. But whilst you wait your Minister has ensured that you both will be treated to the best in entertainment and culture that Wizarding Australia has to offer, whilst staying in the most lavish and luxurious accommodation that galleons can buy.”

Ron wasn’t one to readily accept any kind of hand-out or charity, but after all they’d been through in the last few years he rather liked the sound of that.

“But…” Hermione began, before Burke waved away her protests.

“No buts Miss Granger! You are both going to relax and enjoy yourselves and that is an order! Now if you’ll follow me I’ll be taking you to my colleague Brad, who will apparate you on to where you’ll be staying. I would take you myself, but well… I should have finished my night shift over an hour ago and I am absolutely shattered,” Olivia said, as Ron noticed the bags under her eyes.

“We’re awfully sorry to have imposed on you like-

“Nonsense, Miss Granger!” Olivia replied softly as she led them out of the office and through a long, bright yellow corridor. “You must forgive me if I sounded like I was complaining. It was a favour for an old friend to stay late to meet you both… and it is not every day even as the Head of Magical Transportation that you get to meet such decorated war heroes.”

Ron suddenly felt a bit self-conscious that the Head of Magical Transportation for Australia had seen his vomit.

“So if you’re just finishing a nightshift… what’s the time here, then?” Ron asked.

“Just past seven o’clock in the morning, Mister Weasley,” she answered.

“Bloody hell! So we were spinning in that portkey for nine hours?! No wonder we both chucked up!” he exclaimed.

“Not quite,” Olivia replied. “Australia is just on a different time-zone to England. It is nine hours ahead. You were only using that portkey for around two minutes and thirty seconds… which I can agree does still feel like a very long time, especially on your first go… but it really is nothing to how long it would a take a muggle to get from one pond to the other… they’d be looking at closer to twenty four hours of travel to get from London to Sydney.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “But wait… that means we’ve travelled in time… to the future…I always wanted to have a go using one of those time turners!” he added happily, still kind of confused, but excited by what they had just done.

It had been Friday night when they’d set off, but now it was Saturday morning - what a mind-fuck, Ron thought.

Olivia and Hermione seemed to exchange a knowing glance, which went right over Ron’s head as he still tried to come to terms with the strangeness of it all.

“Ah. Here is Brad now,” Olivia noted, as they saw a short, fairly old looking wizard in the distance. He jumped up excitedly when he saw them and rushed over immediately.

“Brad… meet our esteemed guests and friends of Harry Potter… Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”  

“How ya’ garn?” he blurted out. “I’m Brad, but me mates call me Bradd-o!”

They exchanged pleasantries, before Burke excused herself and presumably sauntered off home to her bed after she had reminded Brad that there was to be no dilly dallying.

Brad ushered them to latch onto his arms as he readied his wand, but Ron’s stomach still felt a little bit wobbly and he hesitated.

“I kno’ ya must ‘av ‘ad one heck of a trip on ya’ portkey... but trust me I’m an experienced apparatah… ya won’t even feel it, Mister Weasley, sir!”

“Just Ron is fine,” added, feeling a bit embarrassed at being called sir.  

“Come on then, Ronn-o! Miss Burke told me no piss fartin’ around,” he replied as he indicated once again for Ron to grasp on. Ron relented and instantly felt the horrible lurch of apparation as they left the Australian Ministry of Magic.

They came to an abrupt halt and from the salty air and feel of the wind Ron could tell that they were now outside.

“Right-o here we are,” Brad said as Ron took in their surroundings.

It looked somewhat like a suburban muggle park, with lots of vibrant, green grass and giant trees, many of which Ron did not recognize. These trees were a lot more exotic than the ones he’d encountered at Hogwarts or the various forests they’d pitched up in whilst on the run in the countryside.

“Where exactly is it we are, if you don’t mind us asking?” Hermione enquired politely.

“Oh don’t worry, we ain’t stuck you up out in the bush. Ya’ still in Sydney. This is Woollahra an’ trust me, Miss Burke’s made sure ya’ gonna have an absolute ripper of a trip. Ya’ stayin’ at the brand new hotel they’ve built next to Australia Magizoo!”

“Australia Magizoo?” Ron asked curiously.

“It’s the biggest Magizoo in the world,” Hermione replied. “It only opened in 1990… Newt Scamander said in the foreword for Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them that it has the greatest collection of magical creatures ever assembled.”

“Sheila certainly knows her stuff!” Brad added.

Ron didn’t remember anything in his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them about a giant Magizoo in Australia. He thought that he would’ve surely remembered something like that, but then he recalled that he’d had Bill’s old copy of the book, which would’ve been published well before it was even built. Hermione’s parents would’ve no doubt bought her the newest edition available.

“Now ya’ hotel ain’t far from here, but before we head off I best teach ya’ both the most important spell ya’ gonna need for ya’ time in Australia,” Brad said, as he retrieved his wand from his pocket.

“This’ll keep the mozzies and all the other little buggers from bitin’ ya,” he assured, before pointing his wand at himself and waving it quite aggressively. “Impedio Insectum,” Brad cast, as a very feint, almost invisible trail of liquid smoke engulfed him, before he waved his wand in their direction and two new smoke clouds appeared and submerged Ron and Hermione.

The smoke smelt vaguely chemically, before it softy absorbed itself into Ron’s skin, briefly making his skin quite moist, before it then faded away as though it had never been there at all.

“That will keep them off ya’ until the next time ya’ have a wash!” Brad announced triumphantly, as they offered their thanks to him.

“Ya’ shouldn’t need the spell to protect ya’ skin from the sun that we all use in the summa’, doubt it will get hot enough for ya’ to worry about that,” he added, as he started walking north and ushered for them to follow him.

“Why’s that?” Ron questioned as they started following their guide. “I thought Australia was supposed to be really hot?”

“Not when we’re comin’ up ta winter Ronn-o, mate!” Brad chortled.

Ron gave Hermione a confused look.

“It’s the same as the time being on the other side of the spectrum, Ron,” she said. “Australians have their summer months during our winter months, so where it’s almost June here it must be approaching their winter… although it’s still not too cold I suppose.”

“Ah nah… won’t ever get as cold as you Brits have it!” Brad exclaimed from ahead of them, as he lead them through the park.

They soon reached a turning and saw what looked like a huge palace in the distance, which appeared to have several armed guards stationed outside it. The guards were all wearing a funny sort of big, black bushy hat – their outfits were finished off with a bright red jacket and dark black trousers. Ron couldn’t quite make out the big object they were all holding aloft in their right arm.

“Are they beef-eaters?” a flabbergasted Hermione asked.

“Huh?” Brad mumbled. “Oh ya’ mean the guards! Look bloody stupid don’t they! Ya wouldn’t catch me dead in one of those. But don’t ya’ worry, Miss Granger. They ain’t real muggoes!”

“Muggoes?” Ron and Hermione asked in unison.

“Or Muggles as you Brits like ta’ call ‘em. Muggoes. Muggles. Same difference,” Brad said as he shrugged.

“But why are there people dressed up as muggles outside?” Ron asked as they drew closer to the impressive castle, which was a real contrast to the only castle Ron had ever been in previously. It had far more in common with the pictures he’d seen of the glamorous looking Beauxbatons Academy than the gothic-inspired ancient Hogwarts architecture.

“Beats me Ronn-o, mate. Muggo culture’s meant to be all the rage right nah ya kno? Wizard tourism industry is boomin’ over ‘ere and up in Asia and The States,” Brad said, before pausing and hesitating slightly. “‘specially now nobody’s been wantin’ a go to Britain the last few years,” he added nervously.

“But why would witches or wizards ever need to stay in a hotel when travelling abroad?” Hermione inquired.

“You have all the space you ever need in a good tent. Just need somewhere to pitch. Even the richest guests were pitched up in the same place as us when we went to Cairo… they just had bigger tents that’s all” Ron added, as he noticed one of the guards slowly leaving his post to meet them.

“Beats me, kidd-o! But people don’t wanna stay in tents no more. They wanna have an experience,” Brad replied, raising his eyes dubiously as he said the last word and chuckled lightly. “Load o’ old bollocks if you ask me. Can’t beat a nice trip in a tent out woop-woop.”

Ron laughed awkwardly in agreement, but if he was honest he had absolutely no idea what or where in the hell a woop-woop was.

“They wanna live like the muggoes do,” Brad continued. “They want real muggo waiters and chefs in the restaurants… they want real muggo barbers to cut their hair…they want real muggo everything, mate!”

Ron couldn’t quite picture the appeal and thought that it was quite odd, but then he casted a joyous image in his mind of his Dad turning up like a little kid at Christmas, absolutely revelling in a muggle-themed hotel.

“G’day Bradd-o ya daft cunt,” greeted one of the black hatted fake muggle guards in a thick Australian accent.

“Alright Tezza, mate? Lookin’ sharp in that sack o’ shit you call a uniform. How’s Noreen and the kids doin’ these days, they good?” Brad replied.

“Sound-o, mate. Who have we got here then?” the guard asked, as he smiled at Ron and Hermione.

“Ron Weasley,” Ron said as he shook the man’s hand.

“And I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione added politely.

“Bloody hell, Bradd-o! What’s a daft old bludger like you doing with our VIP guests?!” Tezza asked in disbelief.

“I told you, Tezza, mate. I’m a big deal down at the Ministry,” Brad coolly replied.

Tezza laughed loudly before patting Brad on the shoulder. “Ah I have missed ya, mate!” he remarked, as Ron noticed Hermione yawn, which in turn caused him to do the same thing.

Tezza and Brad exchanged a nervous look upon noticing this.

“I best get yous two off to check-in,” Tezza said. “I could get in some real shit if the boss finds out I kept ya’ waitin’ talkin’ to this dick-‘ead,” he added, throwing a wink at Brad.

“Cya later Tezza, mate,” Brad said, as he raised his middle-finger to his friend, who raised his in return.

“Well it was sure nice meeting ya’ both,” Brad remarked as he turned to face them.

“A pleasure to meet you too,” Hermione quickly responded.

“Thanks for showing us around,” Ron added.

“No worries Ronn-o, mate!” Brad quipped. “Should see the overtime I’m getting for doing the morning shift today. Anyway I best be off… should be able to sneak a smoke-o before anyone notices I’ve been gone too long.”

Ron watched Brad skip along back through the Woollahra wilderness.

“Miss Granger, would ya’ like me to carry ya bag for ya’?” Tezza asked as he guided them towards the extravagant gate of the hotel.

“Oh no… it’s quite alright… it’s enchanted you see,” Hermione said.

“Ah thank Merlin you’re not one of those VIP guests,” Tezza replied excitedly. “Some of them are dead keen on this muggo thing. They ask ya’ to carry their bags like ya’ would if ya’ was a real porter in a propa’ muggo hotel… but most the guests are so rich the bags are enchanted and light as a featha anyway!” he said in an incredulous tone as he adjusted his hat.

Ron laughed slightly at the thought of it.

“Now me boss made us all promise that we wouldn’t ask ya’ any sensitive questions, like. But me little boy would nevva forgive me if I didn’t ask ya’ just one.”

Ron gave Hermione an uneasy look, but she smiled slightly and nodded.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Okay,” Tezza began, as he cleared his throat and eyed up Ron and Hermione with a gravely serious face.

Ron wondered what question the man would consider so important to ask that he would risk getting in trouble with his boss for.

It had to be about something massive.

Something really hard-hitting.  

“Is it true what they say, like? Did You Know Who really not have a schnozza?”

[bigyack-com]

Twitter spats among Congress leaders galore after Delhi poll debacle - india news

Dipping electoral fortunes is raising the temperatures within the ranks of Congress leaders, which is evident from some of the public spats that have taken place since the party registered a disastrous defeat in Delhi. The Congress did not win a single seat second time in a row; it was in power in Delhi for three consecutive terms under Sheila Dikshit. Milind Deora and Ajay MakenBoth the leaders had a public meltdown on Twitter late Sunday and early Monday over Deora’s support of Aam Aadmi Party’s win. He tweeted a video of Arvind Kejriwal and said that AAP was running a “fiscally prudent” government in Delhi, and it doubled its revenues while maintaining a revenue surplus in the last five years. Maken, not taking to it kindly, said that Deora could leave the party if he wishes to but he should not peddle “half-baked fact”, and went on to list stats from Delhi government under Congress, in which Maken was a minister. Brother, I would never undermine Sheila Dikshit’s stellar performance as Delhi CM. That’s your specialty.But it’s never too late to change!Instead of advocating an alliance with AAP, if only you had highlighted Sheila ji’s achievements, @INCIndia would’ve been in power today https://t.co/aiZYdizdUL— Milind Deora मिलिंद देवरा (@milinddeora) February 17, 2020 Things took an ugly turn when Deora accused Maken of undermining former chief minister Sheila Dikshit, and said that if instead of advocating an alliance with AAP, Maken had highlighted Sheila’s achievements, perhaps Congress would have been in power.The public spat is unusual for Congress leaders, many of whom keep personal equations away from the public eye. Deora has been seemingly unhappy with the party, speaking against the party’s moves in both Maharashtra and in Delhi. For the usually reticent Maken, this was a rare outburst.Sharmistha Mukherjee and P ChidambaramSoon after the party’s defeat, Delhi Congress leader Sharmistha Mukherjee took on party veteran P Chidambaram on Twitter after he tweeted in support of AAP’s win. Chidambaram tweeted that in AAP’s win, “bluff and bluster” has lost, and said he salutes the people of Delhi for setting an example. This angered Mukherjee who replied to him asking whether the Congress has outsourced the task of defeating BJP to state parties, and if that is the case, then state units of the Congress should then “close shop”, she said. With due respect sir, just want to know- has @INCIndia outsourced the task of defeating BJP to state parties? If not, then why r we gloating over AAP victory rather than being concerned abt our drubbing? And if ‘yes’, then we (PCCs) might as well close shop! https://t.co/Zw3KJIfsRx— Sharmistha Mukherjee (@Sharmistha_GK) February 11, 2020 The outburst is layered with context if one looks at the relationship that Chidambaram shared with Mukerjee’s father, former president Pranab Mukherjee. By the latter’s own admission, the relationship was a strained one. It is also quite rare for a Congress leader to take a public potshot at a senior leader. PC Chacko and Pawan KheraThe Delhi defeat has opened a can of worms inside the Congress’s Delhi unit, as state in-charge PC Chacko and Pawan Khera, too, having a bit of a Twitter run-in. Soon after the defeat, Chacko sought to pass off blame for the defeat to Dikshit, and told reporters that the downfall of the Congress started in 2013 when Dikshit was the chief minister, and the party never recovered. This led to a public outburst from two leaders, Milind Deora and Pawan Khera. Deora said that it was “unfortunate” to blame her after her death. Khera, who was Dikshit’s political secretary too, took on Chacko. Just a data point. In 2013, when we lost, @INCIndia vote share in Delhi was 24.55%. Sheila ji was not involved in 2015, when the vote share slipped to 9.7%. In 2019, when she was back in charge, the vote share came up to 22.46%. https://t.co/MvwHouRILh— Pawan Khera (@Pawankhera) February 12, 2020 He laid out data and said that in 2013 when the Congress lost to AAP, its vote share in Delhi was 24.55%. “Sheila ji was not involved in 2015, when the vote share slipped to 9.7%. In 2019, when she was back in charge, the vote share came up to 22.46%,” he wrote. Read the full article

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: Gift of the Magi (9/12)

Summary: Wash has already gone through too much, been broken too often. So when they get captured by Hargrove together, Tucker figures he has one job: until the cavalry shows up, keep Wash alive and (relatively) sane. No matter the cost.

Unfortunately, Wash is just as determined to protect him.

Parings: None. Warnings: Rated M. Canon-typical language, aftermath of canonical character death, psychological torture, hallucinations, hallucinated child harm, mentions of torture and suicide, fake-out character death.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

They take Wash away.

Tucker stares numbly at the puddle of blood on the floor, and he feels sick. He thought Wash was okay. That was why he'd gone through the simulations, why he never fought back: because he thought Wash was okay.

Because protecting Wash was all he had left.

But Wash wasn't okay. Tucker remembers the look on his face, the way his hands hadn't trembled at all as he held the gun to Tucker's head.

He remembers Wash's voice, quiet and agonized: They put an AI in me.

And Tucker's numbness turns to fury.

They put an AI in Wash's head.

He looks up at the observation room, where Hargrove is glaring down at the chaos.

"What did you do to Wash?" he demands.

"Put him back in his cell," says Hargrove, and the guards grab him.

"You fucking promised, you asshole," Tucker yells, struggling against the guards. "You said he wouldn't get hurt!"

That was the deal. That was why Tucker did it, why he let them strap him into the machine again and again, endured the simulations of being being shot and stabbed and strangled and—

JUNIOR

All for nothing.

"You motherfucking—fucker," he howls, and then one of the guards punches him in the stomach. Tucker spends the next few seconds remembering how to breathe. By the time he can speak again, they've dragged him out of the training room, and they're halfway back to his cell.

They put an AI in me.

The words haunt Tucker. So does the expression on Wash's face.

He wasn't able to stop himself from striking Tucker. He shot himself because he didn't want to kill Tucker.

What the fuck did they do to him?

Tucker knows what Epsilon did to Wash. He wishes he could forget watching the video records from Project Freelancer. And now . . . Wash is . . .

He remembers the pool of blood. The room seems to spin around him, and then he's barfing.

Yeah, you should probably call for help, says Church.

"I'm fine," Tucker mutters, even though now that the adrenaline has worn off, his head is throbbing with pain. Something trickles down his forehead; he rubs at it, and his hand comes away red. Blood.

It's just a little blood, Tucker, he can imagine Wash saying.

Fuck Wash and fuck his stupid Freelancer priorities. Why couldn't he have let Tucker protect him?

Okay, leaving aside the obvious hypocrisy, says Church, you have a concussion.

Tucker's not used to having concussions. He's used to getting shot in the head. He's used to knives in his throat, his hands, his gut. He's not used to being locked up, hurting but not dying, wait and waiting as he remembers Wash—

Seriously, says Church, you're pretty fucked up and you need to get help.

Yeah, because Hargrove is all about giving him help.

Tucker lies down. He really wishes the room would stop spinning. He wishes he could forgot the look in Wash's eyes, as he held the gun to Tucker's forehead.

He wishes that Wash had just shot him.

That's the last thing he thinks for a while.

When he wakes up, Tucker feels minty.

That's the only way to describe it: the green light, the cool, fresh feeling shivering down his spine. It's kind of nice, and for a second he relaxes.

Then he realizes that he's strapped into a medical bed, and adrenaline slams into his chest, sets his heart pounding as he thinks, No, no, not again—

Relax, dude. It's okay.

And Church's voice gets through to him at the same time as he realizes that he's strapped in face-up. He's not in the machine. He's under the same healing tech as when Hargrove first captured him, right after Wash came to him and said, On your feet, Private Tucker.

Shit. Wash.

He's strapped down pretty tightly, but Tucker does what he can to lever himself up and crane his neck to look around—

And there's Wash. Just a few feet away from him, strapped into another medical bed, another glowing machine hanging over him. He's almost as pale as when he was bleeding out at Tucker's feet, but he's still breathing.

He's alive.

Tucker collapses back onto the bed, weak with relief. For a few moments all he can think about is how Wash is alive, he's right there just a few feet away, Tucker didn't get him killed.

Except . . . he nearly did.

The knowledge eats away at Tucker. The pain in his head is gone, which is awesome, but that just means he can think clearly now. He can understand how totally screwed they are.

He can understand how Wash is a fucking liar. Saying, I'm just fine, Private Tucker, and claiming he was training Hargrove's men. What the fuck. If Hargrove went to the trouble of putting an AI into Wash's head, he wasn't just having him run drills. Tucker doesn't know what Hargrove's been making him do, but if he needed to make that AI take control of his body—it's got to be bad.

Tucker remembers the blood pooling around Wash. How hopeless Wash sounded. All this time Tucker thought he was protecting him, and really he'd been hanging him out to dry. Because whatever Wash has been through, it's obviously worse than a few dumb simulations.  

That look in his eyes, that sound of his voice—it's all Tucker's fault.

It's not your fault, Church says, but it is. Tucker remembers Hargrove gloating that Wash had agreed to "cooperate." He thought he'd saved him from that, but instead he was just a hostage.

Tucker is the reason that Wash had an AI in his head, that he suffered the exact thing that Tucker wanted to protect him from ever suffering again.

Wow, you're right, we have so much in common! We both wear blue armor, we're both incredibly sexually attractive, and we're both responsible for Wash getting fucked in the head. Go team. Are you done complaining yet?

You're such an asshole.

And you're a whiny bitch, but we're still stuck together.

I could just stop hallucinating you.

Sure, man, go ahead. Give it a try.

Tucker stares up at the maze of wiring overhead. He thinks, Church is dead.

Church is dead. He died, Tucker saw the fragments he left behind, so there's no way that he's coming back now. And Tucker isn't like Caboose, who has to make up imaginary friends when his real ones leave him.

Tucker can deal with this.

Church is dead.

Fuck, Tucker thinks he's going to cry.

He's not like Caboose. Tucker is cool, he can deal with this, he is totally cool. But he's suddenly remembering the weeks he spent fighting for his life at Sandtrap, and how he kept bitching to Church in his head. Kept imagining that when he got out of there, he would tell Church all about it, and Church would pretend to be sick of listening to him but really—

And then Church died. During one of those days at Sandtrap, probably right while Tucker was complaining about sand in his crotch, Church died and Tucker never saw him again.

Never got to say goodbye.

Then they found Epsilon and he turned into Church and it was okay—it wasn't exactly the same, but Church was still an asshole and still Tucker's friend—

Until he left again.

There isn't going to be any last-minute, "Oops, Church is a ghost now," or "Oops, Church left his memories behind and Caboose talked them into being Church again."

Tucker's all alone. Wash is only a few feet away, but he's unconscious and he can't help and the silence is ringing like a gong in Tucker's head. He doesn't know how long he can stand it.

Shit.

"Haha." Church actually appears in front of him, a little glowing blue figure. "Toldja so."

"Goddamnit," Tucker mutters. He shouldn't be so relieved, but he is. He can't do this alone.

"Yeah, obviously you can't do it alone," Church says smugly. "Or you wouldn't be hallucinating."

"I hate you so much," Tucker grumbles.

"Yeah, what else is new. Listen, I've been thinking—"

"You mean I've been thinking?" Tucker asks. His brain is so fucked up.

As if he's just been reminded that he doesn't exist, Church disappears. The next words he says silently in Tucker's head: I'm pretty sure we're running out time.

No, duh, says Tucker. What was your first hint, Wash shooting himself in the chest?

Hargrove's just playing with you. Church's voice is quiet and serious, and it sends an icy chill through Tucker. I've been thinking about it. That machine? Fucking useless for training. It's wired up to some alien shit, and I'll betcha anything it's specifically made to test you with your worst nightmares or whatever.

So? Tucker asks.

So that "deal" you made? I bet he never planned to put Wash in the machine. He just wanted to keep you busy and not trying to escape. And torture you for kicks, of course.

Tucker wants to say that isn't true. But the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes.

He was never protecting Wash. He was never being a hero. All those times they strapped him into the machine, it was never worth anything. Right from the start, Tucker was doing exactly what Hargrove wanted, and getting Wash fucked over into the bargain.

Okay, relax. The point is, whatever Hargrove is trying to do with Wash, it's obviously falling apart. We need to get a message out.

Can't you, like, hack stuff? Tucker asks.

Too many firewalls. Wait, you think a hallucination can hack stuff?

Right. It's just so easy to forget that Tucker is actually alone in this bed, that Church is dead for good and can't ever help him again.

Nope nope nope. He's not thinking about that right now.

But it's hard not to remember the last time he was trying to get off this ship, and—

And Tucker's an idiot.

He's an idiot who let himself get so completely wrapped up in those fucking simulations that he actually forgot they had an ally on this ship.

"Sheila," he says.

Wha— oh. OH. Church sounds stunned. Shit, we're dumb.

Yeah, no kidding, Tucker thinks, and calls out again, "Sheila?  Can you hear me?"

Silence. Tucker remembers Sheila being able to talk to them from anywhere in the ship—but that was before she helped them escape. What if Hargrove deleted her or something?

"Hey, FILSS," says Church, appearing at Tucker's bedside. "You wanna help us out here?"

Which is pointless, since he's not real, so Sheila can't hear him, but—

"FILSS?" Tucker calls, wondering if the other name will work better.

There's another moment of silence, and then Sheila says, "Speaking to prisoners is against my programming."

And Tucker feels a chill because her voice is so . . . dead. Low and monotone and hopeless, and shit, he's not getting so close to an escape and giving up now.

"Aw, c'mon," he says. "You don't even like Hargrove."

"Also, you're already talking to us," says Church.

Sheila doesn't respond.

"Look," says Tucker, "I know I'm not Caboose or Church, but . . . this is for Wash. You remember him, right?"

He knows she does, unless Hargrove erased her memory banks. Wash told him about how she used to run the training simulations, back in Project Freelancer. She was there when Wash was the rookie on Alpha Squad, and she was there when Epsilon tore his mind apart. The surveilance vids that made Tucker try to drink his ass off—Sheila was there when it happened.

She has to care.

"Agent Washington has been performing sub-optimally for some time now," says Sheila, and Tucker's throat hurts at the reminder of what he failed to see.

"Yeah," he says. "Wash really, really needs to go home. Can't you send a message to our friends? Tell them where we are?"

"Please?" says Church, flickering the way he does when he's really upset.

"That would be against my programming," says Sheila.

"Fuck programming," says Tucker. "Wash needs you."

He waits, but she doesn't reply.

"FILSS?" he says finally.

"Recalculating," says Sheila.

"Uhh," says Tucker, "does that mean—"

"Message sent."

"FUCK YEAH!" says Tucker, and for one second none of the awful things matter. Because Tucker did it. Their friends are coming for them. They're gonna be rescued.

"Thanks, FILSS," says Church, flickering again.

"Thanks," Tucker echoes, then cranes his head to look at Wash again. Remembers—everything.

Maybe there still isn't hope for him. He thinks for a second about Junior and then goes NOPE because he can't afford to lose his mind again, and if he thinks about the possibility that he killed his own kid then he is definitely going to lose it.

But no matter how fucked Tucker is, Wash is going to be okay.

He has to be okay.

[energynowhealth-blog]

Sheila Kelly Testimonial

I have worked with Sheila Kelly for years now and she offered to write a testimonial to help people relate to her experience. Their are many people in the same situation as Shiela. Please read and contact us if you are dealing with similar issues and are in need of help.

Danny,

The lead in is a little lengthy but important to give weight to your expertise.

I am 54 years old and can remember having knee issues since about age 35.  By knee issues, I mean some pain in, under or around my knee cap.  It began to be occasionally noticeable when I descended the stairs and over the years became more regular and more annoying and presented itself in more physical situations and more frequently.  Crouching was painful and if I did an activity for too long or not right (i.e.. without regard for proper form – which I didn’t recognize then), I was going to pay for a few hours or days afterwards.  I began to give up certain activities like downhill skiing and tap dancing and I began to wince and reduce the number of times I went up and down the stairs in my house.

From my late 30’s I sought medical assistance.  My family doctor diagnosed it (Patellofemoral – but who knows) and sent me for physio a couple of times over the years.  I had no success. A few years later, I sought an orthopedic surgeon consult who found nothing with which surgery might assist. He recommended Active Release Therapy.  I sought out a Sports Therapist, Chiropractor and had ART, Graston Technique and Electro Acupuncture.  I received some immediate relief, but not past the day of treatment.  (All these things did correct another shoulder/neck ailment at a previous time, but not the knees.)  One of these clinicians, whom I still have great respect for – see shoulder comment) recommended I not perform certain weight bearing movements as they would be expected to exacerbate my pain – especially any kind of lunge.  I was starting to wonder if I had to live with this forever and restrict what I could do.

I’ve trained with Danny twice a week now for almost 6 years.  I could get through the workouts he prescribed (minus lunges) but the knee pain was annoying and a nuisance.  He took my knee comments in stride and regularly worked around my complaints and “allowed” me to avoid certain movements. However, in due time, he began talking to me about my knees and slowly introducing conversation over time about them. Every session without fail, he began asking where the pain was, how my knees felt, noting what we had done the last session and inquiring about what activities I had done since our last session and the like.  He was certain there was relief in sight and without me fully realizing it, we began to focus extremely precisely on form while I was training with him.  I mean nitpicky, watch my every move, walk next to me, in front and behind to correct any little slip and to drill it into me. (Just the other day, he talked about me reaching the stage of conscious competence. Now we’re shooting for unconscious competence.)  He has spent a couple of years paying close attention to my form and reminding me about it while I do the moves.  He has analyzed the way I move and demonstrates it back to me.  He checks with me on every move to register my pain or lack of it and then tells me why on that move I experienced pain – because I have a natural movement pattern to reverse, so to speak. He is constantly looking for feedback and can change the exercise on a dime if my knees (or head) weren’t ready for it.

So he then began to focus on specific muscle groups that help support the knees, like quads, hams and gluts. We could tell that when we prepped with certain exercises, the usual knee culprits (squats and lunges) were a little less painful also.  But then a few months ago, he asked me to begin showing up 20-30 minutes early and in addition to my 5-8 min cardio warm up, perform some foam rolling and them some stretching exercises with body weight and stabilizing exercises with tension bands before we started the regular session.  Then we began to do some of those squats and lunges but he slowed them down to a snail’s pace so I was forced to be on point with my form.  Perfect form, no discomfort.  Slip up, discomfort.  Without me telling him, he could call whether I had felt any pain or not, by observing my form.  He would walk backwards in front of me while I did lunges toward him and give me signals about how I was moving my body and would correct me real time, sometimes before I even actually made the move.  (Like a Jedi…. Or Ninja, take your pick!)

I am currently experiencing no knee discomfort about 90-95% of the time as long as I am cognizant of exactly what I’m doing. Still trying to get to unconscious competence!  Danny was patient when I needed it and stuck by my whining, even though I now know he knew it was possible. (He reminds me regularly now – a little gloat fest fun.)  He was able to offer something that no medical person could and that is sustained data gathering through observation, a plethora of knowledge and a plan that slowly built towards my physical change as well as my attitude about it, and always in a gentle, non punitive manner.   No medical person would have that kind of data or interest nor be in a position to use it that way.  Danny is a fantastic trainer and skilled exercise physiologist.

Now besides addressing knee pain, he pushes me constantly in the rest of my training, gives me home exercises when appropriate and vacation work outs to take with me (when I want them LOL).  Anyone would  benefit from working with him, but if you have knee trouble and are avoiding weight and resistance training, let him help you.  It will take time, but that’s what you want.  What’s a few months or even a couple of years if it gives you back your body and your favourite activities for the rest of your life.  And hey, I went blue run downhill skiing this year – no pain and the quads were strong!

Sheila

EnergyNow Health Contact Info

Email: dannyarnold@energynowhealth.com

Danny Arnold

[toebeeeans]

The Bold and the Beautiful Spoilers: Monday, August 28 – Bill Gloats As Spectra Burns – Quinn Brawls With Faking Sheila

The Bold and the Beautiful (B&B) spoilers for Monday, August 28, tease that Bill (Don Diamont) will be thrilled about the completion of his plot. He’ll declare that Spectra is going out in a blaze of glory. The fire is indeed underway and all of Sally’s (Courtney Hope) hard work is about to go up […]

The post The Bold and the Beautiful Spoilers: Monday, August 28 – Bill Gloats As Spectra Burns – Quinn Brawls With Faking Sheila appeared first on Information Overload News.

from Information Overload News http://www.informationoverload.news/the-bold-and-the-beautiful-spoilers-monday-august-28-bill-gloats-as-spectra-burns-quinn-brawls-with-faking-sheila/

[that-jack-o-lantern-guy]

The Bold and the Beautiful Spoilers: Monday, August 28 – Bill Gloats As Spectra Burns – Quinn Brawls With Faking Sheila

The Bold and the Beautiful (B&B) spoilers for Monday, August 28, tease that Bill (Don Diamont) will be thrilled about the completion of his plot. He’ll declare that Spectra is going out in a blaze of glory. The fire is indeed underway and all of Sally’s (Courtney Hope) hard work is about to go up […]

The post The Bold and the Beautiful Spoilers: Monday, August 28 – Bill Gloats As Spectra Burns – Quinn Brawls With Faking Sheila appeared first on Information Overload News.

from Information Overload News http://www.informationoverload.news/the-bold-and-the-beautiful-spoilers-monday-august-28-bill-gloats-as-spectra-burns-quinn-brawls-with-faking-sheila/